What? Your mom didn't draw pictures of sex parts for you when she gave you The Talk on a cold and rainy November afternoon in 1978? Weird.

Women, think back to when your mom had The Talk with you. Hopefully your mom, or someone, had The Talk with you. If not, email me, I can maybe help. If you don't know what The Talk is, go to bed, it's way past your bedtime.

I'm going to tell you about the time my mom had The Talk at me with me. There are three things you need to know about this encounter:

1. It was waaay too late. I grew up in a trailer court. And went to summer camp.
2. She drew pictures. Vivid, vivid pictures.
3. Don't ever draw pictures when/if you have The Talk with your own daughter/neice/granddaughter, etc. Unless you want your daughter to someday write about it on her blog. Then, by all means, draw away.

It was a cold and rainy sunday afternoon in November. I was sketching Holly Hobby on my brand new sketch/watercolor pad, and the year was 1978. Nearly every girl in 1978 was obsessed with: Holly Hobby, Laura Ingalls, Gunne Sax, or a combination of the three. In fact, I'm hanging out in my pink and white Gunne Sax prairie dress right now.
Jealous much?

 Anyway, there I was, 11 years old and happily drawing Holly Hobby. I didn't ask for what came next, I didn't expect it, and years of expensive therapy have yet to erase it from my fragile psyche.

Mom: "Y! Come out to the kitchen, will you? Oh, and bring your drawing pad with you."

That's right. I supplied the materials for my own traumatization.

Me: "Ok mom!"

We sat down at the kitchen table, and my mom immediately asked, "Honey, do you know how babies are made?"

Ok, this was a loaded question. If I answered yes then I would be in trouble for knowing stuff I shouldn't. However, if I answered no, then I was going to get The Talk. Lose-Lose. Crap. I rolled the mental dice and came up with...

Me: Um....do you?

See? Sometimes it's savvy to answer a question with a question.

In this case, however, it was not, because my mom apparently then felt the need to prove that yes, she did know how babies were made.

Mom grabbed my pad of drawing paper and took the pencil from my limp hand. She quickly began sketching and no amount of "Whatcha doing there mom?" convinced her to show me what she was drawing. Finally, she set my pencil down and triumphantly showed me this:

That's right. My mom drew a wanker. With hair. Oh, but she wasn't finished. Before I could swallow the vomit rising in my throat, my tormenter mom snatched back the pad of paper and drew this masterpiece:
My mom apparently attended the Georgia O'Keefe school of drawing sex parts

My jaw dropped in shock. My mother had just, in my mind, shown me pornography. I rapidly sorted through the list of appropriate responses in my mind. I came up with: "Ohhh! It's a bomb pop!", "Is it a sea anemone?" and even, "That's a flower, right?"

I could tell she was carefully watching me for signs of unease completely oblivious to my traumatized expression.
She gave me a few minutes to gather my thoughts labeled the penis and vagina as "exhibit A" and "exhibit B". She explained how they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. She told me what came out of "exhibit A" (ewww). Then she drew a picture of this substance:
Bestest. Easter. Egg. Hunt. Ever.

She explained that there could be only one winner in the race to the egg, which probably accounted for the confused and/or pissed off looks of the losing sperm.

By this time, I was mentally covering my ears and rocking back and forth.

I don't really recall what she said after she drew the pictures of the sperm. Honest. I think my mind was in lockdown. GIGO. Garbage In, Garbage Out, in Cobol terms.

The next thing I remember was my mother, looking extremely proud of herself, tearing off the pieces of drawing paper with the porn drawn on them. She told me I could keep them. As if!!! The first time she went to the bathroom, I crumpled them up and threw them in the garbage.

The next day at the bus stop, I told Kristine what had gone down the night before. Her eyes lit up, and her only comment was:

"Did you bring the pictures?"


To be honest, my mother did a bang-up (no pun intended) job of teaching me the birds and the bees. She was just a few years too late. So, mom's out there? Yeah, talk to your daughters before they know too much to be embarassed, and before they go to summer camp. Personally, I had the talk with my daughter when she was 9, and it was so cool. She was old enough to understand, but too young to be embarassed.

Peace out.

10 common phrases used in our house

I'm in the middle of writing a gigantic post, because I got not one, but TWO blogger awards, and I need to pass them on. So what if they were the same award, from different people?

That just means I rock all that much more, amiright?

Oh, one more thing. This picture goes out to Shirley.
Just keep your hands to yourself and we'll all have a fine time.

*Update - I just got another award! Being this spectacular comes with it's own set of curses, people.

There will be more than 10 phrases, because my son has Anxiety Disorder/OCD/Sensory Integration Disorder/ADHD/Disruptive Behavior and also repeats phrases/questions numerous f*cking times in any given time period. So, yeah. Oh, and the kids are in bold. And yes, I'm aware that the formatting is messed up. And I'm obsessive, so I've spent more time trying to line up the word "chicken" than I've spent writing this whole post. Sometimes we just have to  Let. Things. Go.

#1. Is it my birthday yet?
   No. Not for another month.
   Oh, ok. (five minutes pass).....
   Is it my birthday tomorrow?
   No. It's your birthday in THIRTY DAYS.
   Oh, ok. (five minutes pass).....How many minutes are in thirty days?
#2. Did you know that a velociraptor was only as big as a chicken? 
    Wow, really?
    Yep. And it didn't even live in the Jurassic Period, it lived in the Cretaceous Period!
    That's crazy!
    I know, right?

#4. I decided I'm going to be a vegetarian. But I don't like yogurt. Or beans. Or vegetable lasagna.  Or Tofu. Can I just eat grilled cheese and cucumbers?

#5. You'll have to walk to school today, I need to deal with your brother and I don.....
    What the EFF?? Get your butt out that door and get to school!
    I HATE YOU!!!!!
    Oh yeah? WELL, I HATE YOU TOO!!!


#7. J? Can I hold your guinea pig?
   (five minutes pass).....J? Can I hold your guinea pig?
#8. Mom??? Have you given Z his medication?!!
    Well, IT'S NOT WORKING!!!

#9. J? Did you take your medication?
    You lie. Take it right now.

#10. Is it my birthday yet?

And then I found this on the stairs. These are the dinosaurs from my son's birthday cake last year:
I am totally gonna bite your ass. Totally.