First, my youngest (the quarter-swallowing Cole) decides to kick a kid at the bus stop because said kid isn’t supposed to be on our property.  Cole was mistaken – our kids just aren’t allowed to play with the kickee.  He’s a little jerk whose mother thinks can [...]]]> A day of conflicts can wear on a guy.

First, my youngest (the quarter-swallowing Cole) decides to kick a kid at the bus stop because said kid isn’t supposed to be on our property.  Cole was mistaken – our kids just aren’t allowed to play with the kickee.  He’s a little jerk whose mother thinks can do no wrong.  Really.  Think stereotype doting mom on TV.  She actually refers to him as “my angel”. 

This differs from our children who aren’t jerks but can be punks, are always under suspicion, and are only referred to as “angels” sarcastically.  And our kids are the best in the world.

Nutjob mother (let’s refer to her as J.L.) sees this and storms up our driveway to give my wife a piece of her mind.  Now, our driveway is about 125 feet long, uphill if you’re coming from the street.  Jennifer, I mean “J.”, has to tip the scales at 225 minimum so by the time she completes her trek she’s ready to stroke out on my front porch.  Lack of wind doesn’t deter J. from her apoplexy and she lights into my wife, who just laughs it off (had the hyper(ventilating) mom been less dramatic in her approach Louise would have been more receptive to the message).

This did not satisfy crazy lady’s blood lust (even though her angel was completely unharmed by the likely anemic kick delivered by my 6 year old and probably didn’t even notice it, since most other days the boys while away the time before the bus arrives by wrestling) so she proceeded to tell the kids and a neighbor that my wife is a bad parent. 

Yeah, whatever.  Kids, just don’t make sudden moves around her and avoid eye contact.

I’m not happy with my son, though, and when I get home and learn the attack was unprovoked I come down hard on him.  Our kids are supposed to defend themselves and defend each other (which they’ve done I can proudly say) but you don’t go around kicking other kids for no reason.  Property rights, whether or not the bus stop is on our property, is not a good reason.  Cole goes off to his room in tears; Jack gets a little of his butt chewed too.  I’ve got momentum going…then Louise steps into it.

I won’t get into the details but in the end I’m labeled clueless and a lousy white knight.  My issues aren’t necessarily with her (and I wouldn’t get into them here anyway since that would be low and one-sided) but more with the kids – I’ve told them repeatedly that 90% of the trouble they get into is because they’re either screwing with someone or someone’s stuff.  At least make new mistakes, damn it! 

Final score, Marital Bowl 2009…it’s a draw.  After 14 years you’d think we’d run out of ways to bang our heads together but we still keep that part of the marriage vital and alive. 

A change of scenery is what I need, so I round up my little hellions and throw them into the truck.  I’d picked up V-day candy for them at Costco but immediately afterward thought better of buying more sugar for them so I returned the candy and picked up books instead.  They had no idea what I was doing – I left them in the truck with their handheld video games. 

Dinner sans Mom often means Famous Dave’s BBQ restaurant  (wifey is not a bbq fan).  BBQ is good if you’re in a hurry or hungry - it’s made ahead of time so they just have to slop it onto a plate for you.  To avoid the 30 minute wait we sit in a booth in the bar area, at the invitation of the hostess.  It’s all non-smoking, don’t you worry.  Being ignored did not figure into my plans…I understand busy but don’t walk by me repeatedly while I look up expectantly, menu in hand, mouth open as if to utter something like, “ribs, beans, and slaw please”.  Surly barmaid ended up comping us drinks and muffins, woo woo (at the demand of the manager, no doubt).  I did have to get my own straws and silverware, after all, and grab a random waiter to get our order in.

5th grade sex ed textbook, GT level

The highlight of the evening was a trip to Barnes & Noble.  Izzy, my 11 year old, had $50 in gift cards from her birthday plus each kid had another $15 left over from Christmas.  Isabelle’s corner of the house already sags from the weight of her library, but who can complain about a kid reading too much, especially since she also plays with her Legos, video games, rides her bike, rock climbs, draws?  Not me, that’s for sure.

In the checkout line there’s a table with an assortment of Valentine’s Day books, including “The Cosmo Kama Sutra: 77 Mind Blowing Sex Positions.”  The kids are already checking out the poetry books on the table, so I smoothly and quickly distract them by pointing out the fascinating array of gift cards on the rack behind them.  “Why look kids, is that Frederick Douglass I see on that gift card?”

Save me, Fred!

I’m not shy when it comes to sex, or most any topic.  I just didn’t think the time was right to discuss things to that level of detail with any of them, particularly Jack or Cole.

The other night, though, I had “the talk” with Isabelle.  I’d just come back from SC and offered to run out to Safeway then Carrabba’s for take out.  Since Iz didn’t come to the airport to greet me on my return (curse you Webkinz!  This is the same little girl who, at 2, would stand in an upstairs window crying when I went to work.  More than once I came back in to play with her.  Fat lot of good it did me, eh?)   I dragged her along for the ride.

That night was also parents’ preview night for the sex ed material the school was going to start teaching the 5th graders.  I was sick, tired, so I skipped it.  Isabelle and I ended up talking about the upcoming unit (ahem) and I just laid it all out.

She was not impressed.

“Wait, you put your penis in mommy’s vagina?”

“Yes, I did.”

“But why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s more fun than it sounds…”

“Ok, so a guy takes his penis…”

I cut her off at that point…we were getting in the checkout line and I didn’t think the other patrons would be impressed with our candor.

Mind you, I didn’t just jump right in with “a guy sticks his junk up in your junk.”  (<— actual description used that night)  We initially started talking about her period, which hasn’t happened yet but seems to be her worst fear right now.

“I don’t want to bleed from my privates!”

Yeah, I’m with you there…

When we got home I told my wife of our discussion.

“Did you tell her why she has a period?”, Louise asked.

“Of course I did!  I went over everything.”

“So you told her that it’s the lining of her uterus being shed?”

“What else would I tell her?”, I asked, a little indignantly.

“Ok, I just wasn’t sure you knew what was going on.”

Gee, thanks.  Through the course of our marriage I’ve seen more stuff than I’d ever expected come out of her “junk”, including 3 people…a little endometrium, no problem.

Louise was horrified when I told her I described a maxi pad as a “blood diaper”, though.  I think she sees therapy bills in our future that will make the orthodontist look like a panhandler.

Still, I did a good job.  We covered all the bases, literally.

“What if a guy puts his hand on my shirt?” (I’d clued her in that many boys have a thing for boobs)

“Then you kick him in the privates.”  No room for negotiation there.  I wasn’t going to get into what if he’s a nice guy, what if we’ve been dating for 6 years, etc etc.  No soup for you, young men of the future.

“What if a guy tries to put his hand under my shirt?”, she continued.

“Then you bring him to me…I kick a lot harder.”

Back to the present, the Kama Sutra shoal successfully navigated,  I sent the kids ahead as I completed our purchase and asked the clerk to pass on my disappointment with their merchandising layout.

beep…beep…beep

Cole is setting off the anti-theft sensor as I speak to the clerk…and he didn’t set it off when we came it.

The kids are fascinated with this and Cole repeatedly trips the sensor as I watch helplessly from 50 feet away.

Does it go off if he crawls between the sensors?  beep…beep…beep

Does it go off if he jumps through the sensors?  beep…beep…beep

Pretty much anything a bird can do to a cloud Cole tried, garnering the same response each time.  beep…beep…beep

Soon the attention of everyone in the front third of the store is captured…it sounded as if shelf after shelf of books just got up and marched out the door, one after another.

Bags in hand I keep my head down and make a minor show of frisking him.  “Must be an old tag in his clothes, heh heh”, I lamely announce to anyone still watching.

Back at the truck my search was more thorough.  I had, after all, recently learned to frisk bodies, alive or dead.

I’ve asked my wife before which kid she thinks will be the first to get caught stealing.  Her answer…none of them.  Hmmm.  My wife says she’s never shoplifted.  She’s also allegedly never farted.  I’ll take her word on the first, no comment on the second.  We can only have one “pull my finger” adult in this house!

Cole’s clean.  His Gap jeans still had the “remove tag before laundering” tag.  I contemplate the wisdom of telling the kids how cool it is to hide a tag like that in someone’s purse or bookbag, but we’ve had a full day and they all want to get in bed and read.

That lesson will come, though.  My kids may be part-time punks with suspicious natures but at least they come by it honestly.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.