So, it happened. The proverbial deer-in-headlights moment where your toddler says something, and you absolutely FREEZE because there is just nothing you can say that will make it any better… I never had a “most embarrasing moment” until having children. Mostly because I do not embarrass easily. Never say never.
One: We are at this restaurant called “Aldo’s” where they have awesome Italian subs. A little hole in the wall type spot. We are at lunch with all the women from my cell group, and with the head Pastor (my leader’s husband), and the associate Pastor, and a couple other guys from the church office. Vivia is sitting next to Aslinn, one of my best-ies, I am engrossed in conversation with Crystal, and out of nowhere I hear this:
Vivia: “What’s that?” pointing to Aslinn’s Cindy Crawford-like mole.
Aslinn: “A mole.”
Vivia: “Like on mommy’s boobs?”
followed by roars of laughter from everyone at the table.
I believe I must’ve turned 5 shades of red within seconds…
So needless to say, the entire male pastorship of my church knows a little TMI (too much information) about my anatomy…
Two: We are leaving Chick-Fil-A Tuesday and this lovely woman who works there comes over to help us clean off our table. She begins talking to Vivia, making small talk, and out of nowhere, V.V. says “You’re really really really black, and you have really really really curly hair.” I wanted to crawl under the table and hide, or ask her “Whose child is this?” but instead, I just said: “It took her three years to figure that out!” The lady laughed and told us a story of another little girl who told her that her hands were dirty and she needed to wash them.
Oh, I just thought of one more…
Our neighbors are Indian. Not like Lone Ranger and Tonto Indian, but the “Thank you, come again” kind. (I’m not being racist: I love people of ALL races- just quoting the Simpsons). Their house smells very strongly of Indian Curry and other spices that resemble the smell of body odor after a day in 100 degree heat. So, we walk outside to go to the car, spout out the obligatory greeting to them because they are always ALWAYS outside, and she goes… “I smell something stinks, mama- (uh-oh, here it comes…) smells like Likeet.” Likeet is the 3 year old son of the Indian family that we are constantly finding out on the sidewalk with his uncircumcised manhood for the world to see. And when I say manhood, I mean it! I wonder if that is why his father allows him outside, naked all the time: so as to parade around the idea of “Like father, like son.” Or “the apple not falling far from the tree…” Either way, I am NOT happy with the thought of my daughter learning about THAT just yet. Although, I am sure she’s already noticed, she doesn’t miss a beat. I can see her a few weeks from now bringing that up at lunch with my pastors: “Hey look Mommy, that looks like Likeet’s ___________. (insert whatever that little mind of hers will equate it to.)
So, how does one tactfully say to one’s neighbor… “Please do not let your son walk around with his freakishly large genetalia hanging out for my daughter’s virgin eyes to look upon?” hmmmm…
Good thing that’s what husbands are for… to have uncomfortable conversations with neighbors.
Ifya say “good luck with that one…” I’ll start throwing punches!