Archives for August 2011

Nudie Patootie

I have slowly begun to realize that there are enormous perks to living in the country. For example, by Wednesday of last week, I finally accepted that my children might be embracing the nudist lifestyle and that’s okay. Mostly because our neighbors can’t really see them out here in the boonies…the sticks…the middle of nowhere.

It’s Joe who leads the charge. He won’t wear clothing. Wait, no…that’s not exactly true. He’ll wear clothing until the very moment that his skinny little body crosses the threshold of our property. Really. I’m not exaggerating.

Yesterday as I drove to pick him up from Mad Science Camp, I developed a (not entirely) irrational fear that I’d arrive to find him building rockets in the nude. Thankfully, when I got there he was still fully clothed and the only things hanging out where those new front teeth of his. You can’t miss those things, by the way. Let’s hope his head grows large enough to catch up with them. I was a skinny kid and evidently suffered from skinny body/large head syndrome. I know this because in 8th grade a girl named Robin kindly told everyone I looked like Charlie Brown. I remember thinking that she had some nerve saying anything so nasty while she was sporting Coke-bottle plastic framed glasses and a mouth full of metal.

Have I gone entirely off subject again? Right…nudity, nudity…children…

Clearly, yesterday I was mostly watching the road as I navigated the minivan along the seven mile stretch between Mad Science Camp and home. Still, you’d think I’d have had some inkling that my children were disrobing as I drove. But I didn’t. I didn’t realize it at all. In fact, I think Joe might be magical. I parked in the garage and turned around to find him sitting in his booster seat fully buckled up but completely naked. Exactly when the hell did he do that?

I will never stop being shocked/amused/mortified when I look out the window and see my just-turned-seven year old son riding his bike while wearing nothing but a helmet. The thing is, he doesn’t limit his biking to the driveway. No Sir! He mountain bikes and he “likes to feel the warm air on his weiner” as he rides because when he wears clothes in the summer his “balls get sweating.” He takes that bike across the lawn, through the trail his daddy cleared and finishes the circuit with a jolting, bump-filled ride down the hill in front of the house.

Last night David and I were able to spend 15 minutes together when he got home from work. While we sat in the Adirondack chairs on the front the lawn trying to talk about anything but Pokemon, Joe – who, by the way, has a lovely posture –  calmly pedaled by then steered his bike over the edge of the hill leaving us to quietly ponder his  jiggling posterior.

At least three times a week I have to say, “Joe, could you please go upstairs and put some clothes on before you sit down at the table?” Seriously. Is this normal?

At the very least, he should be clued in about proper nudist etiquette, right? Aren’t you supposed to carry a towel around and drape it over seats before parking your naked ass on a person’s furniture? The worst part of it is, there is no modesty whatsoever. They don’t care if they’re sharing their bits and pieces with world! At what point, exactly, does a kid think to himself…gee, you know what? It’s a little weird to think that everyone in my family can see every square inch of my body when I lay on the floor and stick my butt in the air. Maybe I should stop doing that now.

I can’t count the number of times this summer that I have walked into the kitchen/yard/family room to find my oldest two children eating/biking/watching television sans clothing.

Where the hell are your clothes?

Uh, we were hot so we took them off.

It’s 62 degrees outside!

Two weeks ago, on the third night of a particularly nasty heat wave, Dave and I popped into Joe’s room to admire our oldest child as he slept. We found him sleeping with his rear end in the air, naked and pointed directly at the box fan in the window. The next morning he rolled into the kitchen at 9:30 a.m., scratching his ass and wearing a worried expression. “Mom, I think a mosquito bit me on the butt crack.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, Joe. You were sleeping with your naked butt pointing in the air last night.” I noted that my voice has begun to take on that annoying exasperated mother tone. The one that tells everyone in the vicinity that what I’d really like to say is, no shit and now I have the pleasure of bending over to perform a close visual inspection of your ass crack!

I don’t know, maybe I’m jaded or just completely desensitized but I’m not entirely amused anymore at the sight of my son’s rear end. A seven year old’s naked body is quite as cute as say, my two year old’s chubby dimpled rump. I can say this with complete confidence because I have been looking at them both for the past two weeks without a break.

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