I sat one morning this week finishing my bowl of cereal when my youngest comes rushing into the kitchen, wearing the triumphant grin of a tattler.

“Mommy, mommy, he’s popping his pegs,” he tells me, ratting out his bigger brother, and expecting me to curb such appalling behavior.  He’s cute and a red head, so I could have agreed and just said, “Off with the oldest head,” except I’d never heard the term ‘popping his pegs’ before.

Undeterred by my, “Huh” and dumb founded expression, he took my hand and pulled me into my bedroom where the other kids were waiting in their swim suits to be coated in sunscreen for the day.

“He’s popping his pegs, he’s popping his pegs.”  He pointed at my oldest who had his head down with a bright red flush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks.

I ask what he was doing but he refuses to show me at first.  Like every parent, his refusal makes me think the worst of whatever ‘popping his pegs’ is.  “You show me right now,” I demand listing out the many privileges I will be taking away from my eleven-year-old if he doesn’t.

To my surprise, he starts flexing his pectoral muscles in an alternating pattern (left, right, left, right, left, right…) like some ripped beef-cake showing off for the women on the beach.

I burst out laughing, realizing ‘popping his pegs’ actually meant ‘popping his pecks’, which of course only embarrasses my oldest more.

Thankfully no punishment was needed, but I did have to warn—okay tease—my oldest.  “Careful who you pop those pegs in front of; girls might try and follow you home.”  Those “peg poppers” are potent stuff. 🙂