Pee-Pee

It’s no secret that Chase can sometimes (and when I say sometimes, I mean always) be embarrassing in public.  He is often quite embarrassing at home, but at least there is no one (but my soul) to apologize to there.

So, yesterday (in true Kleinermann fashion (see what I did there combining Cory and my last names- clever huh?) we scurried to Fleet Farm last minute to get some sort of deer hunting license for Cory (I’m not quite sure what type of licenses he needed.  I’m sure Cory told me while we were standing in line, but I was probably distracted by the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that were taunting me as I stood in line).  What started out as a quick, normal errand turned creepy, fast…. real fast.  

We were standing in line at customer service and Chase was perched, as normal, on my hip.  It was getting quite late (7:30pm- yes, that is late, even on a Thirsty Thursday) and Chase was getting tired so he had his sweet little noggin resting on my shoulder when out of nowhere he screeches, “Mom, stop hurting my pee-pee!”

Naturally, I was the only female standing in a deer hunting license line and every single man dressed in Wrangler jeans, boots and flannel shirts turned around to see who was violating this sweet, curly haired tot dressed in camouflage pjs. 

I immediately started searching around for a hole to crawl in, but there wasn't one in sight- at this moment, I would have crawled into a bear’s den covered in honey. Instead, I just stood there, weeping inside to myself hoping that every person in Fleet Farm was hard of hearing.

As it turns out, Chase’s “junk was getting crushed” (his words, not mine) from me holding him on my hip.  I guess one downfall of wearing big boy undies is that there is no more cushion to protect your man jewels.  Oh, the troubles toddlers face on a daily basis.   

Who doesn't love a naked tea party in the sink?