Clip on Ties are Called Neckwear for a Reason

With all the bad press teenage abstinence has gotten in the last few months, I had planned to write some thoughts on the topic. However, a couple of items will keep me from it today.

First, I spent the night in agony due to the dreaded UTI. So a call to the doctor is in order today. Why do those things always strike at night?

Secondly, I feel more inclined to relate a hilariously tragic incident that happened at our house last night, once again involving the incorrigibly curious Griffin:

Having returned home rather late from a music recital, and still without Mr. Wicke who was involved in church meetings, I make a deal with the children to alleviate the common aggravation of bedtime.

"When we get in the house, if you can run upstairs and get dressed in under five minutes, you can have dessert."

"Ten minutes," Griffin finagles.

"Nope. Five minutes is plenty of time."

"Ten minutes." I'd really have to admire his tenacity if it wasn't so wearing.

"Well, you don't have to get dessert. Five minutes is the deal. Take it or leave it."

I start timing them upon entering the house. Once we get past some initial wrestling and jockeying for position at the bottom of the stairs, my plan works marvelously. Logan is back downstairs with easily three minutes to go.

"I'm done!! How much longer is there?"

"Wow! There's at least three minutes left. You were super fast!"

Immediately I hear screaming from Griffin's room. "Griff. It's okay! You still have three minutes!"

The screaming escalates. "Griffin! Stop! What is going on?!"

He attempts some kind of strangled wail that is incomprehensible for the most part except for "on me." That's all I can understand, and my mind fills in the gaps. "Scorpion!" my mind screams. Behind me I hear Logan gasp, "Oh, no." With the caterwauling continuing in a frightful manner, I run, big belly and all, taking the steps two at a time. I can't get there fast enough. My baby continues to shriek in a way that terrifies me. Logan, following close on my heels, begins to cry in empathy.

We reach the top of the stairs and round the corner to find Griffin standing naked in the hallway, and it all begins to register. I finally understand that he has been yelling, "My tie is on my pee pee" as I see that, indeed, his clip on tie is firmly clipped to the end of his personal jewels.

"What in the--Son! What did you do?"

"I didn't do it!" He howls, tears streaming down his face as I desperately try to remove the objectionable instrument with as little pain as possible, which, as it turns out, is impossible. Those clips are sturdy little buggers, I tell ya. As it finally, and unfortunately, slips off, he wails a final, "Ooooowwwww!!"

Despite the fact that he has brought this on himself, my heart breaks for him just the same, and I gather him in my arms and cover his face in kisses. "It's alright. You're okay now," I soothe.

"Gosh," Logan sighs in relief. "I thought the drawers had fallen on him."

"I know. That was scary," I fully agree.

When the crying subsides somewhat I say, "What were you thinking? Why would you put that on your pee pee?"

"Yeah," his sister demands. "Why did you do that?" Apparently this sort of behavior is way out of the realm of girlyhood.

"I didn't!" he insists.

"Griffin. That didn't get on there by itself."

"I was just standing there, and..."

"Okay, whatever. Just go get your pj's on." And as he walks back into his bedroom, that's when the absolute and undeniable hilarity of the situation hits me. I can't help myself. I begin to laugh the kind of laugh you laugh in church. The kind that is impossible to control. The kind that only gets worse when you're called on it. Logan joins in, and I desperately signal her to try to be quiet.

"It's not funny!" Griffin's dignity, at least what there is left of it, is terribly offended.

"I'm not laughing at you," I insist as I try to gather myself, but the giggle sits uncomfortably in my throat and tears burn the corners of my eyes. I can't maintain this precarious composure for long. "I need to go to the bathroom," I utter, and I make a hasty retreat where I lock the door and giggle myself silly.

But I'll be switched if getting his pj's on didn't take closer to ten minutes, and he got his ice cream anyway. Turns out, despite his unbrainy behavior, he may be a master negotiator, and I'll bet he's a lot smarter this morning about exactly where a man is supposed to wear his tie, too.