These summer months are really starting to get the boys. I’m not just saying that because the boys are getting to me which is beginning to make me loathe my once treasured favorite season.
Either it’s raining, or it’s too hot to stay outside for more than a few minutes, or the skeeters have taken over the back yard- it’s always something forcing us back into the house and back on each other’s nerves. It seems like all they’ve been doing all summer (which is flying by and crawling along at the same time) is fighting. Fighting over toys, fighting over one of them taking something from the other, fighting over who has more stupid cheez-its, fighting over who gets to brush their teeth first, fighting over who started the fight- saying that it is infuriating is a huge understatement.
This morning, they were fighting about going on vacation. Technically it isn’t a vacation, it’s a business trip- but when you call it a vacation, kids get a lot more excited and tend to complain less. Complain less, yes- but they also still fight. I don’t even know how or why they found something to fight about- kids are talented that way. Somehow we found ourselves on the subject of the dogs; what were we going to do with them? Where would they go? Are we just going to leave them in the house?
I explained that no, we were not leaving the dogs in the house- Pascal would be staying with a friend and Aurora would be going to the vet because she needs shots anyway.
“Well, I hope she doesn’t lay an egg while we’re gone!” says Holden. A wha? I paused, wondering if I’d heard what I thought I heard- an EGG? Holden had been reading a book about dinosaurs a little bit earlier, he must just be confused.
“Um, honey? Dogs don’t lay eggs. They’re mammals.” The kid tried to argue with me about it, like he’d been arguing with his brother all morning over ridiculous nonsense, so I finally just had to pull out the ace in my pocket:
“Mammals don’t lay eggs, Holden. YOU certainly didn’t hatch from an egg!”
He was visibly upset by this statement, and although he attempted to argue that he most definitely did hatch from an egg, he relented. And then started reenacting his birth with explosions, karate kicks, spinning roundhouses, flailing arms, and screaming. Pretty accurate, if you ask me. What I really wanted to do is shut him up permanently by telling him that I actually pushed him out of my vag, even draw him a picture of necessary- just to see the look on his face, but I had to ask myself a very important question: Is honesty the best policy?
I find that I ask myself that question a lot when it comes to little ones. How much do they really need to know?
The kids know that I grew them in my belly (which totally disgusts them) but not where or how they came out. Or how they got put in there in the first place.
I’m not one for shielding kids from the truths of the “real” world- but do they really need to know at ages 5 and 3 that their Daddy and I did the horizontal mambo, the sperm traveled through the hoo-ha and all of that messy science-y stuff, and 9 months later they came back OUT of my hoo-ha still attached to me by a gross rope type thing? I’m not trying to give them nightmares! That would also ruin my sleep, and I love my sleep.
They know that meat comes from animals, but do they really need to know how exactly that happens yet? Thomas witnessed some of it first hand while working at one of the large meat companies, and even as an adult he’s never quite gotten over it. Why do that to my kids??
When bad things happen in this world, do we sit down and tell them exactly what happened? Even if the truth is scary or gruesome?
I think it’s a fine line we walk as parents as far as what we choose to omit from the things we tell them, and especially what we choose not to. It’s a decision that is different for each one of us- but one we make all the time, sometimes without even realizing it.
Of course I don’t want them going out into the world thinking storks bring babies and Bob Ross has planted happy little trees, it rains gumdrops and everyone farts glitter- but I think I’m going to let them remain oblivious to some of life’s hard truths for just a little while longer. I don’t want to keep them children forever… okay, maybe I do, but I won’t-when they can go in a public restroom with me without shouting “EW MOMMY, ARE YOU POOPING?? THAT SMELLS LIKE BUTT!” I think I will refrain from telling them about vaginas, how chickens get made into nuggets, and how babies are made; Even if that means they will still think I lay eggs for the time being.
Best compliment you can give me is to tell me you hope your future kids turn out like mine. I mean, you're lying, but it's a nice compliment
Where you should be spending your Saturday night twitch.tv/holdinholden
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