I grew up in a Victorian era-type household, where many subjects were taboo. I was so sheltered and naieve. While there is something to be said for that, it was carried way too far. I never want my children to be embarrassed to talk to me about anything, so I've tried to be very open and honest with them. I try to do it tastefully, but I now have a pre-pubescent son and a husband whose mind-set very closely matches his son. Drama Queen wouldn't even call the Christmas ornaments "balls" last year for fear of what the boys would dream up to say. Once you get them started, it's all downhill from there.
A few days ago I asked Karate Kid to run to the neighborhood convenience store (a family store, owned and operated by a man in our church and the only convenience store I'll let K.K. go to) to buy me a candy bar. Apparently my child knows me well:
K.K. Do you have PMS (He knows that's the only time I crave chocolate.)? Me: There's no "P" to it; it's "MS" all the way, baby. K.K. What does that mean? Me: There's no "pre." I'm smack dab in the middle of it.
A few minutes later he called his best friend to see if he wanted to ride bikes up there with him. I overheard him say, "No, it's just MS. (pause) There's no 'P,' just 'MS.' I guess the 'P' means "pre" or something. She must just be in the middle of it."
Knowing my son, the owner of the convenience store now knows that I have "MS."
3:34 PM ~