Why do I have these types of conversations in the car? Am I the only one?
Inquisitive Boy: Mom, what’s a cloaca?
Me (in the front of the car): What??
Boy: Clo-aaaaaaaaaaaaay-caaaaaa. What’s a cloaca?
Me: Uh, a cloaca? It’s a combined opening for the reproductive system, the digestive system, and the excretory system. Where did you hear that word?
Boy: So I have a cloaca?
Me: No, chickens have cloacas. They pee, poop, and push eggs out the same hole. You don’t have, well, that.
Twin Things (miraculously quiet up until this point): <snicker, snicker> Pee.
Two-Year Old Chanter: POOP! Poop. Poop. Poop.
Boy: Well, when I go to the bathroom, how do I know my sperm isn’t coming out?
Me (I’m trying to hear over the “Poop” chant): Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well, uh, that happens when you are older and, well, uh, it feels different. Trust me, you’ll know.
Boy: Mumble, sex, mumble, cocoon, mumble.
Twin Bothers: <sqeeeee, giggle, giggle, giggle>
Me (scared of what’s coming next): What?
Science Boy: Nothing. I was just telling my sisters how humans have sex.
Me (Poop! Poop! Poop! Poop!): Well? How do they have sex?
Boy of Knowledge: Well, they rub together in their mucus bubble and exchange sperm.
Me: siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. You know you’re not an earthworm, right? Right??
Boy: Duh, mom.
Me: siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
