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September 20, 2007

Doing it without breasts

00106369detaila_2 Today we were supposed to get the men in our lives to write posts for our blogs. But I forgot.

So I asked my son Bear, who I homeschool, what he would write - if he wasn't in first grade and struggling to pen the mighty adventures of Little Dog.

He thought about it and said; "When I am a Mom..."

I pointed out that he would be a Dad, not a Mom. He pointed out that the assignment was to write for me, the mom.

And chided me to stop interrupting.

"Now, what was I going to say..." he pondered. "Oh, right. When I am a Mom, I will take my kids to Iceland where my Daddy is from. I will show them the short horses and the Blue Lagoon and take them on

the glaciers on the... (Mommy, what are they called again?)... snowmobiles. I will teach them the flag there that is Red, White, and Blue also."

I nodded, writing furiously.

"I will let them watch Spongebob Squarepants even if they aren't 7 yet and eat gummies before they brush their teeth. And I will never make them do SPELLING so I can write on my computer!"

I nodded, with a life of my eyebrow.

"Are you writing this like I say it?" He demanded.

"I am," I promised.

"I will take them fishing, and a lot of snuggling, and make sure they have sunscreen."

He stopped and we exchanged a long look.

"I wish Daddy were here, to tell me what he thinks," he sighed.

"Yeah, Daddy has to work," I agree.

"When I am going to be a Daddy, I want to be like my Daddy, only richer so I don't have to work so much and be home more."

"Good plan," I say. "Is there anything else for the post?"

"When I am a Mom, I will be just like you," he said carefully. "I will be very funny, and love my kids so much, and make them good food, and be their teacher."

"Thank you," I said softly.

"And one other thing," he added, crashing into the tender moment. "When I am a Mom, I will do it without breasts. Because I will still be a guy. And man-breasts are not good like women-breasts are,  and they don't have milk, and even sometimes hairy which is gross."

And thus is the enlightenment, brought to you by my 7-year-old son who is filling in for my husband who didn't even know he was supposed to be filling in for me.

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