Poking the Sleeping Dog

The book I so painstakingly chose to introduce JT to the world of sex, bodies and babies has been gathering dust on the bookshelf for about four months now.  He claimed to have no interest in the book.  I decided it was time for him to read the book because I like to torment myself, think I know what's best for everyone have heard some things from JT that let me know it was time.  I sent Mo out to play with friends and casually tossed the Where Did I Come From book to JT, with a casual "got something for you" (very, very, very casual. I'm so casual), and walked away to continue with my housework. Shutup.Yes, I was doing housework.  Sort of. I did break out a bottle of Windex and go to town busily spraying any glass surfaces with in 10 feet of JT.  He sat in the armchair and didn't move for about 20 minutes while he read the book cover to cover. I cleaned all around him like I wasn't the least bit interested in what he was doing. If I got too close, he'd close the book to where only he could see the page - as if I had no idea what he was reading. I was watching his little face like a hawk, of course. Accidentally sprayed myself with Windex a couple of times because I was paying so little attention to my "work." When he finished the book our conversation went something like this:

me: Do you have any questions?

JT: NO, I AM NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS. I WILL NEVER TALK ABOUT THIS. I WILL NEVER HAVE ANY QUESTIONS.

[He was not yelling, as the all-caps indicate, but he was quite adamant. His tone suggested finality.]

me: Okay, that's fine. By the way, there is nothing in this book that is "bad" in any way. God created our bodies and decided how we'd make babies. This is all very natural and normal.

JT: OKAY, MOM, BUT THERE WERE SOME VERY, VERY INAPPROPRIATE PICTURES IN THAT BOOK. I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

me: Will you at least tell me if you learned something new from reading this book?

JT: YES, OKAY? I LEARNED SOMETHING. BUT I WILL NEVER TALK ABOUT IT.

me: You don't have to talk to me. You can talk to Daddy. He knows all about this stuff, too. It's normal to have questions. You can't just know this stuff. If you ever want to talk, you can talk to me or Daddy.

JT: I. WILL. NEVER. TALK. ABOUT. THIS.

Could the kid have been any more clear? Why couldn't I just drop it? My poor kid is going to be telling his therapist about how his mom chased him around the room with a bottle of Windex while begging him to talk to her about where babies come from.

Wonder if this means he'll grow up to have perpetually dirty windows due to an aversion to Windex? I'm thinking that's a big, fat YES.

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.

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....

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.

Salmonella Shoes

I desperately need more sleep. I've had insomnia for the past three nights and just told JT that we were all going to get salmonella and die because he was standing on the kitchen counter while wearing shoes. Am I turning into the crazy mom who says random, nonsensical things and whose kids stop believing anything that comes out of her mouth? Because she is random. And nonsensical. And a sleep-deprived nut.

Oh, don’t ask why the kid was standing on the counter. His reasoning makes even less sense than contracting salmonella from shoes.

Homeschooling on the Road...Or Not

When planning a road trip I always have such high aspirations of what kind of schooling we can do while stuck in the van for hours on end. I compile loads of books, games, activities and actual schoolwork to pass the time. For this trip, I intended to further our study of George Washington and the American Revolution. I also intended to expand MO’s knowledge of geography since we were driving across four of the states she has been studying in her geography class. Yeah, well. *Sigh* This is what our trip was actually like.

The books on George Washington and the American Revolution were never cracked open. The audio tapes of George Washington’s life never made it into the player. We stopped in Alabama and purchased postcards at the Tourist Info Center. That was the extent of our geographical studies. Actually, that was the extent of our schooling. Unless you count life lessons in human body noises, the perils of an unhealthy diet (no relation to the human body noises) or the effects of poorly maintained (biggest pothole I’ve ever seen) roads on the tires of a loaded minivan (blow-out). We survived the trip. Isn’t that what really matters? We were in the van for over 13 hours. My #1 recommendation for road trips with children: CANDY. Lots and lots and lots of candy. The kids watched DVDs and ate candy all day long. They were happy campers. Spastically hyper campers, but very happy. This meant that Chet and I could actually converse and enjoy each other’s company. So nice. Never mind thoughts of rotting brains and teeth – a small price to pay for the sanity of the two adults in the van.

Speaking of rotting, I had the worst road trip meal of my life last night. We stopped somewhere in Mississippi and ordered burgers at a place where we could dine in our van. It was beyond disgusting. Hot, wilted, gooey lettuce, slimy meat, melting bun. BARF! The worse part of all is that one of the cooks came outside and stood right in front of our van. This guy had the biggest stomach I have ever seen on a man. It was like a droopy, uniboob stomach. It actually hung down to his crotch. Never seen anything like it. It was like a train wreck - I couldn't look away. Somehow this guy's stomach made my burger that much more disgusting. The kids were in awe of this man’s stomach. Thoughts of grasping that teachable moment to discuss proper food choices went out the window when I looked down at the giganto-burger goo in my own hands and the piles of candy wrappers littering the floor.

JT is the best little traveler. He hunkers down into his seat with his legos and action figures and pretty much refuses to budge until we arrive at our destination. We have to force him out of the van for potty breaks - I swear the kid is a camel. Both kids were completely entertained by the special features on one of their DVD’s where they could supplement the dialogue with "human noises." I'm sure you can imagine the crude, low-brow humor that ensued. Lots of burping, farting and toilet flushing sounds. Normally I'd be irritated that we'd purchased such a vacuous DVD, but yesterday I was thanking my lucky stars because those kids listened to cartoon characters open their mouths and have fart sounds come out for HOURS. They laughed so much - truly the best sound in the world.

The last two hours of the trip are always the hardest and last night MO was miserable. She'd be sleeping then suddenly sit upright and screech, "I can't sleeeeeep!" Then she'd mutter and toss and turn and go back to sleep only to sit up a few minutes later and screech, "When are we going to beeeeeee there?" If we weren't all so miserably tired and snarky it would've been quite funny. Actually, it's kinda funny now that I'm no longer trapped in the van.

We arrived in Louisiana to an empty house. My parents heard we were coming and took off lickety-split all the way to Arizona to get away from us. (Kidding, Mom.) My mother warned me that her cupboards would be bare since she and my dad have been traveling the country for the last week. My brood is up and muttering about empty bellies. Think I can sneak out to the grocery store pre-shower with my hair shoved into one of my dad's old hunting caps? Yeeaahhh, not gonna happen. Starve, people! Mama must shower.

To be continued….

Eating Through the Alphabet

I began by eating a cupcake in order to deal with the drama of a playdate gone bad with MO and two other little girls. It seemed like a logical stress reaction to me - stressful playdate, eat a cupcake. Three is NOT a good number for little girls. There was drama, drama, drama. Then, when Hubs did not come home to take the kids to karate, I moved on to Cheetos. I did not realize just how much I'd been looking forward to that hour of solitude until it was taken from me. Whine, whine, whine. Maybe I should've had a glass of wine. It would've helped with what was on the horizon for my evening.



The kids and I hunkered down for a night at home and I'm thinking that the drama is over. Silly, naive Cindy, the drama was just beginning! For one thing, MO wanders in to discuss the whole playdate/friendship/why doesn’t anyone like me thing during my six-minute bath. I take very public baths. In wanders one kid, two kid, red fish, blue fish.... Where is that damn Calgon??? Calgon promised to take me away, yet here I sit in a lukewarm bath with a draft from the door that keeps opening. Later, when Hubs called to say he'd not be home for at least another hour, the kids chose that moment to fight over the last orange sherbet popsicle (picture fists flying and the popsicle becoming airborne). While that is happening, the dog is barfing up a strawberry that she'd swallowed whole. "Love you so much, honey!" I say to Hubs as "Cell Block Tango" from CHICAGO is running through my mind. I finished up the night with a bowl of Corn Flakes.



Apparently, if it started with the letter C, I was going to eat it. I feel great. I feel wonderful. I feel great. I feel wonderful. Wonder what letter of the alphabet I'll eat my way through today?

Nothing Funny About It

I took MO for her 7 year well visit this week and flu shots all around. I THOUGHT I heard the nurse coming back into the room with the shots and decided to let the kids know what was coming - they'd both been asking and I was feeling bad about lying to them, er I mean, distracting them. They are getting too old for the distractions. They looked me in the eye and asked what was up and I caved. Yes, you are getting poked today I say with all the shame in the world masked as cheerful tranquility. I feel like the executioner or, more accurately, like the poor guy who had to drag the doomed to the executioner's ax. They both immediately went completely ape shit. Whining, Crying, Screaming, Wailing, Hand-Wringing...and what do I, their loving mother, do? I start to laugh. I cannot make myself stop laughing. I am so broken - what kind of a mother does something like that? It was as if someone added batteries and flipped a switch and they were ON. I've never seen anything quite like it. The nurse took another lifetime - okay, it was 5-10 minutes - before coming back. I volunteered to go first so they could see that it was no big deal. Except that during my flu shot they were both rolling on the floor with their hands covering their faces while wailing loudly (the kids were wailing, not their hands). I'm too tired and stressed from the whole emotionally taxing day to correct my grammar. Besides, my arm hurts. Karma, maybe?

Birthday Girl

Today is MO's birthday. I cannot believe she is seven years old. SEVEN! When did that happen? It seems like just yesterday she was clinging to my pants leg and begging to be held. Okay, that was yesterday. She is still a clinger - even at the newly minted age of 7. I cannot wait to see what Seven brings out in MO. Six was the year of Hot Wheels cars, Indiana Jones and baby dolls. MO is slowly turning from a complete tomboy into a bit of a girl. Certainly there are no frilly princesses in our future, but there has been a bit of nail polish and fashion consciousness here and there. This girl knows how to put an outfit together!

MO has formulated a Birthday Plan for the day which includes creating a cake in the shape of Mickey Mouse riding a skateboard. As expected, MO (aka Little Planner) has mapped out the entire day, including my allotted shower time. She gave me a full hour, which is more than generous, in my opinion. Guess I'd better get moving before I waste all of my shower time.

Broken

But, Mooooom, it's barely broken!

Really??? This means it is okay to use your sister's necklace as a slingshot? The fact that it is barely broken? What if it were completely broken? Then the ADHD brain would think, "Oops. I broke it. Now what?" While it is in the barely-broken stage, all systems are go and we can continue to slingshot the necklace across the room. Gotta love the mind of a 9 year old boy.

Bags Are Packed

MO, who is on the cusp of turning seven, loves to pack. She can pack herself for a trip like a pro. She also packs every single purse, backpack, shoebox, plastic bag, etc, that she can find. She'll pack any random items that she deems packable into pretty much any container. This makes finding, for example, her tights for church on Sunday morning somewhat difficult. You never know where they've been packed.

I was searching for something - I forget what - and came across a toy purse in which she'd packed a toy cell phone, a pair of panties and a toothbrush.

Let that sink in for a moment. Um, yeah, aren't these the items she's supposed to carry around in her purse during college? Isn't second grade a little early? I think so. I know it was just a random assortment of items in her little world, but this particular grouping freaked me out!

Broken-Hearted

JT could not find his beloved stuffed lion, Poquito (full name Poquito Tito for those of you who are Skippyjon Jones fans), last night before bed. I was exhausted and told him to just go to bed and that we'd search for Poquito in the morning. JT wailed, "But how can I sleep when my heart is breaking?" Poor, little buddy. Of course one cannot sleep when one's heart is breaking. This is why I was crawling around on all fours in a sleepy fog last night calling out to a stuffed animal.

Poquito didn't answer, in case you were wondering. But he was found, safe and sound, so JT's world could continue to turn. And I could succumb to the fog and get some sleep.