Lessons from a First Grader

I am invariably amazed when my kids learn something that I think they are too young to know. Now matter how much we try to shelter them from direct exposure, in the form of movies, TV, radio, etc, there will always be someone in their class at school who can educate them on the "finer" points of life.

This classroom education always comes from an expert. You know the type: a cute first grader with a brother who is sixteen. A teenager with a mean streak who thinks it is hysterical to teach the little guy how to fart with just his hand and armpit. Or who teaches cuss words in anticipation of a Sunday morning trip to join Great-Grammy Cooper at the Southern Baptist Church of Podunk.

Yeah, that type of kid ALWAYS seems drawn to my kid. And my kid thinks buddies of this ilk are geniuses in seven-year-old skin. In kid-speak, a genius is someone who knows way cooler stuff than their parents.

Tonight, ironically on the way home from the Christmas pageant, the latest educational revelation becomes the topic of discussion after the following off-the-cuff comment: "I hope I never have an 'oops' baby."

Mike: "What do you mean?"*
Bro: "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT AN OOPS BABY IS?"**
Mike: "Why don't you tell me?"
Bro: "Mom, do you know what an oops baby is?"
Me: "I think so. But why don't you tell us?"
Bro: "Well. It's kinda hard to explain.*** But, it's like when you have three kids and you don't want four but around Thanksgiving**** you end up with another baby. That's the 'oops' baby."

Mike and I just looked at each other, both mentally clearing sweat from our brows. Both knowing, if we'd answered that question, we'd have ended up dumber than the sixteen year old who taught his first grade brother about oops babies in the first place.

If I've learned one thing about parenting it's that you should rarely, if ever, answer a question straight out once your kid hits about four. Starting at that age, they are just looking to trap you. And they're crafty little trappers.

But score one for the parentage on this issue: we didn't make an OOPS.

Har, har.


*Shooting a sidewards glance at me which indicates "What are you teaching that child?"

**His brain is thinking "GEEZ you are old? How did you get so old and not know this?"

***Yes. We, the parents, are the imbeciles in this situation. Our son is thinking "I'll try to distill the explanation down to your level but it is going to be AWFULLY hard."

****Why Thanksgiving? Why not Halloween or Saint Patrick's Day or Kwanzaa???

Ambiguously Gay

I know someone who is most definitely ambiguously gay. He is so A.G. that I don't even think HE knows which way to go. I've known him for at least 10 years now and there has never been a hint of a girl OR boy friend in all that time. The closest I ever get is "Me and my friend, soandso, went to the movies with another guy."

All I ever want to ask is "Did you kiss one of them afterwards?" because the suspense is KILLING me.

I'm sure it's killing him, too.

Which brings me to today's subject: Saturday Night Live*.

I have been a fan of this show ever since the "Wild and Crazy Guys" were on in the late 70's/early 80's. Some of my favorite political jokes have come from the "Weekend Update".** And, if I know that Justin Timberlake or Kim Basinger's ex-squeeze are on, I will DVR the event for a bladder-splitting laugh.

But, above almost every skit ever done on that show, there are two that make me laugh just by the sheer mention of their names: More Cow Bell and Schweddy Balls.

So, the other night, during cousin's camp, I had hit a point of "Someone, anyone, PLEASE relieve me of my duties as sheepherder. If I hear anymore bleating, one of these kids is going to get a crook to the back of the head."

We had just enjoyed time in the pool prior to my impending mental break and I was trying to stop the next argument about who was going to get the coveted Spiderman towel.

Now, you would think, with all the clean laundry hanging around this house in baskets, that I could have found four white, plain towels. No dice. So, I gave the superhero towel to the Babe. It practically covered him from neck to toe and he was digging the scene.

Then another swimmer spotted its webalicious goodness and started acting like an ape in heat. "I want the Spiderman towel. It's mine."

The yank that spun the Babe around like a 50's-era top and dropped him to the ground was, in a word, impressive. But, also, altogether improper manners.

After assessing the damage and gently*** reminding the culprit that his brother shouldn't be treated that way, I sent the instigator to bed. He, away from all the noise, excitement, and activity of the week, settled into a much-needed 1.5 hour nap, after much gnashing of teeth and a kid-size lecture to me on the "Unfairness of Mommy."****

By this time, I felt like I was going through menopause. I was on FIRE. I honestly hate to sweat, so this was beyond uncomfortable. It was a moment, caught in a TV ad, where you shouldn't raise your hand lest you take down those within ten feet of your pits.

And, right then, I ran into Mike. He needed the "update", as he was conveniently perched in his office for this entire episode, and wanted to know what was "up."*****

I looked him right in the eye and said "I'm schweddy." We both burst into tears when he said "So you have 'Schweddy Balls'?" Juvenile? Yes. Sheer, Alec Baldwin, genius. Absolutely!

Thus, broke the tension and my lousy attitude. None of the little sheep were any worse for the wear and, as I lay in the bed that night wondering "What the HECK is that odor?"******, I realized: I MADE IT THROUGH ANOTHER DAY AS A MOM.

Woo and hoo. Can I have my shower now?



*I am way overly impressed with my ability to transition on this one. Someone, please, poke a pin in my overblown head before it explodes.

**Sadly, most of my nightly news has come from the same skit.

***You act like an ape, you get ape Mom gentle. CPS might not have approved. But, BONUS! The Dallas Zoo would have.

****Yes, it stinks that you can't have the exact same Spiderman towel that I bought back in the 90's at some random Wal-Mart. I'm really considering going on EBay to see if I can pay $50 + shipping to get you one, too, so you won't feel left out. NOT!

*****Um, sky, stars, blah, blah. Have I mentioned that my response to stress, menstrual cycles, and life, in general, is SARCASM? Bet you guessed that already, huh?

******I was lying, hands under head, pits exposed. A not-so-gentle reminder that I needed to bathe after the brother gripe-fest.

Baby dolls pits

Hand-me-downs are a right of passage in the Nowell house. You KNOW you are loved when you receive them, because each item you try on is eyed suspiciously by its previous owner and met with "UH, that's MY shirt/ shorts/pants/underwear"* To which I politely explain, "this USED to be yours, but it no longer fits, so it is now ______'s" (insert name of lucky recipient).

The usual response from our lucky hand-me-down contestant is something between a Superbowl end zone dance and some funky Latin dance move I don't even think has been invented yet, combined with the strains of "oh yeah, oh yeah", generally meant to convey to the older sibling "I got some ice cream, you don't got no ice cream"** Then I get the "MMMOOOOMMMM" and we start this little dance all over again.

This time, though, the hand-me-down fairy didn't fare so well. Baby doll didn't like the coordinating Nike orange/gray/white sleeveless tank and shorts even though he looked flat adorable in them***. He fussed, he adjusted, he cried, he practically spit green pea soup trying to get me to take this outfit off. I just couldn't understand.

Then he dropped the bomb: he didn't like the kids at Preschool seeing his "nipples". This hit me wrong on so many levels I didn't know where to start...

1. How did he learn the word "nipple"?
2. Into what whacked position were these kids getting if they could see nipple? I could see nada.
3. How did the style gene skip his generation and mine? Because he was missing out on an opportunity to look stellar....

So, I changed him and forgot about the nipple incident. Round one to the kid.

Until a few weeks later when said outfit was the only thing in sight that was clean (a continuous problem in our house until the coveted W/D of 2009). I'm not sure if it was the gnashing of teeth, my desire to not be late for the billionth time, or concern over the cost of his future psychologist visits that would, no doubt, be necessary after this perceived cruelty****, but something made me ask the question, "Why are you so worried about the kids seeing your nipples? You know it's ok for boys to show their nipples, but not girls, right?" To which my love bug said, pointing to his ARMPITS, "I just don't like them showing."

One undershirt later, we were jammin' out the door, which just totally proves the adage "Knowledge is POWER."

Ding, ding. Round two goes to MOM!

Oh, and in case you are wondering, he now knows the difference between an armpit and a nipple.


*Yes, I send underwear down the line if they don't have holes or serious marks. Sue me.

**Eddie Murphy, Delerious stand-up skit. His language will singe your ears but you'll be laughing while they burn.

***Stylin', I tell you, stylin'.

**** "For the fourteenth time, Dr. Spock, I was only THREE and she MADE ME SHOW MY NIPPLES!!! It was MORTIFYING, I tell you. MORTIFYING."