Tag Archive | puberty

Self love. Yes, THAT kind.

Please be advised this is no pervy, whack-off post. Any of you who found this by Google or other key words, just go elsewhere. This is about parenting. If you’re looking for anything otherwise, move along.

Masturbation.

Yep. That word. It’s a doozy. What comes to mind when I hear that? That character on Family Guy, was it Master Bates from the Morning Wood Academy?  Ha ha. Insert frat humor here.

Okay. Have you had THAT talk with your kids? I’ve had that talk with my kids. But I’m talking about this talk. The other talk. You know, where you tell them that if they touch themselves they will go blind. Or their hand will shrivel up and fall off. I’m kidding! I just said that small puppies will die. Okay, seriously.

I have NOT had this talk with my kids. We’ve talked about sex and how a baby is made. Emma is pretty clear on most things between a man and a woman. I mean, you know, the basics. She’s had family life in school, she knows about STDs and drugs and alcohol. She’s got it covered.

Okay, well maybe I did have THIS talk about Master Bates with Emma. But it was not on purpose.

My children have always been, uhm, you know, precocious. They are big farters and announcers about their farts. They talk about their privates. ALL. THE. TIME. We’re pretty comfortable talking about pretty much anything.

And then, the other day, Owen asks me if it’s true that when you rub your nuts your penis gets hard. Well, I said, I don’t have that equipment so I can’t say from experience. (Yeah, I know, easy way out.) But that if at any time you want to touch your privates, it’s totally fine to do as long as you are by yourself and privately at home. And then I asked him where he heard this bit of information. And he said a kid at school said that rubbing your junk makes it hard. Lovely.
AWKWARD. So I just casually said that if he had any questions he should probably ask his father. And that if he ever feels like touching himself, it’s totally not a big deal and again, reiterate that it is to be done in seclusion. And to please not talk about it with anyone outside our family, like at school or the playground.  It’s best to just come to me or dad with questions.

I think I handled that pretty well.

Moving on to a different day and Emma makes a joke about rubbing the cats balls while she was petting his belly. Technically he doesn’t have any balls, since he is neutered, which is also more fodder for discussion and jokes in this house. We like to talk in funny cat voices and talk about his missing balls. It’s a whole ‘nother story.  I said to please not molest the cat, it invades his privacy. One should only rub their own privates not anyone else’s or any animal’s for that matter. (Seriously, I need to have these conversations? WTF?) So she says, “Why on earth would anyone ever want to rub their privates?!”

Uhm. Well. Uhm. No reason.

Is what I should have said.

But instead, I start to pontificate on the benefits of self pleasure. Well, not exactly. But I said that masturbation is totally normal and nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. It is perfectly common for when you start to reach adulthood and sexual maturity to want to touch yourself only with the means of making it ‘feel good’.

Insert big shocked face from Emma here.

“Oh my gosh!! There is NO WAY that I’m just going to stick my hand down to my vagina because I WANT to! Do I just start flapping around my labias and clitoris for fun? NO!” (okay, this girl knows her parts and it kinda freaks me out every time she uses them in context!)

Me- “Well, your brother was discussing that boys at school talked about rubbing their privates and it felt good, so I was just making sure you were clear on the whole parameters on that kind of thing.”

Her- “DISGUSTING! So dad rubbed his junk when he was a teenager? Like I want to think about that!! EWWW!!! No thank you!”

Me- (Totally not trying to crack up and make her think I think this is a joke. She makes Taylor Lautner pectoral jokes all the time, now she goes all prude on me?) “Hey, that’s fine sweetie, whatever you are comfortable with. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” (please, please, please, don’t have any questions.)

Her- “Okay, well thank you for that mom. I’ll just go to bed now and try not to have nightmares about this sort of thing.”

Drama queen much?

So there you go. If you ever need any advice on how to talk to your kids about anything sexual, feel free to ask me. No, actually, I’m kidding. You’re on your own.

But I have said this- as much as we parents squirm and dance around this stuff- if your kids can come to YOU about it, Elle Woods finger snaps to you.

Because parenting is about being there. And then blogging about it after they walk away.

Are you there Judy Blume? It’s me, Rebecca.

Do you remember Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume? I read it in 3rd grade. Which seems a little young now that I think about it. It’s about this girl, Margaret who can’t wait to get her period. Every girl in school read it. Judy Blume always knows exactly how to capture adolescence and all the poignancy of the years up to adulthood. She’s like the John Hughes of authors. She’s a genius.

Well, I would like to rewrite that book if I could. It would be called- “Dear Eve, You Fucked Up and Periods Are A Bitch”.

God cursed us for Eve’s mistake and gave us labor pains and the monthlies. That’s what Judy Blume should have written about.

I know why we wanted to be Margaret in that book. We wanted to grow up. Every girl dreams of when they’re a grown woman. We put on mommy’s lipstick, her high heels, pretended to be secretaries or something with our purses and ‘checkbooks’ in them when we are 4 years old. I loved it when my mom would give me an old book of checks or a spare check register from the bank.  I felt so grown up! Or maybe she would give me her old library card or something that I could pretend was a credit card. That was like Christmas!

After my visit to the doctor last week, ( Sometimes It Sucks Being a Woman…)  to this week’s ultrasound that my doctor had me do, I felt like this whole ‘time of the month’ business is bullshit. No news here, I know.

No wonder they call it ‘the curse’, ‘being on the rag’. ‘Aunt Flo’ is putting it nicely for gosh sakes!

There’s a blogger, The Bearded Iris, who wrote- If Pollyanna Had a Period. If that doesn’t just crack me up!

Please no more commercials about making us happy about our periods. It’s as bad as Charmin commercials with bears telling us to ‘enjoy the go’.

So thank you ladies and gentlemen for enduring my post on periods. My husband is rolling his eyes and wondering when his next business trip might be so he can get the hell out of the house.

And by the way- the plumbing checked out clean on the ultrasound. The good news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that I need to worry about. The bad news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that weigh five pounds and can be removed for any instant weight loss. I was certain that the extra poof in my pooch was something horrible that needed to be removed surgically. Alas, I just need to do more Pilates.

Also, this means that solving my problems will go down in the books as ‘hormone therapy’. This is translation for, ‘we have no idea what the fuck is making you miserable, so try a combination of motrin and exercise and call us next month.’

Be sure to pay the parking attendant on your way out.

This is exactly the book cover I remember from 1982.

No the fuck I won't, thank you very much!