My sister Molly is having a baby boy soon, and I think she needs to know what she has to look forward to in a few years. While sitting in the bleachers at my friend's softball game tonight, I heard a strange noise on the sidewalk behind me. I turned in my seat, and there he was. A little six or seven year old boy, pants down around his ankles, privates on display, spraying the cement with pee. Funny enough, the door to the men's room was only about 15 feet away. Lots of people were standing nearby, chatting and laughing amid the action of the two softball games, but no one seemed the notice the unfortunate incident in progress. He managed to make a nice little puddle before his mother caught him, pulled up his pants while scolding, and gave him a little swat before moving him away from the scene.

For the rest of the game, Emily and I entertained ourselves by keeping an eye on the wet spot left by the rapidly drying puddle. When a woman who obviously loved the color green (green vest, green shorts, green shoes, socks with a green stripe...) walked by, Emily instructed me to watch for her to step in it. Nope. In fact, people avoided the wet spot as though they had psychic knowledge of its origin. Finally, near the end, a player from another team stood on the stain while chatting with her family; her dog stood by sniffing it suspiciously. At one point, she set her sports bag on top of the spot, and Em and I let out a resounding EWWWWWW with giggles.

What are little boys made of? Snips and snails and puppy dog tails (don't forget the urge to pee on the sidewalk). That's what little boys are made of.