Here's a Hint

I look forward to Boo coming home. Really, I do. It's nice to have a man around to hold me take out the garbage.

But now that he's home, I wouldn't mind seeing the tail lights of his car drive down my driveway as he hits the road.

My loving husband is driving me nuts.

Between fighting him off every two seconds last night as he groped for my boobs, putting up with his perpetual requests for a blowjob and having to defend myself as to why there were no towels in the bathroom when he got out of the shower, I'm ready to be a semi-single mother once again.

I mean, dude. Really. It's not like there were no clean towels. It was just that I forgot to put them away after washing, drying and folding them. They were sitting neatly folded on top of the dryer which you would have noticed when you walked into the laundry room to toss your dirty clothes on the floor (instead of the hamper neatly sitting two feet away) had you opened your eyes.

Or stopped thinking of blowjobs for all of two seconds.

Please don't hold me responsible for the lack of butter in the house. I don't cook. How the hell should I know if we don't have any butter? Or milk. (Heh.)

There was beer. That ought to count for something. I should get points for thinking of you.

When I asked what you wanted for your belated birthday supper and you waggled your eyebrows and said a love taco, I thought you meant MEXICAN food. Not sex. Sheesh.

Don't be mad at me just because as you pulled down your pants to hang your willy in my face and made lewd comments about having something good to suck on your daughter walked in. I was on the couch trying to read blogs and ignore the tube steak being waved in front of my nose. I didn't ask you to tug the Pickle out to play show and tell.

Keep your snake in the grass so I don't have to lie to your daughter and tell her you were just showing me how your zipper keeps slipping down.







When your son asks if I want to play with his brand new juggling balls that is not an invitation to grin like a mad man and offer me your balls to play with.

I don't know if you know this, but our kids, they aren't two and three anymore. They are growing up. They know what you mean. They are starting to figure out that their parents are perverts.

This is my polite way of telling you that you need to stop threatening to tie me up and spank me for being such a naughty girl when our kids are hanging on our every word.

With my luck one of our beloved demon spawn is going to start prattling on to his or her teacher about how their daddy likes to punish their mommy in the bedroom.

I've already got a reputation. Let's not add to it shall we?

And when I ask you to pick up strawberries, ice cream and some whipping cream it is for the cake I baked for your birthday. It is not an summons for seduction and sex games thirty minutes before our dinner guests are scheduled to arrive.

Unless of course you are offering to scrub out the guest toilet and quickly vacuum so they don't know we are sloths. Then I may be inclined to show my gratitude in a horizontal position.

But you didn't offer. Too bad for you.

I love my husband. Really, I do. But somehow he seems to have mistakenly confused me for some local nymphomaniac porn star while he was away at work.

Twenty four more hours and then I'm home alone again.

It seems like an eternity.

Damn I suck as a wife.

Just not in the way Boo would like.

Meatloaf...The Answer to A Parent's Prayers

As every day passes it is becoming more and more obvious that I am completely unprepared for the teenage trials and tribulations that lay before us.

My son recently sprouted two hollow legs, hoovering food and anything else not nailed down and all of his pants are starting to look like capris with inches of ankle bone showing. He sprang up over night. I am dreading the day I wake up to find all my hand lotion missing and a bunch of dirty socks stuffed under his bed.

My daughter has become obsessed with growing breasts, wearing makeup and styling her hair. She spends hours staring into the mirror trying to visualize what she will look like as a grown up and pondering her future as a famous singer/world class surgeon/supermodel all at once.

I'm still stuck in the lego and Barbie stage; offering them juice boxes and asking them if they want chicken fingers or mac n' cheese for supper.

They are growing up faster than I am maturing as a parent and it's starting to scare the hell out of me.

It doesn't help they attend a school where grades five through 12 freely roam the halls. The almost adult kids try to avoid the wee ones like my Fric and Frac but inevitably, due to lack of square footage, their paths collide.

Fric and Frac learn all sorts of interesting life lessons while on the playgrounds of public school. And they are more than eager to share those lessons with their totally hip, rad wrinkled, worried mother.

Any day my pubic hair are going to start turning gray, people.

The other day Fric and Frac came home talking about boners and stiffies and they wanted to know what 'wanking off' meant. They haven't really figured out what masturbation means and I'd like to keep it that way for a while.

Just to keep my sanity for a few more days.

But they persisted and kept gnawing at my ankles like rabid little rats and wanted to know why some of the boys on the bus were telling a kid to buy a melon, microwave it for a few seconds to warm up the middle and then cut a hole in it.

Was it some fancy new type of dessert? Have we been eating melon the wrong way for all of these years? Were they missing out on some magic formula to magically morph them into one of the cool kids?

And by the way, Mom, why does everyone keep teasing the boys about warm apple pie? What's the joke?

I had several choices at this moment as I stopped, picked up my jaw and pushed my exploded eyeballs back into my head while inwardly cursing the fact that we live out in the sticks and my children are forced to ride the little yellow bus with a bunch of sex starved adolescent boys.

(Shit like this never happened when I lived in the city and had to walk to school. No sirree. It was all fairy princesses and sparkle dust. Heh.)

I could sit down and calmly and rationally explain the jokes and have an age appropriate conversation about sex or I could bury my head in the sand and let Satan's spawn on the school bus corrupt my beautiful innocent children forever.

Hell no. If any one gets to corrupt my children it's gonna be me. I didn't spend eight hours in hard labour trying to push their fat heads out of my itty bitty pink parts just to allow someone else have all the fun. I've earned the right to be able to twist their little minds every darn time I had to wipe their poopy bums or kiss their booboos.

Still, this wasn't a conversation to enter in to lightly so I did what any quick thinking momma would do. I told them to do their home work and we would talk about this after supper.

I needed time to collect my thoughts and figure out how not to scar myself for years to come to delicately word our conversation.

That and I wanted to call Boo. See if he had time to deal with it. Maybe we could conference call it, and he could do all the heavy lifting. (I'm thoughtful like that.) But Boo was actually working so I would have to face the firing squad alone without any back up.

I felt like an old gun slinger heading out to main street at the stroke of noon, aware that if I wasn't the fastest draw I'd end up with a bullet in the head.

After supper my delightfully excited demon spawn sat down with me and we talked. About everything. Kinda. I still edited as much as I could. Had to save some of the good stuff for their dad. Heh. But in the end, Frac ran screeching from the room with his ears bleeding and my daughter just sat on the couch with a stunned look on her face, wishing she had never asked.

Mission accomplished.

Heh.

Later that night, Boo phoned and asked how our day went. When I told him his children wanted to know why boys spunk into fruit I heard the phone clatter to the floor and my husband having a small heart attack on the other end. When he sufficiently recovered he asked how I handled the situation.

"Why? Don't you trust me? You think I will warp them don't you?" I asked on the defensive.

"No, no, nothing like that," he rushed to reassure me. "I know you would do the best you could. It's just sometimes your best is a little, um, frank. Plus, this kinda came at me out of the blue," he hurriedly added so I wouldn't rip off his head, shit down his throat and then stuff his skull down the gaping wound that was once his neck.

"Came at YOU out of the blue???" I huffed. "Try being the one to explain what wanking off or tugging the one-eyed snake meant!"

"Well, how did you do it?" I could tell my beloved was wrestling simultaneously with fear and curiosity. While he dreaded my answer he needed to know. Kinda like rubber necking at an accident site. You just can't stop yourself.

"I explained the whole self-gratification thing in a non-specific manner but I felt it was more important to focus on teen age sex. Especially since they are obviously hearing about it every day. I don't want them to think it is cool or an activity to engage in lightly." I took a deep breath before continuing.

"Because if I have grandbabies before I turn forty I'm ripping off your nuts and barbequing them. It will be all your fault for leaving me alone with these kids during their crucial development stage."

"Fair enough," Boo said. "So what did you say?"

"Well, not much to be honest. I sat them down and made them watch a music video and then explained the lyrics. That pretty much did all the work for me. I think we may be raising a future nun and a forty year old virgin. I'm okay with that," I laughed.

"Cool," Boo laughed. "But what video did you make them watch?"

"Oh, just an old Meatloaf video. What's better than a little rock and roll to go with a sex talk?," I giggled as I remembered my children's horror filled faces as I explained to them the realities of teen age sex courtesy of 70's rock.

What better than a video that explains the difference between boys and girls and sex and the harsh realities of what happens when you have sex when you aren't ready.

Plus, I may have had a little fun rocking out to the video and remembering my own steamy teenage nights parked in a vehicle in the middle of no where.

Heh.

Ya. I so rock this parenting gig.


Thank you Meatloaf, for giving me the words I needed to say in a way my kids will remember for the rest of time. I heart you.

Smart Kids. That'll teach 'em.

Before my children were born, I used to pray every night they would be happy and healthy. I didn't care what sex they were I just wanted healthy kids. I also prayed they would have my dad's nose and possess a higher i.q. than either of their parents.

I wanted healthy, happy, brain surgeon, astrophysics geeky babies with a great nose.

Nothing like aiming for the moon. Well, Fric has my nose and Frac has his dad's nose, but I do think Bug had his Grampa's nose. I also believe he would have turned out to be smarter than Einstein, solved the global warming crisis, eradicated the common cold virus and cured cancer.

(So I've got him up on a teeny tiny pedestal. A broken pelvis, 7 hours of labour, six stitches in parts where no needle should ever be and the fact that I only got to kiss him for less than five years gives me this right. Work with me people.)

Now that my kids are getting older, I find myself wishing they weren't so damn smart more often than not. There is just no pulling the wool over these kid's eyes.

Like this weekend. Their dad was home for the long weekend and the kids were happily playing outside building a snow fort and shooting foam pellets at each other. We decided to make the best of the peaceful morning moments and get, er romantic with one another. Unbeknownst to us, Frac came into the house to get dry mittens. Do you see where this is going?

Thankfully, Boo had the foresight to close and lock our bedroom door before we got busy. While we were doing our thing Frac wandered over to our room to ask us a question. He stopped at the door, heard some interesting noises and decided he should wait. Clever boy. Boo and I happily finished and then got up to have some coffee.

When we went to the kitchen, Frac was in there with a questioning look on his face.

"What were you guys just doing?" he asked like the devil boy he really is.

Faced with this inquisition just after having my world rocked, my brains apparently decided to vacate their comfy home inside my head and ooze out of my ears. I looked at him, saw the intelligent light gleaming in his eyes and figured it would be better to fess up than tell him we were praying like I did last summer when he overheard us.

"Look Frac. We're grown ups, we're married, we love each other and we don't have a lot of time together. We decided to make the most of it while you were supposed to be outside playing. You get what I'm saying?" I asked as I busied myself making coffee and his dad hid in the bathroom like the pansy ass he is.

"You were having sex." It was a statement, yet it seemed like a challenge coming from the lips of my sweet, innocent ten-year-old.

"Ya," I replied as my face lit on fire and I wished for the ground to swallow me whole.

"Eww," he screeched and then he raced outside to go share the information that his parents were humping like a pair of horny rabbits with his sister. Because that's what good siblings do. They share such useful tidbits with one another to later use as a form of torture against their parents. They're a team like that.

"Well done, you twit," Boo nuzzled against my neck when Frac was safely outside.

"What can I say? I panicked. He knew anyways. He's a smart cookie. Thanks for all the back up you jack ass," I replied as I pushed him away and went to check my email. Nothing like burying yourself into cyber space to pretend you aren't mortified.

Fast forward a few days later and Boo was preparing to leave. It's always as much fun as chewing a thorny cactus when he is getting ready to leave. Nobody wants to see him go, and he's about as happy as a man getting a vasectomy done by a blind man. Since the kids were busy in their rooms, we decided to make the most of the last few moments of him being at home and get a last minute quickie in.

Reading that last sentence, I just realized we really are a pair of rabbits. Anyways.

Once again the door was locked and we got down to business. Except now our kids were on to us. Noticing the locked door, Fric decided to sneak up and see if she could hear us. This time we made sure to be really quiet. It was really very romantic. Not.

"Dad?" she called, "what are you guys doing?" Again with my demon spawn. Apparently they are here to make sure their parents never copulate in peace.

"Nothing," he replied as he covered my mouth (isn't he thoughtful?), "we're just talking about the adoption in private. Now go clean your rooms, we'll be out in a second."

"Smooth," I whispered as I adjusted my position.

Fric however, had other ideas. "Ewww!" she screamed and then went racing into the kitchen were her brother was waiting for an update. "They're having SEX again!!!"

Boo and I giggled and got back to the job at hand. Minutes later (and it really was just minutes. Hard to concentrate when you know your kids are being permanently traumatized just feet away from you.) we got dressed again and wandered out of the bedroom, nonchalantly.

"You were having SEX," they screeched in unison.

This time, I hid in the bathroom and waited for Boo to deal with it.

"Ya, so," he growled. "Go clean up your room before I make you wash the toilets with your tongues."

Not really the route I would have chose, but highly effective nonetheless. A few minutes later, when I deemed the coast was clear, I headed out to the laundry room to start putting my mounds of folded laundry away. Anything to avoid making eye contact with my children.

Fric and Frac were like two hungry lions circling in on a sick antelope. They could sense my weakness and decided to go for the jugular while their dad was outside checking the oil in his car. (Read: hiding like the school girl he is and waiting for me to clean up his mess.)

They approached me in a united fashion and waited for me to speak. You could tell they were waiting for me to deny what their father had said and redeem my purity in their eyes. I looked at them, and remembered when they couldn't speak and were actually sweet kids, unlike the evil little toads they have morphed into. It was a do or die moment. One they would remember well into adulthood. I could feel the pressure of the moment build like my life depended on it.

Not one to buckle in times of great pressure, I took a deep breath and asked them:

"Would you guys like a kiss to make this all better?" as I waggled my eyebrows.

They ran screaming from the room and Fric yelled over her shoulder, "EWWWWWW! I don't know where that mouth has been!"

Heh, heh. That'll teach them I thought to myself as I continued to fold socks.

Either Boo and I are going to have to get smarter as they get older, or start meeting out in the bushes for our romance encounters.

Damn I wish they weren't so smart. Or I wasn't so stupid.