Willies. They’re a big thing in our house. This is not a boast about appendage size, by the way. It is more to do with frequency, there being three males in our house. Willies just seem to be… well, everywhere.
It is curious to be witness to my six year old become so fascinated with his willy, and sharing this new-found enthusiasm with his friends. One of his mates, at the lunch table, turned to my son and with a thoughtful look on his face, asked: “Do you want to see my willy?”
I stopped, mid-chew. As lunch time conversation topics go, I wasn’t quite prepared for this. Minecraft, definitely. How ninjas kill a baddie blindfolded, yes. How long it would take to cut off all your limbs with a light sabre, possibly. But an offer for my son to cast his eyes over his pal’s willy? Not so much.
E chewed his pasta slowly, seemingly considering the offer. The suspense was killing me.
“Go on, then,” he finally said.
“Woah!” I waved my fork around in front of me, a sauce-laden piece of penne skidding across the table. “No willies whilst we’re eating, thank you.”
Call me old fashioned, but there’s a sentence I didn’t ever anticipate saying.
And the whole getting naked thing is quite a popular play date past time, it seems, up there with Lego and light sabre battles. On one occasion, E was up in his room with a friend and his younger brother. I went up to offer them drinks, but refreshments were not really on their agenda. Instead, I found them all jumping around naked. I stood in the doorway, my brain creaking under the strain of trying to process what I was witness to. Three little tiddly willies, flapping around, accompanied by hoots of laughter and the odd swish of a plastic sword. (To clarify, that last statement was not a euphemism, one of them had the ‘even a naked pirate is never off duty’ thing going on). I could not decide whether I should be amused, horrified or dialing Childline, so instead I just offered them all some apple juice, with a warning not to sit down on the floor due to the copious scattering of Lego bricks. There was no way I was explaining to my friend’s mum as I handed him back that he may have a number of Lego bricks and a tiny construction worker holding a broom wedged up his bum crack.
But I got wise to the naked shenanigans. Next time E had a friend over, I intercepted the strip off. I opened the bedroom door to see two boys, fingers poised round shirt buttons, looking a tad sheepish. “No getting naked today, boys,” I said.
They looked crestfallen. “But why, mummy?”
“Because…” Actually, that was an excellent question. Why shouldn’t they get naked? I pondered for a moment, before realising there was no reason on earth why they shouldn’t. It is all a natural part of growing up. Mind you, so is picking your nose and eating it, and I roundly do not endorse that. So, as often with my scant parenting skills, I found myself backed into a Cul de Sac of Refusal of my own design and there was no way out without a massive reversal of position. And no one likes to see a parent clumsily reversing back up a narrow cul de sac. Someone could get killed, for God’s sake, or humiliated, at the very least.
“Because…” I continued, “it’s nearly tea time. Have you ever dropped steaming hot baked beans on a naked willy?”
Two pairs of widened eyes stare at me.
“Well… they are so hot… you’re in danger of your willy falling off.”
Hands moved away from buttons. Hah. Mummy 1, Willies Nil.
But despite that moment of triumph, it has not stemmed the tide of willies. If a new friend is invited to our house, I may casually ask the mum her position on willy waggling as a suitable past time. If she clutches her son to her breast with a horrified look, I make sure we crack open Junior Scrabble and stay well away from nudity. But most times, I let it happen. It means that play dates round our house resemble some kind of CBeebies Brokeback Mountain, but hey. Worse things happen at sea. In fact, worse things happen in our bath. Willy hoopla, anyone?
Did this raise a smile? A little titter? A guffaw? Did a tiny bit of wee come out? If so, would you do me the delightful favour of popping on over to http://www.thedogsdoodahs.com/funny-blog-award-2015.aspx and voting for my Mothering Frights blog, as it been shortlisted for The Dog’s Doodahs UK’s Funniest Blog 2015. And before you ask, no, my mum does not work for the Dog’s Doodahs. It will take about 1 minute. Honest. So go on. Please. I’ll be yer friend for ever.