The Talk

After striking out on finding a book that would give me a complete script guideline of what to say to my baby child about sex I knew I had to bite the bullet and just do it. A couple of weeks later, I was finally alone with JT in the car. I asked him if he had anything he’d like to talk with me about since MO was not around.

JT: Oh, yes, Mom, I have a couple of things.

Me: (Okay. Deep breath. I’m braced and as ready as I’ll ever be with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.) Go ahead and ask, Honey.

JT: Is the Tooth Fairy real?

Me: (oh, bother!) No, JT, she is not real. (*exasperated tone*) It’s me and Daddy just like Santa and the Easter Bunny. Anything else you want to talk about?

JT: Well, in a way Santa is real since Saint Nicholas was a real man who helped people, right? Was there a real person who took kids’ teeth and gave them money?

Me: No, JT. (growing frantic.  Is there some way to slow the car's progress since we're getting close to home and I may never have the gumption to tackle this topic again? Should I fake a flat tire?) Why don’t we talk about sex? Do you remember asking me about that and I told you we’d discuss it when MO was not around? Now is a pretty good time.

JT: Uh. Well. Uh. No, not really. I don’t want to talk about that. It’s too – ooooohh – just too gross.

Me: (Well, shit. Must come up with new approach.) Hmm, well, it seems that you already have some idea what sex is. Why don’t you tell me what you know about it so that I can correct any misunderstandings? Sometimes when your friends tell you things they are not sure about, they get some details wrong.

JT: No! It’s just too gross. I don’t want to think about it or talk about it!

Me: (Well, double-shit and damn. What has this kid heard?) JT, actually sex is not bad or gross. It is how babies are made and God created sex for men and women who are married. (Approach #3 - I’m working on the fly here).

JT: (completely horrified) WHAT?! God made that? What was HE thinking?

Me: (not going to answer that one in this conversation) Do you have an idea about what sex is?

JT: Yes and it’s too disgusting to say. It involves bad, bad, bad parts.

Me: (WHAT?! Since when is ‘private’ a synonym for ‘bad’? Why is my kid so screwed up here? This cannot be my fault, can it? Yes, it's always the mother's fault.) What do you mean by bad, JT?

JT: Well, mom, I’m only going to say this once, so make sure you’re listening.

Me: Well, say it loud, then ‘cause Mama’s hearing ain’t what it used to be.

JT: You rub your private parts together. It-it-it-it’s just too gross.

Me: (Yay! It's gross!  So glad to hear that it's gross!) Yes, JT that is pretty much right. There is more to it than that and I’ll be happy to tell you about it whenever you are ready to hear it. I also have a book for you all about sex and babies. You can have it whenever you want it. It’s okay that you think sex is gross right now. Several years from now (God willing) you will not think that sex is gross and you may have more questions about it. Daddy and I will be here to answer them.

JT: I will never want that book. Never. I want sex out of my head.  I want it out of my mind. And I want it out this world!

Immaturity Prevails

After my son tried to make my heart stop beating, I decided a trip to the bookstore for literary reinforcements was in order. I drug a friend with me to search for books on sex and bodies for kids whose parents are not ready for them to know about sex or understand their bodies. In no time at all, we were on the floor giggling like we were back in junior high. Let me just say that there are some baaaaaaaad books out there on this subject. Here’s an example: “Sometimes it feels good to touch your body. Some parts of your body feel better, more sensitive, than others. This is called m*sturbation.” On the top of the very next page: “Sometimes it feels good to touch other people, too.” Now mind you, this book is illustrated with cartoons and the touching other people page is about hugging mom and dad. But still! Still! No change of wavelengths from m*sturbation to hugging your mom. Ewww! It was sending me over the edge! One page had two kids, one dressed as a doctor and one covered in band aids that said something like, “It’s okay to be curious about what other people’s bodies look like.” Are you f*cking kidding me?!?!?! No It Is NOT!!! Well, of course curiosity is okay and normal, but it is not okay to talk your little sister, brother, cousin, neighbor, into taking her/his clothes off! Have mercy! One book for boys was narrated by a cartoon penis. I am not kidding, folks! Lots of discussion about poorly-timed erections, wet dreams, etc. I was nearly hysterical when I came across the cartoon penis. Actually, I kind of regret not buying that book simply because it was so funny. Bad, but funny. After perusing every book on the topic in the bookstore, I went home with Peter Mayle's gold standard, Where Did I Come From?

I am soooooooo not ready for this! I kept looking ever-so-longingly at the books on potty training and giving up pacifiers. Barnes and Noble has a bizarre sense of what books to shelve in the “Growing Up” section of the children’s department.

Warning: Strange Content

I just saw a promo on a children's television channel for an upcoming show.  The promo was this: Barnyard Animals Gone Wild!  There were red signs covering up some of the animals with words like Outrageous! Out of Control! Shocking! Strange Content!  So scandalous you must see it for yourself! I swear I'm not making this up.  Why in the world would a children's television show be modeled after something like that?  Y'all know what I'm talking about, right?  Girls Gone Wild, the p*rn videos of college girls doing x-rated things on camera during spring break.  All I can do is shake my head and mutter 'Why?' over and over.  Are the kids supposed to get that reference?  If so, WTF?!  Are the parents supposed to get that reference and think to themselves, "Oh cute, a cartoon commercial modeled after x-rated p*rn.  Let's Tivo that one for the kids."  If so, WTF?! 

What is this world coming to? Wow.  I feel even older today than usual.

Wholesome Summertime Fun

The next day (yes, it got worse), MO and JT came in all dirty and muddy from playing outside. I made them take their clothes off in the laundry room and sent them upstairs to clean up. MO came back down declaring, “JT wants to do sex with me.” Uh huh. You read it right. JT looked sheepish (in the kid’s defense, he has no clue what sex is at this point. He now had an inkling that it’s probably not something he should’ve mentioned to his sister). MO was – as I always knew she would be – put out and irritated that someone would say such a thing to her (even though she, also, doesn’t know what it means). I explained to JT that “doing sex” was not something that was okay. His reply? “Well, everyone else does it.” Uh huh. I smell tweenishness on the horizon. I told him that no, everyone does not do it. Of course he needed to know what IT actually IS. At this point, I wasn't sure how much he really wanted to know, but he did need an explanation. How is it that an afternoon of playing outside can so quickly go from wholesome summertime fun to, well, incest?!?!?!

The Birds and The Bees...and The Ostrich

This summer the birds and the bees reared their pesky little heads in our household. You know the ones I'm talking about....those birds and those bees. We're still dealing with the fallout from my oh-so-botched initial conversation with JT. It was just a normal summer day. We'd been to the beach earlier that day and I was hot, sandy, sticky and starving. All I wanted to do was cook supper and go take a shower. As I'm cooking, I suddenly I hear JT screech:

“Mooooooooom! MO’s having sex with the dog!”

I stood there for a moment thinking about the ignorant bliss of a few seconds gone by before turning around and sweetly saying, “What did you say, Honey?”

JT continued, “MO’s having sex with the dog! Look, she’s letting the dog lick her face!”

Whew. Okay. “Honey, MO is not having sex with the dog. She cannot have sex with the dog. (At this point MO is returning the dog’s kisses, minus the tongue). Your sister is kissing the dog. Kissing and sex are not the same thing. Please don’t say sex when you mean kissing.”

My turn to screech: "MO! STOP KISSING THE DOG THIS INSTANT!"

I turn back to my cooking, knowing that I will not get away with this. But foolishly hoping nonetheless.

“Well then, Mom, what is sex?”

Crap! And what does this totally unprepared mom say? “Well, JT, sex isn’t kissing.” Now I’m wracking my brain to try to remember exactly what sex is because suddenly I’ve forgotten. There is just a roaring train sound in my head. Nothing else. No synapses firing. Nada. Maybe a few crickets chirping, but that's it.

JT says, in a knowing tone, “Oh, thaaaaaat’s right, I know what sex is. It’s when a man and a woman take off their clothes and, you know, do stuff.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. This cannot be derailed. So, of course, I do the only obvious thing and tell JT that Daddy will talk to him as soon as he gets home. Then I call Hubs and tell him to get himself home asap.

Hubs works late in order to cower and hide from the discussion awaiting him at home. I don't blame him a bit.

I began to search Amazon and Barnes & Noble for the perfect sex-for-kids-who-are-too-young-to-know-about-sex book. I know he’s 9 years old. I learned about sex when I was 9. I was utterly disgusted by it all at the age of nine. I was determined to ‘do this right’ so I began with research. JT does not even weigh 50 pounds yet – he’s close at 48 – but somehow a 48-pounder is simply not ready to know about sex. Yes, I know how ridiculously mommy-headed that sounds. It’s my ostrich logic on this topic. I have no defense for it.

Just wait until you hear about my trip to the bookstore....

Thanks, Mr. Phlebotomist!

Earlier this week I had to give blood. This is never fun for me because I have the mortifying tendency to pass out. So, so embarrassing. I had to fast, of course. The overwhelming ramification of this is that I could not have my cup of coffee. No. Coffee. I had to get dressed, motivate JT and MO to get dressed, get us in the car and drive to the doctor's office with no coffee. I was not the least bit pleasant. Just ask my kids. No, wait, don't mention this day to them.





So there I was, stomping my way into the doctor's office with a scowl across my face at the crack of dawn. Or maybe it was 8:00 AM, which is the crack of dawn to most homeschoolers. Of course there is a guy hacking and coughing H1N1 germs all over the waiting room. I ordered the kids to not breathe as I glared at the sicko. I would've had all the compassion in the world for his plight IF I'D HAD A CUP OF COFFEE!!!! Thankfully, we only had to wait a few moments before I was called back for the torture.





The phlebotomist glanced at the kids and said, "No school today?" Snarl. I get this question all the time. All. The. Time. I hate this question. I find it rude and annoying. What business is it of the masses whether or not my kids are skipping school? Is everyone an undercover truancy officer? So when Mr. Phlebotomist asks me this question on a morning with no caffeine, I give him a surly, "We homeschool." Then I proceed to tell him all about my ridiculously Victorian tendency to pass out at the sight of my own blood. He quickly and graciously moves me to a private room where I can recline while giving blood. He proceeds to tell me that he and his sister were homeschooled and loved it. He distracted me throughout the bloodletting with wonderful stories of growing up homeschooled. He gave me his positive opinions on the socialization of homeschoolers. I was so wrapped up in the conversation that I hardly noticed the unpleasantness going on with the needle in my arm.





Thanks, Mr. Phlebotomist, for turning my day around!

Ganging Up

If you read yesterday's post, you can tell we're having a bit of a rocky week around here.


On Monday, Jacob was the "good cop." He did his schoolwork in a timely manner, with a happy heart. Morgan, on the other hand, dug into her role of "bad cop." She SMACKED the beads across the abacus with a scowl on her face during math. She whined and mumbled her way through reading.


On Tuesday, they switched roles. Morgan was cheerful and eager to tackle her schoolwork. She claimed that math was fun! She happily read from her reader. Jacob, oh Jacob. He snorted and snarled his way through math. He banged his head on the table while whining, "I can't doooooooo this!" He rolled his eyes through his language lesson.


This makes me want to whine, "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy????" Why can't we all just be happy AT THE SAME TIME?


I know, I know, I know, this is the way it goes. Kids have been ganging up against their mothers since they lived in caves. If only I could catch them planning their roles for the day. A little heads up would be so beneficial to my lesson-planning.

Do They Draw Straws?

Do they do it on purpose? This "good cop/bad cop" thing JT and MO do? Do they get up in the morning and secretly decide who gets to be the angelic, model citizen and who gets to be the terror-child? I wonder how they decide? Rock, Paper, Scissors? Is there a point system?

Why can't they both be "bad cop" on the same day? We could just hunker down and have one, big, nasty, miserable day full of griping and misery and be done. Then we could have a "good cop" day where everyone is happy and there is a rosy glow to our day filled with butterflies and singing.

I cannot remember the rules from my childhood. Surely, my brother and I knew them and strategically worked out the good cop/bad cop plan for each day. Right? I wonder if he remembers.

Now I'm curious about how families with more than two children work this out each day. Do the kids split the good cop/bad cop duties down the middle? What if there is an odd number of children? More good some days, more bad others? What about an only child?

Teachable Moments (Me or Them?)

As you know, we have a snake living in our garage. He's welcome to stay there as long as he doesn't get any ideas about coming into the house. Don't worry, he's non-venomous. He is welcome to hang out in the garage and eat as many frogs as his little snake heart desires. Last week the Frog Annihilator shed his skin and the kids found it. Oh, the wonder! Oh, the excitement! Oh, the teachable homeschool moment!

I exclaim, "Bring it in and we'll show Daddy when he gets home!"

Now, here is where my mothering fails miserably. I don't think to tell the kids WHERE to put the snakeskin. I stupidly think they'll just KNOW that the appropriate place to put a snakeskin is in a plastic bag, in the laundry room or in a plastic bag, on the school table.

Uh huh.

Imagine my shock when, hours later, I am cooking dinner and move a bowl of tomatoes to find the snakeskin perfectly posed on my kitchen counter. The skin "head" of the snake was looking directly at me. I managed to not scream. I managed to not throw the bowl of tomatoes across the room. I managed to not shriek in horror and do the I'm-such-a-girl-I-cannot-stand-this-ickiness dance.

Maybe I'm getting used to this parenting gig.

Smarter Than The Average Bear

Last night, I went upstairs to turn out lights and give goodnight kisses. When I got there I found my darling children playing a math card game from our math curriculum. I heard the sounds of the game as I approached and thought that I must be hearing things. But, no, there they were sweetly playing "Ten as the Minuend." I was so overjoyed that I let them stay up for an extra half hour.

Those homeschooled kids sure are smart, aren't they?