Coach and I often try to decide which one of us the boys take after. Often, this discussion comes when one of them has been particularly unpleasant. Or conversely, when one of them is totally rocking the world around us. For the record, when the boys are obnoxious and smelly, there is no doubt in my mind that they completely and totally take after Coach. When they are all that is fantastic, they definitely take after me.
However, there are times when that line is somewhat blurry. Times when they are being witty and amusing, charming and cute; and yet, the subject that they are so witty and amusing on? Very much NOT charming. Or cute.
Take this afternoon, for instance. Jock had just hopped (literally HOPPED) into the car after baseball practice, and we were on our way home. I shared with him that we had splurged a little today, and there were a couple of leftover bean burritos from Toxic Hell in the fridge for him. To which he replied:
Awesome! I'm starving! I was farting all during practice!
It probably comes as no surprise to discover that I was slightly confused as to the connection between an empty stomach and flatulence. I mean, I've heard of burping when your stomach is empty, but gas? Jock then went on to tell me that one of his teammates was gassy today, as well. Of course, Booty's* air issue was because he had been drinking purple Gatorade.
Naturally. How silly of me not to know that. And when I decided I was brave enough to ask how he knew that....
Geez, Mom! It's not like we all sit around the dugout asking what makes everyone fart.... although that would be a hilarious conversation....it's just that everyone knows that Booty farts all over the place when he drinks purple Gatorade. Or yellow, come to think of it. We're just all observant like that. And everyone knows that an empty stomach makes me fart. And I'm pretty sure if I thought about it, and if you really wanted to know, I could tell you what makes everyone else stink up the dugout. Are you sure you want to go there?
(Please note that he said all of that with no interruptions. I had to marvel at that fact, alone.)
Obviously, being the smart mama that I am, I declined to learn the Air Quality Secrets of The Dugout. I know that the dugout is a sacred place to teenage boys. (Or grown men, for that matter, I suspect.) I simply shook my head, told him that was good information for me to know and that I would now be watching to see what color Gatorade Booty's parents brought him at each game; and we moved on.
So, this is the conclusion I've come to regarding this kid, and just WHOSE kid he really is.
He is mine. After all, he was able to carry that conversation in the first place. AND he showed his powers of observation by knowing just what makes each of his teammates tick (or perhaps more accurately.... floof). AND he actually asked me before he totally went deeper into that subject, showing he has learned respect for women and the topics of conversation he should engage in while in their presence.
It's really not his fault that the testosterone he has been dunked in clings to him like latex paint. I still get to blame Coach for that one.
*we all know by now that I make up names, right? Well, this one was actually christened that by the rest of the team. Apparently, he's got a booty. How clever of those boys, right?