From the Mouths of Babes

No matter how close mothers and daughters are, they will always have some different ideas about how to raise children. My mother truly believes, that next to herself, I am the greatest mother in the world; yet there are insignificant issues that leave her shaking her head unable to bite her tongue.

From the time my son Reese could talk, I taught him the correct names for the human anatomy. I didn’t do it as a personal rebellion for the names my mother taught us as children of “woohas” and “woos.” Those are perfectly delightful; it just never occurred to me that it was supposed to be a family tradition. Everyone knows what you're talking about, so I didn’t see a purpose of giving his privates a cute little name like “wingy-dingy.” It hardly seems fair. The armpit doesn’t get its own nickname. And, to be honest, it is much more fun to use the correct term and shock the hell out of Nanny. This brings me to my favorite “woo-ha” vocabulary memory.

My mother and I were taking my three nieces and my son, who at the time was four, to the zoo. Because of the invention of car DVD players it was a peaceful ride. I was almost dozing off when we went over one of those little hills where your stomach drops just a little.

My son giggled and announced, “Penis tickler!”

My mother, appalled, said, “Reese Gregory, you do not say penis with a car full of ladies!”

I don’t know who was trying harder not to laugh, me or my little nieces, whose ages ranged from seven to ten.

Immediately saddened that he had upset anyone, my son softly said, “I’m sorry, Nanny.” Only the slightest pause occurred before he made the world right again. “Vagina tickler,” he corrected himself.

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