The Naked Game

Do you ever have times when your child makes you sound like a gigantic creep by not telling a back-story to a statement they word vomit out of their teeny, tiny mouths? Well of course, my child makes me sound like a creep on a daily basis.  I am actually quite surprised I am allowed to live near a school. 

Here is the latest:

Currently, Cory is working on the road a few days a week.  Every night before bed, he calls to say good night to Chase and to see how his day was.  Here is their conversation from Tuesday night:

Cory: “Hi, Chase. How was your day?”

Chase: “Me and Mommy played the naked game. Twice.”

Cory: “Um, Can I talk to your Mom?”

I know what you’re thinking; Jayme is a pedophile (and I don’t blame you, my child tends to make me out to be a creep even in the most innocent of situations). It was then that I ripped the phone out of his small, sticky hands and had to explain the back-story. 

Actually, if he told the story correctly it would have gone like this:

Cory: “Hi, Chase. How was your day?”

Chase: “Hi, Daddy.  It was my best day ever.  Mom and I went to Chuck-E-Cheese.  My favorite game was Operation.  We played it twice.  Oh, and I love my Mommy.”

But of course instead, he belts out that we played the “naked game, twice” instead of playing the gigantic Operation game (where naturally, the character is naked so we can try to steal the bones out of his body.  Come to think of it, that game does seem a little inappropriate and may start some lost kids on a path of stealing human bones and selling them on the black market to fill some internal need not met by their mother in their most formative years. Or maybe not, who knows, I’m sure the ‘effects of the operation game at Chuck-E-Cheese on small children’ studies haven’t been conducted yet.)   

I think it is best that from now on I screen all of Chase’s calls so I don’t get turned into Child Protective Services. 

On a side note:  While we were standing in the checkout line at the mall last night, out of nowhere, Chase roars at the top of his 3 year old, spunky, lungs, “My Mommy is a penis.”

Some days, I’m not so proud.