This will probably come as no surprise to you, but Lloyd and I disagree about many, many things: Whether stamps can go on envelopes upside down (yes); if it's okay to roll your corn on the cob in the butter dish (NO); where antlers belong in a decorating scheme (attic) and whether or not big Korean paintings of battling ships can be considered are (ummm, no).
One of the things in the very long list of disagreements is the appropriate terminology for body parts. I prefer the correct names, and if Weston has a question or shows interest in the body, I tell him the actual name, and we look it up in an anatomy book I got at the $1.39/lb store. Luckily books are 19 cents each, or this one would have cost about ten bucks. For his part, Lloyd prefers slang terms and uses them liberally.
Since I'm an open-minded gal and all around fabulous person, I try hard to avoid thinking or implying that my way is the best or only option. Lloyd is an excellent parent, and as ridiculous as it might seem, some of his ideas may actually have some merit and I accept them, if not wholeheartedly embrace them.
Naturally, this magnanimosity often results in consequences I don't particularly love. Like wound up kids at bedtime, bite marks in the block of cheese, and peeing competitions.
Or in this case, my four year old yelling at his playmates not to hit him in the nuts. 'Stay away from my testicles!' sounds much more refined, don't you think?