Sex Ed

It's that time of the year again when the prepubescent children in our district get to learn about the facts of life. Oh joy! Last year was my first experience with sexual education class. The school does and excellent job with preparing parents for this big step in their child's life. They invite everyone to preview the film they show, which I fully intended on going to, but failed to attend. Oops! I forgot to write it down, a mistake I would come to regret many times over.

Honestly, I wasn't too upset about missing the premiere. I figured it couldn't be so bad. After all, I had already had "the talk" with my son. Okay, I didn't have "the talk", my husband did. But I listened intently as I hid in the hallway outside his bedroom.

I didn't expect to be that parent that couldn't talk freely with my son, Pumpkin Head, about sex. I always thought I would be pretty good at "the talk". After all, I'm calm, cool and collected. I thought I would be so laid back that my son would feel comfortable coming to me with any questions or concerns. The truth is he doesn't have problems asking me anything, it's just I can't answer. I'm the one with the problem. What happened to calm, cool and collected? Well it flies out the window when it comes to "the talk". I swear, every time he asks me a question my tongue swells up the size of Texas and I can barely form words let alone make a sentence that makes any sense. Let me tell you something, if you haven't had "the talk" yet, it's not as easy as it seems.

So, in a way I was relieved that the school was going to be sharing with me this monumental experience in my parental existence. In other words I thought I was off the hook.

Wrong! Nothing could have prepared me for the questions that followed the weeks after the program was shown. Okay, maybe the preview night could have prepared me, but like I said before, I didn't write it down. Anyway, the questions didn't come in the form of a flood like I expected, it was more like a trickle that lasted for months!

One day while doing his homework, Pumpkin Head turned to me and said, "Hey mom, did you know that I have testicles?"

Whoops. Guess we missed that one when we were going over body parts.

One time after baseball practice, as he was running up stairs to change, he stopped mid step, looked at me and said, "Mom, when am I going to wake up wet?"

Huh? It took me a minute, then it hit me! The only thought that popped into my mind was, what kind of movie did they show you?

I was on full alert. I didn't know when a question would hit, or in what form it would be in. Would we be at dinner? Or perhaps at church? No, maybe he would ask the next one while I was on the phone with my grandma. It's been a year now, and they're still coming at me. However, not so much are they questions, but statements. Last night Pumpkin Head told me he was a man. Apparently he discovered some body hair. A man? Really? What happened to my little baby boy?

This year it's going to be different. I've decided to take a different approach, and actually be prepared. Soon, Monkey will be taking his turn at finer education. Oh, and not just Monkey, Pumpkin Head gets to learn more! So I'm being pro-active. I'm going to see the movie, in fact I'm going to watch all the movies they show. After all, Queenie is coming up in the ranks and these sex ed films go on for another two years. I need to know what I'm up against. I'm hoping with preparation I won't fold like I have in the past. All I can say is thank God for my husband. Without him my kids would be terribly confused.

I need to grow some thick skin if I'm going to get through the next few years. I have to accept the fact that my children are growing up and with that comes puberty. I'm not an idiot, I knew they would grow to become a young woman and young men. Buddy did. He went through it, but I got out of that one. He lived with his mom then. My kids won't be going anywhere while they go through the change. Even though it would be cool if they did go into like a cocoon or something. Think about it, the mood swings would be contained.

I'm entering a new phase, one I'm not sure I'm ready to enter. For the past eleven years I've looked at my kids as being little and I think they're past that now. I'm scared. Not like scared I might screw up scared, but really truly scared. Teenagers frighten me! I wonder if I can take a class to prepare me for puberty? Oh, who am I kidding. I'd never go because I'd forget to write it down. I think I'm in trouble.

Consumerism at its Finest

A few mornings ago I heard my boys discussing which car insurance company they were going to go with when they start driving. Never mind the fact that they won't be driving for another five to six years, apparently this conversation was one of real importance for them. Pumpkin Head was going with All State, no question about it! However, he changed his mind once Monkey pointed out that All State totally ripped of Geico with a talking guy. This led Pumpkin Head to change his choice to Progressive. Monkey on the other hand felt that Geico was the best choice not only because of the cute British Gecko, but because they also used to have the Cavemen in their commercials.

Wow, what a way to start the morning, and without even a cup of coffee! It got me to thinking about the affect commercials have on young minds. When I was a kid I didn't have the options of viewing that my children have. I had either PBS, Saturday Morning Cartoons or Brady Bunch re-runs. PBS never had commercials, but I remember SMC being jammed packed with advertisements for toys (my personal faves were ones about Barbie). Overall, that's about it when it came to commercial exposure. My kids, however, have a huge selection of shows on channels designed specifically for them that run all day and all night. Their ad exposure is, well, it's obscene!

It's not that my kids are watching twenty four hours of television either. They really don't watch that much. They would rather be playing with each other or reading (I'm not making that up, really, they like to read). You see, the same commercials run over and over and over again. Honestly, I think if some catastrophe happened and all commercials, especially infomercials, were erased my kids could recite them word for word solving the advertisement crisis.

Over time, I really started to see the influence these 30 second spots had on my kids. Once, I was complaining about my back hurting and Pumpkin Head told me I should get a sleep by numbers bed. He told me his father and I could even have our own favorite numbers set at the same time. Not only that, I could try it for free for like a month! It wasn't just sleep by numbers. Queenie noticed the plants were droopy, she told me I should get an aqua globe. Monkey suggested I get a Snuggie after noticing that because I was reading a book, my arms weren't covered by the blanket (this advice I did follow). Boy, those ad execs are sure smart! They've got the kids marketing their products for them! Really, take a look yourself! Have you ever noticed the amount of infomercials on channels like Disney, Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon? Turn it on one day, in fact make a tally. You will be shocked!

Of course there aren't just infomercials. There are other ads too, like for car insurance. I love how these people think ahead. Oh and let's not forget the fast food commercials. My kids are all about collecting everyone of the crappy little toys from every joint in town. Of course this never happens because that is one ad that mom doesn't buy into!

I'm not in denial. I know that is what our society is all about. Consumerism. As adults we buy into it all the time, literally. It just makes me a little sad that my kids are doing it way ahead of schedule. Thinking about products they need for their future adult selves. Nothing like starting them off young. All I can say is thank God for DVR! I think from now on I'll be taping all the programs my children love. That way I can stick it to the man! I can fast forward through all the junk!

The F-Bomb

Last year I received a letter from my children's school addressed the parents of Monkey. It was one of two things, and informational letter or a discipline slip. I have to say my children have always demonstrated good behavior so I opened the letter with complete confidence that it was just the results of another test score. Possibly this was the one telling me that my son was a genius and that I was up for the Best Parent of the Year Award because he clearly learned his genius from me. Well, the note did reveal that he had learned something from me. He learned how to use the f-bomb.

According to the letter Monkey had yelled f'n a-hole to another child on the bus. Mind you by the time I got the letter disciplinary action had already been taken. Monkey had yelled the obscenity on Monday and on Tuesday had visited the principal, who by the way was my boss at the time. I was home sick from work on Tuesday, so I missed all the fireworks. Of course I was furious. Furious that my son would say something so mean to another child, furious at him for not breathing a word of this for two days and furious that now my boss thought I was raising a foul-mouthed sailor.

Luckily for Monkey he was at school when the letter was delivered, so I had a few hours to cool off before he would have to face my wrath. During that time I couldn't help but contemplate where my sweet boy would learn such words. At first I turned the guns on my husband. Oh, yes he was the one to blame. Swear words rolled of his tongue like butter off a hot roll. But he wasn't entirely to blame. There were also those older kids on the bus. Yeah, I've heard their little mouth rattle off some doozies. Yes, my husband and the little brats on the bus. That was where he learned the words. They would take the fall. However, being that I'm human, I have a conscience and it was telling me otherwise.

I'll admit it, I have a potty mouth. I try not to let the words slip out, but sometimes I just can't help it. It's completely out of my control! Like for instance, say I'm running late and in my rushed state I hit my toe on the leg of the table. The first word that flies is usually the f-bomb. I don't want to say it, but it just comes out and somehow it makes me feel better. Being a writer, I believe in the power of words and sometimes that power includes dulling the pain of a throbbing toe. I'm not proud of it, but I can except the fact that I too am responsible for teaching my children profanity.

By the time Monkey arrived home I was calm. He had no clue that only hours before steam had been seeping from my ears and fire from my nose. I sat him down and did something I thoroughly enjoy doing with my kids.

Me: "Monkey, do you have anything you would like to tell me?"

I always like to open the door for a confession. I find that asking an open ended question like this not only can get your children to admit to the things you know about, but it can often get them to admit to the things you didn't know.

Monkey: "Um, I got a C on my science test."

Me: "Yes, but is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Monkey: "I took Queenie's picture and ripped it up."

Queenie: "WHAT? MOM HE RIPPED MY PICTURE!"

Me: "Nope, not what I'm talking about. Would you like to tell me what happened on the bus?"

Monkey: "No."

Me: "You want to answer that question again?"

Monkey: "I called Pumpkin Head a bad word, but he started it mom."

The pieces were starting to come together. After a short interrogation period I learned that my two boys were arguing over Pokemon on the bus. My little Monkey has a short fuse (I don't know where he gets this from), and in the heat of passion the word vomit just shot out of his mouth. I could sympathize. After all, I suffered from the same debilitating disease. Then there was a twist in the story that even I couldn't see coming. Turns out the person who told the bus driver about the word crime was none other than his own brother. Honestly, I don't know what upset me more, Monkey calling Pumpkin Head bad words or Pumpkin Head telling a school authority on his brother. Come on man! There's a code when it comes to family and I'm sure that not ratting out a brother is one of them!

I spent the night discussing the need to watch our words, to think about other people's feelings , controlling our tempers and not tattling on siblings. Things were all good at home, the next thing I had to do was face my boss. All I could do was state the facts. I looked at him and said, "I don't know where the f*** he gets it."

Gift Giving

On Monday I took on the bold job of cleaning up the Christmas bomb that exploded in my house just days before. My family took on the task of eating any leftover cookies while I put to sleep the decorations for another year. Once my house was finally put back in order, the only thing I had left was to put away the wonderful gifts that were bestowed onto us this year. Unfortunately there were a few that would not be put away...ones that would be returned to the stores they came from.

I always hate returning a gift, it feels so tacky. This person spent their time and energy finding you the perfect gift and the best you can do is say thanks but no thanks. However, this year I did it. I asked for the receipt and took the gift back to the store. I felt horrible. So what have I done with gifts of Christmas past that were from the island of unwanted toys. Two words- re gifted.

I'm a big fan of the re gift. I've re gifted wedding presents for Christmas, and Christmas presents for weddings. In my warped mind I somehow feel like this is more justifiable than asking for the receipt and taking it back. I don't mean to seem ungrateful, it's not that at all. Here is a good example of what I'm talking about. This year my husband bought me an air popcorn popper. Not once have I ever aluded to the idea that I wanted an air popcorn popper. Maybe when I was in college and had the munchies, but definitly not as an adult. So I re gifted it...to him. He liked it. Problem sloved, at least that one. So the question is, what do you do with gifts that you don't like? Especially gifts that can't be hidden away.

Thinking about all this reminded me of a time when I was not only faced with this question but I was put in a position of complete weakness. I couldn't return or re gift. For over a year I had to pretend that this gift, or rather these gifts were the greatest thing since sliced bread, when in reality I hated them.

My family and I were about to take our first vacation away from home as pet owners. Fortunately for us our neighbor, "Jane" offered to watch our cat and dog for the week we were gone. It was a huge burden lifted knowing that our dear friend would be taking care of our pets. What we didn't know was that she would also be taking care of our house.

After a week of frolicking in the sun we returned home to find some slight changes to our home. In our absence, Jane took it upon herself to decorate and do some minor repairs to our house. It was bizarre walking into my kitchen from a long flight to find cut out wooden hearts hanging on my walls. The further I entered the more horrified I became.It looked like Cracker Barrel had invaded! Every room on my first floor was covered in 1990's country decor. Not only that, but she had re-plastered some spots on our walls that were showing some cracks. She also mixed batch of paint to match the walls to make the work look seamless. Jane had also cleaned the blinds, washed the curtains and scrubbed the floors. We were amazed!

We thanked her endlessly for her hard work. You see, Jane had come to regard us as children of her own. We truly appreciated all that she did in our absence. There was just one thing. The decorations. They weren't my taste, I didn't like them one bit, and they were everywhere. However, I couldn't bring myself to take them down. For the remainder of the time we lived in that house I posed as a country decor loving girl. When we moved, I put them in a box and that is where they stayed.

Gifts. I've come to regard the act of gift giving for what it is, an act. It's not the present, but the action. It's the fact that someone on this planet chose you to receive a gift. A gift to show their love and appreciation for you. That part of the gift I keep with me forever. The part that counts....the act.

Singledom

I had the best evening last night baking Christmas cookies with Queenie. We downloaded some Christmas favorites to my phone then blasted them throughout the house as we baked away! The boys would pause their video games for a bite here and there, and occasionally would take a spin on the kitchen dance floor to their favorite songs. It was a delightful night, but it got me to thinking. What did I do before I had kids?

While my children were snuggled all cozy in their beds I sat sprawled out on my couch racking my brain for memories of my former self. What did I do on evenings like this twelve years ago? I would like to say that I spent my free time reading books, volunteering in the community and working as an ambassador for peace, but that would be a lie. In fact, I really couldn't remember anything, that is except all the stupid things I did back then.

For instance, once my husband and I were faced with a life changing decision-should we pay our electric bill or go to Cedar Point, an amusement park. I think the answer is obvious, we went to Cedar Point. Not only did we use every cent we had to experience some death defying roller coasters, but we also got the biggest bang for our buck! We arrived at the park twenty minutes before the "twilight hour" rates began, but we were so excited we decided to forgo waiting the few minutes and go right in at full price! Good choices, I know. I lived for a week without electricity after that little trip. My rationalization at the time was that it was summer. Who needed lights anyway? Or fifty dollars worth of meat in the freezer? Not us! We just needed the thrill of the wind in our hair.

Money wasn't something I grasped during my years without kids, and neither did anyone else that I knew. One time my husband sold his truck so he could buy a mountain bike. Never mind the fact that he sometimes worked an hour from our house. He needed that bike, after all he was going to be a professional mountain biker, right? Not! Another time my girlfriend was scrounging for change to pay her bills. We literally were scouring the streets and our apartments for spare change so that she could survive another week. Once we collected all we could, we took our pot of coins to one of those electric counters you see at the grocery store. Eighty-five dollars! That's what it came out to be. Did she take that money and put it toward her living expenses? Nope. Instead we thought it would be much more fun to blow it at a local pub. Boy, was that a fun night.

Now I look at money in a different light. That's what happens when you are responsible for three other human lives. Yes, life is different after kids. It's like you enter another realm after becoming a parent. Suddenly you find yourself in a whole new world you never knew existed. You go from living in a world of parties and sleeping in late, to playdates and book reports. If I said the word Zhu Zhu Pet* to someone without kids they would look at me look at me like I was an escaped mental patient. But if I said those two works to a parent I guarentee that they would break out into the story of how they bought the last two Zhu Zhu pets at Target, after standing in line for three hours, in the middle of the night, in the cold, on a Wednesday.

Besides making bad choices I don't remember my life without kids. It's like a black hole. I have two explanations for this. First, it could be that our children have brought us so much joy and love that our lives that once exhisted are meaningless and empty without them in it. Or second, God designed us to forget...so that we wouldn't eat our young.



Zhu Zhu Pet- a robotic hamster that runs around in a plastic "funhouse", the hottest toy of the Christmas season. Comparable to the Cabbage Patch Kid craze, for you thirty-somethings.

My First Blog

Today is the day I embark on a new journey...the blog. Never in my life did I think I would become a "blogger", but I was inspired after watching the movie Julie and Julia (probably like a million other aspiring writers). So what do I hope to accomplish from such an adventure? A big fat writing contract would be nice! However, just in case that doesn't happen, this is my simple way to keep my creative juices flowing while documenting my life as a mother of three.

For the past five years I have been trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Most people do this in their twenties, but I was busy birthing children during those years. It was just after my twenty ninth birthday that it hit me like a ton of bricks or rather, in my case, a wreath.

It happened during a MOPS meeting. For those of you who aren't mothers you're probably wondering what in the world is MOPS. MOPS, which stands for Mothers of Preschoolers, is a place where moms can put their children in the care of someone else for a few hours so that they can regain their sanity. It's the equivalent to the lunch break you get at work, except it only happens once a month, twice if your lucky.

During this particular meeting we were making a craft. Oh joy, crafts. Needless to say I am not a crafty person. Aside from the occasional paint by numbers and half knitted scarves, I don't do crafts. However, I went with the flow. After all, I wouldn't get another break for thirty days. So, I began to make my wreath. I looked around at the other mothers hoping to get some inspiration from their creations, but instead got something I hadn't bargained on.

Some might call it a nervous breakdown, but I like to call it an epiphany. As I was standing there watching the other ladies smile and laugh as the interior designers in them came out, I couldn't help but realize this was going to be the highlight of my week. Let's face it, it was going to be the highlight of my month. A wreath. I kept thinking over and over in my head, 'This is what I do now. I make wreathes.'

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with making a wreath, it just was I always thought by that age I would be doing something much cooler. As a kid I had big dreams. For the majority of my childhood I envisioned myself in some way, shape or form as a writer. Sometimes it was a top investigative reporter, other times it was an advice columnist, but most of the time it was an award winning, best selling author. By the time I entered college I had decided I would become a teacher so that I could use my summers to write. Needless to say at that time I hadn't accomplished any of those dreams.

I can't lie, I did have one dream come true, though. A dream that I didn't realize I had until a pregnancy test revealed it to me. I had become a mom, but that's all I had become. Don't get me wrong, I loved (and still do) being a mom. I wouldn't trade that part of my life in a second, it's just that being a mom wasn't the only thing I wanted to be. Looking around at those other ladies that day made me see that I wanted more. I didn't want making a wreath be a highlight in my life. Especially a bad wreath.

That pivotal moment brought me to where I am today. I've done a lot of soul searching the past few years, trying to find my place. Slowly but surely I am finding it- and now I'm going to "blog" about it!