Testosterone Vs Estrogen Or No Wonder Mars Is A Gaseous Planet No One Can Live On

It's been awhile since I posted.  Why?  Because my children are sucking the life blood out of me slowly - but that's another story for another time.

Tonight's topic?  Yet again, bathroom humor.  I realized tonight with a sense of hopelessness that I will ALWAYS be outnumbered in my house and ALWAYS find bathroom humor to be tasteless.  But I am surrounded by testosterone and my life will consist of fart jokes and potty comments.  A few examples these past few days really hit this home.

1. Unfortunately this weekend the Rockstar had a bout of the stomach bug that presented itself as diarrhea.  There was a point on Saturday that Rock's newest deposits were announced by such trumpeting that you would have thought a whole horn section entered my living room.  Seriously, Rock is a tiny thing and even I had to admit, this was impressive (although gross).  The Moose of course found this to be the funniest thing he had ever seen (heard!) and was doubled over.  The Rock, who is taking a course called "Max 101", started laughing right along with him - complete with slapping pillows at the hilarity.  Okay, this was a little funny on the respect that I love to hear my kids laugh, but it also meant I was grabbing a new diaper and pair of pants.  To top this off, Rock's little stomach bug prevented me from going out with my girlfriend for her bachelorette party that night (Pete was out of town). Now before you go all sarcastic "poor Jenny" on me, please note that the last time I went out for dinner with girlfriends was April 2.  For real.  Needless to say, I needed a night out and not 6 blow outs instead, but once a Mom always a Mom.  But I digress...

2. My children inherit their "noisiness" from their father.  Tonight while showering the kids, perhaps Peter was a little "loud."  And my kids (both of them) cracked up like they were at a comedy club.  Locker room and frat party scenarios flashed through my mind like they say your life does in near-death moments.  And I realized that I do not have enough estrogen to carry this house. 

3. Finally, our pediatrician's office has this awesome program where they give the kids books at their well-child appointments.  The last one Rock got is called "Have you seen my potty?" - appropriate, if not optimistic, that an 18-month old would be thinking about potty training, but I'm on board.  Turns out Rock LOVES this book.  Please, let me quote it for you (these lines are no joke):
"It's a thing for pooing in. Hey I need to poo!  Me too!"
"Hurry up with the poo-pot, we're desperate here."
"Always poo with a poo-pot under your bottom!"
Sigh.  How does a toddler decide that this book is the one he needs to hear multiple times a night?  Really?  And who the heck thinks up this crap (pardon the pun)? 

To summarize...I am outnumbered and my mothering goals have changed.  No longer am I shooting for Ivy League schools and raising Pro Athletes who become doctors who volunteer for Doctors Without Borders.  No, now my goals are to teach my children to not laugh at farting and actually show manners, at least around their dates.  And in the mean time, I also need to improve their choice in literature - I'm not giving up on the Ivy League thing yet.