The Birds & The Bees

It’s about that time that my daughter and I had a little talk.

Yep charity’s not the only thing that should begin at home. 

So does sex education.

I’ve learnt that the hard way.

Oh it was innocent enough- My Beloved decided we deserved a break from the constant bickering that had punctuated our Saturday morning up to that point, so he shut the bedroom door on the kids saying he wanted 5 minutes alone with mummy to give her a quiet cuddle. For a change that’s what he actually meant! 

Didn’t quite realize how it sounded to another’s ears until our 6 year old told a caller that “Mummy can’t come to the phone right now, she’s busy in the bedroom having a hug with daddy.”

Well, didn’t my friend give me grief when I got hold of the handset?!

I really don’t know who was more embarrassed or amused when Miss V knocked on the bedroom door to pass the telephone over and I was greeted with giggles from my friend, followed finally by an explanation of the mirth (also the background comments from said friend’s husband that Fathers’ Day was still weeks away and was he getting an early gift). It wasn’t like that at all. (Heaven knows we have learnt to schedule those sessions for when we’re least likely to get interrupted i.e. when kids aren’t home!)

But with our son now approaching the age where school sessions are scheduled to ensure the information is delivered in a factual and fun way (whatever that means), it means that the adults in the house are having “that” discussion about whether the children are really ready for it.

Here’s the thing. We’ve never used euphemisms or silly nicknames for body parts- we’re both big on calling a spade a spade (or whatever’s the relevant term for the item in question)- and have discovered real issues when our offspring bring home titles like “willy”, weener”, “doodle”, “family jewels”, and “front bottom”. (Front bottom? Seriously, what is up with that??)  And I’ve even had to have a quiet chat with my son at the request of another mother that terms like “balls” are really not appropriate to use in conversation with girls in the classroom.Unless it's in the context of sport.   

♫Awwk-waaard. ♫

I have to say though, that the very thought of having to sit down and have “The Talk” with my daughter immediately brings up memories of my mother attempting to do the same with me as a child. Being the youngest of three girls in an all-female household, there wasn’t a lot left to the imagination (think nudie runs from bathroom to bedroom simply to keep the schedule of all those women in a one-bathroom house), and of course we were exposed to the schoolyard discussions of what’s under other’s clothes or the private stuff that goes on in two-parent families. Ours didn’t exactly fit the perfect model of mum-dad- and-the-kids, my sisters and I never had the opportunity to accidentally expose what really goes on in the marital bed (and both my therapist and I thank our lucky stars every day for that, just quietly) so mum had some explaining to do.

I distinctly remember the extreme embarrassment mum and I felt when she took me into her room, brought out the tried and trusty copy of the puberty book (you know, I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it, only that it had a garish yellow cover– must have blocked that one out as a painful memory!) and sat me down and started to read. I still shudder at the thought of my mother nodding wisely at the advice that relations between a man and a woman are a special thing given by God, or words to that effect. I was so innocent and embarrassed that I couldn’t even come up with a clever comment like “So that’s why people call out His name?!” at the time.

But we both survived it relatively intact.  And now it’s my turn. With my little girl who has yet to embrace the fashion and makeup and all the bling things that others her age are well and truly into.

My turn to find the appropriate text to take into the bedroom and sit her down for that chat.

One can only hope that no one rings at the time or else my son might just tell them I’m unavailable because of something to do with sex!

Jx

©2010/11

Phone Home

So there I was, taking my kids up to see my family for Easter, when next thing you know, a mobile phone flies out of the window of the car in front of me.

Startled by this unexpected traffic phenomenon, I pull over, go back and pick the phone up off the road. Barely a mark on it and working perfectly (whereas if it had been my phone, it would have smashed on impact, then been promptly run over by two roadtrains in quick succession),
with an adorable little baby smiling at me from the welcome screen wallpaper.

I know for starters someone is gonna miss this piece of mobile modern technology, so I'm surprised when two hours into the trip still no one has rung their own number looking to see where it had been misplaced (don't tell me you haven't done that yourself!)

I'm thinking I'll take a look through the address book later for any entry marked "Home" or "Mum" etc, when the thing rings (scaring the hell out of my little daughter whose turn it was to mind it for me, LOL); imagine my dismay when it's a heavily accented lady on the other end who could not be convinced it wasn't her daughter taking her call!

Another hour and a half goes by when the phone goes off again (some annoying doof-doof ringtone that I would have had to change had the phone remained in my guardianship much longer). I send an autotext to say I'll call back and get the reply "Thank you, very important pictures of baby daughter in phone" (see, told you!). So next pit stop I ring and explain how I came to have their phone (they still don't know how it grew wings and escaped) and hope to tee up a catch up to return their property.

Unfortunately, they're travelling a totally different direction from me, and coming back through on a different day. Fabulous. So I ask them to text me their address and I'll send the phone to them. It will have to wait until after all the public holidays though, for me to get to a post office.

Now, at this point I have had people say "Why didn't you just keep it?" or "Did you use it?" and I always pause to ponder what kind of world we're living in, when that's the common reaction.

OK, so after much ado (which is a whole other blog) I finally get it sent back to them C.O.D. 'cause I thought that was the safest way to track it, and even the owner cannot believe that I did so, and didn't use up all their credit making long distance calls to my entire address book, or nor do I want any payment. I mean, all it cost me really, was a bit of time and effort - I recycled a post-pack and they paid the postage! (I didn't even go snooping through their files because it wouldn't have felt right.) Their delight at getting the phone back (complete with unchanged doof-doof ringtone and important pictures of baby daughter) and reassurance that not everyone's out to rip you off, is its own reward.

I simply say: I guess not everyone has the benefit of being raised by my mum.

And I can only hope that I'm a good enough mother that my children also grow up knowing what is the right thing to do...and doing it!

Jx
©2009