We’re committed to raising our kids with a positive body image, and that means teaching them all the proper names for their parts and talking openly and honestly about bodily functions. They know The Difference Between Boys and Girls. They know that some parts are private, only for them to touch, and that some…ahem…activities are only to be done in their room.

Gal Smiley and Captain Jelly Belly lived through my pregnancy with Little Miss Sunshine, so they know all about babies growing in a mommy’s tummy and the whole idea of childbirth. They know that the doctors at the hospital had to cut my belly open to get the Little Miss out. The other day, Gal Smiley told me that she didn’t want to ever have a baby, because she didn’t want her tummy to be cut open. I hesitated for a minute, then I told her that often, babies come out through their mommy’s vagina. Was that too much information? The Captain was nearby, and both the older kids found this new information to be fantastic, in all senses of the word — magical and unbelievable and so very cool.

So shortly after this conversation, Gal Smiley started asking all kinds of questions about conception. “Mommy, when I was a baby I was in your tummy, but how did I get in there?” This has been going on for a while now and Sir Monkeypants and I really tend to beat around the bush — I think the official story these days is, “We asked the doctor if we could have a baby and she said yes so she put one in there.” I feel kind of uncomfortable fibbing on this front, but at the same time, it’s a fine line between truth and horror. I had absolutely no idea what sex was all about for years, and when I finally found out — from a video we watched in Grade 7 health, GRADE SEVEN, people — I was shocked and astonished and totally grossed out. The man puts his WHAT? WHERE? Ew.

I was so horrified I rushed right home and told FameThrowa the big news, and she was only in Grade 2. She says she had nightmares afterwards and was probably scarred for life. So needless to say, I do not wish to make the same mistake with my four-year-old daughter. But I don’t really want to lie to her, either. Maybe if I break the news now, it won’t be as shocking? Should I? Hm.

In somewhat related news, there are also lots of questions these days, now that I’ve weaned the Little Miss, about a lady’s…ahem…time of the month. During toilet training days I had an open door policy when it came to using the bathroom, but now that I’m back to the world of feminine hygiene products, I’d like a little privacy. I can use “penis” and “vagina” freely in everyday conversation, but the blood thing is just one thing I do not feel comfortable talking about. Unfortunately, I’m finding it hard to go back. The kids are on to me — they’ve seen the supplies — and when I lock the bathroom door, I’m afraid I am freaking them out or worrying them because they think I am sick. I don’t want them to be upset or think that it’s something bad or shameful…but I just don’t feel like explaining, either.

I don’t want my kids to find out about this stuff from kids on the playground at school. On the other hand, I don’t want my kids to be the kids on the playground handing out the information, either. “My mommy says that sex is when a man puts his penis in a lady’s vagina!! GROSS!”

And then I get some very irate phone calls.

And here I thought I’d have at least four or five more years before we were into the birds and the bees. What the hell are we going to talk about when they turn 13?

Just a quick post today to draw your attention to the lovely little Etsy button I’ve added in the sidebar on the right. Click on it, and you can see all my favourite Etsy items and shops. Now, go look at pretty things! Scoot!

The other day Sir Monkeypants wanted to show Captain Jelly Belly the photos of the redwood forest that we took while visiting CapnPlanet and SmokingToaster in San Francisco. These photos are from 1999, back before we had a digital camera, so we wound up getting out all our “real” photo albums and flipping through them. I’ve always been a big picture taker, so we have many, many photo albums, dating back to around 1989.

While we were looking at the redwood forest shots, I noticed that I was wearing the same shirt as I was in the photos. That would make the t-shirt that I had on at least nine years old. Then I started looking back farther for the shirt. Back more, and more, and more…there are pictures of me in the shirt going back to 1992. The very same shirt I had on.

In fact, looking at the album from 1996 — twelve years ago — I recognized at least 90% of the clothes in those pictures as still being in my closet today. Sir Monkeypants was running at around 25%, I’d say.

This is hardly news. Every time I whine about the state of my wardrobe in my blog, poor FameThrowa volunteers to take me to the mall. It’s just that I find it hard to find the energy to go to the mall. It sucks the life out of you. Plus, I’d rather spend my limited disposable income on handbags from Etsy. Because no one will notice your 15-year-old shirt if it is accessorized with a cute handbag!

I really need to do some serious thinking about priorities. Someday my kids will be older and I’ll be dropping them off at school and they won’t even care about my handbag, they’ll be so embarrassed by my outfit. I want to be able to drop my kids off at the door, not down the block!

Ah, words to inspire me.

Yesterday I was humming “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor all day, so I finally loaded it up on YouTube and was listening to it when Sir Monkeypants got home from work.

He said, “What are you listening to?” And I said, “It’s YouTube,” because I assumed he meant, where did you get this song, because we don’t have this CD.

But really he meant, “What song is this?” And I was all, “You have never heard Fire and Rain? SERIOUSLY? How can you possibly expect to laugh at the contestants on Don’t Forget The Lyrics if you have never heard Fire and Rain?”

I am very, very far from being a music afficionado, so I always just assume that any song that I know, the general population would know. It shocks me that anyone out there has not heard one of the most beautiful songs ever written.

If anyone else out there does not know Fire and Rain by James Taylor, go listen now.

That is all.

I’ve already admitted it on this website before, but I’m still kind of embarrased to actually put it into writing. But I’ll be brave and just say it…I’ve seen every single episode of Beverly Hills, 90210.

I watched it faithfully through the entire 1990s. TEN seasons, people. I stuck with it long after it had jumped the shark (proposed jumping point: when Kelly and Brandon called off their wedding…discuss). Near the end there, it got bad. Very, very bad. Still, I couldn’t look away.

And now, there’s a new generation. The premiere of the new 90210 was this week. When I saw it in the satellite guide I felt my heart skip a beat. When I watched it last night, I actually squealed with delight when Shannen Doherty appeared onscreen.

I am already totally, hopelessly hooked. I have to find out what happens to Kelly! Who is the father of her baby? How are her parents doing? Will Erin Silver be okay? Will we get to see David Silver sometime? Will Hannah Zuckerman-Valesquez bring her mom, Andrea, by for a visit? And for the love of GOD, will we get to see more of Brenda? PLEASE?

Just when you think you’re out…they drag you back in!

Last night a gal pal that I haven’t seen in a couple of years called me up. She’s coming to town, which is so great, I’m really looking forward to it.

We chatted a bit and since she has always been a crafty person, talk turned to Etsy. I said, “Have you heard about Et-see?” And she said, “You mean, Eeet-see?” And I was like, “Oh my GOD, is it really eet-see? I’ve been pronouncing it wrong all this time? And I call myself an Etsy addict!”

As soon as I got off the phone call I raced to my laptop to see if I could confirm this shocking turn of events. While I was searching, Sir Monkeypants told me about this one time in high school that he was talking about Lord Of The Rings with his friend Tom, and Tom referred to the main character as “Frawdo,” much to the horror of all around him. And I totally understood how he felt.

But as it turns out, I was right. It is et-see (rhymes with Betsy). I confirmed it by watching a little video on the site, put together by the founders. They all say et-see, too.

Whew. I can now return, triumphant, to my regular daily schedule of Etsy surfing, head held high. Thank goodness!