the one where I also feigned ignorance...
The other night I was engrossed in a book while my sons, semi-comatose on the couch, watched wrestling on television.
I realize that sentence probably says a lot about my parenting style, but sometimes a mom needs to just not talk anymore, and I had made them put away their guns and drug paraphernalia when they'd gone upstairs to put pajamas on, so I think credit should be given there.
The boys love wrestling. They love talking about it, watching it, playing with their wrestling action figures in ways not reminiscent of a men's prison love story, and regaling me with various statistics. This, even though I sigh, roll my eyes, and tap my book and remind them that sports, even fake sports, confuse me.
So on this particular evening, I was just getting engrossed in a chapter of my book when I realized my sons had grown surprisingly quiet, prompting my eyes to travel toward the television screen, where I saw the following:
For those of you who can't see the video because of work or moral guidelines, it features WWE Diva Kelly Kelly doing the kind of dance one would find in a gentleman's club or sometimes in my bedroom when the Tool Man has had an especially rough week (except I don't think you can have a rough week EVERY week, so I need to have a talk with him soon). My oldest son had a look on his face that combined confusion and boredom perfectly. When Kelly Kelly got to the part of her routine where she stepped back and reached for the zipper on her tiny latex vest to hint at the reveal of her assets (50 seconds into the clip if you're so inclined), I heard this:
"Hey Mom, I have no idea what she's doing."
As I ripped my eyes from the television screen over to my oldest son, I admit I spent a moment replaying his comment in my mind, trying to determine where the inflection in his comment fell. Was it on "no," meaning he seriously had no idea what this dance routine was, or was it on "idea" and tinged with a dash of sarcasm, meaning he actually DID know, and it was making him feel a little funny in his tummy? Before I could ask him to repeat himself, he'd grabbed the remote control and was fast forwarding to get back to the scenes of the grappling, sweaty men talking smack to each other.
So perhaps I shouldn't be worried about my son growing up too fast, wanting to shave and move out. Or maybe the fact that he was fast forwarding to get to the men means I'm going to have to amend the talk. Either way, I think I have a bit more time to plan.
When I shared this tidbit with the Tool Man, and showed him the clip, he said he, too, had no idea what she was doing, but maybe it was time he plop down and watch wrestling with his sons now. I told him it would be a good time to have these little father and son talks. Bonding, he called it.
Then he asked me to dance for him because he'd had a rough week, but pity for him because I had a book to read.