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?!?!?!

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.

Stalked!

I am so ridiculously terrified of frogs. Cute, tiny, Kermity frogs scare the shit out of me. It is all because a little tree frog threw himself backwards off a wall and landed on my face many years ago. My face! I’ve just barely regained my sanity from that episode. Frogs are still tiny and cute when there is a thick glass separating me from their crazy jumpadelic tendencies. There was a frog (okay, probably a toad) the size of my arm doing the backstroke in my in-law’s pool one night this summer and I almost lost my mind. I was screeching to the kids, “Get the frog! Scoop him with a bucket and throw him over the wall! Hurry! Eeeeeekkkk, he’s looking at me!!!! Hurry!” I curled myself into the fetal position in a deck chair while the 6, 8 and 9 year old kids tried to get him out of the pool. I am not the brave one when it comes to frogs. I can handle snakes, spiders, pretty much any vermin – just not frogs. My nephew was the hero who scooped the frog up out of the pool and tossed him over the concrete wall. The wall has decorative cut-outs in it and the damn frog crawled back up and peeked over ‘window’ made by one of the cut-outs. All we could see was the top of his head and his eyes. People, his eyes were as big as golf balls. (Or, maybe marbles. Or, maybe skittles.) They were huge froggy eyes! I could see his thoughts through those eyes! And, he was stalking me! His giganto eyes followed me around the pool deck for the rest of the evening. I tried to get the kids to shoot him with a water gun, but they thought that would be mean. Mean, my ass! The frog was trespassing and deserved to be persecuted by water gun!

I need therapy over my frog fear. They are EVERYWHERE and I’m convinced that they STALK ME! Today, I encountered one in the half-bath and was too terrified to move. His tiny little frog eyes peeped at me from under the door. Before I could do anything, he squirmed his way on in and began to hop towards me! Eek! Seriously, if I didn't dig deep I could've spent the day in that tiny room cowering from the frog. Instead, I began squealing like a little girl and jitter-bugged my way out of there. I closed the door in an attempt to trap the critter which was completely ineffective, since it can just crawl under the door. The frog was scaling the wall as I left. Does this mean it will drop down from the ceiling onto my head when I go back in there later today? Because you KNOW I'll forget and go back in. I'm stupid that way. Where is my hubby? Must go find him. He's got some frog-trapping to do.

Update: Hubs caught the frog! I do so love that man! The critter had skeedoodled into the laundry room, probably in an attempt to escape my screams. He was completely covered in lint and looked like a furry, spidery-frog-blob hopping across the floor. What a hoot! A hoot from far, far away, mind you. He was tossed onto the back patio where he sat, dejected and lint-covered.

I just came home from chauffeuring the kids and glanced outside to find a pile of lint sitting next to the cutest green frog. Oh, they're all kinds of cute when they're OUTSIDE and I'm INSIDE behind a nice, thick piece of glass. I think I need therapy. Anyone know of any therapists who specialize in Amphibious Disorders?

What's Next?

Yesterday was one of those days....

• Stupid argument with Hubby stemming from our standard inability to communicate.
• Snake in the garage. Did you hear? Snake! In my garage!
• Late for the kids' golf lessons due to a 10 mile detour that was not a real detour. It was basically just a ten-mile loop back to the original route to golf.
• Car dies in grocery store parking lot while MO is at her golf lesson.
• Reaction to flu shot which is leaving me dizzy and nauseous.

This all occurred before noon.

The highlight of my day was my dear friend who transported my child home from golf, followed me to and from the car fixin' place, entertained me over lunch and listened to my dizzily nauseous whining about my morning. She's either a glutton for punishment or a true gem of a friend. I know a diamond when I see one! I also know how lucky I am to have such good friends.