Huevos

My son just announced, "I'm going to do something funny."

Then he scooped up all his plastic Easter eggs and shoved them under his legs.

"I'm going to hatch you, babies!" he said, and hunched over like a mother hen and made a goofy face. Okay, the face was alarmingly like my own goofy, intentionally dorky face. You know the face, when you force out your bottom lip and jaw in an exaggerated underbite and smile with narrowed eyes.

What have I created?

Yesterday I tried to teach him about his balls. Or "huevos" as they call them in Spanish. My boyfriend grew up in Fresno, California. He tells me it's the armpit of California and he has regaled me with a number of tales of the Mexican gangsters who used to threaten him on his way to and from school. One of the many cultural lessons he learned from them was how to say filthy disgusting things in Spanish. Calling the balls, "eggs" is actually more accurate, I think. They are more egg-shaped than ball or nut-shaped.

They are also delicate.

Anyway, I tried to teach my son Cracky about his huevos yesterday because I've been concerned about his total indifference towards his own ballsack. He doesn't even fumble around with his penis either. I guess he's just not in the "genital" stage yet. Although he knows his penis is called his penis, he's never asked me what the heck that ballsack is hanging beneath it.

Weird.

So yesterday Cracky was digging away at his groinal area and I asked him, "Is something bothering you?"

"Yes, it itches!"

"Do you want me to take a look?"

"Yes, please!" So he came over and pulled his shorts over to the side and showed me the little crevice next to his ballsack, sort of in the crease of his leg, and it was red and dry. I had a little bit of eczema or dermatitis or some such thing when I was a kid, so I went upstairs to get some hydrocortisone.

"This will make it stop itching," I told him and squeezed out some of the ointment.

"Can you warm it up first?" he asked.

*Laugh*

"Do you know what this is called?" I asked, pointing at his testicular-region.

"No."

"Well you know what your penis is called, right?"

"Yes," he giggled.

"Well, these are your testicles."

"Testicles?"

"You have like, uh, balls inside that sack. Those testicles make babies," I said, trying to make it scientific.

"I have balls that make babies?" he looked at me as though I'd lost my mind.

"Well, yes. It takes a man and a woman to make babies. They each contribute half of the genetic material to make a baby. Men have testicles that make sperm, and women have ovaries that make eggs. When you mix the sperm with the egg, you make a baby."

"Sperm?" Again he made a scrunched up face, and looked like he was about to laugh.

"Yes, to make babies."

"Boys make babies? I thought girls made babies?"

"The girls need boys to make the babies. Like I said, a boy contributes the sperm, and the girl contributes the eggs, and together they make the baby."

"I have a baby inside my testicles?" He bent over and peered at his sack.

"No. When you are grown up, and you get married, you'll be able to make babies if you want to. With your wife." I figured I'd better add a dash of morality to this play.

"But I already have a wife."

"Well, that's just your pretend wife. You're not making babies until you're an adult."

"We pretend to make babies at school."

*Pause*

"Kayla pretends to be our baby," he explained.

"Okay, that's fine. Pretending is fine."

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"How does the boy give the girl the sperm?" He made a handing-over gesture with pinched fingers, as though handing me some jelly beans.

*Pause*

"He just gives it to her. Um, er, when you love someone, you get to share your sperm." Christ almighty, this wasn't going how I intended at all. "Well, if you want to make a baby with your wife, you and your wife can decided to share your eggs and sperm and make a baby..." I was flailing.

"You mean to make a family?"

"Yes," I sighed. "To make a family."

Thank you Cracky. Thank you for saving me. You're one good egg.

Zombie Chicken Blog Awards

My friend and fellow blogger Char was kind enough to give me a Zombie Chicken Blog Award:

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all..."

Char also commented that I was the least likely to tag five of my favorite bloggers. Well, I take that as a challenge! A direct slap to the cheek with her lambskin glove. Prithee, dear Char, I will tag, and I will tag five bloggers with impunity.

First and foremost, I nominate my newest and most favoritist blogger, Becky at Steam Me Up, Kid. I actually spent my evening last night reading through each and every one of her blogs since 2006. That's a rarity for me. It's been a while since I read a blogger who took me by surprise, who grabbed me and shook me by the shoulders and said, "Engage, woman!" Several times as I read her blogs last night, I sat with my eyes closed, my entire body shaking with laughter, as I read her words and recognized myself in them. She wrote a blog about her father a few days ago that left had me laughing in the beginning, and literally weeping by the end.

I forwarded it to the boyfriend, so he could read it.

God damn, I have to take my hat off to a writer who can make me laugh and cry within the span of an internet blog. If she wrote a book, I would read it cover to cover and keep it in my bookshelf to read again. I want to steal her from her real life and keep her in my pocket to whisper my secret thoughts to and giggle with over a coffee. I wish she were a tiny little gnome and portable like that.


My second Zombie Chicken Award goes to Gilmore, at Pretty on the Outside. He is so wickedly funny, I can't believe the turns of phrase he spins on his favorite reality television shows. I have to admit, you have to be a reality television whore to appreciate his blogs, and his blogs on The Real Housewives series are his most inspired work. Gilmore is unusual in that he is not only a hilarious writing talent, he is also a gifted artist. Each Pretty on the Outside blog is accompanied by Gilmore's pen and ink drawings of the characters on the show, penned under the influence of a glass of cabernet.





The third Zombie Chicken goes to Prosy on Toast. She's really captured me this week with her tales of working in a religious hair salon. Upper lip waxing and holy sperm is a win-win proposition in a blog, if you ask me. She also recently wrote about a college roommate whom all her readers suspect was a bit of a sociopath. I enjoy reading about roommates who give out free blowjobs to visitors and weigh themselves naked in the living room for all to see. That's the real life information I'm looking for in a blog.


My fourth choice goes to a relatively new voice to me on Blogspot, Just Kate at Dear Buddha, and she's another blogger who has really captured my attention this week. In fact, this morning she wrote a blog that was so honest and real, it stood out because the rest of us seem to be on a "Look How Funny I Am!" kick (I know I have been). Kate reminds me that the good stuff is the real and raw stuff. I have to admit I've been keeping those real blogs as drafts lately because the Trolls have gotten the best of me. I've withdrawn my soft underbelly from the public and have gone back to the safe land of humor. Perhaps Kate can coax me back out by example.




My last choice is not last in my heart, but actually first. Julie at Sweet Herald is a long-time friend and blogger, the artist formerly known as Tits McGee from Myspace. She first caught my attention for her over-the-top, laugh-out-loud, cover-your-mouth in shock sense of humor. She writes what we all think, what we all wish we could say, and there is such a joyous freedom in her writing that it'll make you spit your morning coffee out. I miss the days when we would practically goad each other in our blogs to out-crass and out-perv one another in our writing.



So check out my writers and friends. You won't be disappointed. I'm only sorry there weren't ten Zombie Chicken Awards, or twenty. As you can see my blogroll there to the right is pretty lengthy. Go ahead and click through them if you're looking for a surprising new voice.


XXOO (don't touch me),

Mandy