My middle one starts Kindergarten this year. My oldest just started Grade 3. My youngest (for now) is eagerly awaiting Kindergarten next year. They're growing up so fast! So when the perfect opening came up tonight at dinner, I took the opportunity to talk about safety. It started out innocent enough. We talked about how Connor is NOT to leave the school yard during the day. Alex helped out by explaining the boundaries and where the school fence lies.
So then I led with talking to strangers and I reminded them that they are only to get into the car with their Daddy or I. No one else is to pick them up from school. Which of course led to a series of questions:
"What about Grandpa?"
Yes, okay, Grandpa can pick you up, too.
"How about Grandma?"
Yes, Grandma too. And Aunty Lindsay. But no one else.
"What about Aunty Victoria? Or Brandon and Taylor (cousins)?"
Well, Aunty Victoria, yes, but not Brandon and Taylor, they are too young to drive!
"Would you ever send Lily and Sophie to pick us up?" Uproarious laughter at the thought of our two cats driving to the school to pick the boys up.
No, NEVER get into a car if the cats are driving!
When they calmed down and stopped laughing, I asked them what they would do if someone they didn't know ever offered them candy.
Connor said he would eat it. Alex said he would fall to the ground and do a litttle dance (huh?). Kirstin said, "What kind of candy?"
So we chatted about NEVER taking candy from strangers (which of course goes out the window on October 31st) because it could be just a way for the stranger to lure you closer and kidnap you.
"What if it's a cat that offers you candy, then would it be kitty-napping you?"
"Can you take the candy if it's in the trunk of his car and not the seat?"
"What kind of candy?"
And what do you do if someone offers you a cigarette?
"What's a cigarette?"
"Why do people smoke if you get cancer?"
"Grandma doesn't smoke, how did she get cancer?"
"Why are drugs bad? Isn't medicine drugs? Does that mean that doctors are evil?"
And don't even ask how our discussion about what to do if someone tries to touch your private parts went. Let's just say that my children now have a list of people that they would tell if anyone does anything to make them uncomfortable. It includes my husband and myself, the kids' grandparents, their teachers, the principal, our cats... and a rock.
Monday, September 3, 2012
I wrote a post a while back about conversations I've had with my children about the somewhat delicate topic of baby-making and baby-birthing. And how I am apt to change the subject when one of my inquisitive angels wants too many details. Anyway, I'm pretty sure we've come up with a new theory about how Mama is going to get this baby out of her stomach.
But pardon my digression for a moment, as here I have to stop to make a confession...
I have stretch marks!
Big, pink, glaring stretch marks. I've had them since I was pregnant with my first eight years ago. I probably have more now, I just can't see anything south of my navel so I can't completely verify that. They stretch all the way from one hip to another, tattooing my abdomen with blazing pride... shouting to the world, "I carried a 10-pound baby for the better part of a year!"
They don't go away, either. They only hibernate, turning a funny shade of silver as my stomach shrinks back to it's deflated shape. And I use the word deflated kindly. Because it hasn't fully deflated since giving birth to my first. It reminds me of what it's like to blow up a balloon and then suddenly let all the air out of it. You don't get your original balloon shape back, do you? Nope... you get my stomach!
So, here's what we're dealing with. This is my 31-week belly photo. Please be kind, I'm running out of clothes that flatter and/or fit. By this time next month I'm pretty sure that I'll be wearing my bathrobe to work. So, at 31 weeks, that means I still have 9 more weeks (give or take) for this stomach to continue to stretch... and stretch... and stretch..
Which leads me to the point of my post.
How this baby is getting the heck out of here...
See, I have this problem of late. My shirts ride up. I can't help it. I pull them down to cover my waist when I get dressed in the morning and by mid-day they seem to have shrunk considerably, exposing my patterned abdomen and my belly button (which has officially become an outie again... a sure sign that this baby is almost fully cooked).
So, I'm lying on my back on my bed next to my daughter the other day. My shirt has ridden up to somewhere just below my bra. And my little girl sits up and exclaims in fascination and horror, "Mama! Your stomach is cracking open!"
I had to reassure her that it was not.
But it did lead to a rather funny, somewhat poignant, image and subsequent conversation about how my babies are NOT born.
Come to think of it, maybe I should have stuck to the theory that she hatched...
It's easier on the imagination!
It's easier on the imagination!