Rubbing butts in a Chinese restaurant

When I started this blog, I vowed that I would not fill it with cute stories about my kid. And I repeated that vow publicly last week. So when The Boy did something kinda funny this weekend, I insisted to myself that I would absolutely, positively NOT blog about it.

And then a devil appeared on my shoulder. He was eating Nutter Butters. And he thought I should write about it -- not the Nutter Butters. The Boy.

Devil: Go ahead, write about it ... you don't have anything else worthy, anyway, and it's kinda funny. By the way, you should also eat some Nutter Butters. They're fantastic.

I pondered his comments when a carrot-munching angel appeared on my other shoulder. And the debate began.

Angel: Here, have a carrot. And don't write that story. You said you wouldn't, and your blog's three, non-family readers are counting on you to keep that vow. If you relayed this story, you might lose them. Or one of them might burst into flames. You don't want that on your conscience.

Devil: Don't listen to that Vitamin A-lovin freak of nature, Nutter Butters are tasty and enjoyable and delicious. Your readers, on the other hand, don't have such high expectations for your blog, so put the story in!

At this point I began wondering why they were arguing about food when I wasn't even hungry. And then the angel noted that "a man of honor would not in his life continue to fill a blog with mindless stories about his kid when he said he wouldn't. Besides, your wife wouldn't like it. You're in enough trouble already and you'll probably sleep on the couch."

Devil: But it's about your wife's butt!

Convinced, I flicked the angel off my shoulder, reached for the package of Nutter Butters that suddenly appeared before me, and sat down to my laptop to tell you this story:

***

Every now and then these days I'm reminded exactly why it's a good idea to avoid doing certain things with The Wife while an impressionable young boy is nearby. This weekend was one of them. We went to a restaurant, a Chinese restaurant, and The Boy as usual carpeted the floor with a layer of noodles.

As I cleaned up top, The Wife got down on her knees and picked some up off the floor. At that moment, The Boy began rubbing her butt.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The Boy answered, but without controlling his volume. I might add that the restaurant was packed. "I'M RUBBING YOUR BUTT!!"

"No, you don't do that to mommies," she said.

"BUT IT MAKES THE BABY FEEL BETTER!"

At that we left the restaurant, and my personal wrestling match began.

And I'm glad we have a comfortable couch.


I'm also glad to be listed on this Web site here. And if you click on that link from the post, I'll give you a big, fat hug.