Thursday, May 23, 2013

Adventures into Aunthood part 2: That talk

Hello, and if you read yesterday’s episode, you should ready to hear about this one:   That talk.   I am not talking about THE Talk, which is a talk show on CBS with Julie Chen as one of the hosts, and what you do with pre-teens.  Nope, that is too easy.   I am talking about that talk that you feel like it is the parent’s job to have with THEIR child(ren).  This is THAT TALK that makes you cringe, often with no delight in it at all. That talk….well, let me set the scene up and you’ll be the judge.
When I last left you, my mom and I had a hard time last night putting 4-year old niece to bed.  I got my rest by writing part 1 of my night of aunthood, and viewing You Tube vids on my Ipad.   OK, well this morning was filled with the kids waking me up, getting them to brush their teeth, wash their face, and putting clothes on.  Breakfast was uneventful, and by then, mom had returned from her doctor’s appointment (which was the whole reason why I stayed the night, instead of going home).
The kids wanted to go outside, so I said OK to that.  Next thing I knew, nephew came in, and ratted on his sister.   She decided to become farmer niece, and pulled up one of dad’s onions that he planted two weeks ago.   The rule in the family was no one touches dad’s garden, except dad.   (It’s a running joke, you can actually get veggies out of the garden, but the onion was not ready).   Niece thought I was going to beat her (I did not, CPS, but the thought crossed my mind).  
Next, mom had to go to the grocery store for a couple of items, so off to Giant Eagle we go.   I stayed out in the car with them.  That was when “That talk” hit.   I reminded nephew that he was going to be 6 on Saturday, he said it was not true (like I was not there the day he was born), he was already 6, and his half-brothers told him that he was already 6.   I almost got into an argument with that one.  He said that his mommy (my sister) was already married, and I raised an eyebrow.   Nephew said that he and niece saw their mommy and then boyfriend, “B” did adult things with their bodies. (He actually used the actually word).  I did not know what to say at that point.  Nephew did not ask questions, neither one of them wanted no answers.   I was speechless.   This is the kind of talk I do not want to have with a 5-turning 6 years old little boy and a 4- soon to be 5 years old little girl.   It is not funny, nor is it cute.   I do not want to know my sister’s business, and yes, she was upset when she heard what he said that to me.
So why am I telling you?   To serve parents a warning:  please do not do anything that you do not want your siblings to know.  (Oops, that is three do’s, need to fix that).  I feel embarrassed finding this out from a 5 year old.   5 year olds are supposed to talk about themselves, and the latest things going on in their classroom, including the class gerbil.  The same with 4 year olds.   When did these sponges grow up?  OK, scratch that question.   When my oldest nephew was the middle one’s age, he brought home a cute little guinea pig named Hannah Banana home from school.  This was over the Christmas holiday.  I am not a rodent lover by any means necessary, but I fell in love with Hannah.   We talked about Scooby Doo, Diego (Dora the Explorer’s cousin), and what his friends were doing.   My how things changed in just those few years, because the oldest was 11 years old when the middle nephew was born.  Niece is sandwiched between her brother and the 2 turning 3 years old nephew.  
That’s another thing…Kids in this age group are sponges.  They soak up everything, and my mom gave my sister a warning about that too.   They are natural tattle-tales too.   No subject can get by a 2-10 year old.  They are the original Ma Bell.  So if you do not want anything, and I mean anything to leak out to family and friends, or even your boss, do not tell your children.  You will be fired quicker than you can say “unemployment.”  
So until next time, I will talk to you later.

Have a blessed day.
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