Fear, Modesty and the Vajayjay

The other day we took the kids sledding. Well, Drew took the Diva sledding with some friends and their boys, and I came later to take pictures and keep the Li'l Rascal happy (tough job some days). Anyway, when Rascal and I got there, we joined in the fun, I videotaped Drew going down QUITE a big hill with my fearless Diva daughter, and they even convinced ME to take a turn down the hill. Again. Let me reiterate. BIG HILL. I haven't been sledding in... hmmm. That got me thinking of my own childhood. The only time I ever went sledding? We lived in Atlanta, and my brother and I took a cardboard box down the (very steep) driveway. But by that time, I was old enough for the fear to have set in. The fear I speak of is the fear that was drilled into my brain my whole life. My mother will say it was all my father, but she must have had a modicum of control over our upbringing, so I blame her just as much. Here is the short list of the things I was programmed to be afraid of:
heights
roller coasters
moving fast doing anything (skiing- NEVER, sledding- only as previously described, skateboarding- we got them, and then my dad sold them out from under us)
raw fish
smoked fish
not wearing your seat belt (this one I'm ok with)
bugs
water sports
boating
motorcycles
riding a bicycle in the street
I could go on. But do I really need to? You get the idea. So thinking of this paranoid upbringing, I know I'm doing way better by my kids. After all, I let the Diva go sledding with Drew, didn't ask questions or show any freakish concern when visiting the sledding hill. I just cheered her on and took a turn myself. I did SCREAM LIKE A BABY the whole way down the hill, but I WAS going pretty fast...

Anyway, thinking about my "fear factor" upbringing led me to thinking about another aspect of my upbringing. Prudishness. Is that even a word? My parents kissed in front of us. A lot. And believe you me, I didn't want to see any more than that, but I was raised by two pretty prudish people. And it probably turned me into at least a self-conscious person, if nothing else. Put it this way (and I hope this is not TMI), I never saw my parents unclothed. I don't know if I ever even saw my mom in her bra until I was much older (like out of college), and we were in a situation where we had to change in front of each other. With my own children, however, this is not the case. I mean, they follow us into the bathroom. (What did my parents do? They must have stuck me in a playpen!) I'm not going to live my life hiding myself. The human body is natural, and I think my daughters will benefit from my husband and I not shying away from the inevitable. They will see us nekked. And it's no big deal. There's no shame in that.

Which brings me to... tonight's conversation with the Diva as I'm putting her to bed. So, I tuck her in, and she looks up at me and smiles.
"Guess where my hand is?!"
She pulls down the covers and shows me. Hand in underpants. Yikes! What do I do or say now that won't traumatize her?!
"Oh, ok, Div, take your hand out of there?..."
She giggles, holds her hand up to my face. Says something about how she had her finger in her vagina.
"Um, do you want to wash your hand before bed? I know that might feel good, but since you peepee out of your vagina, you might want to wash your hands. (WTF?!!! I have NO IDEA what to say here.)
So we go to the bathroom, because she DOES want to wash her hands (after sniffing it a few times) and she looks at herself in the mirror and says (I shit you not), "Finger in the vagina. It feels GOOOOOOD!"
I had to smile and laugh with her, because what else could I say?!
Then, on the way back to bed, she has me smell her hand, which now smelled like soap. And I gave my THREE YEAR OLD night-nights and prayed she would sleep well.
Of course I waited too long to get the full story down verbatim, but you get the gist.
Boy, my parents would have had a heart attack. Or something. Still, how to handle these situations? No matter what kind of parent you are, there are clearly no clear answers. Or are there?

Holding My Breath

Just until tomorrow. When I will find out everything will be alright. Until then, I'm just going through the motions:
Laundry, dishes, playing with the girls, cooking, Reality TV, Facebook, starting (to read) a book bigger than my head, chatting with girlfriends, cleaning the house, avoiding work, taking long baths, etc., etc.

We have been back from Cali for a week, and the trip was WAY better than I expected. When visiting in-laws, I do tend to expect the worst. But because we stayed with MY FRIEND, it was so relaxing and fun in the evenings. All red wine and kicking back... that's the way to travel. The girls were great. Besides their first McDonald's, there was another first... The Little Rascal decided she wanted to sleep with The Diva. And it was great. BIG LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL! We can now travel without worrying about cribs!

And we're back home, and all is well (or it will be, after tomorrow), and The Rascal is back in her crib, where she belongs. And it's snowing (again). And I'm trying to relax... and breathe.

Four Days To Go

I've always enjoyed
the fine art of the haiku.
Let's see what I've got.

Four days till forty.
But I still look much younger.
Genetically blessed.

Drama queen Diva
And stubborn Li'l Rascal:
You snuggle- I melt.

Oh, Drew, how you try
to pull one over on me-
But I can't be fooled!

Too tired to write
Any more of this blog post.
Must go to sleep now.

Nine Days To Go

With nine days to go (more or less), I have succumbed to the ultimate peer pressure. I joined Facebook. Or Crackbook as Coalminer's Granddaughter calls it. I was really determined not to join, but I guess given the right amount of alcohol, I can be persuaded to do just about anything. So, damn if I just didn't get excited about starting the new blog and now I have something distracting me from that...

ANYHOO, I have no words of wisdom to impart today (no weird body issues either), but I would just like to say that I have some cute fuckin' kids... and it's high time I shared them with my loyal reader(s).
Yeah, they're wicked cute, funny and smart. But what else would I say, being their mother?! Seriously, although I've been a mom for three plus years now, I sometimes still look at them and am amazed that they're my daughters. Amazing...

The Diva is excited about my upcoming birthday, because she is pretty sure there will be cake or some other sort of treat. Lil' Rascal has no clue about these things yet, but will gladly partake in any sugary offering no matter what the occasion.

Admit it, you're smitten...

10 Days To Go

I'm counting down until I turn 40. I didn't do this for 30, or any other age, for that matter. But I thought it would be fun, and with starting the new blog and all that. I'm thinking that I should impart some wisdom (and/or general crap) that I have gathered to get me to this point in my life. Some of it will be happy, happy, joy, joy, but some of it will be WTF?!!! Today (big shocker), I'm feeling that I should start off with a little WTF. (It would be helpful to note here, that I have just been on a Mom's night out with some of my friends and I am misspelling every other word and having to go back and fix it... I may get lazy and start sounding drunkish.)

My first order of business in the countdown is to say WTF to loose skin. Oh, you may not want to read any further if you are young and spry, but, yes, as one gets older, it APPEARS that one's skin LOSES ELASTICITY!!! I thought that shit only happened to old people. Not people like me, a mom of a three year old and a one and a half year old. But here's how I found out. The other day, the Lil' Rascal (the younger of the two) was trying to climb up on the chair/couch/whatever to read a book with The Diva and me (The Diva being my oldest). Well, she was having some trouble, as climbing is still fairly new to her, so she grabbed a handful of my sleeve. Well underneath the sleeve was my ARM, and the bitch grabbed some of my skin! Considering I work out on a fairly regular basis, who knew that this was even possible?!! Well, it was, and now I have a little black and blue mark where she pinched me. It really isn't a big deal. I know this. But upon looking at the "owie", I did notice that my skin seems to be lacking in the elasticity of my youth. Is it the weather? (Butt cold) Is it lack of moisturizer? Is it (gasp) my age?!!

Oh, elasticity, what has become of thee? Why hath thou forsaken me?!

P.S. I'm really bad at the whole counting down thing. So I maybe should have written this post earlier?! Later?! Not sure, we'll see if I turn 40 on my actual birthday. Should be interesting!