Category Archives: At Issue

Talking Sex with Toddlers by Corinne Simonyi

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How did my parents broach the topic of sex in our house? Simple: they didn’t. They never sat me down for the Talk; they never read me books on the subject; they barely even uttered the word.

Oh, there were books lying around—the thick volume of My Body, My Self on the bookshelf was a trove of information. There was a French comic novel of my dad’s, with hilariously graphic cartoon images. But my folks themselves were conspicuously silent. Maybe they just put off a conversation that was sure to embarrass them, and then it never happened. Maybe because I was their third child, they figured any info I needed would trickle down via my older siblings.

Well, they were right. Between my sisters, my friends, and Judy Blume, I certainly had a handle on the facts by the time I giggled along with classmates through sixth-grade sex-ed. What I didn’t have was any concept of my parents’ views on the matter, or a comfort level with my changing body.

I want it to be different for my kids. They’re only two and four, and while my husband and I haven’t gotten into any nitty-gritty details, we’re starting the dialogue. We’re taking the questions as they come—“How do babies get into mommies bellies?” “Why does Dadda have a pee-pee?”—and trying to provide clear, but matter-of-fact answers. More than the ins and outs (so to speak) of sex, I want my kids to understand that their bodies are theirs and theirs alone. I want them to be comfortable in their skin, but understand that some of their parts are private. I want my son to respect girls, and to stick up for them. I want my daughter to know how to stick up for herself, and how to say no (my son too, for that matter). I want them both to know they can ask—and tell—us anything, no matter how “secret” it seems.

I know the questions and the answers will become more involved as the kids grow, and I never want embarrassment to get in the way of providing them with the facts they need.

There are lots of things I need to work on. I catch myself telling the kids to go give so-and-so a hug or kiss goodbye, even when I can tell they don’t feel like it. I know even forcing them to wear certain outfits sends the wrong message about autonomy over one’s body, and yet sometimes, in the rush of daily life, I do it anyway. It’s a learning process—for all of us.

This is why I think My Body Belongs To Me, by Jill Starishevsky, is a great book for younger children.

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It tells the story of a child, gender-neutral in the illustrations, who is inappropriately touched by an adult acquaintance, then told to keep it secret. The child tells her/his parents immediately, and they praise him/her for being courageous. The book is simple, positive, and sends a message of empowerment. And it isn’t scary. Exactly what I think good sex-ed should be.

 

 

 

On Crushes and Birthing and Sex

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I still remember the first time I saw my oldest son experience a crush.  He was three, and we were looking into preschools.  On one school visit, we joined a group of preschoolers at the park.  My son didn’t know anyone, but cautiously ventured forth onto a seesaw opposite another boy.  A pretty little blond girl came up to me.  She told me her name was Shine, and when I said that was a beautiful name, she said thank you.  Then she walked shyly up to my son, and sat behind him on the seesaw.  I watched as her arms gently encircled him at the waist.

When my son realized what was happening, he looked up at me with a surprised flush of pleasure, which he promptly tried to hide.  The kids may have been three, but that moment they shared on that seesaw was genuine, and I felt lucky to see it.

Now my son has a real friendship with a girl in his grade 1 class, a girl so lovely and grounded, that I can’t help but hope he will stay close by her side, and always be attracted to people like that.  And though this is very little and very early evidence to go on, I like to look at it with hope that I will continue to have more excitement than fear about my son growing up into relationships, huge chunks of which I will know nothing about.

Somewhere from here to there, my husband and I are supposed to help him understand his body, other people’s bodies, and their possible connection.  So far this has been fairly easy.  We have always used the correct anatomical language for our bodies, and the boys know about respecting the privacy of these special bits, on both themselves and on others.  They know that if they jump knee first on to my chest that it will hurt my breasts.  In an interesting turn of events, my four year old recently suggested that I not say “penis” in a certain context, but “privates”:  somehow deemed the latter term more appropriate.

My two older boys know how babies are made, in terms very similar to those Beth-Anne described yesterday (babies come from an egg in a mommy’s body that a daddy helps to grow).  But they also know because they’ve learned through real experience.  I’ve shown them the scar on my lower abdomen from which my oldest son was born by an emergency operation.  They also know that babies are usually born through vaginas, and that my younger two boys were born this way.

My older boys were there when the midwife listened to the baby heartbeat in my belly, and listened to it to.  They climbed the stairs and into the master bed to say hello to their baby brother a couple of minutes after he was born at home.  The midwife showed them the stretchy placenta, and my oldest, then five, helped to cut the umbilical cord.  They saw a lot more of birthing than most children (and many adults) do, not because I was trying to push their sex education along, but because that was what was happening in our lives then.

But in other ways, I haven’t felt yet felt the need to explain that much more about sex itself.  I don’t think I’m avoiding it, it’s more that it isn’t a real curiosity yet.  My oldest loves telling me about how the girls chase him and the other boys at recess, but I’m not sure he really knows why he loves it.  I’ve asked him if he knows why the girls are chasing him, and never seems to answer me because it doesn’t seem to matter.  Pry as I might, he just seems happy to find the chase thrilling, whether or not he knows exactly why.

That’s the stage we’re at now; I’m sure it will shift soon enough.  As with every other aspect of parenting, I’m trying to keep my eyes and ears open to my children to know when it’s time to take the next step.  I’m pretty sure they will let me know.

But I Don’t Even Like Eggs!

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Not to brag or anything, but when I got married I knew a thing or two about the penis.  I grew up in a liberal minded family and not too much was considered a taboo subject.  I shared a washroom with my younger brother and shy, he is not.

During my university days, I rented a room in a co-ed house.  The guys talk of “ball-itch” and “balls sticking to thighs” among other things, ignited shrieks and looks of terror from the other female residents whom only have sisters but I barely raised an eyebrow.

I learned a lot about men, sex and penises living with my brother, my university roomies and later my husband (who had more a shock living with me after growing up in a house full of men) through the years.

But nothing prepared me for being a mother to three boys.  That’s a lot of penises.

I knew my fair-share about men but boys are an entirely different lot.  Little boys need their mothers to take care of them – all of them.

My crash course in “the penis” began just after learning that I was going to have a boy.  The little fetus growing inside of me had a penis.

“But the testicles haven’t descended yet.” The ultrasound technician reported matter-of-factly.

Descended? 

“Make sure that you read the circumcision after-care instructions thoroughly and be sure to come back in if you suspect an infection.”  The doctor firmly stated passing us a limp sheet of paper that he had fished from a stack.

Infection?

And then slowly it happened over six years.  While learning about formula and sleep positions, the croup and cradle cap, I learned about teeny erections hidden under diapers, painful rashes that spread past the bum, and pushing back foreskin.

I knew that I must have reached some guru-like status with my friends when they would call me for penis care tips.  My one friend, after having two girls gave birth to her son, called me in sincere shock to report that her son’s teeny penis had angel-fine fuzz, (“Is this normal!?”) and to ask why had I not told her that poop likes to settle into the wrinkled skin of the scrotum.

But the tables are starting to turn and my curiosity is beginning to wane while the boys’ wonderment about their own bodies, and why mine is so different, is growing every day.

I walk the fine line between educating them about their bodies and human sexuality while keeping it age appropriate.  On a recent car trip, the oldest asked me how babies get out of a mommy’s tummy.  I asked him to tell me what he thought.  He went on to describe a c-section in vivid detail.  I nodded and said, “Yes, that is one way,” but before I could even get into explaining the other way a baby exits the womb, he asked how did a baby get into a mommy’s tummy?

Deep breath.

“An egg.  All mommies have eggs in their body and when she is ready for a baby, a tiny egg grows in her tummy and the daddy helps it to grow.”

We sat in silence and I waited for him to ask how the daddy helps it to grow but before he could, his younger brother piped up with disgust and spat out:

“Eggs!?!  Eggs!?!  We come from eggs?!  Ugh!  Gross!  I don’t even like eggs!”

I figure that eventually we will work our way back to the conversation.

Like Nathalie, I believe that books are always a great jumping off point for serious discussions with kids, regardless of the topic.

Although not a traditional book, my interest was piqued when 4Mothers received an email from Vancouver based GoTo Educational introducing a new app for parents and kids called Birdees, explaining the birds and the bees.

Birdees has age specific modules for children as young as two years old and the modules provide information on body parts, detail appropriate behaviour, communication and safety while being interactive and easy to use.

There is no denying that the boys love a good book but iPad time is scarce in these parts so anytime they can get connected they are happy to do so – and when I have control over what they are playing, it’s the perfect set-up for continuing our conversation about the “birds and the bees”.

The Birds and the Bees and the Bulls

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When he was a young lad, my husband was in the car with his dad on a long drive.  They drove past a field in which a bull and a cow were getting it on.  Then the uncomfortable silence in the car began.  My husband sank lower and lower in his seat as his dad kept looking over, taking a breath, clearing his throat, and then not speaking.  Finally, his dad said, “Do you know what those animals were doing?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good.”

And there ended the sex talk.

We’d like our boys to be somewhat more fully apprised of the facts about the birds and the bees (and the bulls).  We’d also like never to have those long stretches of uncomfortable silences.  We want them to feel like they can ask or say anything, and so, from a very early age we’ve just given everything a proper name and kept the doors of communication open.  No question is ever rebuffed.  I never used this advice when it came to sleep training, but in terms of sex, I firmly believe that you should “Begin as you mean to go on.”

normalA penis is a penis because when you are 13, do don’t want to call that part of your body a “pee-pee” anymore and you need a word that is and has always been comfortable.  Erections are normal and natural, and are to be enjoyed in private.  We always asked permission before washing their private bits in the bath, and they know that permission must always be asked for and granted.

From day 1, we have always referred to the boys’ future partners as him or her.  I never want there to be an awkward coming out moment for any of them, or for them to ever feel like their love for a man would be anything to reveal to us.  We’ve never assumed those partnerships would be marriages, necessarily, and Family comes in all shapes and sizes.

They know the difference between a tummy and a uterus.  They know the difference between procreation and recreational sex.

I’ve even begun a discussion about the exploitative nature of most pornography with my eldest.  It was theoretical, but I figure I’m laying some ground work.  File it under media studies.

Two books on our bookshelves have helped when the boys have anatomical questions.  Boys and Girls and Body Science by Meg Hickling is good for younger children who are curious about where babies come from.  I find it a bit earnest, but it gets the job done by presenting all the information as good science. body

It’s Perfectly Normal is another classic, and I like it for the variety of body shapes it depicts.  The illustrations are all cartoon-like, but frank.  I think there is probably something more up to date out there, but I have not felt the need to go looking.  (Suggestions welcome, though.)

Really, the books are only starting points for quick questions or long discussions.  These days, we get a lot of questions about the definition of slang words.  They ask, I answer.  (When I can.  Sometimes I need to look things up.  Sometimes those things surprise me.)

Talking About Sex With Our Kids

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stork“Look Chloe, we have a new book called The Birds and the Bees!”

“Uh, Junior, remember when Mommy and I got mad when you came into the bedroom without knocking first thing in the morning yesterday?”

“Genevieve, please pay attention to the diagram.  As I said, this is the urethra.”

“You ever heard of a stork?”

Talking about sex with our kids.  How (and when) on earth is it done?  Stay tuned this week while 4Mothers reveal what we do.  And please give your advice freely on this one.

Guest Blogger, Kelly Quinn: The Marriage Plot

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Earlier this week, I finished reading Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time.  When Elizabeth tells her family of her engagement to Mr. Darcy, her sister Jane and her father are incredulous: both are adamant that she must marry only for love, and both take some convincing to accept that this is, indeed, what she is doing. Increasingly, I’ve been wondering what Austen is doing here. Is she, on the one hand, emphasizing the extent to which Elizabeth and Darcy have transformed, completely privately, and how much they are now set apart from the other characters as a unit? Or is she planting seeds of doubt: can this really work? Should we, with Jane and Mr. Bennet, be skeptical?  Despite all the fanlit sequels, we’ll never really know: the door on that marriage is firmly shut in our face at the end of the novel.

Now, though, it seems that how we conduct our marriages is public business, the newest piece of cannon fodder in the Mommy Wars, joining whether and how much we work outside the home, how our babies are born and fed, where they sleep and how we get them to sleep, and just about everything else about parenthood for women to use against each other. (Perhaps I’ve missed it, but I haven’t seen any fathers weighing in on this topic.)

It feels so artificial, though. In real-life, my friends run the gamut in this as in everything else, and no one’s feathers seem to be particularly ruffled by anyone else’s lifestyle. I have one friend whose in-laws have the children from supper-time Friday until noon on Saturday every single week, and she and her husband travel without the children several times a year.  And I have other friends who, whether by inclination or by necessity (lack of funds, lack of local family to help with babysitting), have rarely been out without the children, let alone away overnight.  And then there are all the in-betweeners. Most of them seem happy; statistics suggest that some of them won’t last; and my entirely uninformed guess is that no outsider can predict which marriages will founder based solely on the number of date nights. I just keep my fingers crossed for us all that we have each figured out what our marriage needs to keep the flame going.

Marriage is after all built on highly individual choices: we’re all fine with the fact that we can’t imagine being married to some of our friends’ spouses, so shouldn’t it stand to reason that we can’t imagine living their marriages either?  It’s the denial of individuality that tends to irk me in debates like this. In the on-line world, if not in the real-life world, there often seems to be an element of judgement in the responses to Rancic and her ilk, both in those defending her and those attacking her. Some commentators seem to take the stance that there is only one right way to negotiate the rich, complex, intertwined emotional relationships that constitute every family.  And they also seem to assume that there are easy ways to read and interpret the choices that people make: to suggest that those who value solo outings are the only ones who nurture their marriages, that those who stay close to home are the only ones who are passionately devoted to their children.

This week, my Facebook feed has gone all pink-and-red with profile pictures changed to support same-sex marriage, in reference to the US Supreme Court’s deliberations on the topic.  It is in that spirit of diversity that I look at the “marriage vs. babies” debate and shrug:  chaçun à son gout.

Preferring a Web of Love

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I’ll start by saying I don’t know who Guiliana Ranic is.  Beth-Anne’s introductory post to this week’s topic describes her as a “television personality”, and that’s enough for me.  I’m not even googling her.  I’m busy, and she doesn’t sound like someone I need to learn much from.

Making dedicated time for spouse during the early years of childhood?  Yes, of course, I agree.  Not just in an abstract way, but as something we’ve adopted in our lives.  I can coast for longer than my husband can without time alone as a couple, but having jointly made time alone together a priority with regular date nights (even when money was tight), it’s absolutely been a positive thing that has strengthened our relationship and family.

But Guilana’s comment that she puts her husband first over her children?  Firstly, it just seems kind of grade school – maybe she signed her notes with BFF in bubble letters too?  Secondly, I can only hope it’s not true.  I’d like to think that if Guiliana’s child truly needed her, she would prioritize that need, which means that sometimes hubby would not come first.  Thirdly, to say you put your husband ahead of your child because it’s best for your child kind of means that you’re putting the child’s interests first – kind of circuitous, if you follow me.  What her detractors are reacting to, and what she’s not addressing, is the suggestion that she would put her husband first before her child, even when it’s not in the best interest of the child.

Idealization of romantic love is as damaging as idealization of maternal love.  A well-loved person is not the one who sits with her husband at the top of the love totem pole, but the one who is part of a web of inter-connected and invested relationships.  And on a more self-interested note, there are no guarantees that come with your spousal relationship, and it’s unwise to put all your eggs in that basket.  As the daughter of a woman who was widowed when she was 35, I have a personal appreciation for this.  I will also never forget a conversation I had with a stranger upon learning that his marriage had ended.  ”I still have my sisters,” he told himself, “I still have my sisters.”

Ranking love within a family is ridiculous because nurturing personal needs, including the spousal relationship, can and ought to be compatible with raising children, provided you’re not putting your children on a pedestal.  It only feels incompatible because the nuclear family unit, and often the mother in particular, lacks the support needed to address that unit’s multifarious needs.  Parents need time to be alone as well as many other things, and children need multiple caregivers and role models.  Another word for these needs:  village.

Most of us don’t live in a truly supportive community, where friends and family are easily able and willing to share the responsibilities of child-rearing and life in general.  Some of us are working to re-create this sense of community, some of us accept it as it is, and some of us don’t seem to recognize the deficit.  But the help of family, friends, and caring neighbours and babysitters go a long way to making time and space for everyone.

Avoiding Splitsville

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First place?  Second place?  Do rankings even exist within families?  Is putting your marriage first over your children the same as saying that you love one child more than another?

Not necessarily.

Children are takers by nature and mine are no exception.  From the minute that I wake up, my day as a stay-at-home mom to three boys under 7 is a whirlwind.  It is a constant juggle of schedules, mediating of feelings, coaching of behaviour and supporting of being.  There are the meals, the homework, the bathing, the messes, the laundry (oh, the never ending laundry).  The responsibility after baby is born hits like the wave of a tsunami, forever altering the landscape in its wake, even years later.

But like the proverbial saying goes, you reap what you sow.

And that is why many of my own activities, interests and at the risk of sounding a tad dramatic, dreams, have taken a backseat while I parent my boys.  It’s a thankless job but one that I whole-heartedly signed-up for and most days enjoy.

In my mind marriages follow the same equation as parenting: work in equals enjoyment out.   Make no mistake, marriage is work and after baby makes her arrival marriage can feel like backbreaking drudgery . . . or maybe that was just my marriage.

In our “reality-based” society we tend to glorify the wedding but pay little attention to the years following the “say yes” moment.  But I guess watching people argue over the minutia that defines a marriage would make for boring television.

Like Guiliana Rancic, I believe that a strong marriage is the foundation for a strong family.  The definition of strong varies from family to family.  I once knew a woman who firmly believed that her place was with her children and for seven years she was only away from her children a handful of times for more than a few hours.  Her children were never far from her physical reach, even over-night as they slept in the family bed.

When I asked her about when she gets alone time with her husband she shook her head and said that they were making a short term investment in their family and that there would be time again for the two of the them.

It worked for their family.

That type of arrangement would have me on the one-way train to Crazy Town with a stop in Splits-ville.

I am selfish like that.  It’s impossible for me to silence my needs.  Like a petulant child, my inner-self sulks and broods when too much time has passed before I can indulge in me time.

Let me be clear.  I am not talking about a 3 weeklong hike in the Himalayas to find myself (although that does sound appealing).  I am talking about the need to read a chapter of a book without interruption, get a haircut without springing up from the chair with sopping wet hair to pick-up a child from school, eat a meal sitting at the table without wiping up spilled milk.

Putting my marriage “first” helps me to keep perspective of who I am as a woman and that directly affects my mothering.

When I am out with my husband, just the two of us, I feel like a woman.  I ditch the yoga pants and the sensible shoes and I feel good.  I laugh more.  I am spontaneous.  I am fun.  I am not just the Chief of the Manner Police.

Why not just reconnect with myself without entwining my husband into this process?  Wouldn’t it be just as easy to do with girlfriends?  Or truly solo?

It wouldn’t be the same.

This man knows me better than I know myself.  He’s supported me on my journey and knows every curve and loop of the road that I have travelled.  He can help me tune into the best part of myself and hold a mirror up for me to see the not-so-pretty parts, and he loves me just the same.

By spending time alone together, I find him again too.  Those subtle irritations give away and it’s like we have stepped into a time machine and reversed ten years.  Without the pressures of the boys and work, we are both our truer selves.  I am not such a bitch and he’s more present.

That’s when the magic happens.  We laugh, we talk, we listen, we dream, we plan.

We return home better people, better parents, better partners.

Life’s Little Boxes

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Where do people buy the little boxes in which to store and separate their love for kids and lovers?

Are they nesting boxes, fitting into each other from small to large?  Are they interlocking?  Made pretty for display?  Do you have to update them to keep up with decorating trends?  Do all the kids go into one box, and hubby in another, or does each kid get his own box?  Ooooh!  Do they come in red?

blog-boxinside

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StorageBoxen-Gruppe

I think of myself as an organized person, but sorting and separating love is not something I’ve mastered.

Oh, dear.  I’m going down that road.  Getting snarky when, really, I just want all these haters to go away.  I guess if you choose a life of celebrity, you expose yourself to haters, no matter what, but I am sorry that Giuliana Rancic has had to face such a rabid response to her rather innocuous statement.  I’m pretty sure she did not intend to set off a firestorm with her comment.  I’m glad she had the grace to respond by saying that dialogue is a good thing.

Aylet Waldman got into similar trouble a few years back when she said, unequivocally and very intentionally, that she loved her husband more than her kids.  I remember thinking at the time that she was a spotlight hound, desperate for attention.  (Her husband is Michael Chabon, darling of the American lit. scene.)  Who writes that kind of thing for the record?  On purpose?  She thrived on the backlash, and turned it into a book called Bad Mother.  I filed her away in my “annoying people who exploit motherhood” category, and I very earnestly resolved never to read the book.  Not because I disagree with what she says, but because the call for attention in saying it seemed so craven.  In an interview about the book with Time, she is refreshingly honest.  And she made me laugh out loud.  I may even go read the book now; I may take myself a bit less seriously.

In your book you attribute your healthy sex life as a mother of four to the fact that your husband helps a lot around the home. Can you elaborate? I think it’s astonishing to women how little housework the men who were at the Take Back the Night marches are doing, you know? There they were, in their pro-choice t-shirts, and now they’re behaving just like their fathers. Taking care of a home is tedious, wearing, and it never ends, and when you are solely responsible for that, it can piss you off. So any husband, who legitimately feels like he’s toiling away all day, comes home and says, “I just need an hour to decompress,” — well, welcome to never getting laid again.

That just made me laugh out loud.  Could we perhaps see the humour in the whole balancing life thing?  I’m fairly sure our kids and our life partners will survive their time out of the spotlight while we all have a laugh.

And did you see what she did there, by the way?  It’s not about women fighting each other about their life choices and priorities.  It’s about a healthy sex life depending on a mutual escape from the tedious and wearing work of domestic life.  It’s about getting a little bit of respect.  Who can argue with that?

Marriage or Baby? Which comes first?

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imgresGuiliana Ranic, television personality, made headlines recently, not for her red-carpet interviews but for this quote that appeared in US Weekly:

“We’re husband and wife, but we’re also best friends, and it’s funny because a lot of people, when they have kids, they put the baby first, and the marriage second,” says the 37-year-old breast-cancer survivor. “That works for some people. For us, I find, we put our marriage first and our child second, because the best thing we can do for him is have a strong marriage.”

No sooner had the words been uttered, the Internet exploded with bloggers, writers, celebrities and members of the glitterati weighing in with their opinion on the matter.  Critics blasted Rancic calling the new mom everything from selfish to egotistical, but she did garner her fair share of supporters.

The conversation prompted Rancic to release this statement a few days following the controversy acknowledging the ensuing discussion as a “good thing”.

4Mothers welcomes Kelly Quinn, guest blogger and mother of two, to join the discussion of marriage and baby.  Which comes first?  Is it partner versus baby or just another example of being pulled in all directions?

As always, we welcome you to join in and let us know your opinion on this one.  We look forward to hearing from you!

image: http://www.etsy.com