So there we were, just relaxing in the kitchen, when up out of nowhere came the topic of sex. How does this happen? I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. Since it was there, I took the opportunity to reiterate the standard message (“Don’t!”) to both girls and the boy, and I guess something caught and tugged on the elbow of her mind, because the Reigning Queen of Pink suddenly turned to me with questions.
RQoP: Wait. Have YOU had sex?
BUMD: I’m your father. What do you think that means?
RQoP: Eww! More than once?
BUMD: Kid, count your siblings. How many kids are there in this house? I’ve had sex THREE TIMES!
RQoP: Ewwwww! Wait, was it all with Mom?
I really, really wanted to say no, but I was afraid her little blond head would explode, and then I’d have to clean brains up off the ceiling. We are obviously not clear on the concept yet, and I’m not going to fix that anytime soon.
Then, a few nights later, I wound up having a totally different conversation with Number One Son. Planning for the summer, I’d asked him what he thought would be a good reward if he completes all his summer assignments and does them really well. (We’re planning a mini-homeschooling summer. Mind you, I say planning.)
Number One Son: Well, you should probably get me a Nintendo DS.
BUMD: I am NOT getting you a Nintendo DS.
NOS: Well, it would certainly motivate me.
BUMD: Son, I understand that you’d like one, and that you think it would motivate you, but we’re not getting you a Nintendo DS. I’ve seen kids walking around with those – they have unnaturally large thumbs and they have worse social skills than even you do. Not happening.
NOS: But I could play the -
BUMD: Look kid, you will never get laid with a Nintendo DS.
Yeah, I know, Father of the Year Award. I hadn’t noticed his sister, the 13-yr-old Human Tape Recorder, standing in the doorway to his room, listening.
HTR, commenting from the doorway: Truth. You will NEVER get laid if you get a DS.
NOS: Ha! So it’s too late, since I’ve already done that three times!
The HTR and I looked at each other in something very near to horror, since you can never quite be certain if he knows just exactly what the hell he’s talking about. On the off-chance that he was clear on this concept, I promptly took the coward’s way out and suddenly needed to put away the toothbrushes. From the bathroom I heard her:
HTR: Dude, do you even know what that MEANS?
NOS: I have a pretty good idea, yes!
HTR: OK, what?
NOS: Having sex!
HTR: Ohmygod. (Retreats to her own room, slams door.) I am so not having this conversation anymore!
Deciding I’d better man up on this one, I returned to his room: “So, um, just exactly with whom would this blessed event have occurred?” Mind you, what I’m worried about is the zero-point-something-small percent chance that he’s not making this up – he’s that cute, but I still list “eleven” as waaaaaaaaay too young. (As noted, the standard message is “Don’t.”)
“No,” he said, “I meant that you’ve gotten laid three times!”
Oh, right. With his mother. He’s got proof of each of the three times, he himself being Exhibit Two. “Well,” said I, “that’s because I don’t have a Nintendo DS. If I’d had one, you might never have been born! Now, go to bed and think of something else to motivate you!”
And quit trying to give your father a coronary. Sheesh.