But it is so worth it.
Last night, as I was pulling off Campbell’s shorts and underpants to put on a pull-up (he stays dry nine nights out of ten, but that tenth is a doozy), he covered his crotch with his hands and wouldn’t move them for me. When I asked why, he said, “I don’t want god to see my p*nis.”
I was stumped and ended up gasping trying not to laugh. Those who know me, know I am not at all a god-fearing, church-going person, and aside from sending my kids to a very liberal Methodist preschool, religion doesn’t play a role in our family. So I have no idea where this whole “god is going to see me” stuff is coming from.
After a minute or two, I collected myself enough to be able to tell Campbell that there are billions of p*nises in the world, and god has too much to do to look at his.
That seemed to make him happy.
In the meantime, Elizabeth was bouncing around the room chanting, “goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.”
I’ve one kid who believes god is watching him all the time, and one who loves using his name in vain.
Yeah, I’m going to hell.