Everything Is Brutiful, Especially with The Birds and The Bees

You may be wondering what is going on with the beasts while their Queenpin is doing all this growing. I am still parenting while I'm growing, which is not always pretty, yet some how pretty beautiful. There's another blogger, Momastary, who talks about things being brutiful, both beautiful and brutal. That's our life: brutiful. Part of this growth involves me losing some of my beliefs that have kept me stressed out and too serious with my kids. Some of these changes though, (quitting smoking), have just made my temper shorter, other changes have made the Queenpin not want to get out of bed, (breaking up with Sweet Escape). Amazingly, my kids, my sweet little beasts, keep living through this, and not only living, but finding their way.  Who knew they were such tough motherfuckers?.....I'm learning that they are.

I was with two beautiful friends the other day, Butterfly Mama (she's shedding her cocoon), and Quotable Mama when Quotable Mama dropped some amazing wisdom. “You know,” she said, “sometimes I forget that my kids have their own path. I start thinking I’m in control. I begin to believe that I’m my children’s God, instead of doing my job, which is to be someone who is here to teach them and guide them on their way.” Well, shit. That is what I have been trying to practice lately, but I haven’t been able to put into words. That’s why she’s Quotable and I’m Queenpin. I’m more about brute force, she reminds me to let it go.

Last week I had THE TALK with my son. I have to admit, I was terrified to do it, I was worried about how embarrassed we would both be. How awkward it would feel and how traumatized he would be, yet, it ended up being one of my favorite parenting moments. Maybe it was because when it comes to my kids and their sexuality, I know I am not in control and that knowledge forced me to be a parent in the most spiritual way. I will not be with my son for the moment he decides to hold someone’s hand, or give a first kiss, or go even further, but I want to give good guidance because there are few things as important as learning how to treat yourself and someone else with respect, and how to honor your sexuality. I know from experience that ignorance about sex and relationships can become baggage that is hard to ship off.

My son is 9. He does not admit to being interested in girls, but I see it. He does not ask questions about his body, but it’s changing. He does not show interest in the sneakiness that comes with self-exploration or doctor play, but it’s coming. It would be easier for me to stop a freight train than to stop my boy’s hormone tornado called puberty. 

A few days before THE TALK I prepared the beasts by telling them that Big Beasts was going to have his 9 Year Old Mommy Night and that Little Beasts would be going to her dad's. I said it as if this was an American tradition. Oh, you know, that night that all nine years olds get with their mom. Because of this there were no complaints from Little Beast. 

The night of THE TALK we shipped off Little Beast and I asked Big Beast where he wanted to go to dinner. He could choose any place he liked the neighborhood pizza shop, the ice cream and grilled cheese shop only a few blocks away, a great burger joint (my pick). "I want to go to that place with boccie ball....you know...what's it called?...that place," he wrinkled up his sweet freckled nose and looked up at me quizzically. Oh, I did know what he was talking about. It is a neighborhood bar that Savior Single Mama and I took the kids to one night so they could have milk shakes and we could have frozen "adult drinks". There's a great boccie ball court and Savior Single Mama and I played with our kids and laughed our asses off.

So my 9 year old boy and I walked down to a bar for dinner before the sex talk. We ate fried pickles and some other disgustingly good stuff. We played boccie ball and laughed. I tried to teach him how to play pool, which I really suck at. It was a great night.

When we got home, Big Beast walked in the door and said, "I want to play Spit." He went to grab a deck of cards. "Hold on, baby. Actually, I'm getting ready to have the most embarrassing conversation of your life with you, and we will be having these for the rest of your life." My boy looked at me totally confused and waited (he's used to my strangeness). Then I pulled out the books I had to help me. I had three books: Where Did I Come From by Pete Mayle, What's the Big Secret by Laura Krasny Brown and Marc Brown, and The Boys' Body Book by Kelli Dunham. My beast and I sat side by side on the couch and I read Where Did I Come From to him in it's entirety. He sat curled up next to me with his head on my should listening quietly, not asking one question. I stopped mid-way and asked, "Are you freaking out?"
"No," he said, very matter of factly and then we moved on.

I love that the people doing "the deed" in this book resemble Danny Devito and Rita Pearlman

We hugged and gave smooches and then that boy went to bed, and I sat and felt so grateful that I was not God, but just a parent, a teacher, a sometimes wisdom giver. A woman who just got to sit with her boy and talk to him about beautiful things, that will most certainly be brutiful, and hopefully a little less painful because his mama made him have horrifying, embarrassing conversations about girls, love, and hairy balls.