Every Tuesday night a local restaurant has a “Kids Eat Free” promo with tons of fun activities for the 10 and under set.  Last night we stopped by and let the kids indulge in some food of debatable nutritional value as they played with hand puppets and free balloon animals.   

The balloon artist (if that’s what they’re called?) was a multi-talented fellow able to make balloon accessories such as hats & belts, animals of course, and every parent’s favorite - balloon weapons.  Naturally, when faced with a virtual Noah’s Ark of balloon animals to choose from, Adam chose a weapon - a sword.  But, to my chagrin, he insisted that his sword needed to be pink. 

Today’s entry isn’t about how I have a problem with the sword being pink.  Honestly, I really don’t care what color is his favorite (although his happens to be pink at the moment), and I’m not worried about gender identity issues.  It’s just a color for goodness sake - not a lifestyle choice or an identity crisis - he’s not even 4!   But of all the colors Adam could have picked for a sword, blush pink resulted in the most phallic looking sword - ever.

Naturally, as Adam proudly pranced about poking people with his pretty, pink balloon sword, I found that I could barely maintain my parental composure.   Dick chastised me for my constant smirk and the whispered innuendos I shared with him when Adam was out of ear shot, but I’m guessing I’m not alone here.  I’m sure we all have those moments where the obvious sexual overtones of a child’s turn of phrase or the suggestive nature of a toy brings forth that 12 year old kid who dwells within us.   I just think my inner 12 year old must have a hair trigger because she’s constantly being silenced by the 36 year old mommy in me; the mommy who doesn’t want her kids to see how sick & twisted she really is - at least not until they’re old enough to be in on the joke.

Take Tabitha, for instance, who refuses to refer to her “Jessie” doll (from the movie Toy Story 2) as Jessie - she refers to the doll as “My Woody”.  I can’t tell you how many arguments I’ve refereed over Adam’s unwanted touching of Tabitha’s Woody or, worse yet, Tabitha’s unwanted touching of Adam’s Woody (his Toy Story Woody doll).   By my account, we’ve had more unwanted Woody touches than a Catholic boy’s school.

And then there are the naughty words our language-challenged pre-schoolers inadvertently stumble upon in their attempts at saying a real word.  For instance, Adam couldn’t say the word “clock” for the longest time.  That tricky “L” sound tripped him up every time.  This meant we were constantly looking at “the cock”.   Uh, yeah, that didn’t make me laugh too hard…

Tabitha’s superior verbal skills don’t save her from falling into the occasional unintended naughty word, either.  Just a few months ago, she struggled with the word “Froggy”, which, let me tell you sounds a whole lot like “Fuk me” when mangled by a 2 yr. old.

While I draw the line at actually teaching my kids inappropriate language or behavior for my  own sick amusement, I have to admit that I am the first one laughing when they poke, prod, trip, or stumble into my humor comfort zone where that 12 yr. old within still struggles to contain a laugh when someone says the word “gas”. 

So you tell me, how am I supposed to NOT allow my my mind to wander into dick & fart territory when faced with this most phallic-looking sword? (see photo below)