Foresight is always 20/20

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

A few months ago, E was running around our front yard naked. Well, almost naked. He had shoes and a shirt on, so technically, he would have been served at any of the fine establishments that need to explicitly state their clothing requirements. He had the beginnings of a diaper rash and in an attempt to be proactive, I was letting his, you know, balls breathe. The shirt he was wearing was big on him and was just barely long enough to cover his diaper area, so I figured pish pash who cares. He's two. Most of our neighbors drive right by, wave and don't pay much attention to what we're doing. And anyway, it's our yard. I do what I want.

Scout, E and I are outside playing with this giant fabric frisbee I found at Target for $5. My sister shows up and shortly thereafter D gets home from work and well, now it's kind of a party. We're running around the yard, throwing the frisbee when our 70+ year old neighbor comes out to water her flowerpots.

Now, a little background. We love our neighbor. She's old, she's fragile, she's hard of hearing, and she is such a sweet woman. We shovel her driveway in the winter and she supplies us with cherry cider. She often compliments our family and - this is why I love her so - she includes the dog.

E throws the frisbee and it goes down into Opal's yard. He runs over to get it and turns to Opal, raising the frisbee triumphantly over his head, effectively exposing himself to her. I'm up by our front step, hiding my mortification behind my hand, hoping someone - anyone! - will run down there and grab him. A is sitting down on the sidewalk, choking on her laughter and caught between looking up at me and watching the peep show that is unfolding mere feet from her. D is closest to Opal and is trying to convince E in a low whisper to get. back. over. here. E is totally oblivious - too busy waving around his ginormous frisbee and telling Opal about how he throws! and he catches! and no Scout! no frisbee! It dawns on us that Opal hasn't quite realized what exactly is going on. She's nodding at E in that way that adults tend to do with toddlers, either because she can't hear him or can't understand him, and then all of a sudden, she tilts her head to the side and her 70+ year old eyes widen as they zoom in on E's nether regions. Her eyebrows slowly creep together and then they arch halfway up her forehead.

"My, that's a mighty big disk you have there."

This is where I pee my pants. Or come very, very close to it. She finally looks up and in our general direction announces:

"And he's certainly very proud of it."

This is where tears well up in my eyes and I have to turn away, at the risk of missing anything else dear, sweet 70+ year old Opal might say, for fear of literally springing a leak.

D runs down the incline between our yard and hers, scoops E up and smiles a huge smile at Opal. "Yes, yes he is."

The three of us can't compose ourselves. No one says a word for what seems like an eternity. Opal is still calmly watering her begonias while the three of us are in sheer agony - waiting for her to go inside so that we can laugh like a bunch of hyenas on Pixie sticks. And I can't help but think, well, at least her vision's still good. And it is a mighty big disk, isn't it?

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