Pillow Talk and Ostrich Sex

I wake suddenly from a strange dream.  When I roll over to look at Daddy, he is checking his phone messages in bed.

Me:  "Oh my God, I just had the craziest dream....what time is it?"

Daddy:  "7:50"

(I roll over and hug him.)

Me:  "Oh my God it was so weird....my dream...."

Daddy: "Yeah?"

Me:  "Totally.  For some reason I was working on an ostrich farm-"

(Daddy starts looking at me like I'm crazy.)

Me:  "And we had to get the ostriches to mate-"

(Daddy rolls his eyes and lies back down on the pillow)

Me:  "So first, we trick them into this sort of corral thing, road-runner style-"

(Daddy heaves a big sigh and rolls over.  I continue talking in his ear)

Me:  "By that I mean we put this pile of bird seed in the middle of the corral and wait-"

Daddy:  "......(sigh)..."

Me:  "Hey, how do ostriches have sex anyway?  I woke up before that part.  We weren't having much luck with it in the dream."

Daddy:  "...(sigh)..."

Me:  "Like, all the other birds I've seen have sex kind of fly there, y'know?"

(Silence from Daddy)

Me:  "But ostriches are so big.   How do they hang on?  Do you think they use their necks?"

(More silence)

Me:  "Hey, I bet there's a Youtube video!  Y'think they'd have a Youtube video of ostrich sex?"

(More silence.)

Me:  "Are you officially ignoring me now because I'm talking about ostrich sex?"

Daddy:  "Yes."

Me:  "I'll go make you some coffee."

Daddy:  "You're going to check Youtube for ostrich porn, aren't you?"

Me:  "Yes."

And here you have it folks: ostrich porn!  (Warning: NSFW)

Youtube has everything.

The Talk: I See Your Hand Drawn Sex Pictures and Raise You a Turkey.

A while back I had written a couple of posts about The Talk: my misadventures in providing Frick's sex-education.  I had the intention of writing about my own sex-education, but other more pressing posts needed to be written.  And then I read this hilarious post by Yvonne at Attracted to Shiny Things.

Yvonne, you and I need to start some kind of support group for PTTSD: Post-The Talk Stress Disorder.

I know the title of my post implies that my experience was more traumatic but that's not really the case.  They're just about equal in their capacity to scar for life, Yvonne's being slightly more pornographic, but I wanted a snappy title.  If you haven't clicked over to her post yet, do it now.  (NOW, I say!)  That shit is pretty danged graphic.

First, let me tell you how I really learned about sex.

I was a shy kid so I didn't make a friend of my very own until I was nine years old.  I just played with my brothers and their friends (all of whom are younger than me).  One day the new girl, Jenny, approached me and informed me that I was to come call on her after school that day.  We were inseparable from that moment until the day she moved away again, 6 months later.  I never understood why she wanted to be my friend.  I was skinny and goofy-looking and unpopular.

I bore a striking resemblance to this man. 

Jenny was cool and pretty and had long hair.  Also, she had breasts!  Nine years old and she had breasts.  I had to learn her secrets!  This was a time when nine-year olds with breasts was pretty rare.

One day Jenny was in an unusually pensive mood.  We were just sitting around, bored, when out of nowhere she just blurted out an entire textbook of sexual information; puberty, menstruation, intercourse, babies.  My theory is that her mother had just given her The Talk the night before (what with her having breasts and all) and she was still dealing with the trauma.  I was shocked.  I accused her of lying to me.  She swore it was true.  A few days later she had stolen the instructions from her mother's tampon box to show me as some kind of evidence.

Seeing the official Tampax logo on those instructions (and suddenly realizing that they most definitely were not weird adult Tootsie Rolls as I had thought) I was convinced.  And slightly horrified.  And maybe a little grossed out.  This topic occupied most of our conversations from thereon after.  We giggled a lot.

So that was my introduction to sex-ed.  By no means accurate or complete (much was left to our imaginations), but a beginning.

Now let me tell you how my mother thinks I learned about sex.

Sorry, Mummy.

I was in 7th grade.  By that time the public school system had already got to me in the form of late eighties AIDS-awareness programs in health classes.  Also, I learned all about teen pregnancy from watching DeGrassi Jr. High.  Also, it's just about the only thing twelve year olds ever talk about.  It seems that Mummy was the last person to tell me about the birds and bees.  And it's such a shame because her somewhat improvised presentation was resourceful and creative.  I'm sure she felt positive about the whole thing, and rightfully so, as I imagine her own education probably consisted of an informative book discreetly left on her bed....if that.

We were in the kitchen making dinner.  I was tearing lettuce for a salad and my mother was making a stuffing for our entree that evening...roast turkey.  As we were thus engaged, she started giving me evaluative, sidelong glances, which were making me slightly nervous.  Then she started talking.

"So your breasts are really developing..."  (they weren't)

"Mom!"

"...and you'll likely be starting your period soon..." (Mummy had told me about periods when I got my first bra, not realizing that Jenny had already stolen her thunder thereby depriving her of my initial shock and denial.)

"Seriously?"

"...and I just wanted to make sure you know how babies are made."

"Oh."  I had no idea what to say.  I knew I was about to hear my Mom talk about sex things.  I silently prayed that this would be quick and painless.  Well, at least it was quick.

"Do you?"

Don't answer that!  It's a setup!  No, she's expecting an answer.  Deny it!  No!  Blame the school!


"Uh, sure.  They uh, taught us in health class....sperm meets egg....(unintelligible teenage mumbling)"

"But how does the sperm get to the egg?"

(Jaw flapping but no sounds coming out.)

"Well, whaddaya think?  A man walks into a room and impregnates a woman by osmosis?"

(Finally able to produce sound) "Uh....uh....uh...."

At this point, based on my extreme embarrassment, she may have had some idea that I knew at least a little bit about sex but she bravely continued.

And that's when she did this:

"This," she announced, grabbing a cucumber off the counter and brandishing it at me, "Is a penis.  Having sex means putting the penis into your vagina, but these days sex can be dangerous-"

Yanks open a drawer and pulls out the Saran Wrap.

"So you have to protect your self-" (wrapping the end of the cucumber in Saran Wrap) "like this.  But with condoms.  But you know if you don't have any condoms you probably could use Saran Wrap."

And that's when she demonstrated exactly how her newly protected cucumber was going to make sweet, sweet love to our supper without producing unholy veggie-turkey babies or contracting poultry-based STDs.  Needless to say, I had very little appetite at the dinner table that night.

Really Mummy?  Saran Wrap?  I can't really judge you too harshly for that one seeing as how at the time you hadn't thought about contraception since you had your tubes tied in 1980, but that's pretty bad advice.  I guess as a responsible, forward thinking Mom you felt that something, even Saran Wrap, was better than nothing.  At least you didn't just say, "Sex: Don't Do It!"  or "Just say, NO!" which would have been even less effective in preventing pregnancy than plastic wrap.

I commend you for doing your very best, Mummy.  It's not an easy conversation to have with your kid at any age.

(On a lighter note, during my research on MacGyver-inspired birth control I found out that people have used:

-a snack-sized Doritos bag
-spermicide made from toothpaste
-tin foil

I don't know what's worse: allowing someone to put that stuff in your vagina or allowing the guy dumb enough to think it would work into your vagina.)

Because You Asked For It: Let's Get It On

Source: Canadian Parents.com


Explain this to me!


My husband is driving me batty with his "the kids have to learn to go to bed on their own"....so basically he wants to say, "go to bed" and they just do, without complaint, or without wanting us to spend some time with them.  GAWD!


So, I tried to say to him, "why is it that our children are expected to sleep alone, not have some cuddle time with one of us, but YOU need ME to sleep with?"


Suddenly I am married, and I never get to sleep alone again? My husband is needier than my kids!  W T H???  He says he can't sleep very well if I'm not here....BUT he expects our kids to just "figure it out".....


Personally I think he is spending less time with our kids because his work hours are longer, and he's devoted to the gym 6 days a week, that spending time with them is irritating to him....

I don't get his logic.


                                                                             By Daisy's Mum

Dear Daisy's Mum,

Do you like music?  I do.  I just thought it would be nice if the two of us could have a little music while we discuss your husband.  Hold on a sec, 'kay?

Now we'll just let that play in the background while I talk.

So like, I have no idea what is wrong with your man.  I mean, what healthy, virile, gym-going fella wouldn't want to sit around waiting for his wife to tell stories and cuddle or pass out from exhaustion with his kids?  What does he expect?  For them to just "go to bed" when they're told, without cuddles or complaint, like he (and probably everyone he ever knew) did when he was a kid?  GAWD!

He says he doesn't sleep well without you.  What on earth could YOU be doing for HIM that would help him sleep, and why is he entitled to it but not your kids?  Selfish!  As if his sleep is more important than the children's!  Why, they are young and growing!  What's he doing?  Working long hours to support his apparently single-income family?  W T H???

Like, all of a sudden you're married and your husband just expects you to be in his bed every night?  When do you get to sleep alone, huh?  Although, I'm a little confused.  Do you want to cuddle with your kids at bedtime or do you want to sleep alone or what?  Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure your husband is an asshole.

Worst of all, he is spending what little free time he has escaping from his family to go to the gym!  That, to me, is very disturbing.  Of all the places he could be going to escape his family; the club, the strippers, the racetrack, he chooses the gym!  And then that bastard comes home to you all fit and wants you to cuddle with him!

I don't get his logic, either.

                                                                                                  Mommy Rotten

(Music from the incomparable Marvin Gaye)

The Talk: Scrotum. It's a Funny Word.

Last week I related my experience trying to explain vagina to my then three year old son.  I thought that was hard because he was having difficulty understanding alien junk.  Turns out that was nothing compared to his next question.

A few months after our vagina talk, I'm sitting on the couch enjoying my morning coffee and reading a book.  Frick is playing with his cars on the floor next to me.  All of a sudden he gets up and approaches me,

"Mommy, can I ask you a question?"

(Not looking up from my book) "Shoot."

Frick drops his pants and grabs hold of his penis.

"I know what this is for (shaking his penis at me) but what is this for?"  And with that he reaches under and grabs his balls to illustrate what he means.

OMG!  I almost spit out my coffee.  A couple of things are going through my head once I get over the initial shock: 1) I know that as a responsible parent I am supposed to answer this question in a matter of fact tone using words he can understand, and 2) Scrotum is way too funny a word for me to be able to say it out loud.  It's just one of those silly words guaranteed to cause hysterical giggling on my part.  "Vagina" was kind of difficult but "scrotum" would be downright impossible.  My brain begins searching through, and then rejecting, almost my entire mental Rolodex of synonyms for "scrotum" in an attempt to select a term I could use with a straight face.

Scrotal sack.  Nutsack.  Nuts.  Balls.  Stones.  Gonads.  Nards.  The beans.  Bollocks.  Cojones.  Nuggets.  Family jewels.  Package.  Manjigglies.  Testes...

How was I ever going to be able to explain this?

Meanwhile my son stands there, his junk in his hands, waiting patiently for me to finish having what must have looked like a mini-stroke.  I stall for more time by getting him to put his pants back on.  My response?

Summoning every ounce of self-restraint, I somehow manage to say the word "testicles" without stammering or giggling and then launch into a ridiculous analogy of a "Little Swimmer Factory"  that was closed for business now but that would open up some day so he could make babies.

"Mommy, I can't make babies.  Vaginas make babies."

"No, Mommies and Daddies make babies together.  A Mommy needs the Daddy's little swimmers to make a baby."

"But how does she get them out?"

"They come out of your penis."

(Horrified) "What!?!"

And he listens with growing shock and dismay as I calmly explain the mechanics of baby-making.  I can see the wheels turning as I talk, contemplating the significance of what I am telling him.

"And that means you and Daddy...?"

"Yes."

"And that I...?"

"Uh huh."

"And some day I'm gonna...?"

"You'll want to.  When you grow up you'll like doing that and that's normal."

"No way.  No way am I ever going to want to do that!"  And then, clearly having had enough, he stalks out of the room shaking his head and muttering, "Huh uh.  No way....just,  ew!  Man!  In my house!  Some people."

The Talk: Let's Talk Vagina

A lot of people have a lot of different philosophies about how to handle The Talk with their kids and I'm not here to say one is better than the other.  Whatever philosophy you have it is probably ridiculous because nothing feels sillier than trying to explain sex to your kids no matter what.  For me The Talk is not just one excruciatingly awkward informational hour but a painfully ongoing conversation that sometimes borders on the inappropriate.  And what better way to handle my parenting PTSD than to use it as blogfodder?  And because this Talk is an ongoing conversation I can probably stretch it out over a few posts.

And so I present to you the first instalment of The Talk: Let's Talk Vagina

It all began at the tender age of 3 1/2 when Frick was trying to figure out the differences between boys and girls.  It was very confusing for him.  Every time he thought he had it there turned out to be some kind of exception.

"Girls have long hair and boys have short hair, right Mommy?"

"But what about Gramma?  All your Grammas have short hair and they're girls."

"Oh.  Right.  Ummm, boys wear pants and girls wear dresses?"

"I'm wearing pants right now."

"Oh.  Girls have boobies?"

"Girls don't get boobies until they grow up and we don't wait until they're grown up to know they're girls."

"Well then how can you tell?"

"Because boys have a penis, like you do, but girls have a vagina."

"A va- What?!?  No they don't!  They have a penis!"

"No, they don't.  I don't have a penis!"

"Yes you do!  I've seen it!"

(WTF?)

"But I don't have one!"

"Yes, you do!  It's a hair penis!"

Oh boy.  It's really amazing how a blank slate of a brain will interpret information sometimes.  Apparently Frick's young mind needed to interpret my pubic hair as a "hair penis" because that was the only thing that made sense to him.  Explaining this was going to be tricky.  Also, I really needed to trim my lady garden.

"No honey, that is not a penis.  I have a vagina.  It's very different from a penis and it is what makes me a girl."

(Skeptical) "No.  Penis."

In this moment I am mentally struggling to find some way to explain this to Frick so that he will not only understand but also be convinced.  The only thing I could come up with was to show him a picture.  I was pretty sure my pregnancy book had diagrams in it so I told him to sit tight while I went to find the book.

Utterly unconvincing.

Frick easily understood the penis diagram.  That was familiar.  But the diagram for the vagina, with the uterus and ovaries made absolutely no sense.

"You do NOT have that!  You're tricking me!"

"I do.  You just can't see them because they're inside of me."

"Penis!  Hair Penis!!!"

Once Frick gets an idea in his head, his brain locks onto it like a pitbull.  You almost have to pry the idea out of its stiff dead jaws.  Diagrams were not going to cut it.  He was going to have to see the real thing.  There was nothing else for it.

I sure as hell wasn't going to show him mine.  Besides, he'd apparently seen it before and that's what got us into this mess in the first place.  I knew all I would get from the internet was porn.  So there was nothing left but whatever was in my pregnancy book.  And all of those vaginas were in various stages of childbirth.

Well...

.... at least they left no room for ambiguity.

After possibly traumatizing my son with these graphic, but thankfully black and white (and therefore artistic) photos of babies emerging from vaginas, he no longer doubted.  He was quiet for a moment.

"Mommy?"

"What?"

"I'm glad I'm a boy!"