Family Jewels

For the past few weeks I've been walking that very sharp edge of reason, a hair's breadth away from total nervous breakdown. In that spirit, I thought to myself "you know what would be the icing on this crazy cake? A bathroom remodel!" And so, I started the massively daunting task of fixing up our matchbox-sized master bathroom. I've spackled, I've sanded, I've painted, I've prepped, and I've picked out new light fixtures and a new faucet.

Of course, no home improvement project is complete without a trip to the Home Depot. And, since we're throwing caution and sanity to the wind, it seemed like a great idea to go in the middle of the week with both boys in tow. Which I did. And survived to relay the tale. Not to mention share another reason to love Jack.

Our home depot has shopping carts that look like race cars, complete with upper-deck seating for a toddler that includes dual steering wheels. This is like catnip for Jack, who will usually sit for at least a whole 10 minutes before beginning the arduous process of melting down entirely. On this particular day, he lasted for a whole 15 minutes before deciding he needed to try to climb down into the shopping basket section of the cart.

Don't ask me why he wasn't buckled in - if you have to ask, you don't have a two year old. (the belt lasted about 2 minutes, before he was possessed of demons who would not be chained by such a torture device.) I was busy discussing the relative merits of mold-resistant paint for the bathroom with the twenty-something "paint expert" when Jack decided it would be more fun to ride in the basket section of the cart.

The problem with his brilliant idea was that that basket section was a full 8 inches lower than the upper section he was climbing from, so as he stepped down into the basket with one foot he went considerably further down than he was expecting, thereby giving himself his very first experience with the crushing of his man parts.

There were tears and screams as his two little hands desperately covered his injured bits. I held him and rocked him and did my best to comfort him while the paint guy winced sympathetically at his plight. Bless his heart, the guy disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a Mickey Mouse sticker. He handed it to Jack and said "here you go, buddy. Maybe this will make you feel better."

Jack happily took his prize, peeled the paper backing off, and very gently and deliberately placed it directly on his injured crotch.

I covered my face while I laughed until I was pretty sure I might puke. Paint Guy made his strategic retreat. And, as we beat feet for the checkout line, Jack happily pointed out his Mickey Mouse crotch to anyone he could make eye contact with.

Kids teach you humility, for certain. Of course, I'll get my revenge when he starts bringing the girlfriends home. I only wish I'd had the presence of mind to get photographic evidence. I'm evil like that.