"Pre-Pubescent Curiosity" or "How I've Indelibly Screwed Up My Children, Again"

Hello again faithful few, and welcome back to your weekly update on the Wild Boys.

School started again this week for us, and it was a very mixed blessing. On the one hand, education rocks and the Wild Boys go to an awesome school full of other kids and parents we've known forever. That's a small town perk, for sure. On the other hand, it means mom wakes up at 4:30 five days a week to make sure she can get ready for work and still have everyone packed and out the door by 7:20, knowing we have to have food and gear to get us through until we get back home at 7:45 most nights because when school starts, so does soccer.

With all of this busyness comes the return of our commute. Here's the thing - I'm not good at city. At all. I need to be surrounded by tall trees and wild animals (aside from my kids, that is). In order to make that happen we moved into the mountains, and have a 25 minute commute to work/school/sports/all of our kids friends houses.  I know what you're thinking. Twenty five minutes is nothing, right? Totally right, if you're alone in the car my friends. The cop and I love that drive to wind down after a long day of crime fighting - when we aren't with the kids. But the wild boys use this time to inflict torture on us as parents because suddenly they have a captive audience. They're way too old to fall for "the quiet game" anymore. They can talk over the radio even when I turn it up loud enough to make my eardrums bleed. And they are relentless.

As of late they use this time to ask us questions they know we'd somehow weasel out of if we weren't trapped in thousands of pounds of steel hurtling down windy mountain roads. I should have seen it coming several years ago, when Gavin sprung the "where do babies come from" question on the cop and he tried to navigate a road into summer camp.

Me, when he told me, with a look of horror on my face: "What did you tell him?"
Cop, same look of horror: "I panicked...I said something about peeing out seeds...I need you to fix this!"
Me: "Hell no!"

And do you know what happens when you refuse to bail your darling spouse out of a situation like this? Karma bites you in the ass, that's what. This week while the cop was gone I was bombarded with such lovelies as:

Boy: "Isn't it risky to be a spectator at sumo wrestling? What if they fell on you"
Me: "Ummm, well then I guess yes, maybe if you ever go to a match you don't sit in the front row?"

Boy:"What is a sex offender?"
Me (mentally - well, that escalated quickly...): "Someone who touches you without permission."
Boy: "Right...molest. Got it. Rape too though, right?"
Me: Wide eyed shock, trying to play it cool, nodding...

Boy: "Is it true that people have S-E-X to have a baby?"
Me (mentally, HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING?): "Yes, that's true."
Boy, tone of horror and accusation: "Is THAT how you had us then?!?!?!"
Me (mentally - abandon all hope. Oh lord, look for a deer to accidentally hit...it's worth the deductible...sweet baby Jesus why are there NO ROAD OBSTACLES???): "Well, that IS how they are made, so yes."

I like to consider myself pretty candid and factual. I do. But there are limits, people. Which is why my kids now know that while sex does make babies, the cop and I have done it exactly twice, ever. And they won't need to be doing any of that until they own houses and have all the gear ready for the imminent arrival of a newborn. Because what good is a situation like this if I can't turn it into a thinly veiled threat, right? That's right, my kids are now believers in the sex as a boogeyman kind of theory - the boys version of "Carrie" and a prom full of pig blood while your mother scares you with hellfire and damnation over your "dirty pillows" being revealed. They now know that sex will make babies, and they can't even pack their own lunches or reliably tie their own Converse in the morning, so stop staring at the under 12 girls soccer team stretching when you're supposed to be practicing, dammit Gavin, or you'll be responsible for a tiny human.

I know, I know. I'm thinking maybe I'll tell the cop to fix this...

Meanwhile, I'll continue to field the other backseat drama that evolves like "Oh God, that was a bad one. Sorry guys, try not to breathe for a minute...oh no...it burns my eyes! Why did I eat Taco Bell...mom, I think I may throw up...it smells so bad..." followed by the sound of dry heaves.

Until next time, good luck on those long car rides people!