Private Parts

When I had my son I worried about the penis conversation with my daughter. I knew, at 3 years old, she would ask. I knew she would be interested. I dreaded the thought of her little brain churning over and over the male sex-organ so early. I asked my sister how I should handle it. She said, "You just address it plain and simple call it by its name, don't make up some foo-foo word for it." That has been my rule of thumb. Then, not ten minutes later, my daughter went to the bathroom with her son and came back saying, "Mom, I saw his penis!" Once my son was born we had a quick run through: you have a vagina, he has a penis. I, naively, considered the topic addressed.

Shortly after St. Patrick's day, however, my husband and daughter had stopped for gas at a gas station right next to a McDonald's. The goose said, "I had a Shamrock Shake the other day." My husband said, "Oh yeah? Did you like it." She relied, "Yes, I did. Dad, you have a big penis and my brother has a small penis." Shakes. Penis. Wait what? My husband, dumbfounded, replied, "Well, yes, its because I'm a big guy and he's a little guy." He looked in his rear view mirror to see her churning on the new information then quickly continued, "When did you say you had that Shamrock Shake?"

At my latest ultrasound the tech sent me home with two photographs. One picture of my in-utero son's profile, the other of his penis. I showed the pictures to my daughter, she said "Oh! So that's his penis." Yup. A few days later I caught her playing the fiddle with her brother's schlong in the bathtub. I said, "Oh! That's his penis. You shouldn't touch his private parts." She stopped and said, "Ok."

Then on Mother's Day we sat around the kitchen table chatting about donuts and current weekend happenings. I had mentioned a few days prior that I still had her ultrasound pictures and she wanted to see them. We ate our donuts and looked at the baby's ultrasound, her brother's ultrasounds, and then her ultrasound pictures. She looked at each of them carefully. I'd say, "That's your mouth." She'd reply, "Yes, I see it." When we were done she said, "Wait, but Mom, where is my vagina?" My husband nearly choked on his coffee and I sat speechless. Of course she'd want to see a picture of her vagina. She had just seen two pictures of two penis' and she didn't have one of those...so where was the ever mysterious vagina? Finally I said, "Well, that's tricky because its inside your body so you can't see it on a picture." She seemed pacified.

My head swirled with the what if's of a preschoolers thought process. Where is she heading with this? I geared up for further dialogue about the vagina. Thankfully, my husband switched gears quickly with, "We should get our teeth brushed everybody!" As we left the kitchen he said, "How did we get there so quickly?" The penis/vagina dialogue rages on in my house and I get the feeling it has become a staple.

Put down the spitter, Cletus.

My son is a boy, through and through. He apparently likes things more if I say "yuck" about them. The kitchen garbage can is a constant battle; the recycling container under the sink another fighting ground. Taking his dirty diaper to the garbage can, saying, "yuck yuck" the whole way there, is a good time. Within fifteen minutes of being at the park he could care less about the play structures and will go in search of the nearest pile of dirt or mud and play with it.

From very early on it seemed evident to me that he was a man's man. When we would go shopping or to a party he would stare at men. He would bat his heavily eyelashed blue eyes at women, of course, but seemed fascinated by men. Even more taken by men in hats. He is also quite in love with his father and at 14 months tries to mimic his every move. Last night while my husband took a few work calls he circled the house, walking. He is a walking talker. Every time he came through the kitchen the little Mister was right on his heels, Tonka cell phone to his ear.

It is no wonder then that when we are in the garage he seems even more fascinated by his father's tools than his plastic toys. Who wouldn't be? I was a little disappointed yesterday when I was unloading groceries to find him combining two of his favorite hobbies in the garage: adoration of his father and playing with things I call yucky. I was putting Diet Coke in the refrigerator and when I turned around I found the boy leaning against the recycling container, chugging what looked like an empty beer can. There he was mimicking his father and getting into the yucky stuff. It wasn't, however, an empty beer can...my husband dips. I said, "Oh come on buddy, drinking a spitter is frowned upon," took the can and wiped him down. He cried outrageously in protest and smelled of Skoal for a bit.

If this is what I'm in for I might as well pack it all up, move even farther into the sticks, and rename him Cletus.

What's in a word?

My daughter is experimenting with the "F" word. She has heard it, knows its bad, but wants me to acknowledge its infamous nature. First experiment, while driving in the car we play a rhyming game. She loves to play the game, but is not the best at creating rhymes; often she just adds the letter f to the word, for instance - mouse rhymes with flouse. She starts it up last Tuesday with, "Mom, what rhymes with f*#k?" I thought, "nah...that's not what I heard." So I ask, "I'm sorry hunny, I didn't hear you?" I readjusted my rearview mirror so as to clearly see her as she spoke. "What rhymes with F*#K?" Yes. That is what I heard. I giggled and said, "That's not even a word. You can't just keep adding f to the beginning of words to make a rhyme." Phew. Cleared that one with ease. Not likely. Four year olds are mastermind manipulators. Experiment two: my mother is a singing grandmother. She sings a million songs and I can remember about fifty of them. One that I do remember goes like this: I love you a bushel and a peck A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck... Thursday of last week while driving home my daughter belted out her version of the song: I love you a bushel and a f*#k A bushel and a f*#k and hug around the neck... I said, "Hunny, those aren't the words. Its peck - a bushel and a peck." She yells at me, "What are you even saying? A bushel and a what?" "PECK!" I scream, "PEEECCCKKK!" I was losing the battle to keep the "F" word out of our vocabulary. This morning, four short days later, I pulled into the garage and exited the car. I walked around to open the door to take my son out of his seat and as I open the door I hear it again, "F*#k!" I said, "What did you say?" She repeated it. I said, "OK - you are not allowed to say that word. It is a bad word. If you say that word again I am going to wash your mouth out with soap." She said, "What word? Puck?" I said, "Oh no - don't try that. You know the word I am talking about. Do not say it again." As she hopped out of the car, she surreptitiously glanced at me and grinned. She won the battle.

Advice: how to talk to the preggos

When I was younger I worked with a woman who was a bit overweight. We were at the front desk of a very popular, busy restaurant in Chicago. One night while she was walking a group to their table a man congratulated her and asked, "When is your due date?" She was devastated. I tried to console her with positive thoughts, "He's just a jerk..." and "Please, you look great!! I love that dress!" Regardless of my efforts to cheer her, she was devastated. Suggesting that a woman is pregnant when in fact she isn't is quite possibly the meanest thing you could say to a woman..

The truth is, asking a woman if she is pregnant EVEN IF SHE IS PREGNANT is frowned upon, too. My rule of thumb is never, never, never, ever, even if she's clearly about to have a baby ask the question. Don't comment at all about her physical appearance. For instance, does she have a gigantic belly, gorgeous glowing face, shiny perfect hair and look as if she is bursting with joy? You then say, "You a hockey fan?" Do NOT say, "Oh, you must be pregnant you're looking so full of life..." Because you can bet your sweet patoot she will lose her glow, her hair will instantly dull, and she'll give you the "what an awful human" glare you rightly deserve.

Starting a conversation with a woman you suspect to be pregnant you should never indicate your suspicion. Talk about something else entirely. Talk about yourself until she brings it up - and trust me, if she IS PREGNANT - she will bring it up. I'm pregnant and its all I can do not to talk about it. The reason for this is simple: pregnancy consumes you. Your body lives for a ten month period in a state of constant change; every day the hormones shift and you never know what that will bring. Good mood, bad mood, shiny hair, zits, tears, smiles, constipation, diarrhea, vomit, bloating. I mean, you really do not know what the day will bring. Nausea ends during week eleven, but then boom - week 16 and there it is again. Besides those physical indicators everyone asks about, a pregnant woman's brain is not like a non-pregnant woman's brain. My point is simply: if she is pregnant she will talk about being pregnant. Somehow, someway - it will come up. So you needn't worry yourself with bringing it up at all.

You certainly shouldn't feel compelled to bring it up just to "congratulate" her. If for some odd reason she doesn't bring it up and you don't get the chance to congratulate her - she isn't losing any sleep over that, so again - don't fret. If you did bring it up and she isn't pregnant, she will lose sleep over the insult. If she is pregnant and you brought it up in an improper way again, she's not sleeping tonight.

What should be your utmost concern is not hurting a woman's feelings for any reason at all. If you say nothing and she brings it up and you have the opportunity to congratulate her let that be it. If you MUST say something else - the only thing you should ever say to a woman who is pregnant no matter how close you are to her is this: "How are you feeling?" and/or "You look great!" Never say anything like:
1. "I thought you were pregnant, you normally take such good care of yourself."
2. "I can't believe how big you are!"
3. "Maybe you're carrying twins."
4. "Well, you weren't that big with your other children, were you?"
5. "When I was pregnant I didn't start to show until I was (fill in the blank) months along."
6. "I guess you've had some cravings for junk food, huh?"
7. "Hitting the ice cream shop, are we?"

Chances are if you have said anything like that to a pregnant woman she cursed you out behind your back for a day or two - minimum. You may think that seems an excessive amount of time - but each of the comments a pregnant woman hears is registered in a location in her brain that she will not forget. Oddly she'll forget to buckle her eldest with a seat belt, but she will not forget the nasty comment her neighbor said.

I will review. It is really just this simple. First, never ask the question. Let her tell you of her own free will. Two, if it comes up you have three things to say, "Congratulations! How are you feeling? Well... you just look great!" If you follow these simple rules you will be certain to stay in the good graces of pregnant women everywhere and certain not to offend any non-pregnant women along the way.

First Time Isn't a Charm

My husband is a snow plower.  He goes out alone, a solitary man and his truck.  With our most recent storm he was out for 36 hours...or something insane like that.  He seems to like it quite a bit.  I liken it to his hobbies: hunting, fishing.  A man, alone with his gun or fishing pole - silence.  I am well aware that he leaves here on a daily basis to escape the constant sound, even if he has to go to work to do it.  Three year olds and wives talk constantly; the one year old boy exists only with a steady stream of grunts and growns.  We are a loud bunch.  I can tune the kids out pretty well, when needed.  Dinnertime, for instance, I have to shut down my mommy-entertainer mode so as to prepare a meal.  In this mode, however, I can still register anything happening in my kitchen that requires my attention.  A child climbing upstairs or playing in an off limits cabinet.  A child moaning for more peas.  Whatever the case may be I can hear what needs to be heard. 

Sunday was the Superbowl.  We were heading to a small gathering for the event and on the way my husband thought he would check on a couple driveways.  Turned out we did need to plow two driveways.  It was the first time we had a family plowing excursion.  It was less than ideal for the solitary snow plow hubby of mine in that a three year old fields a lot of questions during her first experience with anything. 

This day was also special because it was the first day our youngest, newly one year old just last week, got to face forward while in the car.  Initially he seemed quite pleased to be able to see us and more of the world around him.  The first driveway was quite short.  The baby started moaning a little bit - my dinnertime mommy ears were listening as I watched, fascinated by the movement of snow from one location to the next.  When my husband got out of the truck to shovel the walk I turned and chatted with the kids a bit.  The chicken just wanted to get to the party but my little man seemed downright pissed.  I tried to cheer him up and then we were moving on.

At the next (very long) driveway we pulled up, dropped the plow, and pulled the snow away from the garage door.  Forward and then reverse. We did that three more times.  Then I noticed the moaning again.  Then I noticed my own stomach was starting to turn a bit.  Then the truck lurched forward again and we had our next first experience: the little man puked up his lunch all over himself - twice.  He and I made a not so quick exit from the truck and watched from the sideline.  Needless to say, it was unpleasant and we both felt badly for the Mister.

Evidentally, I need to tune my mommy ear's a bit for the sound of "child about to puke".  My husband will certainly stick to solitary man plowing snow from now on... but who could of have seen that coming?