Birds and Bees

Yes. This post is going to be about exactly what you think.

Click away if you blush easily.

I warned you.

I was driving the kids to school on Wednesday when we heard the word "sex" on the radio. (I was listening to Morning Edition on NPR. Don't get crazy, people.) Grace looked at me for a reaction and I realized that she was aware enough to be embarrassed about it somehow.

"Do you know what that word means, Grace?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do. Do you want me to tell you about it?" She nodded shyly and I told her we'd discuss it after school. We got to school, I hugged the kids goodbye.

I texted Brad to tell him what I had gotten us into, and he casually responded, "Okay. Let's talk with her tonight."

I was totally surprised by his willingness to participate and by his calm attitude. I think I'd kind of hoped he would talk me out of it.

So I started to panic.

I am an adult. I have taken parenting and child development classes. I know that talking to my kids about sex is important. I know that it's an opportunity to open a channel of communication early so they can confide in us later. I know (from experience with my parents) that if I set the stage for safe discussions, my children will come to me later with their questions and concerns.

But have you ever tried explaining sex out loud?

Let's play a game. Try describing sex in terms an elementary student will understand. Say. the. words. out. loud. Then let me know if you get through it without giggling like a five-year-old or throwing up.

Good luck.

I couldn't do it either. So I wrote myself a script. And then I emailed it to Brad and asked him what he thought. I don't recommend sending an email like that. Your side bar ads might start responding in all sorts of salacious ways. Just sayin'.

Brad responded by telling me to chill out.

That night, Brad put the other children to bed, and I picked up some ice cream. Grace, Brad and I sat in our living room and started our conversation by asking Grace what she knew about sex. I let Brad lead the discussion since he was cool as a cucumber.

Until, friends, until. Until he had to describe the mechanics of the subject. And then he hemmed and hawed and choked back a laugh... so it was a really good thing I had memorized my script. I'm telling you, people. Practice this. You'll thank me later.

Grace responded with an expected nervous giggle and a "Gross!" And then we answered her questions and told her about the importance of waiting until she was married and how a baby comes to be and all that business.

And then we ate ice cream and sent her to bed.

And Brad and I actually did a high-five. First major parental test passed. We are awesome.

If "having the talk" is something you may actually consider doing sometime, I highly recommend these people. They're fantastic.

Hello again, world.

We have a new munchkin in our house. She is small and cute and her name is Rose. Her skin is still bright red, and when she nestles into my arms she smiles and snorts contendedly and she reminds me of a little piglet.

A new baby makes life a little crazy. It's hard to get as much done. It's hard to get anything done.

The other morning I came out of my bedroom and greeted Claire who was already awake doing something or other. She took a look at me and asked, "Is it church-day?" It was a Tuesday. The kids didn't have to go to school because a windstorm had somehow caused their school to flood. I don't know. Anyway. I told her definitively that it was not a Sunday. She responded, "Then how come you took a shower?"

...Annnnnd that's about how things are going over here.

I will say it's worth it. (Well, for me.) I love this little runt.

Like children

Tonight we stepped out into the steady fall of the first snow we've seen this season. I hurried to rush a shocked and crying Weston to the relative warmth of his carseat. I cursed the snow for covering my car in ice and drenching my sweats and flip flopped feet (since these feet don't fit in regular shoes anymore) in drippy slushiness. I surrendered my coat to a weeping Weston and turned to hustle Claire inside beside him.

She had stayed behind. Not in a hurry. She stared up, resting her head back as far as it goes. Watched the blurry flakes come rushing down at her. Still.

And so I looked up too. And remembered, for a second, the wonder. Of snow.

Love these guys

Last week, Brad's dad and Uncle Brian came all the way to Carlsbad to do our foundation. I called them concrete artists before. And that is what they are. They are amazing. No one else in town has a foundation like ours.

They're the best. We couldn't have done it without them.

Besides. They came back to our house every evening and ate and talked with us and helped me stave off pregnancy insanity for a while. I bawled when they left.

A series of less than ideal events

Have you ever seen The Little Rascals (1994)? There's a line from that movie that has always struck me as gut-wrenchingly hilarious. Alfalfa has had a series of seriously unfortunate events. And Alfalfa thinks there's just no way it could possibly get worse. And then it does.

It's at this point that Alfalfa looks at the sky and says, "Then the clouds opened up and God said, 'I hate you, Alfalfa.'"

Not gonna lie. Totally said that about myself today.

First of all, it's been kind of a stressful week. Or series of weeks. Maybe month or so. We've had a lot going on. Like, we're expecting a baby soon (January 5. Or maybe 10. The doctors can't decide). And I'm as big as a house and can't fit into any clothes and my ankles have elephantitis and I have lost the will to shower. So that's one thing.

Another thing is the best midwife I have ever had decided to quit two months before I deliver. The nerve. So I had to switch to a doctor within the practice. I have nothing against doctors. In general. But I hate this one. And so now I get to drive three hours per week for the next four weeks to endure an annoying experience by someone I don't like. Yay.

Also, I am working in my ward's Primary. And that is challenging. And overwhelming. And most of the time I feel like I'm doing a bad job. It's kind of like Motherhood in that way. Except with a lot more kids. And a lot more opportunities for failure.

I should also probably mention that I work at home occasionally. I have this freelance technical writing job. The work isn't at all steady. So when I get an assignment, I want to make sure I complete it so they'll keep asking me and I can use the little bit of extra money for exciting things like credit card payments. Right now (and over the last couple of weeks) I have a pretty demanding assignment.

Oh, and we're building a house. Did I mention that? Well, consider it mentioned. It's Brad's job to physically build the house (and contract out the stuff he doesn't want to do like, say, drywall). My job is to get bids, keep track of the receipts, monitor the budget, and to have complete mental breakdowns once a week when I decide we're not going to stay within our budget and we'll have to go bankrupt and leave the country.

And then these past two weeks there's this bright spot: Brad's wonderful and amazing dad and uncle are in town building our house's foundation. They are doing an amazing job. They are dirt/rebar/concrete artists, I tell you. For real. (Not to mention the fact that they are really great social company and fun to talk to.)

So, here was today's planned schedule: I get up, get girls ready to go to school. Men go to construction site and pour concrete. I get home from taking girls to school, turn on PBS for Weston, and work for two hours (I know. Let me insert my own lecture here so you don't have to: I'm the worst mother. I don't know anyone else who lets their kid watch TV that long.). I clean the house, do dishes, fold laundry. I put Wes down for nap. Missionaries come over with investigator for discussion. I pick up girls. We do some activity. I make a very mediocre dinner and dessert. Boys come home. We eat, I get fatter, and then I go to bed.

I got all the way through the first two hours of work. And then a wind storm started. An apparently violent windstorm. My power flickered and the unsaved work I'd been doing all morning on my computer disappears (seriously? Like people still make the mistake of not saving things?!). And the power continued flickering. For three minutes or so. It was like the Poltergeist over here. So I flipped off the breaker to avoid potential damage to my computer documents or my dishwasher. (I'm really concerned about my dishwasher. Probably can't live without that thing.)

Couldn't work with the power off, so I started to clean in preparation for the missionaries who were scheduled to arrive in thirty minutes. Just then I got a text from the kids' school saying I need to come bring my daughter extra clothes. Immediately after that, Brad called from work and requested that I go to the store and get some plastic for our foundation (I guess rain is bad for concrete). But I was stuck with a sleeping baby, waiting for people to come to my house. I told Brad my predicament, and he told me to go to the store when I could. I texted the school to tell them that there were clothes in one of the girls' backpacks, and that I would bring more if needed. Then the missionaries texted, canceling the appointment, and... my phone died.

Since I didn't have to stay home anymore, I thought it would be best for me to go to the school and comfort my probably embarrassed daughter. As I gathered clothes from the girls' room, I looked out the window into the backyard to see flooding. And not from the rain. A geyser had formed in the dirt. It took me a few minutes to realize that our rowdy puppy had totally snapped a garden hose pipe. The resulting waterway had created a stream that went through our yard and well out into the alleyway. So, I did what I always do when I'm on the verge of hyperventilating, and I called Brad. He told me how to turn off the water (sensible man). Lucky for me, the shut-off valve happened to be located INSIDE the newly formed creek. I waded into the backyard in my flip-flops and groped in the water for the shut-off valve while the dog pounced on my back and covered me in mud. After successfully turning off the water, I sludged back into the house, dripping grossness onto my newly mopped floors. I woke up a cranky Weston, wrestled him into his carseat, and drove to the school (first checking on the men at the jobsite to see if they need the plastic--they didn't). I arrived at the school and hesitantly dragged my drenched, mud-crusted self to the front desk where I was greeted with, "When are you due? You're ready to pop! Oh, you have mud all over your coat, did you know that?"

It was about then that Alfalfa's line ran itself through my head.

I think I'll stay in bed tomorrow.

Afterschool

I have a focus problem. It's the opposite of ADD. I get so focused on whatever I'm thinking about/working on that the house could burn down and I might not notice.

My mom used to make fun of me and called me the absent minded professor. That started in 2nd grade when I was so focused on finishing my homework before school one day that I walked to the busstop without any shoes on.

I still have this problem. I concentrate so heavily on my projects (primary, my work-from-home-freelance job, cleaning the house, financial planning) that I don't concentrate enough on my children. I forget to be mentally present. And I hate that.

So every day while the kids are at school, I plan a project to do with them when they get home. It helps me change gears, gets me thinking about them, helps me unwind.

This last one was pretty fun. I had scoured the Internet for a good idea, and modified it slightly. I wrote numbers in the bottom of an empty egg carton. Then I placed two beans inside. When the kids got home, we shook the egg carton. We used the numbers the beans landed on to make number problems. Claire wrote and solved addition equations, and since Claire is just starting, during that time, Grace would use the same two numbers to create multiplication and division equations, along with creating fractions that she would then simplify. I loved it. Because usually, I have to choose an art activity for them to both be equally challenged. But this math activity solved that problem. Yay.

What do you do after school? I need more ideas.

Conundrum

What if you just told your daughter to never touch your make up again... And ten minutes later walked back into your bathroom to find this... Do you start another lecture, or melt and give up?