Kids say the darndest things . . .

I'm back from Orlando. It was an informative weekend, on many levels.

On one hand, I absolutely loved my teacher trainer this time. He's a typical gay man from South Beach, cut from the same cloth as my dear friend Roger. The teacher trainer's name is Matthew, and he is a wonderful teacher with a delightful personality. I feel like I learned so much, as far as verbal cues for the exercises, but I still have SO much to learn. When (assuming I pass the exam) I get Stott certified, it will certainly mean something. There were two physical therapists in class with me that said the functional anatomy we must know for the exam is more intense than they had for their state licensing. So if you run into a Pilates instructor that is Stott certified, they REALLY know what they are doing. So will I, one day.

On my drive back, I talked on my cell phone a lot. I have a friend I call Radio Dave. He used to be a DJ, and seems to have lots of free time on his hands. We talk every few months or so, and I always enjoy hearing his perspective. He has a way of "telling it like it is" without sounding hurtful or judgemental. So I told him about the woman in my class who indirectly told me I was lacking in intelligence because I wear makeup and don't walk around with a copy of War and Peace under my arm. Dave, ever the wise one, said there is probably a direct correlation between the width of her ass and her disdain for me. This made me laugh out loud, then he suggested I might be a bit too sensitive that I care what a complete stranger indirectly implies. Okay, so he has a point, perhaps two. I felt better after that.

So, on to the title of today's post. I was with Zachary in the bathroom. He is doing great on the potty, by the way, except for the whole "poop" thing. Oh well. Anyway, he had just flushed the toilet and I was holding his adorable little striped underwear waiting for him to put them on. Well, as usual, he was taking his time. He grabbed his genitalia and began scratching away at his testicles. I, being in a hurry, said "don't scratch there, let's put on your underwear." Then Zachary replied "I have itchy balls!" I just cracked up, I couldn't stifle my laughter. Zachary, ever the performer (where does he get that??), acknowledged my laughter by repeating that phrase over and over again. They start early, don't they?