I woke up this morning thinking, "Are they ready?". Ready to read about 'that' subject on my blog. "They" of course being you, the hundreds of readers I believe I have cultivated in a...but I digress."That" subject being s-e-x. Heck, am I ready to talk/write about it? Let's review: If I did write about it, today would be the day that my sisters would get my mother to read my blog. The principal at the school where my children go would stumble upon it. Boss. Check. Clients. Check. Mean Mommies. Check. Excellent. Oh well. Let's do this thing!
Now that's decided let's move on to which part of this subject I should cover. The part where my son comes down stairs asking about the dancing purple angel he found in Mommy's room? Nope, that about covers that story. The part where a woman complains about being at her peak (according to all literature) with a husband whose mind is on other things. Done to death...seriously. And--refer to earlier possible story line.
What about kids and "the talk". Nope..again, done, covered, read it. (If you need them, two great books are: "Kids 1st Book About Sex" by Joani Blank and "S.E.X." by Heather Corinna for those of you with teens.) But how about the aftermath of 'the talk'. Hmmmm. Yes, I believe that will be the intrument with which I flog myself today.
We've had the first of what will be many talks with our 9-year old son. He and his dad went out and layed the groundwork, to to speak. They talked about body differences, how babies come to be, that it's okay to feel things (literally and figuratively) and the need to respect women and that always, with no exceptions, no means no. I asked how it went later and my son mumbled something about dad drawing pictures, 45 hours and the park. Sounds like it went perfectly.
With our daughter, we've had to have the conversation many times. She is very curious, very straightforward and very honest in her opinions. In talking to my own mother, she was very concerned that we were being too open with her, giving her too much information. Given that her "talk" with myself and my two sisters was "You will be a virgin when you are married or else", I figured that to my mom, even the word s-e-x was too much to share. (We won't cover the silence that met my mother's proclamation...). To make many, many long stories short, when our daughter asks questions, my husband leaves the room and I give honest, short, answers using the real words for everything. No funny names, no whispering certain words, no lies by omission. It's all good.
And then recently we went on a short vacation. To a resort with many pools, white fluffy towels and yummy, fluffy, cozy beds with stark white comforters. Yes, I had my period. So, the end of the second long day of lazy rivers, water slides, pool football, with the kids showered, lotioned, fed and watching a movie, I settled in to take a bath in the giant tub with all of my bath salt, loofahs, face creams, romance novels, chocolate and candles. And that is when it all came back to bite me in my lovely, Reubenesque ass.
Since I had left my book out in the other room, I yelled (trilled, warbled, melodically articulated?) for the closest child--who happened to be my son--to bring it to me, please. Utter silence. I warbled again. Nothing. Resorting to "the mommy voice', I finally got an answer:
"Mom," says my son. "I don't want to come in there because then your egg will 'splode and there will be blood everywhere and then you'll have another baby." good god.
"Well," I said, not really wanting to get into whatever the hell that was about right now. "Can you ask your sister to bring it please?".
"I did, but she said no and you guys told me that no means no. She never does anything anymore cause she is always saying No and then I have to do it." for the love of....I mean, a lot of things about the last few weeks had just been explained. He had been very industrious lately with both of their chores.
Out of the bath, into my comfies and sitting down with HER. "Sweetie....what did you tell your brother?". She gave me 'her look' (really good for a 6-year old). "Mom, I just told him that you had your sentence-thingy. And, that because you are a big woman you grow eggs. And then the egg gets too big--which means its is really big with you--and splodes inside your body and the blood comes out and you have to use shiny pink things to keep the blood from going all over. And that if the egg doesn't splode there is a baby." And her little face was very serious, her hands were flayling around and her head was bobbing back and forth and the only thing she left unsaid after all of that was, 'duh!'
And with that, I did what any good mother (or me) would do: I got us all snuggled up in the hotel room with Lara Croft's Tomb Raider and just enjoyed good kick-butt movie with my kids. See previous post to understand why.
Everything else will wait another day. Or year. Or Two. It's all good.
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