I am sitting here stress eating my kids’ Halloween candy. It’s been a rough day.
“Why the stress, friend?” you ask. Well. Dark days are coming for my oldest son.
Oh, don’t worry. He’ll get through it, it’s just that his wonderful innocent view of the world is about to come crashing down, his soul will be crushed and he will forever be scarred by complicated web of lies his parents have been telling him his whole life. You see, he’s been asking questions. Lots of them. And I don’t want to answer any of them.
“What kinds of questions,” you wonder. Oh, how about: “Is Santa real? What about the tooth fairy? How do babies actually get in your stomach, Mom?” Ugh. I think I just threw up a little there.
So one of the greatest things about my first born is his crazy imagination. Do you know he actually has his own personal tooth fairy? Yes. Her name is Gladys. And his little brother has his own too, Bob. You see Bob and Gladys have been coming to our house quite a bit lately, seeing as our 1st grader is losing teeth at an alarming rate and is quickly achieving hillbilly status dentally speaking. Gladys came last night because her precious dental charge lost his first molar.
In fact, her visit last night was rather challenging, as she nearly forgot to come until about 7:00 AM. She hurriedly shoved $5 under the door with a note saying she’d come and get the tooth another time, because his room looked as if a pack of ravenous zombie trick-or-treaters had ransacked the place and Halloween candy and empty wrappers were strewn all about. (Candy scares tooth fairies — cavities, you know.) And of course he was all pissed off because Gladys didn’t leave a prize like Bob does. *sigh* My coffee may or may not have been “Irish” this morning.
Yeah. And then he’s been asking about Santa lately too. He always manages to bluntly ask, “Is Santa really real, Mom?” while his little brother is standing right next to him. Come ON! I can’t have BOTH of them hating me at the same time!! I somehow have pathetically dodged this one as well, while I lose sleep over how I’m going to fess up to my hot piles of deceit.
The best, though, is when he has been asking about how babies actually start. I feel pretty proud of myself I’ve been pretty honest about SOME of the biology of it all, as he grills me whenever he has me trapped in the car, shooting rapid fire questions at the back of my head…or better yet, when we’re walking into a quiet waiting room full of people. Not humiliating, AT ALL.
I think the thing I dread the most with all of these questions is his looks I will have to endure when I tell him. That look of disappointment that Santa and the tooth fairy aren’t magical visitors to our house, and the disgust that we lied to him about them for so long. And THEN the look of utter horror and disgust when he learns what s-e-x is. “I have to put my junk WHERE?!?!?!” And then I know I’ll hear the little hamster wheel in his crazy head come to a screeching halt as he realizes, “Wait! You and dad…did…AAAAGGGGHHH!!!!” Followed by him spontaneously combusting.
I mean really. Honestly. Do I just get it all over with like ripping off a giant bandaid? Or do I continue down the totally chicken shit road and get one of those books for kids explaining it all, leave it on his bed and hope for the best? *Gack!* When do they start teaching this crap in school?!? Why haven’t they started yet?!? This wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. Someone ELSE was going to have to do this. Not me!
And then you know, once the shock, horror, disgust and disappointment have eased a bit, he’s gonna be PISSED at me and want REVENGE. He’s very good at revenge, my first born. His little brother is going to be the unwitting victim here when he goes and blabs the whole sordid truth to him, sparing no details. So basically I’m ruining two lives at once here. Crap.
Wait. How did all these wrappers get here? Ooops. That was me. Great. Now I have to come up with some other story of how all their candy disappeared. Excellent. And I was so in the running for Mother of the Year.