Diary Duty

Dear Diary (using this as a proper noun, for those judging my capital usage),

I haven't written in a long time because I've been busy knitting blankets for homeless dogs and wearing oversized sweatpants in public. I know neither of these reasons actually make any sense, but I felt like telling you anyway.

Now I'm going to confide my innermost thoughts, then not write to you again for six months.

Diary, I have more than a passing suspicion my mothering skills may not be worthy of the parenting book I've been meaning to start. Recently I've noticed some pretty notable mistakes that may leave a lasting mark on my charges.

For example, I accidentally mispronounced a car brand for something like 25 years. I changed the O at the end of Volvo to an A. On accident. Almost.

This would be an innocent mistake if there hadn't been little ears in the car with me for nearly the last 13 years. I recognized my error when my son began to identify cars by make and model. The first time he mispronounced this car name, I of course laughed silently. After that though, I realized we might have a problem. I began gently correcting him, as any good mother would. Unfortunately, the lessons of childhood go deep.

I tried to be direct, saying, "Listen, it's Volvo. O. O. You know, with an O." He just looked at me blankly.

Finally, I had to come out and confess I have been deliberately mispronouncing this word for his whole life because I lack sufficient maturity and self-control to not behave like a junior high boy. Then I had to tell him Volva (vulva - oh my shame!) is actually a "lady part."

Suffice it to say, this error has not gone quietly into the night.

While we are on the subject of raising a pubescent boy... just after Eli turned 12, I took him to his annual doctor's appointment. I figured it would be like all the other ones. I reminded him the doctor may look in his underwear, so he might want to make sure they were clean.

All was going fine until the doctor asked Eli if he wanted me to step out for this last part. Eli and I just said, "huh?" while he looked anxiously at me. The doctor told me he was going to do the hernia check.

Being a female, I had heard rumors about what happens at boy/man doctor appointments, but I had no concrete context to pull from. I said, "Well, since I have no idea what you are about to do, I haven't prepped Eli for this. You might want let him know." Meanwhile, Eli stood looking at me with giant, bewildered eyes.

When all was said and done, and all checks were performed, Eli and I went back to the car in silence. Then I did what I always do, I started talking nonsense. The things that came out of my mouth were horrifying. I couldn't stop. I wanted my mouth to mute, but I was already in too deep to back out.

It went something like this.

"Yeah, puberty is the pits, right? And getting hernia checks is weird, but if you think boy puberty is bad, you should be thankful you are not a girl."

Then I, for some unknown reason, went into alarmingly graphic detail about girls and... menstruation. We're talking about everything I knew about it. He had a number of questions and immediate misconceptions I had to correct. So many questions.

At the very end, I had to warn him if he said even one word of this to his friends, I'm going to get hammered with calls from every mom in town. Also, I might take away his Nike socks.

We were driving to a family gathering immediately after his appointment/inappropriate conversation. When we walked in, Eli immediately walked up to his aunt and whispered that he knew all about The Periods. He also made several off-color (and surprisingly funny) references during dinner. We were unfortunately eating something with ketchup.

I'm fairly confident he currently knows about as much as a pre-med OB/ GYN student.

So, as you can see, Diary, I have erred greatly. The whole "start as you mean to continue" concept has gotten away from me.

When I learn to cook wonderful meals soon, I'm hoping this may increase my mothering stock value. I'll have to research other Super Mom activities to offset the previous damage. Maybe I can sew someone some pants (after I learn how to sew).

Thanks for listening, Diary (in my head I said Diarrhea, because I'm even mean to this fictitious blog character - dang it!).

Until next time, I remain yours [almost] respectfully,

Lily of the Clintons