Living With Second Graders

I composed this blog post in my brain whilst doing the dishes this evening. As I soaped and scrubbed the roasting pan, scraping little brown bits of cooked pig, I couldn't help but think, "Dang, pork juice smells good," much to the presumed chagrin of all my Jewish relatives.

But I digress. (But isn't that the point of a blog?)

Anyhoo..

I live with a 2nd grader. And the dinner conversation tonight surrounded on the code language spoken amongst the 2nd graders at my daughter's school.

Code is necessary for kids to say foul and inappropriate things in class, in front of teachers and, yes, at the dinner table.

Let me enlighten you about some of the primo code words currently in circulation in Ms. Smith's class:

Nest -- A nest is code for penis. Why is a nest a penis? I'm not sure, other than perhaps it is bunched up and a home for eggs?

Sauce -- Sauce means "poop." It's somewhat descriptive, yet totally gross. Every time I ask the kids, "Do you want the sauce on top of the pork or on the side?" they fall apart in waves of laughter. Yes, both children: The daughter has taught her younger brother the secret language. So when he starts kindergarten in the fall, he'll know everything. We are already expecting calls from parents who will be shocked by such language.

Balls -- This is a goodie, because it's not what you think. That's what makes the code so hysterical. It's both functional so the kids can feel they are pulling one over on the grownups, yet highly ironic in ways that only a grownup can know. Balls, for example, means "boobs." I guess because boobs are round? Although I'm fairly certain none of the children in my house have ever witnessed round boobs in real life. Flattish, slightly oblong boobs, yes. Maybe they should be called "pouches." Clearly, my daughter didn't author balls.

Slice -- Care to venture a guess on this one? A slice is a vagina. Sometimes known as a slicer. I thought my husband was going to snort pork sauce (an actual sauce, of honey and dijon mustard) from his nostrils when this fact was uncovered. Not a bad code word, huh? Better still, is that it was allegedly coined by someone's little sister in kindergarten. Kids, right?

I put an end to the conversation, changing the subject by asking everybody to tell me their favorite thing about dinner.

Husband: The texture of the pork -- it was perfect! (He made it, so props to him.)

Son: The sauce. (In all seriousness, he really liked it.)

Me: The fact that I didn't have to make it! (See hubby's comment.)

Daughter: The pink.

What?
Oh the innocent irony.

Got any good new words?