This week, since we had absolutely nothing going on in our lives in the evenings, we decided to do something really special: We all got into our pj's (except for The Dad - and his pj's aren't really relax-around-the-house appropriate!) and snuggled under blankies and watched reruns on the DVR. After the first 42 episodes of Wizards of Waverly Place, The Dad and I said we had to pick something the whole FAMILY would enjoy and we settled on a very funny sit-com. At least The Dad and I thought it would be funny.
During this particular sit-com, the husband and wife discover that it is actually their anniversary. The husband says to the wife, "You get all dressed up and I'll take you out to that new cafe downtown. Then we can come back here for dessert!" In response, the wife says, as an aside, "I hope by 'dessert' he means ice cream!"
I gently nudge The Dad with my foot for two reasons: 1. He's asleep and he's snoring and 2. I wanted his opinion on this very important matter. "Do you think he means ice cream, honey?" I ask him, snickering because we all know that no man who says "dessert" ever means ice cream.
And Daughter 1 - who's always been a butt-insky - opens her mouth wide, sticks out her tongue and wags it around.
Ummm...Wha--??
The Dad is wide awake now and he looks at me. I can only imagine that my eyes were bugged out much like any given cartoon character looking at Daughter 1, who is still wagging her tongue around outside of her mouth, laughing.
Oh. Dear. I knew that this time was coming. She is 9 years old, after all! And everyone knows that 9 is the new 13. Despite how much I try to shelter her, she is obviously going to be exposed to all sorts of indecent and crude and inappropriate themes and ideas. And truth be told, I don't try to shelter her much at all and it's coming back to bite me in the butt! On any given night - but especially on Sundays, she can see all that if she walks into The Dad's and my bedroom after hours!
I looked again at The Dad who had no less than 93 sweat beads around his brow and then sat in utter shock for the remainder of the show. Obviously, I was going to have to have a sensitive and, apparently Penthouse-like detailed, discussion with her about this. And I was not looking forward to it.
I had imagined - in my crazy Utopian fantasies - that our "talk" would be three-prong with sufficient recovery time between each segment: 1. We talked about becoming a woman; 2. We'd talk about behaving like a woman; and we'd be so in-tune with each other that, 3. We'd talk about all the crude and dysfunctional myths that she'd heard from her obviously ill-informed friends. Based on her latest gestures, I was going to have to toss my June-Cleaver notions to the curb and while I was there, I'd have to dig in the gutter to for new material!
When the show ended, we sent The Daughters to brush their teeth, then brush their hair and while they were at it, we had them brush the dogs' hair too. Tonight, I was going to allow them to use whatever stall tactics they could muster. While they were stalling, I asked The Dad for advice on how to handle talking to Daughter 1 concerning her very discerning gesture. He said, "If we ever have a son, I will certainly talk to him about these issues. The Daughters are all yours." Then he began looking up urologists on the internet.
This should not be as difficult as I'm feeling it is! I am a teacher - and a pretty good one at that! I just need to view this as a very difficult lesson to present. But where to start? OK -- I need to know exactly what she knows and then - based on her knowledge of the subject at hand... which was her tongue and its wagging motion ... I would build our discussion.
Deep breath in. I could do this. Deep breath out.
I go into Daughter 1's room and sit on the side of her bed, smoothing the covers over my precious, innocent daughter. I let out a deep sigh and then I softly and lovingly say to her, "You know when that husband said to his wife that they could come home for dessert? And then the wife said that she hoped he meant ice cream? Do you remember that part?"
"Yes, momma," she sweetly replied. My heart broke a little at the loss of her innocence.
"And after that part, you made that crazy motion with your mouth..."
"And my tongue, momma!" Oh, sweet baby ...
"Yes, your tongue too. Can you tell me exactly what that motion meant?"
And then I held my breath. I was so fearful of what my sweet, innocent first-born would tell me about that obscene and grotesque gesture.
"Momma, I was pretending! Duh! Ya know," and then she added a hand gesture to it. It was worse than I thought. I then watched as my child balled up her little hand and held it in front of her mouth and then said, "Pretending to eat an ice cream cone!"
Never before in the history of momma-hood has greater relief flowed through a body!
I kissed Daughter 1 and wished her sweet dreams and then went into the living room where I was greeted by a nervously sweating Dad. "Well...?" he muttered as I walked through the living room to the kitchen.
"Everything's fine. It was a total misunderstanding." I happily exclaimed. "Can I get you some ice cream??!!??!!"
