I Saw You Before You Got Up This Morning

Here's the thing about kids:  they have needs.  And you, as the parent, have to fulfill every. single. one. of those needs. Until they're old enough to be kicked out fulfill those needs themselves.

Most of the time, it's a joy to help my boys.  They are good boys (bless them) and I am glad to be there for them.  Although, I recently read an article about what my 11-year-old should be doing by this age and am failing.  Miserably.  I actually noticed it the other day when I was cutting up his meat.  I mean, really?  He's 11.  Pick up a damknife and do it yourself already.

Anyway, my 8-year-old hasn't been feeling well.  He has had a cough for what seems like months and came home from school yesterday complaining of ear pain.  We know where this is going.  Luckily, I had enough time to call the pediatrician and secure an appointment for 8:00 this morning.

Btw, if you ever are ever offered the first appointment of the day?  Take. It.  It's amazing.

Most days, I try to be awake and ready to go before the children get up.  This allows me to focus on them, ensuring we don't forget anything.  Like homework.  And lunches.  And, on the rare occasion, the child himself.  There have been mornings when I'm running around like crazy and my oldest son has to remind me (5 minutes before we're ready to leave), "Lunch?"  Crap!

This morning, we left the house at 7:30.  I have to give myself props for getting out of the house on time.  Because?  I'm Greek.  "On time" means "at least 15 minutes late" in our world.  Our pediatrician is about 15 miles away.  She made sense when we lived in the same city, but, now that it's a good 30 minutes to get to her, I wonder if we should switch.  But, I love her and switching requires work, so... 30 minutes it is.

We got to the doctor at 8 on the dot (woo!), saw her for about 5 minutes, got our script and left.  Best appointment ever.  There's vindication when you get a prescription, isn't there?  Like you didn't just spend 60 minutes in the car, another 30 minutes in the waiting room, and 5 minutes with the doctor for nothing.  Somehow, I was able to get my 8-year-old to school on time, too (double woo!), and me to work at a reasonable time (well, we can't have everything).

However well this morning went, I can't help but fondly remember what it was like before kids.  When I used to get up in the morning and only have to get myself ready.  There was no yelling, no rushing (well, maybe there was rushing [Greek]), and no stress.  While I may have been a rock star this morning, this is not typical.  Which is why I had to write about it.  For posterity.

See, kids?  Mommy was on time!

So, Your Kid is Taking Sex Ed? Mine, Too.

My 11-year-old is in the 5th grade.  5th grade in our school district means APL, or Art of Personal Living.  Let's just call it what it is, OK?  It's sex ed.  With a tiny focus on,"Clean yourselves, yo.  You will stink more as you age."

I took APL in 5th grade, too.  It was all thrillingly awkward.  I wanted to know, but, also, didn't want to know.  You know?  Lord knows my parents weren't going to tell me a damthing.  And I was right. When I asked my mother about it later, she just said, "I figured school would take care of it."  The only advice I got from my mom in that area was, "God doesn't want you to do it until marriage."

Aaaaand, end scene.

Anyway, my experience wasn't traumatic.  They glossed over anything remotely interesting.  You know, what to actually DO when you do it.  And, in hindsight, I'm perfectly fine with that.  A) I was eleven and shouldn't know anyway and B) it means my children won't know either.

They had a parent meeting before our children's class began.  I was unable to make it, but my brother went (his daughter is also taking the class).

Sidenote:  Can I just say, once again, how entertaining it is (for me) that my brother got the girls?  As awful as he was to girls growing up, including me, I find it deeply satisfying that he now has to worry about boys like him hurting his beautiful, beautiful daughters.  Not that I want them to hurt either.  I just kinda wish he could go back in time and be this guy instead of that guy.  But, I digress.

So, the class.  With bleeding ears, he listened to them talk about periods and acne and various other horrifyingly hormonal happenings.  It all seemed very vanilla to me.  I mean, yes, periods are uncomfortable to talk about, but, well, whatever.

Fast forward to the afternoon of the first class.  All day, I knew my son had this class.  I had learned my lesson about oversharing, so I had decided that I would play it cool and not ask a damthing.

Turns out, I didn't have to.

He came right home and said, "So, we had our first APL class."

Me (side-eyed, pretending to be doing something else):  Oh?
Him:  Yeah.  She gave us a pretest to find out what we knew.  We had to answer, 'yes', 'no', 'not sure'. I said 'not sure' to a lot.
Me:  Like what?
Him:  I don't remember all of the questions, but one was (small, embarrassed smile), 'Do you know what a penis is?'
Me (to myself):  OK, a necessary evil.
Him (continuing):  Semen...
Me (again, to myself):  Oh, God.
Him:  Wet dream...

I blink.
He blinks.

Me:  Oookaaaayyy... do you want to know what these things are?
Him:  NO!  I'm going out to play!
Me (to myself):  Oh, thank God.

I'm not sure if I should be horrified or proud that he doesn't know these things yet.

I'm going with proud.