Some Questions Best Remain Unanswered

"So Mom, how old were you when you lost your virginity?"

And there it was. The one question my children have asked that I have never answered, asked so innocently and so earnestly in the quiet moments of a typical evening I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut.

I thought I'd have more time to figure out how to tap dance around this question, get my proverbial ducks in a row and deal with my children's increasing curiosity about sex. The last time Fric posed this question she was 13 and the idea of her having sex was so foreign and far off that she may as well have been speaking Swahili.

But she's walking the delicate line in between adulthood and childhood and she's closer to becoming a woman than I care to admit. The teeter totter of puberty is quickly shifting away from the playgrounds of her innocence and tilting towards the future she's racing towards.

As much as I'd love to coddle her and bundle her up in the last tattered remains of her childhood I can't stop the sands of time. More often than naught I see glimpses of the lady she's about to become and I have to search harder to find that knobby kneed, stringy haired little girl who she used to be.

A year is an eternity in the life span of a child and with Fric it's been no exception. Who she is now is very different than who she was last year when she made the same curious inquiry. She's watching her friends grow up and make choices, some of them sexual and she's just starting to put the pieces of who she wants to be together in her jigsaw puzzle of life.

I never answered her. I once again deflected the question and used it instead as a stepping stone to discover the latest dramas happening within our own community of fourteen and fifteen year olds. It turns out life as a teenager hasn't really changed much since I once was that age. My memories are a little dusty but the dynamics of teenaged life isn't much different than when I was sporting aqua green eyeliner and a training bra.

Fric may be dipping her toe into the ocean of adulthood but she is still a long way off from stripping it all off and skinny dipping in the waves. For which I can only thank God and wipe the beads of sweaty relief off my forehead. I'm not ready to be a grandmother just yet.

I never had a birds and the bees talk with my parents. Of any sort. Which is why when I dropped into their kitchen as my father was pouring himself a cup of coffee and casually mentioned I was pregnant at the ripe old age of 20 my father may have had a small coronary as his coffee cup shattered on the kitchen floor.

Hello Dad! Guess what! I'm having sex! All the time! With your best friend's son! And oh! He totally knocked me up! Pass the sugar please!

I have no idea how old either of my parents were when they lost their virginity. I never thought to ask.  I'm not entirely sure I want to know their answers either because it would be like opening the lid to Pandora's box. I'd be admitting to myself my parents actually have bumped uglies and I wasn't dropped from the sky in a wicker basket by some cartoonish looking stork.

Yet, much like my daughter, I have a curious nature. And my daughter's boldness inspired me. So throwing caution to the wind, I picked up the phone and called my father.

"Hey Dad. Whatcha doing?" I casually asked.

We chatted for a moment about the weather, our plans for the day, the general nothings that consist of years of routine conversations and general politeness. I could picture my dad sitting at his kitchen table, a smoke in one hand and his mug of coffee before him as he spoke to me on the phone.

"So Dad, I have a question for you."

"Ya? What would that be?" I'm sure he expected me to ask him something vehicle related since he's my go-to guy when Boo is absent.

"Well, I was wondering something. How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Silence. I could see the smoke from his cigarette curl around his face in my mind. "What??" he finally choked out.

"How old were you when you popped your cherry? Handed out your V chip? Straddled the mare for the first time? You know. How old where you when you first had sex with another person?" My pulse was racing. Already I was wishing I could turn back the clock and take it back. Damn my kid for making me want to know my parents history a bit better. This is all Fric's fault.

"Why the hell do you want to know that?" he squawked ackwardly.

"Well you know. In the interests of history, learning more about you. Father daughter closeness. That sorta thing. That and the fact Fric asked me that question the other day and I was curious." I was full on babbling at this point.

"Fric asked when *I* lost my virginity? What kinda sam hell kid are you raising over there?"

"No Dad, she asked me when *I* lost my virginity and that got me wondering about yours. Well, got me wondering how you'd react if I asked you the same question."

"Oh. Well, did you answer her?"

"Well, not really. I kinda tapped danced around it. She's only 14. I figure it can wait a few years. Me? I'm 35 and you're old. Our time is running out."

"I see."

"So, ya. How old where you?" Nothing like pushing the issue at hand and seeing just how long it would take him to keel over from a stroke.

"I'm still waiting to lose it. Haven't found a willing filly."

"Very funny Dad. Har har. You've got children. That look like you. The gig's up. I know you're a stud."

"It wasn't me. I take no responsibility for you kids. I mean, look how you turned out."

Point taken.

We joked for a few moments and then ended the call, him relieved to escape with the truth still intact and withheld and me relieved to not have to call 911 to have emergency services revive my shocked father. I'm pretty sure he's not going to take any of my phone calls in the immediate future. I can't really blame him.

I imagine I will one day share my history with my children and tell them all about my past romances, if only for the reason I want them to know who Tanis is and see me as more than just their mom.

Well that and I really don't want my kids phoning me some morning in the distant future and ruining my coffee by asking me when I scored my first home run. I'm not sure my ticker is as strong as my dad's obviously is.

Aim Higher

Somewhere along the lines of my parental battlefield, I've picked up a personal slogan. A party line. A personal mantra, repeated over and over ad nauseam in the hopes it will one day ring in my children's brain and guide them into positive choices, like a little mini-me angel sitting on their shoulder whispering in their ears.

Aim higher. Generally accompanied by holding two thumbs up like a cracked out, uncool, female Fonzi.

Two little words. But I say them so often around these parts I may as well tattoo them on my forehead.

When Frac walks out of the bathroom wearing enough makeup to resemble a blind street walker, I tell her to aim higher. I'm not in the business of raising tarts.

When Fric snarls a curse word at his sister in frustration I tell him to aim higher. If you are going to curse, at least do it creatively. You are the fruit of my loins after all. Grab a thesaurus and be imaginative. Don't be so common or crude. F bombs are boring.

When Jumby tries to give me a high five, I tell him to aim higher. The boy is blind. Sometimes he needs a little directional help.

My point is, I'm constantly telling the kids to aim higher. Do better. Be more. Like most parents, I want the very best for my children and now that I'm on the tail end of this parenting gig it has never seemed more important than it is right now to drill this into their spongy little brains.

I'm a walking slogan campaign and I feel no shame for this. My kids are at a junction in their lives where they are quickly being afforded more leniency and independence. I have spent the last decade and more instilling the tools within them to make wise choices, giving them the tools to hopefully succeed independently in all aspects of their lives. And in the midst of all the peer pressure filled choices they are soon to make, I want them to know it is all right to aim higher than the choices some of their friends may be making. Heck, I want them to know it's all right to be better than their father and I ever were.

For the most part I hold no real worries about where my children will land in life because I'm fairly confident they will both turn out to be happy well adjusted contributing members of society.

It's just every now and then I have a mental flash of Frac 30 years old, overweight, unemployed and sitting on my couch playing World of Warcraft while getting Cheeto dust all over my slip covers and yelling at his older sister to take care of that squalling baby of hers, as she chases a toddler into her bedroom stuffed full with a crib. I then flash to Boo and I, crippled and grey haired, wondering where we went wrong and plotting ways to pry our adult children and their offspring out of our house, away from the mother ship and off of our dole.

For the love of God kids, AIM HIGHER.

This weekend Fric and Frac brought home progress reports. Neither card held much surprise as both my children tend to do well academically. But upon looking at one child's report card, I shook my head and announced, "Looks like someone needs to aim a little higher this next semester."

Both Fric and Frac, curious to know which child I was referring to, creeped in a little closer, trying to read the name on the report card.

I quickly held the report cards to my chest and shook my head and said, "Nope. I'm not saying which child is doing better than the other. You're both just going to have to AIM HIGHER. After all, a little hard work never hurt anyone before."

Amidst a chorus of groans and rolling eyeballs I headed towards my room to file away the progress reports in the filing cabinet I keep in my closet. Which is where I went wrong.

I turned my back on a pack of teens.

Frac, being quicker of the two, silently crept up behind me and snatched both report cards out of my hands. I whirled around and using my best scary maternal voice, commanded him to return the papers to the hand I held out in front of me.

That's when I realized. No longer is my son the same height as me. (Which was bad enough.) He is inches taller than me. Over night! I swear! As I realized I was looking up at him, he realized he was looking down at me.

He stood on his tippy toes and waved the sheets of paper high above my head and with an evil smile, he grinned and said, "Looks like someone needs to aim higher."

I really hate it when they use my own damn mantra against me.

********

I'd like to take a second to thank everyone who nominated me for Best Canadian Bloggie in the Eleventh Annual Weblog awards.

I know it isn't cool to acknowledge these type awards but the inner insecure high school geek inside me demands I say thank you. If I were politically correct, I'd tell you to wander over there and peruse the finalists because there is some fabulous blogs from all over the world nominated for an award. If I were politically correct, I'd tell you that it didn't matter to me if you voted for me or not, just that you voted at all. But I'm not politically correct. I mean, I call myself the redneck mommy for crying out loud. So I'll just point out the fact I'm nominated, and that if I win I will BUY YOU ALL IPADS. Okay, maybe not. I'm not rich. Just delusional.

So go look, discover some new great blogs, cast a vote or don't. Just know that I thank you all for thinking of me.

Detoured

For the past year I have been scrimping and saving because this spring I planned on taking my daughter on our very first mother-daughter vacation. Thanks to the stars lining up, a school travel club and my hard working husband, this March my daughter and I were bound to the land of Pharaohs, mummies and sand.

It's always been a dream of mine, an item on my bucket list if you will, to go to Egypt and suck up that nation's history while wiping the sand out of my eyes. The ability to share that experience with my teenaged daughter seemed like frosting on a freshly baked cupcake.



And then Egypt had other ideas. Ideas revolving freedom and new government and riots. And our long held plans were suddenly in limbo and I found myself, along with the world, captivated with the turn of events in a far away nation, watching history unfold as the people of Egypt try to make real change for themselves and their people.

Suddenly going to see the Sphinx isn't so important. Explaining to my daughter the political history of Egypt and trying to educate her as to why the people of that country were rioting in the streets held more value than paying a few bucks to ride around on a camel in a desert. I want her to understand how lucky we are, as Canadians, to have the freedoms, both personal and political that we do.

Without setting foot on Egyptian soil, Egypt has enabled me to teach my children about lessons I often take for granted. And as I watch the Egyptian peoples struggle to find their own path, I find myself appreciative of my lot in life and reminded of how lucky my children are. It is hard to feel disappointed about not having my own personal frivolous dream of seeing Egypt with my daughter come true when I'm witnessing the very real and important struggle the Egyptian people are embroiled in while trying to make their nation's dreams come true.

Perspective, I have it, and I'm not above using current events to teach it to my children either. That is one luxury afforded to me by nature of where I was lucky enough to be born.

So Egypt, sadly, is out. But the trip is still on. For the last week I had no idea where I would land, only knowing the tour company we gave our money to would be setting up an alternative for us. My only hope? Wherever we landed would be warm because I am sick of the snow.

Yesterday I received our final destination plans. And unless Mother Nature has a schizophrenic moment of confusion, cold temperatures aren't in my future forecast.

I'll be hauling my daughter off to Portugal and then to Spain.

Lisbon, you look lovely.

Algarve.

Barcelona.

My dream of being able to show my daughter, and hopefully one day soon, my son, a slice of life so very different than the one we lead, is still very much alive.

I've learned that life doesn't always work out the way you plan for it. But I've also learned that sometimes, when you look away, it turns out even better than you hoped.

I hope the people of Egypt find that true for themselves very soon as well.