Much ado about balls.

Today some of the neighbor children were playing in the back yard with Kane, Jude, and Reed. I was attempting to straighten up inside when Kane came in with teary eyes and asked if I could please tell their friend D to go home. I asked him what was going on.

"Well, a minute ago Earl elbowed me in the back. That didn't hurt too bad, but then just now D punched me in the balls."

I have to tell you, there are very few things in life that render me completely unable to speak. Get out your camera and take a picture, because this is one of them.

While we're on the subject, last Thursday Kristi was here and we were getting Reed ready for bed. He was in the tub and telling a really long story that we couldn't really understand. He kept leaning back on his hands and lifting his hips out of the water, and we eventually discerned that he was talking about falling down and hurting his little boy area. Then, when he stopped talking and Kristi and I just sat there staring at him, he was forced to say, "MY DICK." Like, "GOOD LORD, do I have to spell it out for you?"

We were like, RIGHT. EXACTLY. We managed to distract him onto another subject, but the moment is forever burned into my brain.

I can't wait until he's sixteen and I can send links to this blog to his girlfriend.