Before we begin, let me say this is a TMI post. If you don’t want to know that much about us, then just mosey along.
Still here? Okay.
I’m hesitant to write half of the conversations in this house, because while I find my children amusing 1) I’m not sure others will and 2) the kids are getting to be just old enough to complain about my writing about them.
But then I thought, do I really care what anyone else–including my own children–think? So I will continue to share until DSS (which is actually called DFC in Massachusetts) tells me to stop. Please assure me that everyone has conversations like this with their eleven-year-old sons.
A few weeks ago, a friend came to stay with us with his girlfriend. My friend–let’s call him Fishy because, well, it’s his name, more or less and I have no qualms about writing about him–was here for two nights with his woman friend, whom we shall call Lady Fish.
Before they came, the boy asked at dinner one night: Will Fish and Lady Fish be in the guest room?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Together?
Me: Of course.
Boy: Ugh!
Me: Why?
Boy: That means there’s a chance–like a 50 percent chance–that there will be coitus in this house!
Me: Excuse me?
Boy: If they’re dating, they could have SEX in our house!
Me: And this is a problem because…
Boy: Ew!
Me: Are you saying there isn’t sex in this house otherwise?
Boy: No, of course there isn’t.
Me: What about me and your father?
[Note, said father and little sister are both listening fascinated]
Boy: You don’t have sex.
Me: We don’t?
Boy: Well, you did. Twice. But you don’t have sex anymore.
Me: What makes you say that?
Boy: Because I saw Dad’s drawer and there aren’t any condoms in it.
Girl: But when she was reading It’s Perfectly Normal to me, she showed me a condom, so they do have some!
Boy: Did she open it to show you?
Girl: Yes.
Boy: Ha! Then that condom can’t be used any more.
Me: You know there are other forms of birth control besides condoms.
Boy looks momentarily befuddled.
Girl: There are?
Me: Sure. Lots of kinds.
And, yes, dear reader, I’m embarrassed to say I told the kids exactly what kind of birth control we use, but I’m bashful enough (despite that this blog seems to want to prove otherwise) not to broadcast that here.
Both children consider other forms of birth control. Finally:
Boy: Well, you still don’t have sex, because I stay up pretty late, and I definitely would have heard you having sex.
Flash forward a couple of weeks, and I’m at the Lena Dunham reading of Not That Kind of Girl with a good friend. Lena Dunham has teamed up with Planned Parenthood for the tour, so in the lobby they were giving away goody bags. With condoms in them. I, of course, texted my boy right away: “They’re giving out condoms at my reading. So now there will be some in the house again. FYI.”
No response from the boy.
But the next morning, I went to wake him up and I brought him a little goody bag of his own.
Me: Wake up, sweetie. Time to get ready for school! Oh, and by the way, I brought you a condom.
Boy, with one eye barely cracked open, not missing a beat: I’d have rather you brought me a pastry.
And that, my friends, is what life is like with a middle schooler these days. Fun, fun.
