Here’s something they don’t teach you in lamaze

We had just come home from a trip to the local grocery store.  My husband was putting away our coats and the boys began running around in the living room.

Come on! son 1 shouted to son 2.  Let’s play! 

I don’t remember what game it was.  Just assume something terrifyingly frenzy, that involved lots of running, shouting, messing up of my already quite messy home, and raising of my blood pressure.

Son 2 replied I don’t do that.  I’m a girl.  With an emphasis on the “don’t” and the “girl”.

I sighed a terribly frustrated sigh and thought grimly This kid is going to start kindergarten soon.  It’s one thing if he marches around the house, demanding that his clothes and sippy cups be in shades of pink and purple only, and it’s another if he does the same in school.

They like to make big deals out of these kinds of things in institutions of the educational type.  When son 2 was delayed in his speech, he was analyzed by six different child psychologists, therapists, and special education teachers.  I try not to think about the conclusions they would reach and the questions they would have regarding my son’s flip flopping on his gender.

Because to me, and to his pediatrician, it isn’t a big deal.  He’s four years old.  Hardly the age where major life decisions are made.  It’s probably a phase that he’ll eventually grow out of.  And if he doesn’t, he doesn’t.  If that’s how and what he chooses to be, then that’s how and what he is.  We all know his behavior isn’t the work of the devil whispering bad things into his ear after we turn out the lights.  I doubt even that spiky tailed mofo can get past the all seeing eye that is the ADT motion sensor.

I keep telling him he’s a boy that loves to do girl stuff, because he loves to do all the boy stuff, too.  And that’s fine.  Boys can love the colors pink and purple, dolls, pretty hair, etc.  But he’s still a boy.  And I can’t check both M and F on his school forms.

I said it gently the first 10 times or so, calmly explaining to him the whole boy with the likes and dislikes of a girl concept.  He listened and said Okay.

Then came the situation mentioned at the beginning of the post.

Oh my Allah!  Omg!  Not again!  Jesus!  Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Stalin, John, Lennon, Yoko, Ono, Rinko, Star! 

That’s how I vent my frustration.  I spout nonsense.

We’ve been through this before, darling I said through clenched teeth.  You’re a boy that likes girl stuff, remember?

All I got in response was a big, Cheshire cat like grin from Son 2.  :mrgreen:

There had to be some way to get him to understand.  I thought for a while about obvious differences between the sexes.

Hair length?  No, that wouldn’t work.

Boobs?  No, I wasn’t going to start that.  The male fascination with the female chest is something they’ll have no problem figuring out once they hit puberty.  The bigger, the better is pretty much self explanatory.

I really didn’t know what to say, so I blurted out You’re not a girl because girls don’t have wee wees.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my husband raise his eyebrows and smirk.  I wanted to pinch him.  He wasn’t helping.  And why was he wearing that expression?

Because he knew what was coming up.

Often I tend to miss the obvious, like the time I thought I was reaching for the minty blue mouthwash and almost gargled with the stuff from the bottle clearly marked Windex.

My husband is a smart cookie.  He knew what was coming next.  He just sat there, arms crossed, and let me deal with what I had started.

Son 2’s eyes got big and round and Son 1 started to laugh.  Bewildered and obviously anticipating something scandalous, they asked the question that I, quite foolishly, hadn’t anticipated.

If they don’t have wee wees, what do they pee out of ?!?!

And they haven’t stopped asking it.  I tell them I will sit down and explain anatomical differences between males and females soon, when I know what to say and how to phrase it right.

It’s better than I don’t know how to tell you this boys, but I have no idea how to approach those kinds of topics with you.  Your grandparents always chose the ‘no’ option when they sent the ‘would you like your child to participate in sex ed classes’ permission slip home.  They were first generation fobs that were scandalized by such a notion because, in the old country, you found out where babies come from on your wedding night.  No sooner.

I’ve got some prep work to do on the topic before I open up my big mouth again and start an avalanche of questions.  Because kids ask a lot of questions.  Their minds and voices don’t have the confines and restrictions of the adult thought process.  And I really don’t want to say anything that might confuse the heck out of them.

I always prided myself on being the most knowledgeable on any topic that was parental, but apparently, mom and child specialist are sometimes two different things.

Who knew?

For richer or for poorer, but not during the Colts game

Prayers for the tragedy in France.  “Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it must be attained through understanding” – Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Welcome to the newly renovated The View Through The Window.  I was getting tired of that old theme and I like to switch things up now and then.  I hope you like this new blog style as much as I do.  Now back to our regularly scheduled blog post.

He’s the good cop to your bad cop.  The fun loving parent to your disciplinarian.  The one who sneaks your kids candy during time outs.  I quote, “Daddy’s awesome and you suck.”

Point noted.

Husbands.  You gotta love em.  And because we love them, let’s start with all the things they do that make them wonderful :

-He comes home after work.

Moving on.

I’m just kidding.  We all know husbands do a lot more good than just come home from work.  Let’s add to the list.

-He comes straight home from work.

Still kidding.  Don’t get your boxers in a bunch.  The real list follows :

-He comes straight home from work to a crabby wife and hyper kids, yet still manages to remain upbeat.

-Is tired as hell but tells you to take a break.

-Knows exactly what to do when you’re angry.  When I’m mad at him, my husband starts cleaning.  He strongly believes that cleanliness is next to godliness because it prevents your wife from doing that head turning thing from the Exorcist.

-Doesn’t question the logic behind why I can be as grumpy as I want but he gets in trouble for not smiling enough.

-Worked for years at a job he hated because he felt he had to.  His hard work is what made it possible for me to stay at home with our kids.  This is the reason why I call my husband the real superman.  That and because he’s survived being married to me for so long.

-Is ever supportive, whether it’s you wanting to go back to school, starting a blog or turning off all the lights and pretending no one’s home when the neighbor’s annoying kids show up uninvited.

-Is the world’s greatest dad.  My husband has more patience than a monkey has love for bananas.  He can play make believe games with my boys for hours.  I would rather clean the house. Or watch paint dry.  Or clean the house while I watch paint dry.

-He lets you blog about him.

And since nothing and no one is perfect, here are things he does that make him so very annoying :

-You send him to the supermarket for cauliflower and he returns with lettuce.  You ask for parsley and he gets spinach.

-Half your kitchen stuff ends up where it shouldn’t be when he unloads the dishwasher.

-His version of cleaning is to dump everything in the kids’ toy box and/or the closet.

-You can always count on him to not answer his phone.

-Wouldn’t know his way around the kitchen even if it came equipped with exit signs.

-Thinks it’s okay to have a conversation with you when you’re brushing your teeth.  Or through the bathroom door.  But thou shall not interrupt viewing of football game.

-Thinks we are out of <fill in the blank> if a sixty second search for it yields nothing.

-Grins and says But I picked you when you tell him his taste sucks.

-Thinks sitting down to pee is a strange and foreign concept.

-His looking for something usually ends up with you finding it for him.

-His lack of attention to detail and failure to pick up on social cues makes you wonder if he spent his adolescent years devoid of human interaction.  When I was pregnant and mine no longer fit, my husband thought it was okay to tell my family I was wearing his underwear.

-Hogs the blanket.  Tosses and turns enough to wake the dead.  My husband’s nocturnal bed shaking (no, not that kind) once even woke him up.  He turned to me, still half asleep, and asked was there an earthquake? to which I replied no, darling, your ass was just doing its sleep aerobics thing again.

-Leaves all pantry and cabinet doors wide open.  Shutting them makes you feel like Vanna White after an exceptionally large puzzle solving on an early 90’s episode of Wheel of Fortune.  You know, before it went all touch screen.

-He lets you blog about him with the condition that you will do a similar post on wives.

Needless to say, I accepted the challenge.