I, too, pledge to spare you TMI
Testosterhome will not post any of the graphic details that happens in a world of young boys. I used to think these things were the creations of the mothers, and I would not have a son that said such things.
Stop laughing.
So I, too, will not share the, ummm, raw details of life, though I do have a few not-to-graphic funny moments that I, uh, will, uh, treasure. Like when I made Myles call Kate in her office and leave her an apologetic phone message that went like this: "Hi, Kate. I sorry. I sorry I peed on your door. I love you. Bye." Or when Myles switched from singing so sweetly Alleluia in the car to chanting the word Booger across the movie theater parking lot. I have a certain seven-year-old to thank for that.
So those times, when I think to myself, "I have entered the Testosterzone," to rip off blatanly Mrs. Balducci's blog title, I will not keep you updated.
May for the rest of your time here think we do nothing but throw footballs and go to museums. But NEVER at the same time (please God).
Stop laughing.
So I, too, will not share the, ummm, raw details of life, though I do have a few not-to-graphic funny moments that I, uh, will, uh, treasure. Like when I made Myles call Kate in her office and leave her an apologetic phone message that went like this: "Hi, Kate. I sorry. I sorry I peed on your door. I love you. Bye." Or when Myles switched from singing so sweetly Alleluia in the car to chanting the word Booger across the movie theater parking lot. I have a certain seven-year-old to thank for that.
So those times, when I think to myself, "I have entered the Testosterzone," to rip off blatanly Mrs. Balducci's blog title, I will not keep you updated.
May for the rest of your time here think we do nothing but throw footballs and go to museums. But NEVER at the same time (please God).
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