The Talk

This week, Jake and I had The Talk.

You know, the one that all parents dread, the one that kids laugh about to each other, the one about how babies are made.

I didn't plan on having the talk, but Jake was ready. On our way to swimming lessons on Tuesday, Jake said,

"Mom, I think it's time to have the talk."

"The talk? You mean the one about how babies are made?"

"Yes. Jason [his cousin, also age 10] told me it was time. I asked him a question, and he said, 'I think you should ask your mom that.'" I have to admit, I was pretty impressed with Jason.

Trying to get out of it, I said, "Why don't you ask your dad that?"

Jake said, "I feel more comfortable having you tell me about it." Darn.

"Okay," I said. "Let's talk."

"I also heard there was a video. Jason said we should watch a video. But I heard that it was kind of bad."

"Bad?"

"Yes, like there was . . . umm . . . nudity in it."

I suppressed a smile, and said "oh." That was the end of Tuesday's conversation. But on Wednesday, I decided to go for it.

"Well, Jake, are you ready to have the talk?" Maia and Lizzy had just walked to the Ole Hanson pool to their swimming lessons and Jenny was asleep in the car, so Jake and I were free to talk.

"Okay."

"Okay, here goes." I said a quick prayer--because I certainly needed the help. And I wanted Jake to know that sex was something beautiful, not shameful, and that it was part of God's plan.

So we launched into it. The reasons for sex, the reasons to wait until you're married, why hormones are normal, and how it works. I tried to keep the conversation as simple as possible, asked Jake a few questions, and tried to make it conversational. I wanted Jake to know that he could ask me anything and that I would answer it honestly.

After I finished telling him how it works, Jake was done. "Umm, I don't want to know anymore," he said.

"Oh, okay." So I waited for him to say something. 30 seconds . . . 60 seconds . . . 90 seconds . . . but he sat there staring into space, completely expressionless. I could tell that the wheels were turning, and he was trying to figure it all out.

Finally, I rubbed his hair and said, "You okay, Jake?" He looked at me and said, "Yes. I'm okay."

We had 20 minutes left before his swimming lessons, so I said, "Is there anything else you want to ask me?" I guess he figured he'd heard it all, so he said, "Mom, why did you and Dad get divorced?" I did my best to be noncommittal on that one. Then he said, "How's our budget, Mom? Do we have enough money?"

Three huge topics in one half an hour. I was exhausted, but Jake was smiling at the end of 30 minutes. As he got out of the car for his swimming lessons, he smiled and said,

"Thanks Mom. I feel a lot better."

Whew.

"I want some cookie don't"

My Jenny is trying really hard to express herself just like her big sisters and brother. She often repeats full sentences just so she can practice. Rather than say, "I wake up, Mom!" she says, "Mommy, I wake up in the morning!"

She'll also repeat things twice. "Hi Daddy, Hi!" or "Get my bottle, Mom! Get my bottle, Mom! Get my bottle, Mom!" (In fact, I can hear her saying that right now from her crib. Better go get it. . . Okay, I'm back.)

Jenny will also take communication risks--she'll try to say anything without fear of failure. Often, her sentences are completely intelligible; but she knows what she's saying, and she's quick to rephrase when we tell her what she should say. As a result, her speech is becoming more clear every day.

Today, Lizzy and Jenny wanted a snack. Lizzy's favorite treat is cookie dough, so she asked me if I could make some. "Mom," she said. "Can you make me some cookie dough after dinner?" Jenny knew exactly what Lizzy was talking about, so she chimed in with a slight variation. "Cookie don't! Cookie don't! I want some cookie don't!"

One of the main things I learned in school is that most relationship problems are caused by a lack of communication. More specifically, sometimes we say things we don't mean--or say them in a way we don't intend--just because we don't have the tools to express ourselves well. Just like Jenny's "cookie don't," we often include errors in our communication that can actually present the opposite of what we intend. The trick is to be like Jenny: self-reflective enough to discover them and fearless enough to change them. I'm working on that.

Say it in words!

My children are astute communicators. They pick up on body language and subtle verbal cues with the best of them. Since my field is communication, I have emphasized not only which words to use or not use, but also the importance of tone, word choice, and context. Although they groan when I say, "Time for a communication lesson," they have learned to express themselves and their emotions very well.

I thought this was because of my direction, but perhaps it's in spite of it. Lately, my kids have been calling me on all of the things I tell them not to do! Take Lizzy (age 3), for example. A few days ago, she asked me a question. I was busy with something else and absent-mindedly answered, "mmm-hmmm." Lizzy immediately said, "Don't say 'mmm-hmmm,' Mom. Say it in words!" I was stunned--first, that she had listened to my droning in communication lessons, and second, that I had some terrible communication habits that even my three-year-old could pinpoint. I was a little embarrassed of myself and told her I was sorry.

Today, it happened again. "Don't say 'mmm-hmmm,' Mom. Say it in words!" Even though I was paying attention to her this time, she didn't like being talked down to. She knew she was an independent girl and wanted some respect. Nothing wrong with that. And I promised myself that I would treat my children with the same respect that I treat adults when I am conversing with them.

If anyone reads this post, I would love to know--what are some times that your children had special insight or taught you something important? Was it something that you had previously taught them and just not applied to yourself? Or was it something entirely new?

You brushed your teeth with what?!

The other day, I was getting ready to go to lunch with a bunch of girls. I was pretty excited about it, because I always love a chance to sit, eat, relax, and talk with good friends. What could be better!

On this particular occasion, I was in a big hurry. I jumped into the shower, hurriedly put my clothes on, and was about to run out the door. Then I realized that I needed a little breath freshener. Thinking I didn't have time to brush my teeth, I reached into the medicine cabinet, pulled out a tube of toothpaste, put some on my finger, and spread it on my tongue to give my mouth that minty freshness.

When the paste reached my tongue, I realized something was dreadfully wrong. This paste didn't taste anything like my mint toothpaste. It was creamier. More bitter. Pretty disgusting.

I picked up the tube and, to my horror, read the words: "Monistat. Vulvar Cream." But I was in too big of a hurry to do anything about it and raced out the door.

My breath might not have been minty fresh, but at least it was sanitized =).

Strawberry Fields Forever

School is out for the summer! And I've been trying to think of fun things to do with my kiddies. We heard about a great place in Carlsbad, CA, where you pick your own strawberries and thought it sounded fun. So my friend Lizzy and I headed down to the strawberry fields and brought 9 kids with us!



It was a cloudy day but didn't rain--thank goodness. The kids ran back and forth through the strawberry patch, putting strawberries into their buckets, eating as many as they could stuff in their mouths, and throwing the rotten ones at each other.






Jake, my little man, was vital to the success of the operation. He and his two friends Luke and Parker made sure that the girls were fully entertained. Lizzy's twin girls, Abby and Madelyn, were particularly taken with the boys' charms.





Lizzy, ever the princess, made sure that she picked the strawberries delicately without getting her hands dirty. She also flirted a lot with Lizzy's boy Michael. We are crossing our fingers that they continue to have a crush on each other.





Maia was all business when it came to picking strawberries. Look how seriously she is taking this.



And Jenny had perhaps the most fun running through all of the rows of strawberries. I had to keep an eye on her, though, because the top of her head was barely visible above the strawberry plants.



The strawberry fields were tons of fun! The kids had a blast, and the fun continued when Maia and her friend decided to make jam two days later. That was my first time making jam, as well. It turned out as well as could be expected for two first-timers.

Maia the Actress

"Mom," Maia, my eight-year-old, bounced into the kitchen. "Kylie and I have decided what we want to be when we grow up."

"What's that, Maia?"

"We want to be actresses."

I think every eight-year-old girl goes through a period where she wants to be a famous actress, so I didn't pay too much attention. "Okay," I said.

But Maia didn't let it go. She had been thinking seriously about her chosen profession.

"Do you think I would be good at it?"

This question caught me off-guard. Maia and Kylie, her best friend, had been going to Michael Wallot's drama camps for several years now, so she had a taste of what acting was all about. All of a sudden, the warning bell in my head started ringing. This girl was serious!

As I searched for the right words, I fended off a barrage of conflicting thoughts and feelings. What should I tell her? That I had wanted to be an actress when I was younger, but I was steered away from it by my parents? That I still secretly wished I could be in plays every night? That the business is difficult, hard on a family, and fleeting? That too many young girls have lost their way in pursuit of acting fame? I wanted my daughter to have a passion in life and pursue it, but I also wanted it to be something attainable. I wanted her to stand out in a crowd but not base her identity or self-worth on public perception.

Choosing my next words carefully, I said, "Of course you'd be good at it. You would be good at anything. You could be an actress, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or a mom."

"Really?" she said.

This is when I got manipulative. "Of course you'd be a good actress, but you have to work at it really hard. A good actress doesn't just need to know how to act. You'll have to learn how to dance and sing, too. You'll have to take LOTS of dance lessons."

"Oh," she said. And that was the end of the conversation. She hated dance.

So did I do the right thing? Did I steer her away from her fate, or did I save her from a gilded path of discouragement and disappointment? I don't know--especially when I receive an email about the upcoming auditions for Joseph and Technicolor Dreamcoat and, reluctantly, hit the "delete" button.

Mah Head

Jenny, our two-year-old, is one tough cookie. When other girls (i.e., Lizzy and Maia) fall down and cry, Jenny shakes it off and keeps on running.



You can often find Jenny wrestling with Jacob (our ten-year-old) and Lizzy (our three-year-old). When she wrestles Lizzy, she always wins. When she wrestles with Jake, she still always wins. You'll never hear a cry from Jenny unless there's blood.

The other day, Jenny was racing around the kitchen table--underfoot and making mischief, as usual. Suddenly, I heard a loud THUNK. Fearing the worst, I braced myself and waited for the ear-piercing scream. When I didn't hear a sound, I looked over at Jenny in time to see her put her hand to her head and say in her low raspy baby voice, "Mah Head." She paused for half a second, then continued her race around the table.

Jeff already has her pegged as a soccer player.