This is what made me laugh the hardest all week, and it isn’t going to win me any “Mother of the Year” awards (and let’s be honest, that ship sailed long ago!).
The Middle and the Baby were engaged in a little after-dinner sparring match (we are all in martial arts, it’s what we do, we find joy in physically punishing each other, it’s our love language). The rules were set by me, or rather they developed as the battle went on. No elbows. No knees. No nut shots. Other than that, expect to get back what you give.
It was a truly amazing battle. They were throwing some stunning combinations, working on blocking and counter offensive moves. The Middle tried to restrain The Baby, who dropped his stance, broke the clench and kicked back as he stepped away. The kick landed squarely on the upper middle thigh of the The Middle. The Middle dropped to the floor (he’s our more dramatic child) hands lodged between his legs and began to roll on his back while telling his brother, “you’re not supposed to kick me in the nuts.” To which The Baby replied, “I didn’t kick you in the nuts, I kicked you in the labia!”
And that’s when I left the room, laughing uncontrollably and trying, through tears of laughter, to tell The Hubbin’ that he did a piss poor job of having “the talk” and he’d better get in there and explain to his sons that they cannot kick or be kicked in the labia. Those are just the simple rules of battle in our home