Hey! He's still a little boy!

Last night, we're leaving aikido, rounding up all the kids.  One of the boys friends comes up and says "Have you SEEN the size of Ben's (my 8 yr old) tongue?  It's so long!!" in an incredulous voice.

I'm thinking, what?  Did he get hurt or something?  And up trots Ben, laughing.  "Look, Mom!"  he sticks out his tongue.  Hey!  It is long!  I guess I never noticed before.  "Dude, put that away, bud, no one wants to be looking at that right now."  I quip to my friend standing nearby (as Ben runs off) "That'll serve you well when you're older."  And we get a giggle out of it.

I'm just glad none of the men folk were around, because that could've turned ugly in a hurry.  Funny, I'll admit, but, well, you know.  *blush, baby, blush* (I'm not saying I can't dish it out.  But the other day I related an off-color story to Mr W and well, let's just say he cut me off before I could finish it, and I was the one that felt like a perve, so my blushing tolerance has been temporarily reset.  Hey, it's not my fault that I was being somewhat enlightened on remote-controlled pocket vibrators by two of my (male) colleagues.  I didn't even know such a thing existed...wtf?  The conversation started out innocently enough, about cell phones set on vibrate...then took a turn.)

Tonight, as we were leaving, poor Ben's tongue was brought to my attention again.  He and my friend's son even went so far as to stick out both their tongues.  Man, I thought,  I'm not touching this with a 10-foot pole.  Not that I'd say anything damaging to anyone's psyche, but my son's friend is old enough and I think savvy enough that he'd catch any double entendre I could think of, and this time the Dads were right there,  so I just chuckled to myself.  I'm not about to get the big boys started on a tutorial right there in the parking garage.  Nah, I think that'd either max out my blushing tolerance or I'd say something that'd get me into trouble. 

I have to wonder, is that how it starts out, with boys?  First they compare the size/length/whatever of benign body parts, and then they move on to the 'mine is the biggest' part of the game?   And when does this all start?  Afterall, I've yet to hear my three going on about it; not that they've not made an occasional comment here and there.

I'm in uncharted waters here, people.  Soon, the testosterone bomb is gonna hit, and I'll have to duck and cover, because I'm just outnumbered.   (As Kelly put it, I've exceeded the one-child-per-parent (or was it hand?) rule; apparently I didn't read that fine print in the "here's your baby" manual.) 

I'll have to combine forces with my ally, ("wonderparent powers--activate! form of supermom!  form of superdad!") and hope to make it through: 

1.  The talk

2.  The rearing of the ugly head of adolescence, with all the hormones and pleasantness that'll be sure to bring.  (see testosterone bomb, above, and um, remember, this step is x3, with an estrogen bomb chaser...)

3.  Dating, and her sister, broken hearts.

4.  The refresher talk

5.   What do you mean, you wrecked my car/don't want to finish school/met your soulmate ten days ago and are calling me from Vegas?  (just to keep us on our toes)

Maybe I should start stocking up on the hard liquor now, or prepaying on my stay at the mental health facility of my choice. 

We could always resort to our 'rock, paper, scissors' method of who's handling this next question/crisis.  It's gotten us through the poop so far, why mess with a good thing?