We've had another hiccup here at 145B West Laurel Street. Yesterday Jack Peter got suspended from camp for a day and a half. I clearly need to blog more because it was only 2 blogs ago that Jack Peter got kicked off of the bus for 3 days. If there were a few more blog entries in there, he'd seem less diabolical.
He took an old iPhone to camp. He and his friend Caspar took pictures of their asses and in Jack Peter's case, penis. Jack Peter managed to convert the money shot of his penis into the screen saver. (Any of you out there who believe that my not letting my kids have computer/screen-time is holding them back is crazy. I'd have to work hard to convert an image into my screen saver; Jack Peter can figure that stuff out in milliseconds.) He then let everyone at camp take a peek at his new screen saver.
My first reaction was the typical, "What did I do to cause this?" I questioned my having-the-kids-change-into-their-bathing-suits-in-public policy. My hippy attitude towards nudity and the family showers popped into my head as did the careless placement of David Macaulay's HOW WE WORK in the living room. A month ago Jack Peter told me triumphantly and furtively at a restaurant that he knows how babies are made. "Dada puts his penis in your vagina!" I imagined excusing myself and going straight home to send an e-mail to the rest of the soon-to-be-2nd-Grade parents at Green Woods Charter School: Dear parents. It's time for "the talk" otherwise it's going to come from Jack Peter, and I'm not sure that's what you want. Love, Liz and Tim. Instead, I said, "You're right! Who told you that?" He responded, "I read it!" "Where did you read it?" "In a book in the living room!" "Which book?" "HOW WE WORK!" Some well-meaning person gave How Things Work and How We Work to Jack Peter when he was 3. How was I to know he'd read them cover to cover and commit them both to memory? I do still wonder why he whispered it, AND if he knew to whisper it, why did he not know that showing everyone at camp a picture of his penis was a bad idea?
Another recent development crossed my mind. Over dinner the other night we discovered that Jack Peter had put glue in his hair a month ago to make it stand up straight. I had been wondering why the texture seemed to have changed. There's only so much one can attribute to beach trips and our annual summer shampoo fast. Armed with our chocolate Oreo cookie dessert, we all went to shower together because we'd gone to the public pool. As I was vigorously scrubbing his head with Pantene, Steel was asking him if he'd used glitter glue. "NO! I don't want glitter in my hair! I just wanted it to stand straight up!" Steel agreed. They always agree with one another if the opinion has been shouted loudly in a tiled room. After the conditioner stage, Jack Peter said, "You know where I would want glitter?" Both girls were rapt. "On my penis!" They nodded in agreement. I had to get a little more, "Why would you want glitter on your penis?" His response, "I HAVE NO IDEA!" It took the world a long time to come up with vagazzling, and at 7, Jack Peter intuitively arrives at glitter penis?
apparently a student at Moore College of Art went to more extreme lengths to show everyone at camp his glitter penis....
So we have the choice of moving to New York City where such things are expected from a mayoral candidate or we move to the rural south where the sentencing is milder. Jen did query whether he'd ever get a birthday party again. His penance (beyond the obvious castration I've scheduled for next week) is doing Xtramath once a day. (a really annoying math facts website) He gets no dessert for a week, and we are not going out to get the birthday present he's been wanting to buy himself with the money Uncle Johnny and Aunt Tiff gave him. Clearly the iPhone is well out of reach, and I've engaged in subtle warfare. His voice won't carry any weight this week. We had pancakes this morning. He doesn't like them; the girls do. The girls got to choose the movie for movie night. (Pocahontas) Halfway through the movie, I called him out to do his math, and I handed them each some candy.
None of it is working. He's still gayly talking about getting Mindcraft on his next iPhone. I've explained to him that he won't have an i anything until he's a teenager, but it falls on deaf, utterly optimistic ears. My brother and his wife stopped here the other night on their way back to Florida from Mass. During the trip down, their kids had asked them the meaning of immune. The only definition that really clicked for them was, "Jack Peter is immune to punishment." I'm considering contacting Frances Weiner. Perhaps she and I could start some sort of support group for mothers of blithely optimistic exhibitionists-MOBOE.
By the way, please don't think that I'm vagazzled. I have an odd feeling about my own nudity. I always imagine that I could walk down the street completely naked, and no one would notice. I think it's because I don't really have any frills. My body is the Jetta diesel of bodies. It gets great mileage, but no one is going to worry too much about the paint job. I think I've felt that way because my mom had the body equivalent of a Town and Country Mini Van with leather seats, a sun roof and a DVD player in the back.