Unite: It’s What We are Able to Do

Yesterday, I attended an anti bullying assembly at an elementary school. I feel so fortunate to be able to experience events like these because they reinforce what I wholeheartedly believe to be true.  People are inherently good.

While I watched these young boys and girls get up and do skits to teach their peers the difference between telling versus tattling, I saw the pride they held being a part of an opportunity they believe will help others. I recognized this pride, I have it too.

While I listened to these young boys and girls share stories of being the victim of bullying and being the bully themselves, all the emotions they experienced that went with it and what they learned, I heard the courage in their voices to stand up and speak for themselves in an effort to promote change, not only internally, but to those outside of themselves.  I recognized this courage, I have it too.

While I blinked the tears out of my eyes as I felt the emotions of confusion in these young boys and girls of why life can feel so complicated, even at the age of 5, I also wondered why sometimes we do and say things that are hurtful and mean and spiteful.  And even though, we know and feel its wrong, we do it anyway.  And then we learn that hurting others doesn’t feel good, ever, no matter what we say.  I recognized this confusion. I have it too.

While I embraced the message of these children and watched them unite in their cause, full of hope in its reach and assured in its value, I held on to the belief of how we all want the same things.  To be loved, to love and to help those who are forgetting what that love feels like. I recognized this hope and desire. I have it too.

Those who hurt others are hurting.  It feels awful to hurt someone else. Always. (except maybe for the sociopaths, but statistically, their an unimpressive number) When my kids are mean to each other, I ask them how it feels when the words come out of their mouths and afterwards.  And always, always, they say it feels bad.  Because it does.  We don’t always instinctually want to hurt, even when we’re doing it, but sometimes we can’t seem to pick a better behavior quick enough to replace the negative one we chose.  And it happens.  And we pay the consequences one way or the other…internally or externally….without fail.

When I hear about kids bullying other kids, I immediately feel anger and want to protect those who are bullied.  I have a strong desire to want to punish the bully.  I want them to feel the pain they created in others. Sometimes this desire is overwhelming.  But I choose to practice my skill of thinking before I speak, (most of the time) knowing that pain on top of more pain does not actually create less pain.  So, instead I teach.  I teach what it feels like to hurt and what it feels like to be hurt. It’s what I am able to do.

And those young boys and girls chose to teach yesterday.  They taught what it feels like to hurt and what it feels like to be hurt. They taught that they too, can make a difference.  It’s what they are able to do.

And I remembered we are One.  We all have the ability to teach.  We all know what it feels like to hurt and be hurt. We are both the cause and the solution and we are in this life Together.  We learn from Each Other.  Them, Me, You.  It’s what We are able to do.

Little Miss Perfect

I have a sensitive child.  She is beautiful, considerate, intelligent, exceptionally well mannered, and very, very sensitive.

Her sensitivity is one of the things I admire about her the most, and one of the greatest challenges in parenting her.  Besides being the What If Child, she worries mostly about being perfect.  She wants to have the best grades in the class, be the funniest among her friends, the most considerate to strangers, and the person who makes the rest of us look bad with her flawless mannerisms. She loves to teach others what she knows herself and would follow a 2 year old around all day to give their mom a break and keep them entertained.  She never wants to see anyone unhappy and wonders what she can do to help if sees someone in need. (In fact, she suggested I write about sensitive kids so others can learn too) She doesn’t want  to ever let her parents down, and if she notices we are upset, she will do everything in her power to right what wronged us or at least do what she can to cheer us up.

She beams when she is praised and crumbles when she feels like she has disappointed someone else.  She sets high goals and beats herself up when she doesn’t achieve them. I know, I know, sounds horrible doesn’t it? Who would want their child to try their best always?

Of course I want her to try her best, but when her best isn’t cutting it that day, I want her to be okay with it, and she’s not…yet.

Her frustrations bring her to tears quickly and her anger typically causes her to withdraw.  Her feelings are hurt easily and she frets over any perceived injustice. She sulks if experiences don’t meet her expectations and can be a bit possessive about friendships and wanting them all to have great meaning.  She is the perfect definition of a perfectionist.  This should make her very happy.

My challenge is that I have to be aware of hurting the feelings of my sensitive child when I call her out with what she does wrong…and she does make mistakes. Lots of them. Because when I point out her mistakes, she OWNS them.  It proves to her that she is less than perfect and confirms her fears.  The disappointment she has in herself is sometimes the worst consequence of all. Does this mean I should be easy on her because she is sensitive? Not at all! Because if I start to lower my expectations, she will have nothing to torture herself over.  Nor can I give up my sarcasm, for then I would be a shell of myself and no good to anyone.

But realistically, lowering my expectations to accommodate her sensitivity does not teach her how to manage her insecurities, which is essential in this world of ours.  In order to live comfortably in our often overly critical society, she will need to learn to love herself unconditionally and accept the imperfection of others as well.  And teaching her these skills while maintaining the beauty her sensitive nature offers, is the best lesson I can give her.

As her parent, I do not have any control over what she says to herself, but I do have control over what I can teach and share with her.  So we talk.  I share my honesty and my own experiences of imperfection and disappointment when I don’t meet my own high expectations. And how I get over it and what works for me.  We also play out the worst case scenario if she doesn’t achieve her expectations and what the consequences will be.  Besides personal disappointment, they are rarely life altering. We also talk about why we want to be so good at everything, where the drive comes from and how powerful it can be, but how even the best inventors and philosophers in the world had to make mistakes and learn from them. Mistakes are often the best education to getting it right.  And lastly, we talk about the value of practice. How none of us knew how to walk at birth and had we stayed on the ground every time we fell from a missed step or lost balance, we’d still be sitting there.  Practicing how to change our thoughts and reactions can be very, very hard.  But the more we practice, the easier it becomes, just like everything else.

My sensitive little cherub is an incredible daughter, friend and human being. And someday I hope she sees herself the way I see her.  Until then, I will praise and elevate her, console and hug her and continue to teach her the consequences of her actions.  I will also drive myself nuts wishing I could be the voice in her head and continue to want to protect her from all things painful.  After all, I am her mother.  But since I can’t, I will work on my own practice of having faith that she will figure it out, her own way, and she will do it perfectly.

Regroup, Reframe, Relax

Sometimes I notice I am holding my breath,

And feel myself exhale.

A simple measure of relief,

Making my mood less pale.

This breath I seem to hold inside,

Is full of life and hope,

Anxious to make its way in the world,

Becoming my means to cope.

As the air moves across my lips,

I release the internal tension.

Oxygen soon becomes my elixir,

Each breath rolls into my pension,

Of tranquility and ease,

Companions in my quest,

To bring strength and balance,

To moments I claim my best.

The permission to allow myself,

To just let it all go.

With every exhale an inhale is gifted,

No matter how fast or slow.

I remind myself with these simple breaths,

My emotions need not be so taxed,

For the key to living this life of mine,

Is to Regroup, Reframe, and Relax.

The He/She Cat

Back in December, we were very excited to surprise our children with a fluffy new addition to our family in the form of a kitten.  The level of shock and excitement from the kids when they discovered her was an amazing gift to me in itself.  She was so soft and cuddly and loveable, exactly the kind of kitten we hoped for.  She was also spastic, full of energy and quickly ruined half of our furniture with her razor sharp nails on her double paws.  But she was beautiful and delicate and we all adored her, arguing over who would get to snuggle with her at night sitting on the couch.  With her mainly white, soft fur with black spots all over, we named her Cookies and Cream and call her CC for short. Each day, she greets us at the door when we come home with a purr and a few short meows and takes turns sleeping at the end of our beds at night.  She is a love and the continuous sunshine in our home.

Last weekend, my husband and I were kicked back relaxing on the couch in between the day’s activities. CC was curled up on his lap.  As we were talking, she stretched out on her back and like a pig sticking his nose through a fence, the “red rocket” made an appearance. My husband gasped, questioning what he saw.  I didn’t believe him. It couldn’t be possible!  Our beautiful little girl may really be a boy?!?!?

You would think two grown, educated adults would be able to tell the difference between the two, but really, we didn’t.  The cat anatomy is trickier to identify than you’d think.  And I never thought to second guess what the woman told me the kitten’s gender was when I picked her/him out.  So of course, like every smart adult finds their answers, we Googled it and spent the next 20 minutes examining our kitten in every form and pose, afraid to acknowledge what was now CLEARLY obvious…she really was a boy.

And the questions began. How will we tell the children? What will they think? How will they feel about their feline sister really being a boy? She was our little princess, our sweet, precious girl. Will we have to change her name? My husband thought we could just call her/him Chocolate Chip…brilliant!

For the next 24 hours I looked at her/him differently.  I felt like I wasn’t sure who she/he was. I had gotten to know her/him as a girl, I didn’t feel like I knew her/him as a male. She/he looked different to me now…more masculine and big…although her/his father was a Maine Coon, so that could be it. But she/he was different.  Or was she/he?

Even though what I thought I knew about him was different, I still loved him down to my core.  He was still my beautiful puffball of love and he still snuggled and purred the same.  He still made me laugh with his silly kitten antics and he still followed me around the house like the sidekick I’d grown accustomed to. He was really no different at all. Even though he was a boy, he was the CC who won me over when I chose him over his brothers and sisters.  He was my cat, no matter what.

For some reason, I was nervous to tell the kids.  I was preparing myself for their disappointment.  I plotted out the words in my head and instead ripped the bandaid off and said, “hey, guess what, we think CC’s a boy.”  Their response? “Oh, I thought she was a girl.” to which I replied that I thought so too, but turns out she’s not.  And that was it. No tears, no drama, no real concern at all actually.  The only disappointment was that my daughter realized the boys now outnumbered us, and my son was thrilled to be in the majority.  But that was it.  She/he was still their CC, no matter what.

Like our kitten, our children may not always meet our expectations.  They may not always turn out to be who or what we thought they would, but they are ours, no matter what.  There may be days where we don’t know them or recognize them, or have any idea where they came from, but the core of them will remain consistent and recognizable once we have adjusted our expectations and our vision clears. They will change and alter themselves and wear hundreds of outfits before they finally find the one that fits…and sometimes it’s incredibly hard to be patient while we’re standing outside the dressing room waiting.  But no matter how tasteful we find their fashion sense, they are still who we knew when we picked out their outfits for them.

We are in transition mode with how we address CC, as old habits die hard.  When talking about him we often use he and she in the same sentence. We sometimes correct each other, and other times don’t.  It doesn’t really matter.  Our CC may be the boy we never knew, but he is still the kitten we always wanted.

The Precious Present Moment

Live in the present moment…be one with yourself and your surroundings.  Enjoy every day as though it was your last. Carpe diem!!  I am sure whoever offered this advice had terrific intentions and I am all for it, but seriously, do people really live in the moment??

I remember the first time this advice was given to me, or at least the first time I acknowledged it.  I was sitting in a group counseling class in graduate school and the professor was lecturing on how important it is to be in the present moment when listening to the client in order to take in and process what they are saying. It makes perfect sense.  Zoning out to make my mental grocery list while pretending to listen to someone’s list of anxieties, does not help me to help them.  However, we are human and those lists have to be made sometime.

But realistically, even when I am present while listening to and counseling others, I am still tapping into my previous resources, knowledge base and identifying feelings I can relate to from the past, just to make sure I can acknowledge what is happening to them in the present. We use the past to learn and to teach in the present.  It’s just the way it is.

Although a challenge, living in the moment is my personal goal as a parent…and one that I achieve more than just a few moments a year.  And when I do experience these moments, I love them.  Absolutely, positively LOVE them! I remember them vividly, the picture of where I was, what I was feeling, the internal bliss.  It’s wonderful.  And then it becomes a memory…one I strive to relive again, which is the opposite of living in the moment.

I want to be present, and I strive to be present, but I also work outside the home full time and have children with full time appetites, full time school commitments, part time extracurricular activities and an active social life, all of which require planning…or living in the future.  This is the challenge I have with living in the present moment.  If I lived in the present moment as often is suggested, my children wouldn’t regularly have clean clothes to wear or food to eat without going to the grocery store daily or a week’s worth of essential items needed away from home when on vacation.  It would be a nightmare.

I admit that personally, I’m just not good at living in the moment.  But when I do, I have impassioned feelings of gratitude and a genuine appreciation of my children.  I see them for who they really are and realize just how much I like them.  When I stop what I’m focusing on and snuggle with my son, I listen to his effervescent take on the world and soak up his positive and exuberant energy.  When I ask my daughter a question about something that has been bothering her and truly listen to what she says, I notice just how grown up she’s become and am amazed with her personal insights.  During these moments, it feels like I am just opening my eyes and seeing my life for what it really is…a moment by moment gift.

This is precisely why I continue to want to hold on to the moments, to experience them fully and enjoy them.  They are priceless and rare for today’s hectic child rearing schedule, even with the best intentions.  Mastering the delicate balance between living fully in the present moment and warding off chaos by having a plan to keep daily life running smoothly is a continuous aspiration.  But one worth striving for…always.

The Learning Curve Child

Is it me, or is there always one child who introduces a steeper learning curve than the others?

The other day, I realized as I was swapping kid stories with the town librarian, I have a lot of stories. I mean, we all do, but most of mine are with one kid in particular.  Twenty minutes prior, I was talking about the same kid to my naturopath.  (Yes, I’m one of those people…I love options) And even a couple hours before that was a very different story about the same kid with a colleague at work.  This one child supplies COUNTLESS stories filled with fear, intense frustration and ridiculous amounts of laughter.

If you are familiar with my writing, or have ever met us, you know exactly who I am referring to.  My 5 year old son, aka the J Man, the Beast and the Happiest Boy Who Ever Lived.  Both my children are fully aware that if the J Man was born first, there would only be the J Man, so we are very thankful he came after the easy peasy girl child.  My daughter has always excelled in school, been a good friend, almost never gets sick and is a HUGE help to me around the house.  A parent’s dream.

As for the boy child, while in utero, he gave me migraines weekly for the first four months and I couldn’t even think about food without nausea taking over…and I love food, a lot. That should have been my first sign.  At birth, the J Man failed his hearing test twice and the specialist told me he’d be deaf in one ear, but he’d learn how to speak. Upon further testing, they determined his hearing was actually fine. I think he faked us out.  A year later, he had to have tear duct surgery in both eyes. But one didn’t take, so he had to do it again.  I think he liked the post op popsicles and stuffed animals so he made his duct close back up.  Or how he crawled out of his crib repeatedly at 14 months like 007, so stealth like that no one could hear him and know what he was getting into. He maneuvered around every child proofing method like a magician and found danger in places no one could proactively discover.

And then there was the time he poured hot wax into his mouth from a burning candle.  I mean really, who does that? Or the time he locked himself in a car in the driveway on a hot day with 35 people around watching and not noticing for at least 30 minutes. Or the time he nearly electrocuted himself on one of the outlets in his bedroom and flames shot out it leaving smoke lines up his arm and all the lights in the house flickered.  Or when he wandered off during my daughter’s soccer practice and was sitting in a stranger’s car.  And all the while, I SWEAR I was WATCHING him!  Little dude was fast. If I had a nickel for every time someone has commented, “Wow, he has a lot of energy!” I’d have enough to pay off his first two bail bonds.

Recently, I was organizing our files and noticed that in five years, the boy’s file is eight times the size as the girl’s, who is three years older.  Between the asthma, the major allergies, the significant speech delay where he tested below the first percentile and they looked at me like he would be lucky if we ever understood him, I have acquired a lot of paperwork.

Believe me, I am not complaining. It could be so much harder, I know that.  I am just pointing out that it seems like one child may be A LOT more work than some of the others.  I’ve seen it with some of my friends and hear it from many parents, so it can’t just be me…I hope.

My best friend used to say that God only gives us what we can handle and she, for one, could not handle the J Man, so I was the mother chosen to raise him because I had just enough patience.  I think she was nicely trying to say, “Sorry sucker, better luck next time,” but I can’t be sure.

And because he has required so much attention, I wonder if my easy peasy girl child is getting enough.  So helpful, considerate and independent, she needs less redirection and support, but equally the amount of attention and love. Sometimes more perhaps. to show her that her effort doesn’t go unnoticed and her role in our family is cherished and appreciated.  But because she tries hard, and makes it seem effortless, it’s easy to expect the best and wonder what has gone wrong when she is off…like she’s just a normal kid or something.

We learn so much about ourselves through parenting our children.   Each child comes with their challenges and we learn how to navigate down the path with uneven terrain, finding out a little bit more about who we are and what we are capable of each time. Through their triumphs we feel pride and satisfaction and through their hardships, we search for our strengths, while helping them find their own.  We learn the joy of sharing our best traits and understanding what the purest of love feels like.  At the same time, we learn the power and challenge of maintaining our patience and the insecurity of not being in control of something we invest in so freely.  One minute we are patting ourselves on the back and the next, we are questioning what we are doing wrong. It is truly an education and experience like no other.

And as previously mentioned, it’s a lot of work. No joke.

On a positive note, our hard work is beginning to pay off and maturity is starting to change up the boy’s stories.  Now that we can understand him perfectly, we have found, he is one funny little guy, as well as kind and considerate with some great potential to be a stand up human being.

In fact, as I just reminded the boy of his previous stories, he commented, “You’re right mom, who doose that?” Exactly.  The kid who can skillfully charm us over and quietly torture us at the same time. That’s who doose.

Clean Up!

Clean Up Child,

At first I used a “Please.”

But the amount that you keep whining,

Has my patience seized.

Your stall tactics,

Have a lot to be desired.

If you plan to go into a career of sales,

And think that you’ll be hired,

With your cunning smile,

We know your kind.

Hiding your mess,

In every crevice you find.

You can do it,

I know you can.

Pick up your mess,

And you won’t be banned,

From future play,

And friends in our home.

If only you’d get it together,

And stay in the zone.

I’ll be your cheerleader.

I’ll pat you on the back.

I’ll commend your efforts,

And stop giving you flack.

Just clean up your toys,

And get it done.

Before the garbage,

Steals every last one.

College Planning- The Prerequisite Course

I feel a rant coming on.  Just giving you a heads up.

Every job has its parts that we could live without.  For me, there is a significantly large part of my job that I am not a fan of. I mean, I really, really don’t care for it. College counseling.  Its not for me and is by far, my biggest pet peeve.  Which is unfortunate, because it takes up a large chunk of my time I feel would be better spent doing other things.

Let me begin with an Opinionated Fact.  Furthering one’s education is a near necessity to get to where you want to go in life.  We are fortunate to have so many options of colleges and universities with so many opportunities that allow our children to learn and thrive and grow.  However, I do not believe where one goes to college or how they get their education determines how successful they are going to be.  It’s what they DO with their education, that will get them where they want to go.

So, what’s my issue?  I don’t believe in the college admittance process.  I think it stinks…which is the kindest word I can come up with right now.  How does it make sense to rate a person over a four year period in their most hormonally driven, self reflecting and often deprecating, continuously adapting to change, time of life?  From ages 14-18, many kids are often dealing with their first major loss.  It could be over a breakup with a boyfriend or girlfriend or their parents divorcing or losing a loved one to death.  They are navigating the challenges of peer pressure and learning what “friendship” really means.  They are often pulling away from their parents influence and begin modeling other influences which may be good or bad.  They are like chaotic beasts really. All the while, they are going to school and expected to put all distraction aside and “do your very best because if you want to go to a ‘good’ college, they want to see you have high grades and that you are challenging yourself proving that you will be successful in life.”  Seems fair right?

Opinionated Fact #2. There is something to be said about putting on your big girl/boy pants and dealing.  That’s the ultimate goal right?  But in a society where we are so often sheltering our children from the dregs of our neighborhoods and hardships of real life, how are they supposed to know what to do when they are slammed with an unpleasant reality with no prior exposure?  They have to figure it out, of course, but with what skill?  Unless you have parents or caregivers who allow you to feel your own feelings, fight your own battles and make your own mistakes, this may be a challenge.  Sometimes the way we think we advocate for our children is really a disservice to their sense of ownership and responsibility. We need to expose them to life and support them in their journey, not walk the journey for them.

But here’s my real issue.  It’s not the kids who cry when they get rejected from their top choice school.  I actually never see them.  It’s the kids who cry from the overwhelming stress of not feeling good enough while they are applying to their list of 25 colleges, who they feel are judging them of how they managed their four years of school (in actuality, its typically 3 and half) as they were trying to figure out who they are and what on Earth they are doing here, all while they are learning the historical importance of the Great Wall of China and how not to blow up your cat when mixing some obscure chemicals you may come into contact with.  As if how they “performed” in high school defines who they are and what they hope to accomplish.

So I now prep my students in our preliminary college talks with the advice of going into the process with the framework that “it is YOU who are judging them, not them judging you.  There are thousands of colleges out there that can offer you what you need.  They all have strengths and weaknesses and you have to pick the ones that support what YOU are looking for and want to invest YOUR time and money into.  At the end, yes, they may be comparing you with other students because they only have so much room, but if you don’t get in, you can accept the fact that they missed their opportunity or you will find a way to get in if that is what you truly want. There are always two paths to every destination.” That’s Opinionated Fact #3.

When preparing our kids for college, it’s important to be realistic about our expectations and helping our kids figure out what is important to them.  Let them choose their options based on how they feel when they are there.  Personally, I tell kids never to apply to a college where the name won’t look cool on a sweatshirt.  Especially because you will wear that sweatshirt for an awfully long time.

(Insert mental image of John Belushi in College sweatshirt here)

The process doesn’t have to be as stressful as it’s made out to be.  Do a college search, visit the schools on your list and choose which ones fit.  Put your best foot forward when completing the application and see how it pans out.  It’s a lot of legwork, no doubt, and a big decision, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.  At the end, you are still doing the choosing as to which option you want to take.  And the power of choice rocks.

Okay, Rant over.

Thoughts??

Popping the TV Bubble

Happy Bissextile Day (sometimes you just gotta cheese it up)! Also, known as Leap Day. A special day we get to enjoy once every four years which is always cause for a celebration.  So today, I am embracing new opportunities to celebrate…and bringing you with me.  I am guest posting over at Mandy’s Cakes and Company, where Mandy, mother of twin girls and obvious Super Hero, offers giveaways/reviews and parenting advice, along with lots of recipes.  Right now she’s doing a segment on desserts for one (or two, if you feel like sharing) to give readers the chance to squash their cravings and have portion control and less wasted desserts. Brilliant!

But today, she’s sharing my thoughts on how we can pop the bubble we sometimes put around our children when watching TV and lots of other things…..

Check out today’s post Popping the TV Bubble. Good food for thought.

What do you do to monitor what your kids are watching?

The Sex Talk

I will never forget being in elementary school and my mother sitting me down to have the dreaded sex talk.  I can still see her sitting in the brown chair of our living room and hear her speak those disturbing, scary words, like penis, vagina and babies coming out of it. Oh. My. God.  Is she really saying these things?  Make it stop, God, please, make it stop, I remember thinking.

So when my daughter asked me two years ago, at age 6, how babies are born, I took a deep breath, tried to de-flood my memories, and began a moderated explanation of how babies are made and born.  And I mean the basics. We were in the car, where of course, the best discussions take place, and as I explained the minimal details, my then 3 year old son burst into tears because he just found out that he, as a male, could not bear children on his own.  So after diffusing that meltdown, again, all in the car, went back to explaining the facts of life.  And the inevitable question, “So you did that with Daddy twice?”  I think I’m sweating at this point. “Yup.” I reply.  No need to go further. Thankfully, when it came to the “any other questions?” portion of the discussion, they were satisfied with my response, or thoroughly confused.

A few weeks ago, the topic came up again, oddly enough, in the car.  My daughter, now age 8, had some questions on how babies were born.  This time, she wanted more detail. As I began my straight to the point, without having any idea how to pretty it up, explanation, I used the words penis and vagina.  “What’s a vagina?” She asked.  How on Earth does she not know what a vagina is (maybe because even as I write this, I am uncomfortable even saying it in my head).  And then it dawned on me that if and when I have ever used the word, it was quickly said and with fleeting meaning.  So I tell her it’s another word for her “privacy” as my husband so gently refers to our personal parts.  “Oh, okay.” She is unfazed and uncaring, as it’s just another word to her.  Just another word, just another explanation of life’s mysteries, no big thang.

So of course, because she is emotionally unfazed, I feel the need to go into detail on when grown ups have sex and why and limit the why to having babies and sharing love.  I mean, why else would you do that?  And that seemed to satisfy her.  For now.  Part of me wants her to ask more questions and the other part of me wants to put up a soundproof cabbie window between us to make it stop. But she has no other questions, it’s not an important part of her life. She just wanted to know.

So why is it so uncomfortable for me to have “the sex talk” with my kids?  I have no problem sorting out every conversation they have with their friends and strangers, explaining the weight of their words and the way they say them, calling them out, and even myself out when we make mistakes.  I have no problem singing in front of them (although I’m pretty sure I should) or walking around with my hair sticking straight up for hours in the morning and wearing the same clothes for an entire weekend when I simply don’t feel like showering.  But talking to them about sex…..scary.

I think mostly its out of fear of making sure I say the right things. I want them to know the facts, but I want them to know the potential emotional impact of sharing your personal parts with another. I want them to understand the full meaning of respecting yourself and your body. I want them to understand the risks of STDs and unplanned pregnancy, but I don’t want them to be afraid either. And for the love of God, I don’t want them to look at me like a sexual being…I am their mother!! The same way I don’t want to think of my respected elders as being sexual beings.  Ewww….

All in one conversation.  Is this possible? Clearly, no.

The topic will come up again and hopefully many, many more times. I hope to be their trusted resource and if I’m not, I plan to be their forced resource.  Being their primary educator, I know it’s my job to give them the facts and explain the emotional piece as best I can.  They know me and they trust me.  I have even been around the block…but only twice.

And perhaps I’ll start throwing around body part names more frequently. When my son said “wenis” at the dinner table the other night, I corrected him and said “penis.” and he instantaneously laughed so hard he fell off the bar stool height chair of our new dining room set.  I mean hysterical.  Which made the rest of us hysterical.  Apparently, we have a long way to go.