Mindfulness, Meditation, and Making the Most of the Day

056It must be about 15 years ago now that I went to my first yoga class.  I had finished law school and landed a job at the University of Toronto, where I would stay for awhile before becoming a litigator.  The Associate Dean of the law school was my supervisor, a bright light at the school whose work ethic and good judgment was jettisoning her career at rapid speed.  This type of life is predictably stressful, and it was she who recommended that I try yoga, because it had done wonders for her:  “It sounds cliche, but it’s transformative,” she said.

This wasn’t an endorsement that I could ignore so I went.  And shoot, it wasn’t transformative.  I just felt twisty and disconnected and wondered what the deep rumbly noises all around me were (ujjayi breathing).  In other words, I had no idea what I was doing or why, which kind of means that I really wasn’t there.

Gratefully I tried again, with a very good friend who introduced me to an Indian teacher from whom she first learned in India, and who she continued to follow when he moved to Canada.  And the classes were, well, transformative.  It was my first real foray into meditation, or less loftily, simple calming the mind (I’m pretty sure he would not call those classes meditation by a long shot, but it’s me writing the post).  My body was doing all kinds of interesting things, but focusing on one’s breathing for an hour and a half (even when it’s raggedy and you should cool it a bit with the pose), is profoundly restful for the mind.

Mindfulness is a pretty catchy term, which is always a signal that one should explain what one’s definition of it is.  For me, it means being more awake to my surroundings and my choices, to live more intentionally.  I have been doing this for quite a few years now, sometimes with great success, and sometimes not.  At the moment, I am operating in a less successful window.  I could cite some reasons, but why bother – I’m just (over-)busy, much like you.

But if my hold on being mindful were stronger, I would know that it is precisely during such times when meditation and a calm mind is most needed and most helpful.  I woke up yesterday really feeling like a shift was due, and set my sights on a 30 minute window for a mindful meditation.  An unexpected turn in my husband’s schedule eliminated this possibility; I was with my 3 year old until the end of the school day, when I’d have my boys on my own until bedtime.

I’m vulnerable to being plowed under when best laid plans like these don’t materialize, but in one of my better moves, I noticed that the weather was clear and warm-for-fall, and my boy and I went outside.  I finally set up the cages for my mushroom logs (best-tasting mushrooms ever, by the way) to keep the darn raccoons away, and the neglected garden got some attention, with some of it put to bed (not the kale though, it’s still going strong). We were outside for a long time, my little guy sometimes helping me, sometimes doing his own thing, almost always talking to me.  We worked.  I worked, but I stopped often to see his centipede, or to find the wet hat lost in the summer, or to pick chamomile.  We came into the house hungry and happy and settled.

It was not a meditation, but it was mindful, and it felt like a breather for an over-active mind.   I was active and productive at home, and yet the world slowed down for me, and the conscious choosing of my time felt grounded and right.  The benefits felt similar to those from meditation, and I’m so glad that I didn’t give up on mindfulness when my allocated 30 minutes of meditation slipped away, because there was still a whole day remaining.

It won’t do for the purists I know, but maybe meditation or at least its benefits can come in different forms, and maybe it’s not quite elusive this way.  A walking meditation maybe, a listening meditation, a gardening meditation, a playing meditation.  Just actually noticing where you are and making the most of it meditation.

Yesterday this happened.  Today is a new day.  I’m going to try.

Snakes and Lattes: Board Game Cafe

logo-lattes-blackWhen we were getting to know each other, a past boyfriend asked me what I liked to do for fun when I was a girl.  The idea I think was this information could be a window into our who we are now, as adults.  He said he liked to draw (which I did not like to do).  I also remember that I did not like playing with dolls, or pretend house, dress-up, or building.  My repertoire of fun was limited:  I liked to read, do puzzles, and play games.

So it surprised me that it was not until last year that I learned of Snakes and Lattes, which claims to be North America’s first board game cafe.  It’s a place where, for a $5 cover, you can sit and play games until the cows come home.  All the gaming while, you can have coffee/tea and snacks, or a casual meal, delivered to your playing table.

The main appeal of the cafe, of course, are the games.  We’re going leaps and bounds beyond Monopoly and Battleship here, although of course the tried and true are here and popular enough.  There are hundreds and hundreds of games, from traditional favourites to new weird and wonderful that neither of us have ever heard of.  When the options start to overwhelm, you can consult a Game Guru, aka an employee who knows a strange lot about the bazillion games on offer and will guide you to choosing something that you’ll like.

One of the nicest things about Snakes and Lattes is that it appeals to all generations.  I have a friend who is a big more of a board gamer than I am, and this cafe is for her both a destination on date night and for her children for (the whole of) a Sunday afternoon.  You gotta love the democracy of a good game.

I also love – and here my biases are pretty well-defined – that these games are played without screens and with other people and not in a basement.  It’s almost quaint, the idea of a board game, which for me is extra reason to applaud how successful this cafe has become.

Another thing about this place, it’s open like all the time during the week – an ungodly 7am on weekdays (what is it, a bakery?) until “late”.  Weekends commence at a more normal 11am until “late”.

Predictably they sell games too, although the real appeal is getting to play games in a public place with other people willing to do the same thing – kind of like an adult opportunity for parallel play.  It’s a friendly place, with a nice vibe, and if anything can take the possibly ever so slightly nerdy edge off of board games, this is it.

ps.  If you have not tried it, and like politically very wrong humour that targets everyone, Cards Against Humanity is a memorable choice , and good for a group, especially if there is wine.  Or tequila.

pps.  Snakes and Lattes did not ask me to write this and I got no free games out of it.  Darn.

My First Clothing Swap – So Much Fun!

020When a friend recently downsized to a smaller home, she suggested to a few friends that we do a clothing swap.  I replied with a quick “yes” even though I’d never participated in one before.  I didn’t really know what to expect or (a bit worryingly) whether I’d have much to offer to the swap, but it sounded like a good excuse reason to get together so I was in.

The morning arrived.  Just four of us showed up in the end.  Somehow even though we’d never done this before, we seemed to bring similar sized bins of clothing.  We decided to meet in my shop (I have a shop! will tell more soon), in a large room that served as a collective changeroom, complete with gigantic mirror.

Before we could lay out our clothing on the table, one woman dived into her bin and pulled out a beautiful pair of beaded sandals.  They claimed to be a 7, but were much too big for her.  Two sets of feet later and the sandals had found a new home.  Our toes were in the water; time to jump in!

Three of us were similar enough in size, and we tolerated the other one whose clothing tags bore numbers like 2 or 0.  0!  But even she got a few things… the pieces that had become way too tight for the rest of us seemed to hang on her just so.

We brought the clothes out, suggested them for someone, picked up something else, passed something on, nodded approvingly when a good swap was made.  There were no rules or order really; it just seemed to work out.  Especially nice was being able to part with those particular pieces, sometimes quite treasured, knowing the good homes they were headed to.

In the end, we all had armfuls of new-to-us clothing, with the rest destined for the local thrift store.

I don’t even know what to say about all this, except that it was So. Much. Fun.

How often do you get together with friends and play dress up?  I didn’t even do this as a kid.  Maybe some of you manage it, especially if you like shopping with company.  I don’t though, and being a bit more serious-minded than is may be helpful sometimes, finding a morning to strip off clothes and put more on with three girlfriends doing exactly the same thing was just plain good fun.

I felt so light and happy after our gathering, and of course this was so little due to the (amazing new) digs in my bin.  And it wasn’t just me; everyone chimed in to comment on the pleasure of the swap.  I got the feeling it was almost a needed good time.  We each carry our loads – this friend was in tears over some trouble with her child, that friend’s husband just had another stroke – and we weren’t even really talking!  Our clothing swap experiment may have been, even briefly, just a really effective antidote to our very real, everyday cares.  I know I couldn’t have spent my morning in any better way.

Plus you should see my new camel coat.

[We just winged our clothing swap and it worked out beautifully, probably because it was small and among friends.  For more specifics on how to organize one - which I'd so recommend! - there are some good articles out there.   For Torontonians, there's Swap Don't Shop!, which hosts regular clothing swaps in the city.  Next up for us might be a jewellery swap!] 

Yoga With Kids

270Along with pretty much everything else, yoga has been on a hiatus lately and I’ve been feeling it.  But I fit in it yesterday.  I was with my youngest babe, and for whatever reason, he suggested it.  It’s been a good long while since we’ve done any yoga and honestly I don’t even know how he would know to ask for it.  But I’ve been meaning to get back to it anyway, and there’s no time like the present, so in popped the video.

I did this even though in exactly six minutes I had to pick up my older boys from school, but I figured six minutes is a huge improvement on the nothing I’ve been doing, and my body would benefit from anything.

And then I had the happy (and kind of surprising) experience of mentioning it to the boys after school and hearing:  “Yeah!  Yoga!  Let’s do yoga!  Yoga, yoga!!”

So we traipsed up the stairs and into the bedroom where the computer is and got started.  There is absolutely no room for four of us; there’s barely room for two.  We squished two (sometimes three) on the floor, and one (sometimes two) on the bed.  Yes, my children did yoga on the bed.

Yoga with the kids is also more vocal than when I do it alone.  I heard:

I’m the best at this!

Is this supposed to hurt?

What does she mean take 5 breaths?  I already took 5 breaths!

My feet smell too bad.  I’m too close to my feet.

There’s space right here on Mommy!  See?

Who wants to play the game where we run and bump each other?

Meditation is not the name of the game when I do yoga with the kids, but it’s hard to imagine enjoying it more.  I am in awe of what practicing yoga can do for the body, mind and spirit, and yet there really is something to be said for a good belly laugh (or six).  I’m thankful for all of it.

Blogging, or a Way to Slow Things Down

004I had two thoughts when I read Beth-Anne’s post yesterday.  First, happy birthday!!  34 is doing wonders for you!

The second was wholehearted agreement that time often feels like it’s flying, and that I actually know of a way to slow things down, at least for me, and that’s to document what is happening during at least some of those days.  I blog.

I write something, and usually throw up a photograph (or 12).  I’ve spent three hours on a post; sometimes I blurt out whatever I can in the 12 minutes I have before my eyes close for the night, or throw up a picture if I have 12 seconds.  I don’t know how this works exactly, but the record-keeping seems to help me to experience what’s happened more deeply, to remember it better, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, to revel a little in the amazing bits.  And then, having such practiced this habit the night before, the next day I seem more alert to the life around me.  I breathe a little deeper, I notice a little more, I think of something else to write about.  Things slow down.

I’ve been blogging on a private site and here for over five years, and it might not be an exaggeration to say it’s been transformative.  Not completely on its own, because along with blogging I’m sure I was opening myself up to other positive and creative influences, but the personal blog was at the centre of much of this.

And then five months ago I stopped.

Mostly intentionally.  I decided to take on a large (for me, still providing primary childcare for three young kids) project that I believed would require all of my energies.  Many things slid, not just the blog.  Making things with the children and on my own, seeing friends and family, preparing and eating healthy foods – so many tenets that I enjoy and find meaning in kind of flew out the window.

It was not comfortable, and I’m not sure I managed it that well.  Yet I’m not quite sorry for it either.  Years ago I read Carl Honore who asserted in In Praise of Slow that slow living doesn’t mean that life must always be slow; it means that you are consciously choosing its pace.  Good slow living could therefore incorporate periods where life speeds right up, provided an assessment has been made that it’s worth it.  I felt like I did this and took a plunge (which I’ll be writing about soon!).

At some point though, perhaps a month ago, the pendulum swung to its outermost reach (where it really did not feel great), and began its arc of return.  My project was underway – nowhere near fruition but the birthing was done.  There is much more to be done, but now it’s going to get done with a bit more balance.  The period of continuous fast living is finished now.  I want to slow down, and gratefully, I actually know how.

A few days ago, for the first time in five months, I  wrote a personal blog.  And after I finish here, I’ll write another one.

I’ll tell you a secret about my post:  it’s going to be about shoes.  My three year old’s shoes, to be precise.  A few mornings ago, he curled up his toes and refused to put on his shoes.  This and other assertions of independence and will are becoming routine, and I had to get my other sons to school and the little guy to preschool, and resorted to tucking my struggling baby under one arm like a sleeping bag and toting him to the car, shoeless.  I put his shoes on the top of the car trunk while I buckled him in and the other boys climbed in.

If you are a parent yourself, you probably already know what happened – I arrived at school to discover one shoe on the car trunk.  I had forgotten to put the shoes in the car before leaving my garage and lost one en route somewhere.

Searching for shoes to go out today, I found that no pairs for my littlest except for a pair of flip flops, and as my son was wearing socks (which he really did not want to take off), this would not do.  Imagine my delight when I found two shoes – both running shoes, to boot – a left and a right.  Not a matching pair, but a pair.  Boon accepted.  We could leave, and I felt grateful.

The post was composed in my mind, and I later took the snapshot.  It’s just a brief and random bit about the day, not the most impactful or important, but I choose it anyway.  Now I’ll log it into my memory.  A nod to the day, a moment to take a deep inhale, and to say thank you for all of this.  Short, sweet, and slow.

What Boys and Girls Alike Need to Succeed at School

Word on the street is that boys aren’t performing as well as girls at school; as a mother of three boys I feel compelled to tune in to discussions like the ones hosted at the Globe and Mail back in 2010.  I try to glean what I can from them, and I’m more than open to advice on raising sons – yet still I often find these conversations alternately a bit dull or depressing.

Whatever social biases result in girls or boys being under-serviced at school should be rooted out, obviously.  But if we can operate on a slightly higher plane and assume that the playing field ought to be level, then it seems like a generalized failing of a group within an education system would only be possible by failing to see those students as individuals.

Yes, of course, let’s be sensitive to patterns of conduct and performance outcomes, but these things would be less important if, as a point of departure, our education system could recognize and nurture as individuals the students who make up a classroom.  One wouldn’t then have to rely on statistical reports revealing that boys are failing at school, because one would know that Ryan and Jason and Thomas are bored/unmotivated/distracted.  And if we really knew those kids, we could do something about it before the failures began.

I find the discussion about these things distressing because with classrooms of 20 or 30 students grouped exclusively according to age (as opposed to interest, need, affinity, or…?), it is hard for even the best teachers to know and nurture students as individuals.  I remember once talking to a teacher who said that she would trade all the reports, all the new teaching techniques, all of the everything that gets thrown at teachers to improve student achievement for one thing:  more teachers.  Put all of the money poured into these studies and reports and redirect them into salaries, she said, because having a relationship with someone who knows and cares about you, made possible through low teacher to student ratios, is the one thing – and I think she may have said it’s the only thing – that consistently makes a difference.  Her view had, to me, the ring of truth in it, and I’ve never forgotten it.

This individual care and attention would help make school relevant too.  These marks that the boys aren’t now achieving, or that girls were once discouraged from achieving, are they worth striving for?  Kids, like adults, don’t usually tune out things that matter to them, but you can’t know what those things are unless you know the children.    Before we lament the lagging of student achievement at school, maybe we should question whether the education that the children are failing to acquire – the one that prizes a narrow definition of academic success according to strict age  limits and few subjects – deserves the importance that is attributed to it.

I’ve chosen a holistic education for my kids – one that honours equally the contributions of the head, heart, hands and spirit (non-religious) because I’m not at all sure that the academic accomplishments so valued in our education system can serve our children well on their own.  It ought to be coupled with full recognition and appreciation of their whole selves.  When my boys move their bodies naturally, fluidly, in a field of sport or while exploring the depths of the ravine, I don’t see a way to let them let off steam so they can get to the real business of their worksheets:  I see robust and magnificent body (or kinesthetic, if we’re being fancy) intelligence.  And I think that without true development of the many intelligences that grace our world, our education system is quite seriously undermined.

I’m not an educator (and am full of respect for the many committed educators I both know and don’t know) but I have a simple view.  Sometimes I think that what students really need isn’t more than same sex classes or technology or tutoring or studies but more people.  Parents, teachers, mentors, and peers who are engaged with the whole person of the girl or boy before them, willing to see them through an early process of learning so that when adulthood comes, they know how to do this for themselves.  I’m not sure there are any short cuts through the village.

Enjoy the Adventure that “Yes” Can Bring: an Interview with Sarah Easterbrook

It’s such a pleasure to introduce Sarah Easterbrook in Toronto.  I’d say something more about her, except that her words on teaching and children say it all.  We are so lucky to have the commitment and enthusiasm of wonderful teachers – it’s an honour to shine the light on them this week at 4Mothers.

~~~~~

What was your proudest moment as a teacher?

My proudest moments are when I have been working with a child on a concept, or an idea that they have found really difficult ~ and then they have that ‘lightbulb’ moment.  That feeling always gives me a buzz, and I’m on cloud nine for the rest of the day.  It can be something as simple as a child recognizing the first letter of their name for the first time, or a child using their words to ask to play with a toy rather than snatching it.

What would you like parents to know (but are too polite to tell them)?

I think I would tell parents anything ~ but only if they asked!

One thing I think we all do, and I constantly challenge myself as parent on this, is to ask “why am I saying ‘no’”?  It can be something as simple as letting the children explore mixing sand and water, to mixing up the different colors of play dough, and now that my children are older, to when they ask to play an online game.

Now I think about why I am saying ‘no’, and try to say ‘yes’ a whole lot more.  I think about what is the worst  thing that can happen if I say ‘yes’ ~ and most of them time, if the worst happens, it may not be a bad thing.

So I would like parents to say ‘yes’ more often and enjoy the adventure that a ‘yes’ can bring.

What has been one of your biggest challenges as a teacher?

Making sure every day is different for the children, and that I don’t give everything at the beginning of the week and have nothing left for the children in my class on Friday.  Pacing myself is something I find really hard, because I want to give 110% to everything, and I can’t all the time.

Who is one of your mentors?

That’s a hard one.  I take inspiration from lots of blogs on the Internet, people coming up with amazing ideas that I can spring board off to adapt for the children I work with.  Examples would be Teach Preschool, The Crafty Crow, Pink and Green Mama, and The Artful Parent.

There is also a wonderful educator called Ken Robinson – I love his ideas and thoughts.  He believes that every child is unique, and that too often education emphasizes academic attainment over creativity.  Creativity is what we should nourish in every child.

I enjoy this cartoon that draws along one of Ken Robinson’s speeches:

I often recommend this talk Ken Robinson gave at a Ted Talk in 2006, about how we need to create an education system that nurtures (rather than undermines) creativity.  A little irreverent in places – but he makes his points really well with humor.

What do your students teach you?

Lots!  The main one is how they take something I have set up, and play with it in many unexpected ways I haven’t thought of.  I love how the children turn my ideas upside down and come up with something much better.

Seeking an End to Battles with the Babysitter

A few years ago, my husband and I made a commitment that we would have regular date nights.  I believe at the time we asserted something about once a week which, well, has remained an assertion and not much more.  But we do take time for just ourselves regularly, and a bi-weekly night for an adult meal and conversation is common.

We needed a commitment to make these nights happen, and more practically speaking, some reliable babysitters which, as anyone who has tried to find them knows, are not always easy to come by.  Which is why we were delighted when a neighbour mentioned his daughter was looking for babysitting work.  She was enthusiastic, had experience with children, and lived a couple of blocks away.  She was younger than our other sitters, but this had significant advantages too, as she was usually available for weekend evenings and on short notice.  It seemed ideal.

And it was for awhile.  Our boys loved her.  They seemed to enjoy that she was young, as she played with them more than other sitters did.  She was training to be a camp counsellor, which meant she knew all kinds of games and tricks to play with kids.  We’d came home, the kids would be in bed, and she’d tell us the news.  

Then something turned.  I think it was our oldest son realizing that what made our new sitter really fun was that she quite distinct from an adult which led him to question precisely where her authority lay.  He began to challenge it, and when he did, his younger brothers did too.  The babysitting reports started to change colour – they once were funny and laden with antics, but now our sitter was tired and troubled by the constant battles with our boys.  

We tried different things to modify the behaviour of the boys.  We offered rewards, like dessert or extra time together, for good behaviour.  We talked about empathy, and remembered that our beloved cousins were about our sitter’s age, and talked about how our cousin would feel if she were in our sitter’s shoes.  We tried removing privileges – my oldest lost a treasured weekly soccer game due to tormenting the sitter.  And still the bad reports from the beleaguered sitter continued.

Part of me thinks perhaps our sitter is just too youthful (she looks young too, unlike other young sitters we’ve had who looked more mature) for the task – our boys need boundaries and she may simply lack the authority to appropriately establish these. Children, like the rest of us, naturally test limits, and maybe the situation is inherently unfair to everybody.  Maybe it’s time to let it go. 

And maybe it is, except that it wasn’t like this at the beginning, we had some decent (if imperfect) sessions with her before they went downhill.  And she is a lovely girl from a nice family, with courage and stamina to boot – she isn’t a quitter – and she wants the work.  Plus she lives down the street and we need sitters!  Back to the drawing board.

Our latest report from the sitter was plain discouraging.  My husband had given the boys a heart-to-heart about the importance of respecting the sitter and still they were terrible.  The next day found them around the table writing notes and cards of apology, and we later walked to the sitter’s house to deliver them.  They made verbal apologies too, and although I was of course there for enforcement (which wasn’t necessary), I got the feeling that the boys genuinely felt contrite for treating her poorly.  I’m hoping all of this will remind them that she’s a real person with real feelings, as well as showing her (and her parents, who were home) that these boys are not entirely raising themselves.

I’ve decided to try again.  After letting things rest for a week, I took a deep breath and booked her for this coming weekend.  Cross your fingers for me.  Better yet, if you have any advice on how to make this babysitting relationship work, please dispense it.  I’m all ears.

Still in Summer

061School has started for us. The lunch boxes are pulled out, the paper forms flow freely, the schoolyard dramas are underway, the boys are (thankfully) excited to be back, and the teachers and parents are refreshed.

The weather has been more than nice enough for biking the 2km trek to school.  It’s a lovely way to start and end our school days.  Transition has been smooth.

Truth be known though, my heart is nowhere the school. It’s trailing behind somewhere in ravine, or maybe the garden, or even maybe the pool up the street. But settled in summer it is, without many signs of moving on.

Stumbling Over Sex Talk With Kids

It happened earlier in the summer at the dinner table.  My husband was at work; it was just me and the three boys eating together.  There was conversation as usual, and we veered into the realm of making babies.

I was nonplussed; we’d talked about this before.  My boys love hearing stories of their birth, my older boys were present for the homebirth of my youngest son and, feeling like a fairly cool mom when it comes to sexuality, I chatted away with them.  Until my oldest asked:

“But how does the sperm get to the egg?”

And I answered this, sort of.  And then heard this:

“No, but how does the daddy’s sperm get into the mommy’s body to reach the egg?”  Looking directly at me.

I am embarrassed to confess it, but I continued to be evasive and I did not answer his question.  For the first time, I was unsure how to.  Sure, my two younger boys were there, and I wasn’t sure everyone needed to be in on this conversation at the same level.  And sure, there was my friend who, being a fairly groovy mom herself, told her young children precisely how the sperm gets to the egg, only to have her 6 year old daughter burst into tears of fear at the thought of a penis entering her vagina.

But the basic truth is, I wasn’t able to comfortably answer my son’s questions because doing so wasn’t as natural as I had assumed it would be, and I hadn’t prepared myself otherwise.  He had never asked such pointed questions before, and I suspect he had overheard kids at school talking about this, and he wanted to either confirm or learn more about it with me.  This made my evasion all the worse, because the very last thing I want to do is leave my kids’ sexual education to the schoolyard.

Intuition having failed me, I sat on this paltry exchange for a bit.  Then I pulled myself together and did what I always do when I’m unsure of something: research.  I read some recommended book lists and book reviews, and then reserved several texts from the library.

And I tried again.

For those of you who, like me, may not be quite as cool as you think you are when it comes to talking about sex with your kids, here are some tips gleaned from my recent trip down this road:

1.  Review the text yourself first.   See if it’s appropriate for your child’s age and both of your temperaments.  Some books depict quite traditional views about sex that may not reflect either your outlook or your life.  Some may have too much or too little information for your needs.  Hunt around for the right tone.

2.  Check out the illustrations.  Cartoon representations fill the pages of many of these books.  Playful is good, I guess, but I found some of these pics quite garish and didn’t want to share them.

3.  Read everything.  I almost always love reading to my kids, but I do not like reading comics.  My middle son knew I was just reading the text of one of the sex ed books and not the bubbles above the cartoon figures – these comments were mostly exclamations and short quips that I felt added nothing to the book and were tedious to repeat.  Upon being specifically asked though, I complied and read these silly captions.  The result was one boy’s infectious laughter that soon had his brothers in stitches, even the newly-turned three year old who probably doesn’t know why he’s laughing and doesn’t care.  Neither do I, come to think of it.  A room of laughing boys is a precious thing.

4.  Get comfortable.  This is harder for some of us than others, but the more at ease we are with what we’re reading (and learning -I got a bit of a refresher from these books too – it’s been awhile since I’ve thought about vas deferens), the more at ease our kids will be.

As it turned out, I was quite comfortable talking about sex with my boys once I had some good tools, a.k.a. books.  Having some guidance on how to do this, along with the shared context of our reading together, has greased the wheels of conversation nicely for us.  I’m hopeful (but not cocky) that in the future, I won’t be caught unprepared when called upon to be a source of information and guidance about sex.  But if I am, I know what to do.  I do so love a good book.

ps.  At the moment, we’re reading It’s So Amazing:  A Book About Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families by Robie Harris.  If you know of a good title, please share it.