Virginia is for Lovers

When I was pregnant with Toddler Child, Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were 7 and 5 years old.  They'd never really asked too many questions about the difference between boys and girls - they simply had friends.  As the baby was developing and my stomach was growing, questions began.  They were easy questions and didn't require much detail.  Chris and I purchased an age appropriate book that had illustrations of boys and girls, men and women, and only went so far as to explain that when a Mom and Dad love each other, sometimes they get a baby!  All of the drawings looked like Cabbage Patch Kids - even the adults.  This was a VERY macro level book, clearly with an old fashioned, conventional bent.  But it satisfied both boys.  It used all the proper words for anatomy and answered the question "How does the baby get out?" with "Through the birth canal."  Like that's crystal clear.  But it worked.  Chris and I were relieved.

I've talked with so many friends, a few doctors and a couple psychologists about when and how to educate kids on "the birds and the bees".  Seems to me, eventually everyone figures it out one way or the other.

It was a couple weeks from the baby's due date, Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were eating lunch at the kitchen table, I was standing a few feet away washing dishes in the sink.  Oldest Boy says nonchalantly, "Mama.  I know why you don't have a penis." 

"Why?" I said.

"So when that baby comes out, he can come right out your VIRGINIA."

Bad 5-Letter Words

Part I

One day Oldest Boy comes running out of Middle Boy's room and yells over the balcony, "Mama, Mary had a CRAMP on Middle Boy's socks!"

"WHAT?!" I said.

"Hurry, Mary CRAMPED!"

This was about 5 years ago when Oldest Boy was 5 years old.  Middle Boy was 3 and Mary was still a puppy.  I ran upstairs thinking maybe Mary was having a seizure and Oldest Boy didn't have the word for that.  She'd never had a seizure before, but I truly couldn't imagine what had happened.

I walked into Middle Boy's room with Oldest Boy right behind me.  There sat Mary and Middle Boy, neither alarmed nor stressed and not far from Oldest Boy was a pair of his dirty socks on the floor with a pile of Mary's poop on top of it.

I turned to Oldest Boy and said, "Mary had an accident and pooped.  'Cramp' is not a nice word for poop, please don't say that anymore."

"I didn't know," said Oldest Boy.

I cleaned up the mess and chose not to correct the boys on the proper use of the word "cramp" or "crap".

Part II

Mom and Dad were visiting from Arizona several months later.  Dad and Middle Boy were in Middle Boy's room playing with trains and tracks.  I thought how nice it was that they were up there so long, Dad laying on his side on the floor, watching Middle Boy push trains around the various tracks they'd made.

Dad finally came downstairs and joined us in the kitchen.  He grabbed a handful of nuts and casually says, "Middle BOy really enjoys those trains.  He got mad when one of them wouldn't do what he wanted, and he said, 'Oh, CRAAAAMP!'"

We cuss in code at our house.

Regular People

So many ideas swirling in my head - what to write about - how much to share about the past and present.  I read other blogs, articles in magazines, lots of books and feel stupid for thinking about pushing any words into the public eye, let alone doing it.  There are so many talented, pedigreed people with impressive vocabularies, story telling abilities, published "stuff" and awards.  Recounting a conversation or event that happened is one skill set - but to develop and tell a story created in one's mind is - I believe - a gift.  I don't think I have that gift.  I think one of my son's does though.  It awakens him in the night - the need to just "get it out" on paper.  He's eight.

BUT, I, one of the "regular people" will not be discouraged by these thoughts.  I will continue to write and share, things from the past, the present, even a few things made up in my own head.  I'll try not to be too self-indulgent, annoying, or narcissistic, recognizing that a little of each of these traits will come through on any blog.

The first time I realized a boss of mine - a smart, educated, wealthy, conventionally successful man - was really one of the "regular people", I felt empowered, but not in an elitist way - in an equalizing way.  I spoke with Dad about this.  He simply said, "They're all regular people."  And we are.