If you could enter my head for a day or two, you might be surprised to find out a few things about me. Such as, you ask? Why, I’d be happy to spill a few details.
You might be surprised to find out, for example, how my brain automatically always ends up looking at a clock, daily, at 9:11. Every single day. Ever since 9/11/01’s attack on the WTC. Every single day. Sometimes both AM and PM.
You may be surprised to discover that I love to eat Skittles by first color coordinating them (yes, I suffer a sugared version of OCD. This I know.) Or that I cannot NOT grind my teeth together every time I touch a pet because they are so goddamn cute, I can barely stand it. *teeth gritted* I! CAN! BARELY! STAND! IT!
Maybe you’d be surprised to know the level of my movie star/Hollywood trivia knowledge given my absolute non existant actual viewing of most movies.
Or, you may be surprised to find out how much I think about unmentionables. Yup. Sex.
Now, before you all start sending me private inbox messages on Da Book, I’ve looked it up on Wikipedia, and I’m no nymphomaniac. My husband could attest. I don’t suffer from bipolarism (a cause and effect, so I’ve read), nor do I take medication for Parkinson’s that would create some form of hypersexual drive (thank you Google). That’s not what I mean.
What I mean when I say I think about sex, is, and trust me, even I’m kinda amazed at how much it is around me...us, as a society, so it’s just always *there*. Back in my days of college sociolgy classes, I’d probably eat this shit alive from a 101 standpoint. Now, I’m just aware of it, so it always seems to be in my mind.
What I mean when I say I think about sex, is, and trust me, even I’m kinda amazed at how much it is around me...us, as a society, so it’s just always *there*. Back in my days of college sociolgy classes, I’d probably eat this shit alive from a 101 standpoint. Now, I’m just aware of it, so it always seems to be in my mind.
Magazines, television, radio...they all sell sex. Promote it. Languish around in it, in their skimpy lace and satin....er...things. Perfume ads, fashion runways, heck, even Ellen gives away sexy underwear to every guest (I love Ellen btw). Sex is everywhere I look. I’m constantly told, even if it is subconsciously, that I’d be better off if I had whiter teeth, a firmer tush, or if I’d walk my dog in 6 inch stilettos. Then, oh THEN, I would turn heads, right? The Tilted Kilt may have great beer, but hops isn’t the reason anyone goes there, just like Hooters didn’t get well known of their wings. When it’s in my face at every billboard, commercial and Toyota selling pitchpoint, it’s only natural that I would be thinking about it day and night. That’s what the consumer train wants! And it’s succeeding. Again, please God, I can’t be the only one thinking like this!
Even now, currently I am at a crossroads with my faith to an extent. We’ve reached that pinacle in our relationship (me and church that is) when just casually handing over the teachings of a young woman’s body (my teenager) for them to handle is expected. It’s not appreciated (by me), but it’s expected. It’s been hinted to me that most parents would be glad to hand the topic over, to anyone really, as long as it got the parent out of it.
Newsflash. That’s not me.
Newsflash. That’s not me.
In fact, I was told recently, in regards to my parenting, “You’re not typical”.
Great! ....finally....someone said it.
Compliment? At first it felt as if it was a backhanded one at best. Would typical mean I'm average? Does it mean I'm good at maintaining a steady status quo, or that I'm less than good? A clone drowning amid the seas of every other mom/woman out there or blazing a trail?
Compliment? At first it felt as if it was a backhanded one at best. Would typical mean I'm average? Does it mean I'm good at maintaining a steady status quo, or that I'm less than good? A clone drowning amid the seas of every other mom/woman out there or blazing a trail?
So, I guess I’m not typical. And rather than that making me more insecure about my questionable parenting skills, it only fuels my fire and confirms to me I’m doing it right. Whatever “it” is. Because I’M the one who’s doing it. I don’t depend on other people to parent for me, through the easy stuff or the tough stuff.
It’s not a ‘church’ thing, per se. I don’t want anyone teaching my child about personal things; I believe that’s what I’m here for. It’s not a control thing, or a glutten for punishment thing either. Nope, I’m no masochist. I’ve worked hard to raise them thus far the way I have been, not how I want them to turn out because I believe that is up to God. But I raise my children to be a way that the world will benefit from. This means, yes, we support gay marriage. It means, yes, we support all gay rights. I believe in contraception. I will give her a condom when she’s old enough if she asks me to. I will put her on the pill. And yes, I talk to my child about pornography and masturbation and what’s appropriate and what’s not. I talk about sex, and female empowerment and hell no, you’re not going to get out of this house wearing those shorts. Why? Because girls are mean and boys are stupid.
I have never, EVER handed down a rule under the pretense of “Because I said so” and nothing else. Even the shorts (“Because your ass cheek hangs out and you look like a wanna be hoochie. Go. Change.”) or the masturbation (I recall a time when a young 2 year old was laying on the living room floor, ahem, shall we say, exploring the nooks and crannies. Her father panicked, ran to me in the other room, “Make her knock it off!” he pleaded. The problem, as I saw it then, and still see it to this day, was not in her exploring, but in her father’s reaction. Gut wrenching pain (normal for a dad, I understand) and fear. So I calmly went into the living room and said, “Sweetie....if you’re gonna touch it, go touch it in your room.” Why? “Because that’s a private thing.” End of story. She left. And I scraped her father off the kitchen ceiling. It never came up again.
So does this make me a bad mother (ohh, haha, thank you, but no, that’s not what I meant), or a new age kinda hot mama. Neither. I may not be typical, but I find normality in my so called abnormality. Listen, I make mistakes daily. Probably hourly. Even I sometimes cringe when I hear myself saying the things I say. I could always be doing something better to benefit my children. I could be setting a trillion better examples such as exercising more and swearing less. My kids probably shouldn’t know my favorite wine is Moscato. My children learned to swear, in correct context tyvm, by my example, no doubt. Am I proud? Sometimes not, but then I think about some dark stairwell she might find herself in as a meek college freshman and maybe, just maybe, when the sketchy janitor looks a little too long at her legs, she won’t hesitate to scream the F word at the top of her lungs when she kicks him in the balls.
Furthermore, my kids are not swayed or shocked by a lot of words or situations. They are taught to listen but they are also taught to never ignore their gut. Do they have their issues? Of course. They have crushes, but still think Cooties is a non curable STD that floats around out there. What shocks them is meanness, rioting, and when the crazy comes out of the family tree. None of the sexual things out there seem to really bother my kids...which is fanastic in my opinion. Why should it? Out of my fear that they may get their heart broken or grow up too soon or have premarital sex, I need them to be afraid of things? No way. Rather, out of my fear, I need them to be informed.
That’s my take on parenting. We’re the kind of family that has tackled upsetting subjects and dealt with them from a very early age. Divorce; Check. Homosexuality; Check. Sex; Check. Drugs; Check and double check. And we use real words, and descriptive phrases and always talk about the consequences of our actions, and what to do when life doesn’t go the way you planned. I’ve taught them that life is not going to go the way you plan in fact, because that’s the way life rolls and she’s a bitch. We use honesty and laughter and frankness because the rest of it? It’s fluff. And when it comes to the seriousness of these topics, fluff can be as dangerous as the cocaine I tell her never to snort.
That’s my take on parenting. We’re the kind of family that has tackled upsetting subjects and dealt with them from a very early age. Divorce; Check. Homosexuality; Check. Sex; Check. Drugs; Check and double check. And we use real words, and descriptive phrases and always talk about the consequences of our actions, and what to do when life doesn’t go the way you planned. I’ve taught them that life is not going to go the way you plan in fact, because that’s the way life rolls and she’s a bitch. We use honesty and laughter and frankness because the rest of it? It’s fluff. And when it comes to the seriousness of these topics, fluff can be as dangerous as the cocaine I tell her never to snort.
Scary shit, man.
Tough subjects, no doubt.
Easy approach to it all? Not at all.
Easy approach to it all? Not at all.
Just because I may come off as blazee to someone, doesn’t mean I’m not dealing with it the best way I know how and exactly how I want to. My mom used to play this game all the time. Before she told me anything, she’d say, “You want the good news or the bad news first?” She always put a positive spin on a bad thing. (The good news is we don’t have to spend time in the hot car this summer weekend! The bad news is it’s because the car broke down and I had to cancel your birthday beach party.) My father, a retired police officer, went for the more direct route. “No party this weekend. Car took a shit.” and he let the pieces fall where they may. The officer in him told me years later when delivering bad news, if you try to fluff it up with the good news, people always know bad is coming. It’s not like you trick them into believing the good makes the bad less bad. He had delievered too many midnight knocks on doors letting parents know their child was just killed and he said they just knew what it meant when they heard the knock. He wouldn’t have even had to speak.
He hated playing my mom’s Good News/Bad News game.
I think maybe I’ve taken the best of both of their ways and applied it to my own form of parenting. While I’m a biproduct of their genetic makeup, I also derive from them each strands of approach. From my mom, I learned the bonus of positive thinking. She always commented how bad things happened to us, to everyone, in life. In her years here, she saw many illnesses, many sad situations, the loss of her own son, and countless funerals throughout for friends and loved ones. I saw her ill. When she was fighting her first bout of cancer back in the 80’s, I was a young child, but old enough to want to never be seen as “uncool”. Her illness found me making obscenely stupid gestures, completely uncool (I was really a dork. You just don’t understand.) every day outside her bedroom door, just to get her to smile. I saw her cry. But I saw her smile again, every time. Eventually. I learned by her example.
He hated playing my mom’s Good News/Bad News game.
I think maybe I’ve taken the best of both of their ways and applied it to my own form of parenting. While I’m a biproduct of their genetic makeup, I also derive from them each strands of approach. From my mom, I learned the bonus of positive thinking. She always commented how bad things happened to us, to everyone, in life. In her years here, she saw many illnesses, many sad situations, the loss of her own son, and countless funerals throughout for friends and loved ones. I saw her ill. When she was fighting her first bout of cancer back in the 80’s, I was a young child, but old enough to want to never be seen as “uncool”. Her illness found me making obscenely stupid gestures, completely uncool (I was really a dork. You just don’t understand.) every day outside her bedroom door, just to get her to smile. I saw her cry. But I saw her smile again, every time. Eventually. I learned by her example.
I can only wish the same for my children.
So maybe I come across as crass sometimes. Maybe I hear “I can’t believe you just said that” a little more than most. I wouldn’t know who to compare it to, because I simply don’t care to compare my kids to other kids. I don’t compare my style of parenting to many others because I don’t give a rip how other parents do it. What matters to me is that if at the end of the night, my daughters come up to me and say, “hey mom....today when you said ______________, can we talk about that?”
And they do that.
Often.
So whatever this parenting thing entails, I know I don’t have it figured out. But the way I’m doing it...for now....is keeping the dialogue open with my children. If that’s not typical then....yeah, I’m okay with that.
So whatever this parenting thing entails, I know I don’t have it figured out. But the way I’m doing it...for now....is keeping the dialogue open with my children. If that’s not typical then....yeah, I’m okay with that.
