“What’s Wrong, Butthole?”

At some point earlier in the year, I declared that my book would be published by the end of 2022. Absolutely, definitely, no-doubt-about-it that thing was as good as done, mark my words.

However…

…unless an extraordinary amount of unusual productivity happens in the next two days, I will have to admit that I was a filthy lying liar that you should’ve never believed in the first place. Seriously, shame on you.

Okay okay, it’s actually my fault. Mostly. Life has its twists and turns, and mine was unusually curvy the last few months. I won’t go into all the changes now, but suffice it to say that 2023 is beginning a whole lot differently than we expected. And it’s not a bad thing. And before any rumors get started, no, there’s no family strife. I’m still madly in love with my talented techy former supermodel wife, and she’s still in love with her, um…talented? Witty? Okay, whatever the fuck I am, she’s still in love with me. Last I checked, anyway.

The kids are doing great as well. Though my two-year-old, Norah, keeps getting me in trouble. You see, she has really fallen in love with a dirty word. It doesn’t help that:

• Everyone, and I mean everyone, thinks that I’m the one that taught her the word.
• Probably because I taught her the word.
• I can’t stop laughing when she uses it.

Two weeks ago, my family was on one of our nightly drives, with the two girls strapped down in their child seats. Sasha, five-years-old now, is kind of prim and proper, and speaks in impressively cohesive, complete sentences. Norah still mostly speaks like she has a dozen marbles in her mouth. So you could imagine our surprise when out of nowhere, in the quiet of the minivan, Norah just blurted out:

“Sasha. Is. Butthole.”

Summoning all the parental skills we could muster, Evi and I addressed this ‘teachable moment’ by effectively and immediately laughing until our sides hurt. For like two minutes straight. So of course Norah was laughing as well, and with all three of us laughing, OF COURSE Sasha started crying.

Somehow, our protests to Norah about what she said rang really hollow when spoken through bellows of laughter. Sasha cried some more. When Evi and I were able to compose ourselves, we managed to tell Norah she shouldn’t have said that, and convince Sasha that she was not, in fact, a butthole.

A few nights later at the dinner table, Sasha was whining about the food we wanted her to eat. Norah turned to her and said, “What’s wrong, Butthole?” I tried to cover my mouth, but it was too late. Lots of laughs came out. Evi laughed as well, but then gave me a stern look about what I’m teaching our daughters.

A few days later, Sasha’s VPK teacher told Evi, “Sasha says that her sister calls her a naughty word all the time.”

“Um, did she say the word?” Evi asked.

The teacher just closed her eyes and nodded. Yes, I got in trouble.

So it’s going to get interesting these next few months. I have to help these girls develop and mature, when I did practically neither of those things. And have no plans to. Anyone who has a problem with it, I’ll just ask, “What’s wrong, Butthole?”

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