Sunday, November 29, 2009

Drinking Game: When You Hear the Word "Vagina" Take a Shot. P.s. You Will be Drunk by the End of this Post

So, I'm getting Girl-Child out of the bath tonight and she asks, how do babies get out of the mommy? It's not the first time she's asked this question but my pat answer of "they come out of the mommy's tummy" was no longer a sufficient explanation. Because she was all, yeah I know THAT but HOWWW? Well, feck. I mean, she's six, so do I struggle with trying to figure out something age appropriate? Or do I just get fer realz on her ass? Frankly, I've just gone through hosting a Thanksgiving dinner-slash-day to fourteen people, not in bed until midnight-ish, up at 4am and at the mall by 5am, movie at the El Capitan in Hollywood at 7pm - followed by a next day dinner and 7pm movie chaser; not to mention the grocery shopping because the leftovers WILL eventually run out, and that mountain of laundry tackled. In other words: my ability to formulate a creative answer was clouded by my extreme exhaustion. I blurt out:

Babies come out of the mommy's vagina.

She seems generally unfazed...and now I know why: What's a vagina? ...she asks.

Oh my god, you guys. I have totally failed this girl. I mean, I know I've done my most bestiest bestest to shield her from all things inappropriate and keep her innocent as long as possible - which is like fighting a losing battle because you can't even watch an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond without the subject of sex coming up and Girl-Child is all, what's sex? And I'm like fuuuuuck you Everybody Loves Raymond, I mean, WTH? Work with me Ray Romano! - but, but, but, my poor daughter doesn't even know what a vagina is or that she has come equipped with one and that some day a baby may come out of it! Mom=fail.

So I do what any mother in my situation would do when her naked daughter fresh out of the bathtub asks what a vagina is. I point at it. [Right?] This seemed to cause some confusion on her part. Because, HOW does it come out of THAT? There's a hole there, I tell her. Still confusing because HOW BIG IS THAT HOLE, which is exactly what she asked.

"It stretches", I say. "So the baby can fit through."

She wonders if that hurts.

Oh God.

The conversation is beginning to spiral out of control and into a territory that I do not believe she is ready to receive. I mean, let's recap: Not even knowing that she has a vagina - to - what, exactly? Giving her THE TALK? That just seems like a lot of information to throw at her all at once, ya know?

So, I lie to her and tell her it only hurts a little bit. Because, what am I supposed to say? That it hurts so bad that at some point during labor you kind of just wish for sweet death? And that some women take that opportunity to tell their husbands exactly what they think of them? [An aside: Not me. I didn't mind that my husband was watching the ...hmmm... Hawks? Steelers? Raiders? Whatever they were wearing black on Monday night football while I was busy with the miracle of life]...I mean, do I even GO into the whole episiotomy thing? No, of course not.

But, "it hurts a little bit" was all she needed to hear. Mommy I don't think I'm gonna get married, she decides. And I ask her why. Because when you get married you have babies and I don't want it to hurt.

Now if she can just hold onto that until she's at least twenty five.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Warning: Does not Work Well With Small Children

This morning, a matter got my dander up. I know I'm a bitcher and moaner from way back. It doesn't take much to get me going. It is what I do. [Ohmygod you should hear me in the car. Everyone in the world is a bad driver except for me. And I will tell you exactly what you're doing wrong from the comfort, safety, and where you can't hear me inside my car.] But when it involves my children -well then- GET OUT OF MY WAY.

My daughter approached me while I was packing up lunches into backpacks. "I want to buy my lunch today", she says. Which is fine, of course, and I say so. But she's anxiously tapping her fingers on one hand against the fingers on the other. And she looks concerned. So I ask her what ever is the matter, dear daughter.

"I forgot my number", she states in a tone as if she'd just told me that she lost a family heirloom that I'd cautioned her not to touch.

You see, I make my kids' lunches everyday, and every once in a while they like to buy cafeteria food. The system at the school is such that each child is assigned a number (almost like a barcode, that is given to them by the cashier, no less) for buying lunch. They get in line, give the cashier their money, state their number, the cashier punches it into a computer and they're free to buy one main entree and various sides and a drink for $2.75.

Apparently this number is very VERY important.

"If you forgot it just tell the lady", I tell her.

Girl-Child looks nervous. Her eyes get a little well-y-uppy. And I get very suspicious. What is vexing my child so? [and why am I speaking as if it is 1865?]

"She told me that if I forgot my number again I would have to go to the end of the line and be the last one to buy lunch".

WTF? I'm sorry. She told you WHAT? Mind you that this is a child who has MAYBE bought her lunch FOUR TIMES EVER IN HER LIFE. And another "mind you"? It took everything I had in me to not drive helter skelter up to the school and have words with said woman.

How hard is this job? Seriously? You sit at a register in an elementary school and collect money from children. That's it. I get that it's boring, and monotonous, and repetitious. But to tell a little six year old girl, who doesn't buy her lunch often enough to have her stupid fucking number memorized, that she will have to wait until ALL THE OTHER CHILDREN buy their lunch before she can. To THREATEN MY CHILD? Because, why? Why? I don't understand how you could be having such a bad day doing this job that you have to intimidate a little girl.

There are many things my child will have to worry about in her adolescent years; like fitting in with her peers, and temptations, and bullies, and cliques, and studying hard enough for and doing well on a test, and if that boy likes her or like-likes her and does she like-like him back, and how I don't know what I'm talking about when I tell her that none of it matters, all of the angsty angst, because after you graduate high school you're likely to never see any of those people ever again and they won't be the most important people in your lives, and how she'll tell me that it's different for her and how I just don't understand because my life is not her life and how she won't listen when I tell her that it's ALL THE SAME SHIT that has been happening for generations but with new improved technology - because that's what kids and teens do. They believe the world revolves around them and that what is happening to them is unique and has never happened before, and...

She shouldn't be standing here in the kitchen freaking out over forgetting the godforsaken magical lunch-buying number. This is not something that should be causing my child any stress whatsoever.

I may just have to join my daughter for lunch.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Obligatory Post-Halloween Mash Up

(Is it just me or does the above pumpkin look a little like a worried and fatigued Charlie Brown?)

(The pumpkins prepare for their night of housing candles and fire. They're not happy)

(Sassy ladybug complete with black tights and leotard to get rid of that hoochie mama look)

(Thirteen year olds wear a tiny Elvis on their head)

(Zombie skeleton...pretty much speaks for itself)