The “Magic Genius”

I knew this was a slippery slope the moment I opened my mouth.  But, there was no turning back.  Again, weak and vulnerable, and being peppered with questions, I let my guard down.  This time, however, I was surprised to get off the hook…and surprised, dammit, to wish that I wasn’t left alone so quickly.

Once again, this little story comes from a day at the farm.  Last week, we left school and went out to get some mini golf and ice cream gift cards for two of Thatcher’s friends who were having a joint party.  (No, not a “joint” party….that would be wildly inappropriate for boys turning 8!!  Although, those would be some parents that might be a trip to hang with).  I digress.  Anyway, with gift cards in hand, and our own ice creams to boot, we went around back to see the cows (again).

Somehow the question, “Are these cows boys or girls?” came up.  I should have seen the writing on the wall….but my almond joy ice cream was dripping down my arm and a tractor was heading right for us.  The next several questions led to a dissertation on cows.  I explained to them, within the best of my ability, that most of the cows we were seeing were girls…or heifers…and that boy “cows” are actually called bulls.  And that the bulls were kept separate.

Obviously….the next question was “Why are they kept separate?”    Sigh….here it comes.   Well, this is a dairy farm and it is the girl cows who provide the milk…so that they can make gallons of milk that you saw and the ice cream that you’re eating.  They don’t need the bulls for that.  But, they have some bulls around so that they can have more baby cows (like the one we watched being born last year)…some of which grow up to be the next dairy cows.  You see?  Ok, let’s go see the goats.

So….you can see where this is going.  It went down a little something like this….

Finn: Because it takes a daddy cow and a mommy cow to make a baby cow.

Me: That’s right, Finn.

Thatcher: (Because now, thankfully, Finn is suddenly more enthralled with the massive amounts of pee coming from one of the cows…and why there is smoke rising as it pelts the ground) So, how does the daddy cow help make the baby cow?

Me: Oh, that’s a story for another day.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m usually a fan of full disclosure…but, by 5:00…after a full day of getting the boys ready for school, out of the house, into their classrooms and then walking down the hallway to teach in my own classroom all day long, I have already answered approximately 3,741 questions…and I’m tired!!   So, “How are baby cows made?” is going to have to wait until I’m on my A Game.  Whenever the hell that might be.

Unbelievably though, for the first time EVER, the questions stopped.  The silence was down right scary.  It was uncomfortable and unchartered territory.  I knew I should leave it alone, relish in it even, but it was so foreign to me, that I was confused.  I thought about explaining more, but I let the quiet settle in….and I liked it.  After a few seconds, I even allowed myself to think, “Ok….well then…go with it…we’re good.  But just then…just when I thought I was in the clear…the little bugger piped up…and with a sinister little chuckle.

Me: What? What’s so funny?

Thatcher: Well, I just figured it out.

Me:  Figured what out?

Thatcher:  I mean…so… the mother cow has to lug the baby around in her belly…but that’s it.  Its the daddy cow who must be a G.E.N.I.U.S….because he’s the magic one who gets the baby in there in the first place.

And then Finn:  Yup, the daddy cow is the magic genius.

….and then, just like that, they happily ran off to see the goats.  Comfortable with the new found realization that they too will grow up some day to be the geniuses who do all the magic to “get the baby in there” so the mothers can simply lug the babies around.

Efff!  Don’t get me wrong…my husband is a very smart man who amazes me often with the knowledge he can impart on our children.  However, I figured that in regards to freakin’ pregnancy…just maybe, for once, I would be the magic genius.  But, alas, no.  Daddy is both magic and a genius.  And, “getting the baby in there” is an act of genius!  Fanfreakintastic.  My boys are going to be big hits with whatever poor teacher is charged with the task of educating them in a sex ed class years from now.

That’s ok, though.  Both boys have birthdays coming up within the next two months…..and guess who isn’t going to go all Pintrest Genius on their asses the way I normally do?!?!  Kidding…kind of.

And, to all you parents of daughters out there, I promise I will set them straight when the time is right.  Or better yet, I’ll defer to the genius.

 From the album Genius Loves Company…. 0f course


  • I just adore your posts Nichole – such cleverly elaborated snippets of your life.


    • Thanks, E.J. So kind of you. Never a dull moment for sure! More importantly, when can I go SUP with you??


  • Hey ‘Cole…Tip Top…didn’t have any kids, so I can’t totally relate,,,but, a great observation of life in your lane…loved Ray and the Belfast Cowboy at the end, was listening to them on them ride home by coincedence,,,,


  • ‘Cole…..that made me smile. Great song, right?!


  • Yes Nichole ~ another fine observation. I’m wondering if you have taken the boys to a horse farm yet ~ I have daughters ~ a stallion gave us the “grand salute”. Like you, avoiding the explanation seem to be the easier road to take ~ I simply assured them the horse would be ok ~


    • Yikes! Good to know. I now have quite the visual, as yes, I have seen that “grand salute” before….but my boys have yet to!! 🙂 Note to self…avoid horses.


  • Love love love loved this! I know it’s cliche but they do grow up way too fast. My 28 year old is a delight but there are lots of times that I miss that 3, 4 ,8 10 year old boy! Nice to see you are not only enjoying them but chronicling their youth.


Leaving a comment rewards the author of this post- add to the discussion here-

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s