The Birds, the Bees, and Chicken Lo Mein

Warning: This blog contains scenes that some viewers may find disturbing. Intended for mature audiences only.

The Talk. How many of you have had The Talk with your kids? I've got two kids in high school and one going into junior high now. Obviously, I've had a few talks. I'm lucky though. My kids' school does the whole birds and the bees talk in fifth grade. I have to admit that I pretty much let the school handle telling my kids the basics. When they came home, thoroughly grossed out by the lesson at school, I stepped up to the plate and played the part of the involved, concerned parent very well. I believe my exact words were, "DoYouHaveAnyQuestionsAboutWhatYouLearnedToday?No?Good!Dinner'sReady!" Yep, I said it all together like that. You know why? So they couldn't actually ask me any questions!

The best part was when Austin was in fifth and took the special fifth grade field trip to the health museum for The Talk, I was nine months pregnant with Brooklyn. I can still remember the look on his face when he got home and eyed my bulging belly. It was a total, "Ewwww! I know what you did! Gross!" look. Because no one wants to think about their parents doing, um, things that made them parents in the first place.

I admit, I really tried to avoid the whole subject with my first two kids. I mean, I let them know that I was there to answer questions, but I was really never comfortable bringing up the subject. Poor Austin and Savannah. They're like my trial kids. I try stuff on them and see if it works. I screw up on them and then learn and do better with the next set of kids. I'm doing much better with talking to my oldest four kids now. It doesn't phase me much anymore. I talk frankly with them because I totally believe that's a huge key to raising happy, confident, responsible kids. I want my kids to be able to come to me with questions and get honest, non-annoying-parent answers. I want to continually reinforce what behavior I expect of them and why. I'm praying they turn out to be well-adjusted, happy, charitible, kind, responsible, productive members of society.

Anyway, you'd think that I'd continue to learn and improve and that I'd do a stellar job on the last set of kids. I mean, after practicing and perfecting my skills on the first four, how could I be anything less than awesome with the last two kids? But nope. Actually, I think I employ the "I'm Too Tired and Worn Down to Care Anymore" method with the last two. For example,
"Hey Mom, can I have Cheetos and sugar for dinner?"
"Sure. Whatever. Enjoy."
That's how the "I'm Too Tired and Worn Down to Care Anymore" method works.

Which might explain the following scene. I was giving Clay and Brooklyn a bath tonight because Austin had a baseball game this evening. Baseball game = playing in the sand until their skin is the color of orange chalk. So, I threw them in the tub and washed their hair. I handed Brooklyn a washcloth and told her to wash her tummy and arms while I rinsed Clay's hair. Brooklyn washed her tummy and moved to her private area. She announced, "I have to wash my noodle!"

Clay looked at her like she was stupid and said, in the exasperated tone of a parent talking to a simple-minded child (or of a brother talking to his little sister), "You don't have a noodle, Brooklyn! Only boys have noodles," he stated confidently.

"Oh," she replied. Then what do I have?"

Without missing a beat, he informed her in his all-knowing way, "You have a Chinese recipe, Brooklyn."

I may have peed a little from laughing so hard. "A Chinese recipe??? Where on earth did you come up with that, Clayton?"

"That's what it is," he instructed me because obviously I had no clue about these things.

"I see. Okay, it's a Chinese recipe," I agreed. No need to start calling body parts by their real names, thankyouverymuch. Chinese recipes and noodles work just fine. And when a man's noodle comes together with a woman's Chinese recipe, you get lo mein. Poor Clayton and Brooklyn are going to have a hard time when they get to the fifth grade.