Justin's Panties

Justin calls his underwear "panties."

That's really not such a bad thing. Being two gay dads, you'd think we'd be the last people to force gender assignment on the poor kid's vernacular.

See, here's the thing. Justin has lived with seven women for the past three years of his life. There's Bonnie and Beeba, his two foster moms...Justuce, his own biological sister...and then there were four other foster sisters in his house...Ashlen, Kaelen, Jaeden, and Madisen, ranging in ages from 7 to 12.

All girls. All the time.

If any boy strolling by a laundry room door ever had occasion to overhear a big basket of underwear generically called "panties," ours would be the boy.

Justin says lots of funny things. Panties are just the frosting on the cake.

For starters, "Oh-my-gossshhhh!" with a long, frustrated, drawn-out "gosh," that we try so hard not to laugh at, because it's so damn cute, the way he respectfully replaces the standard OMG with a Mormon-approved "gosh." (Justin's foster family were LDS).

So, as much as it tickles us every time we hear it, we have to really try to bite our cheeks. Laughing at it would be salt in an open wound, since Justin primarily uses "oh my gosh" when he is Grade-A pissed. It's his go-to expression whenever he's frustrated with his sister's behavior, or not getting his way, or not getting to go first, or any other perceived episode of severe inequality or unfairness. And believe me, life deals out a dozen or more of those transgressions a day in Justin's world.

I wish you could hear how funny it is. In fact, in moments when he's not tossing it out as the real McCoy, even he knows it's cute, and isn't afraid to chew up the scenery with it. He'll perform it during meals if we ask him, with all the over-the-top gusto of $49.95 dinner theatre. "Oh-my-gossshhhh, more broccoli." "Oh-my-gossshhhh," no butter." Whatever we tell him to say, he'll parrot it back with his patented "oh my gosh," along with a few creative ad-libs of his own, "Oh-my-gossshhh, pee-pee, poo-poo, poopie."

Next on the list is "actually."

Justin changes his mind a lot. He's six, so that sort of comes with the territory, but chronology aside, his mind is usually elsewhere and he's just not too steady on the helm when it comes to making snap decisions.

"I don't want popcorn." Followed by a micro-second pause, then, "Actually, I do."

Only Justin talks a little fast sometimes, and his "actually" comes out a little slurred. It sounds more like "Ashley." So, we get all sorts of cute waffling:

"I want a bath tonight. No, Ashley, a shower."

"I want a yellow glow stick. No, Ashley a purple one."

"Justin, do you want some more salad?"

"No. Ashley, yes."

In private moments, Adam and I now mimic Justin's "Ashley."

"Hey, Dad. The kids are in day camp. Are you going to finish that second bottle of wine?"

"No, I've had enough. Ashley, yes. Keep pouring."

And finally, Justin transposes "you" and "didn't" with the marvelous charm and agility that only a six-year-old can pull off. "Why didn't you?" becomes "Why you didn't?"

The Anglophile in me wants to correct him, but the new parent in me hopes it lasts forever. We didn't get to baby Justuce and Justin. We adopted them at 6 and 7. We're catching the very tail-end of their little-kid-talk, and it's magical, and we'll only get to hear it for another half a heartbeat, and then it'll be gone. We need to savor it while we have it, because in the truest sense of the word, this one's here today, gone tomorrow.

So when Justin says wonderful funny things in the utmost sincerity, like, "Why you didn't tell me Scooby Doo was on?" or "Why you're not wearing your flip-flops?" it's all we can do not to giggle again. The questions, after all, are dead serious...it's just his syntax that needs a tweek. And we hope it doesn't come too soon.

Which brings me back to Justin's panties.

We prep them for day camp in the morning with a packet of clothes already downstairs. We stumbled onto the coolest trick in discovering they'll get dressed like a flash if we pre-roll their morning clothing packet for them...shorts, camp t-shirt, socks, underwear. Right after breakfast, before the TV goes on, we set the kitchen timer for ten minutes. If they get dressed, brush their teeth and comb their hair before the timer goes off, they get a Monopoly dollar and TV time. Five Monopoly dollars buys a chocolate coin. We are not above buying our new children's love and obedience with chocolate and the Cartoon Network. Not even up for debate.

But of course, the other day, as Justin dashed up the stairs with his clothing packet, ready to beat the timer for the fifth day running, he was more than a little annoyed with me because I remembered his shorts, socks and shirt, but I forgot to roll up the underwear in his packet of day wear.

"Oh-my-gossshhh!" he griped loudly from over the railing. "Why you didn't give me panties!"

And as much as I tried not to laugh, I couldn't keep it inside when I looked up at him. Justin was bare naked from the waist down, hands on his hips, pissed to beat the band, and there we were, making it worse, laughing hilariously, while the chocolate cartoon timer ticked on.

I promised myself right there on the spot, I wouldn't make it worse. I'd let my brand new son keep his dignity. I would never, ever tell the whole world he calls his underwear panties. I could never do that to him in a million years. No chance at all.

Ashley, yes.