The Sex Talk.

Posted by on Sep 16, 2013 in From My Perspective, Raising Great Kids | 6 comments

My children are 11, 8 and 8.  They know what sex is.

“How are babies made?” they wanted to know.

When I answered, I was honest.

I told them that God made a man and a woman fit together like puzzle pieces.  When a man’s penis (or pee pee) is erect and hard,  it fits inside a woman’s vagina (the middle hole of a girl’s private area.)  I used my right index finger to demonstrate the erection of the male anatomy, and the fingers of my left hand to make an ‘o’ shape representative of the female.  As I inserted the male into the female, astonished eyebrows raised amongst my silent but interested audience.

I told them that lots of tiny sperm that swim like tadpoles leave the tip of the man’s penis and travel to the woman’s egg.  If one sperm sticks, the egg is fertilized and a baby will grow inside the woman’s belly.  If two sperm stick to two eggs, two babies will grow.  Or, in the special case of our identical twins, one egg can sometimes be fertilized by one sperm, but then split in half to form two babies.  This intriguing fact also produced some contorted facial expressions.

When I was done I waited for the question that I knew would follow:

“Mommy, why would anyone want to do this?”

The following is the most honest answer I could offer to them in terms I knew they would relate to:

Sex is like driving a car to the best birthday party ever.  In order to get there safely, you have to be old enough to respect the dangers of the trip.

If you are reckless or irresponsible with the car – you drive too fast, forget to wear your seat belt, or fail to consider the direction of the other cars on the road – accidents can happen.  People can get very hurt.  Lives can change forever.

But when you are a responsible driver – you take your time getting there, you wear your seatbelt, and treat other drivers on the road with respect – you will arrive safely.  Then you’ll have so much fun at the party that the careful trip will have been worth the wait!

When two people treat sex and each other with respect, sex feels good.  Actually – it feels like love.  Like the biggest, best, smiliest hug you could ever imagine.  That’s why people do it.

But if the serious nature of sex is not respected, it doesn’t always feel good.  It can feel like a big mistake.  A bad choice with permanent consequences.

Like a baby before you’re ready to be a parent.  Before you’re even married.  Perhaps with someone you don’t even really like.  Because it only takes one tiny little sperm and one egg to make a baby forever.

It was a good talk.

We covered what we needed to cover.  Since then, they have had many spontaneous questions.

“What are balls?”  (They’re called testicles.  They make the man’s sperm that fertilizes the woman’s egg.)

“Did you talk to your Mommy before you made sex?” (Oh of course I did, honey – I hope they’ll talk to me more.)

“What did she say?” (She helped me decide if I was ready or not – she definitely steered me towards ‘or not.’)

“How old were you when you made sex?” (Old enough to make a safe decision – This may have been stretching the truth, but they’re 8.  We’ll get to that.)

“Who did you make sex with?” (We’ll talk about that when you’re older – I made a quick exit.  I’m sure I had something important to do.)

My hope is that the kids will continue to feel comfortable asking me questions.

So that even if they don’t tell me exactly when they’re going to have sex for the first time, I will have already prepared them to make an informed decision.

I hope all our little talks along the way will remind each one of them to slow down, and – at the very least – buckle up for safety.  Because that’s a party that is worth the wait.

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Boys and Dumb Dumbs

Posted by on Sep 8, 2013 in Family Life, From My Perspective, Musings from the Mayhem | 0 comments

Pet peeves and marriage go hand in hand.  Craig and I drive each other crazy in silly little ways.  For example, Craig has a tendency to tell stories from my past as though he was there.  I hate it when he does this for the following reasons:

  1. I like to decide when to insert myself in a conversation.  There are times when it’s not about me, so a story from my childhood seems irrelevant.
  2. Most often he gets the story wrong since he wasn’t there.  I’m protective of my stories, so I get irritated when I have to correct him and re-tell the story.
  3. Telling a story about my past involves providing necessary background information, setting the scene, and answering any questions that may arise.  Sometimes I’m just not in the mood.

Craig knows I hate when he does this.  I’ve told him so many times.  Unfortunately his spontaneous urges to share in conversation often cause him to forget.  As a result, I get instantly annoyed when he starts to vomit one of my stories.

It happened last night.  Craig and I took Gabe to dinner while the girls were at volleyball practice.  Upon exiting the restaurant, there was a basketful of free Dum Dums suckers.  Gabe and Craig both took two – Craig was in full child-mode along with his 11 year-old son.

They spent most of dinner in “Man Land” (as they like to call it) ganging up against me and sharing several celebratory high-5s.  They were having a ball.  I was tolerating their fun with sarcasm.  I can appreciate and hang in Man Land with the best of ’em.

However the fun stopped temporarily for me when we got into the car and Craig announced all knowingly, “Hey Gabe!  Did you know Mommy grew up in the town where Dum Dums are….”

I cut him off before he could finish his thought.

“That’s not your story to tell,” I reminded him through gritted teeth, because he was already telling the story wrong.  I did not grow up in Bryan, which is where the Spangler Candy Company is located.  I grew up in Edon – 15 minutes from Bryan.  When you come from a one-stoplight town as small as mine, it’s important imperative to differentiate.

“Ooops!” he giggled sheeplishly, knowing he’d violated our pet peeve agreement but not really caring.  I glared at him.  Both suckers were sticking out of either side of his mouth.  Child.

“What’s he talking about, Mommy?” Gabe asked.  He was eager for me to look at him too.  He beamed as he mimicked his goofy father with both of his suckers also sticking out of either side of his mouth.  I shook my head with dramatic frustration.  He giggled as he awaited my answer.

Flustered, I spit out a generalized explanation that felt accurate enough to satisfy Gabe’s fleeting curiosity: “I grew up where Dumb Dumbs are made.”

The festive noise in the car came to a screeching halt.  The dead silence gave me pause enough to realize what I’d just said.  Oh crap.

“Bahahahahahahahahahaha!” Gabe and Craig erupted into deep belly laughter.

I was not going to beat them on this one.  I conceded and laughed until my stomach hurt.  They celebrated with yet another high-5 – their first legit victory of the evening.  Silly boys.

Dum Dums



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