No More Babies.

The talk around our house lately has revolved around the kitties surgery...better known as "Jasper getting his balls cut off" when the Wild Ones are talking about it (I swear I never said any such thing, I'm pretty sure that the Big Guy didn't phrase it that way...but when you have young boys they seem fascinated with these types of words and are very creative in sliding them into conversation...and then running before they get caught). There is also much discussion about the fact that they (the kitties...not the Wild Ones) are now unable to have babies...and why the Big Guy and I would ever subject them to such a horror. No explanation is satisfactory and I am at the end of my creative abilities to have this discussion for three different levels of intellect...and maturity...all at the same time. My maturity level has plummeted...I can't stop the giggles and I think I shot a little water out my nose last night. When will I perfect the art of control...the perfect back turned, silent laugh, biting the inside of my cheek and holding back tears, the stern look at the inappropriate (but hilarious) comments? Hopefully not until the Wild Ones are grown and have to deal with their own kids...perhaps not even then.