The Cup Runneth Over

“Go ask Mommy,” I heard my husband say to Conor from the boys’ bathroom. “She’s in Aidan’s room.”

Uh oh, I thought.  What now? Please don’t ask me if you can have the $96 calculator for Christmas again.  It’s only May.

“Mom?” Conor asked liltingly as he comes through the door.  Jim followed close on his heels.

“Yes, Conor,” I replied, barely looking up from my laptop.  I usually work on my blog while Aidan reads a book before bed.  He likes the company.

“Mom?  What’s this?” he asked inquisitively.  

I don't know, what’s that he’s got in his hand? 

He came closer.

“That’s Aidan’s cup for baseball,” I replied, trying hard not to giggle at the black and silver protective cup in Conor's hand.  My husband has forbade me from giggling about the whole cup thing. Protecting your jewels must be no laughing matter, I suppose.

“He wears it to protect his penis,” I finished.

Conor burst into laughter.  I swear, we rarely hear him laugh so naturally like that. He turned to look at his dad with a smile in his eyes and more giggling.  He threw the cup on Aidan’s bed and left the room, still giggling.

I think I just got punk'd by my autistic kid.

“It’s really for his testicles, hon,” my husband winked at me.

I swear, I don’t know how you guys walk around with those things.