She Thinks

My folks (especially my mom) had some very definite ideas about child rearing.  When my brother and I were young, there was a certain formality to the way things were done; how we were supposed to act; when we woke/ate/went to bed; and even how we were dressed – that was typical of the times.  Not surprisingly…our dad worked long hours in important jobs (of course), and mom ruled the home (and was the primary disciplinarian).

The “strict” nature of it all came in the form of discipline and manners.  My mom was a no nonsense woman when it came to her children behaving properly.  We were NEVER allowed to talk back, or (God Forbid) utter the word “No” to our parents…EVER.

Of course I tried it…once, and ended up with a mouth full of soapy water.   YUK.

From that point on, the threat of “don’t you say that – or use that tone – to me or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap and water” (lips pierced and wagging her finger at me) took on a true and ominous tone to which I would quickly back down (no matter what).

There were a few “spankings” along the way (until I got too big to fit across my mom’s lap and we both realized how silly the whole thing was) and more than a few banishings to my room.  But nothing much more in terms of actual “punishments.”

The worst was when my mom would get so mad at us that she would send us to our rooms and go to the kitchen and begin emptying the dishes (or pots) from the cabinets and begin washing them all by hand, while yelling at the top of her lungs (to nobody in particular) about how wrong/stupid/rotten we were on that particular occasion.

When the ranting began…we knew we had crossed the line.

As we got older, rules began to be placed on our comings and goings, and I started to feel the strict boundaries that my folks would place around me until I left for college.  You know…the regular things like curfews, restrictions on sleepovers, and the differences in “school day” activities vs. “weekend” activities.

The hardest was the curfew.  I HATED having to be home by 11:00 p.m. (on weekends!) all through high school, but I think I hated the “rationale” for the curfew more than the actual time I had to be home.

“Mom…why can’t I just stay out to midnight like everyone else!?!”

“Because I want to go to sleep at 11:00 and I can’t go to bed unless you’re home.”

“Sure you can…I don’t care if you’re up when I get home.”

“I CARE”  “So you’ll be home at 11:00.”  “PERIOD.”

REALLY???? Can parents really get away with that?

You bet.  I did.  (More on that later)

I too was a stickler for discipline and manners (I am my mother’s daughter) as I wanted my kids to be polite and well behaved…mostly so that we could all go anywhere or do anything together without me having to worry whether or not the kids would act out (and because that’s how I was raised).

Oh they had their moments of bickering and snitty tones and slacking off around the house.

But I swear…they were amazingly good kids.

And sometimes I think it might have been despite my parenting.

I yelled a lot, especially when they were young.

I took the whole ranting thing I grew up with and raised it to an art form.  And I regret having yelled at them so much.

Because I think I scared them.

But as my kids aged…I think I figured out how to parent with a modicum of strictness (and yelling) mixed in with a healthy dose of humor and love.

But I still think I was pretty strict (mean).

They had curfews ‘til 11:00 on weekends too.  OK…Ally had it all through high school but I’m pretty sure we relaxed the rules when AJ got there (and I’m sure that inconsistency and lack of fairness will come back to bite me again and again…)

But I don’t think it ruined them.

They’re really wonderful people.

First of all…I really had no idea what the term “guilty pleasure” was until Ally mentioned it awhile ago in a totally different context.  I didn’t want her to think that I was out of touch or uncool…or… (God Forbid) OLD, so I didn’t ask and just nodded my head as if I was following everything she was saying.

And then it came up as a topic for She Thinks.

Rather than take a chance on writing an entire post based on my ASSUMPTION of what it meant… I called her to see if I was correct.

“It sounds dirty” I said.  “You know…like porn.”

“No Mom, it’s not porn.”  (You know the tone)

“Oh good, I thought that would be really embarrassing.”

And then…a pause.

“Well…it still might be.”

OY.

“A guilty pleasure” she went on to explain, “is something that you really like to do, but under normal circumstances (i.e. NOT writing about it in a blog for everyone to see) you would be kind of embarrassed and ashamed to tell anyone else about it.”

Another pause.

“And mom…that doesn’t mean it’s about sex!”

(we told everyone in last week’s post that we don’t talk to each other about sex)

”So for Gods’ sake…keep it clean!”

Great.  My kid feels she has to tell me to keep it clean.

So I racked my brain trying to think of something that I really like to do but kind of feel ashamed for doing and have never shared with anyone else (and isn’t about sex).

Baking?  No.  That’s just something I suck at doing, even though I torture myself by trying to do it every once in awhile.

Cleaning my closets?  No…that would fall under the category of Obsessive Compulsive Behavior…certainly not a guilty pleasure.

Oh wait…I think I have it.

I’m actually quite embarrassed to admit it, and it’s harder to admit than you might think…but…

I LOVE to watch “Gene Simmons and the Family Jewels.”

In the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.

OK…it’s not just in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.

I DVR it.  So I can watch it whenever I want.

Don’t ask me what I like about it.  I never liked the band KISS or followed Gene Simmons before.  But there’s something about the relationship of the family that makes me smile.  And they make me laugh.

But now I’m really embarrassed and totally ashamed to have told anyone about it.

So I guess it is a true guilty pleasure. (And it wasn’t about sex…YES!)

Um…No.

I mean, I guess we could if we wanted to.

But I don’t think we want to.

Funny…’cause we can (and do) talk about just about everything else.  But sex.  It just doesn’t seem to come up in our conversations.

I swear I don’t avoid it.  I don’t really talk about sex all that much anyway.  It’s nobody’s business.  Especially my kid’s.

And, I think that goes for talking to them about my sex life or theirs.

Don’t get me wrong.  They’re both adults and I totally hope they’re having sex (really).  Wonderful, loving, satisfying sex.  But I don’t tell them that.

And I figure they know I’m having sex.

(Why did I just picture them reading this and covering their ears shouting NANANANANA until the inevitable image disappears from their heads?)

But it’s true.  Wonderful, loving, satisfying sex.  But I don’t tell them that either.

I don’t know why.

Although I NEVER talked to my mom about sex.  She was clearly uncomfortable discussing anything about sex, or those “intimate things we may or may not be doing behind closed doors.”  Which for her…included everything from shaving her legs (which was a total mystery to me until waaaay into my teenage years)…to those other things she may or may not have been doing behind her closed doors.

I know my parents were totally in love with each other and were openly affectionate in front of me and my brother…but it never seemed…sexual (somehow).  And God knows they never talked to us about sex.

But I guess it was implied…in the way they looked longingly into each others eyes, kissed longer than expected, or  lingered for what seemed like hours in a hug.  But it was never discussed.

Me…I was pretty open about just about everything when my kids were young.  I was very comfortable shaving my legs in front of both kids (not wanting it to be a mystery to them)…or even walking naked around my room in front of them.  UNTIL I could see it started to make them feel uncomfortable.  And then I made sure I had on a robe in their presence (and started to shave my legs in private).

But that’s not SEX.  That’s just being human, and comfortable in our human bodies (not always an easy thing – but that’s for another post!).

Sex is different.  It’s private.  It is one of the most intimate things we can do with another human being.  And it’s not something I feel comfortable sharing (either way) as a mother (no matter how much of a friend I become) with my kids.

I just think we should all go about our own business…having as much wonderful, loving, satisfied sex as possible…and keep it to ourselves!

So there.