Right now, I have mixed feelings about something I did this afternoon. On the one hand: Concern over whether what I did will have a long-term deleterious impact on things. On the other: The unshakeable truth that dammit, butts are funny.
Robert has a friend in his class whose companionship he values more dearly that just about anything. (Except maybe Legos. And tater tots.) Every day it's, "Me and Eric did [X]," or "Eric did [X], and I was, like, [Y]," or "You should have seen Eric's face when I did [Z]." In many cases, [X], [Y], or [Z] will involve the gluteus, because they're five, and that's the law.
Eric's mom, however, doesn't like when the boys prattle on and on about butts. When we're all together, on the way to school or on the playground, Robert has incited a butt-based dialog, and Eric's mom has wrinkled her nose and told the boys to cut it out. And she had a hard time concealing her distaste for the unclean guttersnipe who infects her own perfect child's brain with these evil, feculent thoughts.
Frankly, this is bullshit. When you're in kindergarten, butts are the most awesomely risible thing on the planet. And though I'm sensitive to people who think butts are not the most polite thing to discuss with your grandmother over tea and finger sandwiches, what exactly is the alternative? Tell him butts are bad, or dirty? Or tell him there are too many stuck-up stickybeats who can't forgive a five-year-old for a little rectum rhetoric?
So anyway. The boys and I were reading Dr. Seuss's "The Foot Book" this afternoon, and Robert said, "Wouldn't it be cool if there was a 'Butt Book'?" And I thought this was so hilarious that I re-read the book, inserting "butt" for "foot" along the way. The sniggering built over "wet butt, dry butt" and "Here comes a clown butt." We about lost it with "Small butt, big butt, here comes a pig butt." Then came "fuzzy fur butt," and we laughed so hard we set off about a dozen car alarms.
We all got a deep, cleansing laugh out of this, and then Robert took off to write his own "Butt Book," complete with wonderfully biological drawings. But Eric's mom is due for an eventual earful that I have officially endorsed, and if she's nutty enough she might choose to keep the boys apart when they're out of school. (I've seen this before, and it's not pretty.)
It's a shame when your kid's friends' parents have such big bugs up their asses.