July 29, 2005

It’s Natural, But It’s Rated “R”

“I think a baby is too big to come out of a belly button,” Finn remarked as we stood in the checkout line at the grocery store. I ignored him and pushed the cart to the parking lot and commanded him to unload the groceries.

“If babies come out of belly buttons, then why do I have one?” he asked a few weeks later.

His repeated questions made it clear to Bill and me that it was time to educate him about the facts of human reproduction. Third grade seemed young, but it had to happen eventually unless we were going to let the stoner across the street handle the job for us.

Before we summoned Finn, I told Bill, “Look, I know I’m the talker in this family, but you’re the man. You need to take an active role and give the male perspective on the process.”

“That’s why I’m here, honey,” he replied coolly.

“And we have to make this quick so we can go eat dinner,” I added.

“I understand,” he said, patting me on the back, and he called Finn into the kitchen for a chat.

We all sat there for a minute, and when Bill didn’t say anything, I decided to start.

“I bet you have a lot of questions about how babies are made,” I said by way of introduction.

“Not really,” Finn said.

“In that case, I’ll just go ahead and fill you in on some things you need to know, because we’d rather you hear this from us than from someone at school,” I continued. “If you have any questions, you just stop us and ask.”

“It’s very important that you feel comfortable talking to us about these things,” Bill said.

“Whatever,” Finn said.

I took a deep breath, and plunged in. I said that what we’ve told him before is true: when a mom and a dad want to have a baby, they do have to pray to God and ask him to bless them with one. But there’s more to it than that– you have to take some affirmative action, and that involves getting in the bed together and taking off all your clothes. Alternatively, you can take off your clothes and then get in the bed.

Finn was unmoved. I looked at Bill, who gave me a thumbs up sign, so I kept going.

“And then the mom and the dad make love, which is also called having sex, or sexual intercourse,” I said. “Basically the mom and the dad kiss and make googly eyes at each other and then they have sex.”

I realized about this time that I was unprepared for the speech. I had not made an outline, nor had I Googled possible approaches. Clearly the next part was to explain exactly what sex was, so I backed up a bit.

“So, let me back up a little. To make a baby, you have to have an egg and some fertilizer. Every month, moms make an egg.”

Finn stared at me in amazement. “Do you lay it?”

“No, I just make the egg inside my stomach, but that’s a good question,” I said, deciding to skip the whole menses part of the talk. “But you should know that it is very hard to make an egg. Sometimes it makes women crotchety. So if I’m in a bad mood you should be sweet to me because inside I am probably working very diligently to make an egg.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Mom, but it seems to me like maybe you’ve been making an egg today,” Finn commented.

“You’re right. But the trick to keeping women happy is that you never ask them if they are making an egg. If you think they are, you say something like, ‘Do you need me to bring you a chocolate chip cookie?’ or ‘How would you like a back rub?’”

“That sounds easy,” Finn said, nodding.

“I wish my mother had told me that,” Bill said. “Are we going to talk about women, or are we going to talk about what we came here to talk about?”

I glared at him. “Do you want to take over?”

“No, honey, you’re doing just fine,” he said, backing off.

“Anyway,” I went on, “the mom has the egg, and it needs to be fertilized. The man has the fertilizer. So the egg and the fertilizer have to get together. Any idea how that happens?” I asked, hoping he’d know and save me the trouble of explaining.

“Not a clue,” Finn said. He was swinging his feet so that they hit the bottom of his chair over and over: THUD…THUD…THUD…THUD.

“COULD YOU CUT THAT OUT?”

“What?”

“That sound you’re making with your feet. It must STOP,” I said.

“Sorry.”

I took off my glasses, cleaned them as a stalling tactic, and continued.

“Well, as it turns out, your willy is not just a cool thing to pee out of. It’s also where you carry your fertilizer. So the dad uses his willy, his penis, to get his fertilizer to the egg.”

“I thought the egg was inside you,” Finn pointed out.

Damn. He was making this excruciatingly hard. I looked at Bill. He was staring intently out the window at the back yard.

“Yes, the egg is inside the woman, and the fertilizer is in the man’s penis, so what happens is that the mom and dad kiss a little–”

“And make googly eyes at each other,” Finn said impatiently–

“Yes, don’t forget the googly eyes– and then, and then… and then…”

I looked at Bill, who continued to focus on the swing set, and suddenly I lost control of my hands and arms. As if from far away, I saw myself forming a circle with my left hand and poking my right index finger in and out of the circle, in the universal symbol for coitus as I explained, “and then the dad’s willy gets hard like a stick and he puts his penis into her vagina and the fertilizer comes out and he fertilizes the egg.”

I heard a door slam and noticed Bill had vanished.

“Mom,” Finn whispered, “Daddy just ran to the bathroom and I’m pretty sure he didn’t have to pee.”

Together we tiptoed to the door and listened. We could hear Bill gasping for air as he tried to stop laughing.

“Let’s go back to the table,” I said. “We can finish this talk without your Daddy.”

“I have a question,” Finn said. “Why did you say the dad’s willy has to get as hard as a stick?”

Good Lord, did I say that? Why did I say that? Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bill, red faced, returning from the bathroom as I tried to formulate an answer.

“You see,” I began, “you can’t have sex, I mean, a dad can’t have sex with that floppy kind of willy you walk around with all the time. For some reason it won’t work. So the willy has to get hard like a stick to have sex.”

Just as I remembered where I was going with this thought, Bill’s face started to turn purple and he headed for the bathroom again.

“So, sometimes willys practice getting hard like a stick so they’ll be ready when it’s time to have sex. That’s why sometimes you wake up and your willy is sticking out in front of you instead of hanging down. Or later when you get a little older, you might see a pretty girl and your penis might get hard as a stick. That’s perfectly normal,” I stressed. “It just means your willy is preparing for when you’re grown up and want to make a baby.”

Finn listened carefully.

The talk didn’t stop there, although as far as Bill was concerned, it was over. He came back to the table and sat stiffly in his chair with a tortured look on his face.

I explained exactly where the penis goes, and shocked Finn by explaining that babies come out of that same hole. That opened the door for me to stress the fact that whether the baby comes out your vagina or your stomach, it hurts really, really bad to have a baby, so you should be sure and buy your wife a nice present when she gives birth.

“I would think you’d want to get her something very expensive,” Finn agreed.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be expensive, as long as it’s meaningful. But a ring or bracelet is nice.”

Bill rolled his eyes.

While we were at it, I decided to dispel a widely held rumor in the Glamore household.

“You should also know that women have a special place to pee from. It’s not nearly as exciting as your willy, but women do not pee from their butts. This is the only part of our talk that you can discuss with your brothers, okay?”

“Okay,” Finn said. “Is it almost time for dinner?”

Thankfully, it was, so we headed out to eat. I ate all my pasta and a huge slice of flourless chocolate cake.

That night, after we tucked Finn, Bill got in bed and started writing.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Usually he gets in bed, pretends to read Triathlete magazine for a few minutes, and then falls asleep.

“Honey, that was a fabulous talk,” he said. “You do realize that we have to give that talk two more times, so I thought I’d make some notes so we wouldn’t forget how it goes.”

“WE have to give that talk again?” I asked incredulously. “You tell me exactly where in the conversation the ‘we’ came into it. As I recall, you were pondering the swings or trembling in the bathroom while I was telling your son about erections, despite the fact I’ve never personally had one. There was no ‘we’ there; that was ME giving that talk.”

“Well, you’re right,” Bill admitted. “It’s just that I didn’t expect it to get so technical. I never could have given it as well as you. For the sake of our family, I think you should be in charge of the procreation talk from here on out,” he said.

“I will,” I said, “since apparently I’m the only one with the balls to use plain language and put it down where the goats can get it.”

“You’re right. You win,” Bill said. “Can I give you a back rub?”

And he did.

July 26, 2005

I Can’t Hear You!

It’s hard to know what to get a 9 year old boy for a birthday gift. They are too old for Legos, and I never have the foresight to grab a gift certificate to the movies. However, Finn and I have hit on a perfect gift that combines our love of music with creativity. Like many wonderful things, it involves my iPod.

Finn is in charge of picking songs for the birthday boy’s CD. We burn the CD, make a personalized cover (”Brian’s CD”) and head to the party. It’s been a huge success.

I have over 3000 songs on the iPod, and when we first started doing this, Finn didn’t realize how far down the library of songs went, so for a while the CD’s were heavy on Beatles, B-52’s and Barenaked Ladies.

As the summer has gone on, however, I have convinced Finn to try to scroll through the whole library of songs, all the way past U2 and Wynonna to Yaz (which he detests, but which reminds me and a couple of other people of some fun yet excruciating evenings in Charlottesville. Fun: Yaz. Excruciating: peach schnapps.)

His latest is a masterpiece. Drew and Porter demanded copies as well. Here is the current playlist:

Cosmic Thing/B-52’s
Istanbul(Not Constantinople)/They Might Be Giants
Smoke On The Water/Deep Purple
Good Times Roll/Cars
I Want You to Want Me/Cheap Trick
Clocks/Coldplay
What Would You Say/Dave Matthews Band
In Between Days/Cure
Crash/Gwen Stefani
Purple Haze/Jimi Hendrix
R.O.C.K. in the USA/John Mellencamp
Senorita/Justin Timberlake
Sympathique/Pink Martini
Come As You Are/Nirvana
Under The Bridge/Red Hot Chili Peppers
Smooth/Santana
Who’s There/Smashmouth
Strangers When We Meet/Smithereens
Don’t Do Me Like That/Tom Petty

All three adore on Smoke On The Water, which they call “The School Of Rock Song.” Porter wants to know why it doesn’t sound right on his CD– meaning- why is it sung by Deep Purple and not by Jack Black and a lot of school kids?

I’m always on the lookout for a learning opportunity, so I’ve used “Istanbul” to teach history (it’s Istanbul; not Constantinople!) and Sympathique to teach an appreciation of music in other languages. As an added bonus, Porter has learned to say, “I don’t want to work,” in French, which comes in quite handy given his personality.

The Jimi Hendrix is getting me down. My friend Teppie lent me one of the many electric guitars her husband has won off eBay. Finn has busied himself trying to imitate Jimi’s muddled chords, which seems to be easier than I had been lead to believe when reading lists of the great guitar players in history. There are many afternoons when I could swear Hendrix himself is in the next room, creating his next masterpiece. I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s loud and resonant.

Each of the boys has his own portable CD player, and when we run errands they sit in the van, lost in their own musical worlds. The van is very quiet as a result. Most of the time this is fantastic.

It’s a little unnerving, however, to be driving down the highway and hear Drew yell, “I WANT YOU– TO WANT ME!”

Yesterday I had to go to my friend Dee’s store to try on clothes for a fashion show (yes - my modeling career has been rekindled)and I had no choice but to take the guys with me. They followed me into the boutique, each with CD player in tow, and sat down while I dressed up. Dee walked over to Finn.

“Would you like a piece of candy?” she asked.

“YES MA’AM,” he shouted. Everyone jumped. It took me a second to realize why my usually well mannered son was yelling in a business establishment.

“Finn,” I hissed from the dressing room (where I was putting on a fabulous denim mini skirt with a frayed hem) “Turn off the music so you can talk like a normal person.”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” he shouted. “I’M LISTENING TO JIMI HENDRIX!”

“I’M LISTENING TO THE SONG ABOUT THE HONEY BUNS,” Drew yelled, contributing to the fray.

Porter was in a corner, humming to himself.

I pulled on a tank top that I won’t be modeling (”You Can’t Afford Me”) and hustled out of the dressing room and got the boys together and told them in no uncertain terms that they were to turn down the music so that they could communicate normally, or I would be confiscating the CD players until we got back into the van.

We head to the beach soon, and I think I’ll make everyone another CD to keep fraternal fighting in the van to a minimum. I’m taking suggestions for songs that will expand the boys’ musical repertoire without corrupting them– now there’s a challenge!

So speak up. I mean it. I CAN’T HEAR YOU!

July 24, 2005

Isn’t Summer Over Yet?

Getting home from the ranch and back into reality has been rough. Last week we slept through Jazzercise and swim team every single morning. We were pretending to be on Mountain Time instead of Central Time. I think there’s a big one hour difference between them.

I never thought I would be back in my own bed wishing I was sleeping in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but that’s what a week in the West will do to you.

The boys had no activities last week (that we made it to, anyway) so we had a lot of togetherness. It was probably Friday when Finn came into the kitchen to tell me that Drew had splashed him with water.

“Quit telling on your brother and go back outside until dinner’s ready,” I said in exasperation.

“Yes, ma’am,” Finn said. He stood there a minute, uncertainly.

“What is it now?” I snarled.

“Well, I don’t mean to be disrespectful or anything, but at the beginning of the summer you told us to quit whacking each other and to come to you when we had a problem that needed to be worked out,” Finn said.

I was incredulous. That sounded a lot like I had instructed them to tattletale instead of hitting. Why on earth would I have told them that? Then again, at the start of the summer I also told them we’d be writing in our journals every day, and that resolution was forgotten as soon as the new composition books had been purchased. I must have had a good reason for making the rule, but I had forgotten what it was.

I could not find my copy of Parent Power! or my book about
dealing with sibling rivalry, so I had no idea if the experts believe
that hitting rather than tattling is to be encouraged. I do know that
three boys cannot live in one house without using one method or the
other.

The last two weeks have demonstrated that mediating disputes takes a lot more time than applying bandaids, which the boys can do themselves most of the time, anyway. I have things to do, so the tattling had to stop. I called the boys in for a meeting.

When they were assembled in the kitchen, I announced the new rules.

“Guys,” I said, “from now on, there will be no tattling and telling on your brothers. If you have a problem, you resolve it yourselves. I do not want to hear about it.”

“So can we whack each other?” Porter asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Just no hitting anywhere on the head and use only your hands, not other objects to hit your brothers. And if you hit someone, they can hit back. Understood?”

“Cool,” Drew yelled, as they headed back outside.

Now when a boy comes in to tell me what another has done, I say, “You take care of it,” and I set out the box of bandaids on the counter. It’s been quite a success– I’ve put most of our Disney pictures into a scrapbook uninterrupted.

If someone finds Parent Power, will you let me know if I am giving my sons emotional scars? (But don’t tell me unless you have a solution to propose).

July 20, 2005

Virtual Book Club Meeting #2

Welcome back to the Virtual Book Club! Have a seat in my spotless virtual living room and settle in for some thoughts on more books. If you missed our first meeting, please click here and see what you missed.

Does everyone have some munchies and a beverage? Good! Then we’re ready.

1. Enthusiastic Recommendation

Am I living in a cultural wasteland? Has no one discovered Never Let Me Go** by Kazuo Ishiguro?

I picked it up on the new releases shelf at the local library and finished it in two days. It was stunningly beautiful and I cannot figure out why it’s not on the “reserve” list with a long wait. It is one of the best books I have read in a long time.

**Important

I do NOT think you should click the link to the book– just go get it and read it. If you MUST click the link, read only the Amazon.com review, but STOP before you get to the Publisher’s Weekly review, because it will spoil everything for you.

This is the author who wrote The Remains of the Day. If you read it, please let me know what you thought!

2. Divided Thoughts on Bees

Even though I never mentioned The Secret Life of Bees during the last meeting, a number of readers wrote in to talk about it. Two readers loved it and four hated it with a passion. I am pretty neutral on the book myself.

3. Readers on My Wavelength

As I said at the first meeting, I have barely scraped the surface of my list of beloved books. However, a number of readers chimed in to recommend books that I really love, and I will list them here:

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, which tells the story of Jacob and his wives.

(I also loved a quick read: The Preservationist by David Maine, which fills in the details of Noah’s family as they build the ark and ride out the flood. It’s a kick to listen to his daughters-in-law question his sanity!)

The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. It took me a while to figure out how the book worked and to grasp the way the past, present and future were presented in the context of this love story. It is extremely hard to describe to other people. A local columnist here in town found the book creepy, because the main character meets her husband at different times in both their lives (she might be 6, while he is 36, for that moment at least) but I thought it was delightful. And if you did not understand the last sentence, well, that just illustrates my point that you have to read the book for yourself to understand it.

One reader mentioned several books that I love: Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner, anything by Anne Lamott ( I am partial to Operating Instructions, which I plugged at the last meeting, but I also enjoyed her latest, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith) and The Annunciation by Ellen Gilchrist. My sisters and I are all big fans of Ellen Gilchrist.

I must say that Crossing to Safety made me a little uneasy, however. I think I saw a little too much of myself in Charity when I read this in the mid-90’s. Maybe I should re-read it and see if I compare more favorably now.

Someone pointed out that Anna Quindlen is always good (she suggested Loud and Clear).

4. Historical and Historical-ish Books

I recently read the biography of Benjamin Franklin by Walter Isaacson and found it very interesting. I am eying 1776 by David McCullough for my next foray into history. Anyone have an opinion on it?

As for historical-ish books, I am sure everyone has heard of the following books, but some are great and if you missed them, you should check them out:

The Josephine Bonaparte Collection: The Many Lives and Secret Sorrows of Josephine B., Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe, and The Last Great Dance on Earth by Sandra Gulland (for an extra helping of history, when you finish them you can re-read Desiree by Annemarie Selinko and get the story from another point of view - just don’t confuse this Desiree (Josephine’s sister-in-law?) with Josephine’s Aunt Desiree who is a main character in the trilogy.

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier

Lots of people liked The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory, and I wanted to like it, because I am all about Elizabethan history. The story was good, but there was something the author kept having the characters say that got on my nerves so bad I could hardly make it through the book. I lent the book to my mom so I cannot remember what it was, which is just as well, because I would hate to spoil your enjoyment of the book by revealing what is probably a personal idiosyncrasy on my part.

5. Alienist Update

Bill did pack The Alienist and took it on our recent trip out west. This time he did not even open it. The streak is intact!

6. It’s Growing Late

Is that your husband calling again, asking when you are coming home? The meeting has run on a while, so I must politely collect your beer cans and wine glasses and usher you out of the house. I’ll save my other comments for the next meeting.

I hope Lewis Perdue will drop by again, this time to talk about his book Slatewiper. I did read it, at his suggestion, but I still enjoyed Daughter of God much more. This is a good book to take to the beach.

TTFN,

Anne Glamore, Virtual Book Club Queen

July 14, 2005

Gone Fishin’ With Dale & Roy

My mother is taking the entire family - my sisters and their spouses and kids– out to a dude ranch where there is horseback riding, hiking, and other outdoor activities. When you read this, I should be out west, mastering the art of fly fishing. I think I am going to be great at it. I practice fishing a lot at the lake, where I am the queen of catching small fish. If I can catch at least one fish that weighs a pound I’ll be overjoyed. I also plan to knit and read.

The whole family has been excited about the trip for months. The boys are excited about seeing mountains and riding horses. My sisters plan to play tennis and hike. The men are very serious about shooting skeet and fly fishing. One of my brothers in law even took a fly fishing lesson in Central Park. I give Uncle P an A+ for getting into the ranch spirit. I think it took major balls to walk to the park carrying a flyrod.

My parents are thrilled about the trip, as well. However, their excitement is a little different than ours. My mom and dad, inexplicably, are especially excited about the opportunity to wear belts with large buckles, turquoise jewelry, embroidered shirts, and every other article of Western garb they’ve been able to scrounge up in the Tiny Kingdom during the last weeks.

They seem to be operating under the belief that a trip to a dude ranch requires them to morph into Dale Evans and Roy Rogers, even though my dad never wears a bolo tie when he’s at home.

They are not too different from Drew in this regard. For the last week, he has been running around the house in jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat and a bandanna pulled up over his nose. It’s cute to watch a six year old act like a cowboy. It’s a little unsettling to watch your parents do the same.

My dad has been pestering Bill to return a shirt he borrowed several years ago. It’s black, with silver arrows embroidered over the breast pocket, and fringe on the sleeves. The buttons are mother of pearl. Bill wore it to be Kenny Rogers for Halloween (I was Dolly Parton) and we never dreamed my dad would want it back to wear as part of a serious outfit. To protect him from the Fashion Police, we’ve told my dad we cannot find the shirt.

If there’s anything to report from the Wild West, I’ll certainly let you know when we get back.