“I smelled your little boy’s bottom,” Tyler says to another mom at McDonald’s.
She looks to me. And my mind races with hopefuls that she misunderstood, that she is a woman of grace, that she doesn’t think I’m raising a pedophile. Honestly, he’s just all boy. They think such audacities are somehow humorous.
I rush into the conversation, trying to explain… explain what?
She said to him, in a very kind voice, “You did? Well, that’s just silly and gross.”
But before I can say anything to try to save the moment and the day and my dignity, she breaks with a smile.
“Is this your son? Oh, I love him for saying that just now! I could just scoop him up this second. My little boy is three, and he has just recently chosen to no longer be my baby boy.” She pointed to the charming little man climbing with my boys. Climbing, and likely sniffing.
She continued, “And he’s always talking about bottoms and (insert the list that I don’t wish to even type again since I value the economy of words). Our entire community is made up of little girls, and they just seem to think differently. Like, waaaaay differently. Honestly, your little boy seriously refreshed my soul just now.”
She made motions to squeeze his cheeks and scoop him up and do with him what she wished in reward for this gift of encouragement. Tyler smiled at her with his charming dimples and irresistible Tylerness.
Oh, what is that pat-answer, over-used phrase I don’t love? Ah, yes. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Indeed. There’s no other way to explain this one.