I Have All the Answers

In a perfect world, my children would give me written notice of any hard questions they will be asking, 24 hours in advance. That way, I would have time to craft the perfect, honest-yet-age-appropriate answer. Instead, they zing one at me and I go "Uh, uh, uh, uh..." before stammering out something that may or may not answer the question.

Today alone, I have been asked:
1. What exactly are all the parts of the vagina?
2. What is sexual abuse?
3. What happens when all the people in town die? (I can only assume this has something to do with a zombie apocalypse. I am so damned tired of these zombie questions.)
4. When you and Daddy die, where would we go and live?
5. If you get really sick and the doctor can't make you better and you go to the hospital and they can't make you all better, before you die do you turn all green and yucky? (Again with the zombies?)

The last one is the only one I managed to answer without hesitation.

Last week I tackled lesbians, meth, and why boys get to pee standing up.

It has always been our policy to be honest, or as honest as we can be. The Husband wants no part in talking about lady business, so conversations about vaginas and boobies and babies fall squarely on my shoulders. So when Katie came home and told us that someone had kicked her in the nuts, it was up to me to set her straight.

"Honey, you don't have nuts."
"Well, what are nuts?"
"You know testicles? Testicles are nuts. Sometimes boys also call them balls."
"WHAT?"
 

Little truths are mind blowing when you're small.

The older they get, the harder the questions, and the grayer the answers. Conversations now often contain phrases like "we believe" or "I think". Sometimes we can give the facts and lay out a truth, and sometimes we just have to build a foundation and let them reach their own conclusions.

This parenting gig - it's a breeze.

First Impressions

I'm guest blogging over at Triad Moms on Main in the morning - a very nice, non-funny piece on transitioning from a working outside the home mom to a stay at home mom. I always appreciate the opportunity to guest blog and, hopefully, some new readers will find me as a result.

Which is great.

Except - I'm faced with the dilemma: Do I run around tidying up and answer the door with my lip gloss on and vaseline smile and say "Welcome! I am so glad you're here!", or should I be a little more honest? Do I greet you braless, my boobs flopping all over the place, with bits chewed up food sticking to my shirt, talking about my butthole and dropping the occasional f-bomb? You won't have to read too deep into SFC to know the answer to that one.

When I was a working lady (not a hooker, just a lady who worked. Just to clarify.), I worked a job that required me to be presentable and well spoken and come off as smart, but not too smart. On first impression, I am non-threatening Wonder Bread. I am fairly pleasant, and chances are if you take me out some place, I am not going to get hammered and vomit on anyone's shoes.

But now that I don't work, and I'm not required to be particularly presentable, and I talk about the intimate details of my life in a public forum...it's a little harder to keep up appearances. It's disconcerting meeting someone that has read my blog before I've met them in person and they know about things like my issues with farty granola, and my difficulties with hair removal, and my deep seeded hatred of our mail carrier.

So if you're a first time reader, and my friends at TMOM have sent you my way - welcome! I am glad you're here.

And beware of first impressions.

Beach Report, Mid-Week

One of the best parts of the beach is the roar of the ocean waves - and how they completely drowned out the roar of my trumpeter farts, caused by eating 800 pounds of pie, cheese, hot dogs and various other gas-producing delicacies. Good grief.

I could have used the sound of the waves when I farted in front of my father-in-law (for the first time in 21 years of knowing him). To his credit, his response was "High five!". Then, while we were playing trackball on the beach one day (trackball is one of the few games that can make even me seem athletic), my boob popped out of my bathing suit. Without missing a beat, he said "Whoops! Lost a mimi!", and then continued our game. The guy is smooth.

Aside from the next-level bonding between my father-in-law and I, the vacation has been relatively uneventful so far. We've made it to the beach each day despite rain, and the Husband and I are taking the kids to the Pirate's Voyage tomorrow. Swashbuckling fun with a score written by none other than the one and only Ms. Dolly Parton. I don't know about you, but when I think Dolly Parton, I think pirates! After I think enormous boobies, of course.

Two more days, and then back home, where I'll spend the next week de-sanding everyone and everything and wishing it were next summer so we could do it all over again. Thanks again to Erin from Creating Little Monsters and Shannon from Shannanigans for keeping SFC afloat this week, whilst I frolic at the seashore. As a little teaser to the photo-palooza I'll be posting when we get back, here's a heart melting shot of my oldest and my youngest, taken by my mom.