Lane and Ezra went to their first session with their therapist, Cheryl Oates. I did not go, but Mary Jo did, and it was predictably slow getting started. The boys aren’t sure they need to talk to anyone about their feelings and have no reason to trust Cheryl. However, Mary Jo and I have told them that there may be times when it’ll be really good to be able to tell someone something that’s bothering them and know that it’s going to remain just between them and Cheryl.

We were debriefing afterwards over Mexican food, and Ezra said, “Well, I did have something I needed to tell the therapist.” Pause, while we waited for deep thoughts. “I told her that Joyce farts a lot more than George.” Roaring laughter, and apparently the therapy session also laughed at this, which broke the tension.

[We won’t get into the factual issues around gas, but suffice to say that I believe I am just the same as I always was in this regard.]

The boys reported that Cheryl did get them to admit that the whole situation is pretty weird, and we talked about what to call me (they still want to use “dad,” but are aware of the possible need for something more discreet in the event they don’t want to explain my situation to their friends, and are thinking that “Aunt Joyce” might work).