Butt Rubbing.

Yesterday when I went to preschool to pick Bean up, her teacher said, “Listen to what she did today.” I thought, “Oh crap.” But smiled like I couldn’t wait to hear it. Earlier, when the kids were getting ready to go outside, they were put into smaller groups while they put on snowpants and snowboots (there was still some snow around yesterday, but mostly it was wet.) They all mostly know how to do this themselves by now with a little help. The teacher was helping someone and turned back around to find Bean standing there — huge grin — and absolutely no pants. No panties. No pants. Bare-assed. She quickly says to her, “Oh! No! Honey! You don’t have to take it all off, just put the snowpants OVER” as she rushed over to cover my child’s dimply little hiney. When we were leaving, one little girl said, “Bye! It was really funny when you took off your pants today.” Bean was star for the day. But I can’t say porn star was something I was hoping for. Especially in preschool.

Speaking of butts and such. The other day we were all in the car shuttling up the hill to school when something came on the radio about David Letterman having sex. Miss 8-i-TUDE said, “Mom. I’ll never do THAT.” I said, “Do what? Have sex?” To which Bean piped in and said, “Chips? Are we having chips?” I said “yes” to her and then to Miss 8-i-TUDE asked, “Do you know what that means?” She said, “Yea. It’s when two people rub their butts together.” Aw criminy. “Where did you hear that?” “Nanners told me on a playdate.” And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet. For real.

It was obvious that the time had finally come. My hand was forced. It was time for THE TALK. I called the hubby and let him in on the fun. The following weekend it would be. True Blue had told me the book to buy and I just hadn’t yet. I was supposed to grab one for Purse Girl too. (It’s Not the Stork. It’s So Amazing, etc. series.) So later in the week I told Missy-prissy, “Let’s plan to talk about that butt-rubbing bid’ ness on Saturday. Kapeesh?” She nodded vigorously and then asked me for two solid days, “When are we having the big girl talk again?”

The day finally came. Bean was down for the night and I said, “Okay. Let’s do this.” To which the hubby responded by rushing into the kitchen to hide and Missy-prissy ran to the chair across from me like she was about to receive an award. “Uh. Hubby? Ready to join us?” I aimed pointedly at the kitchen. “Um. Are you sure you need me?” Silence. Dart-shooting-eyes-penetrating-cabinet. “Um. Yea. Um. Okay. Um. Sure.” And he finally emerged from hiding and took his place beside our eldest. I decided to not mince words, make it scientific without being too clinical, answer all questions directly and try not to scare the be-jesus out of her. The hubby just sat there wearing a new shade of purple. As THE TALK progressed, he grew okay with it all and actually threw in a couple of key points. Then. It was over. And my little girl crossed some invisible threshold from whence she may never return.

We went to the book store the next day and bought the book. (Forgot to get Purse Girl her copy. She’ll have to fend for her own-self.) Miss-miss came home and went straight to her room. That book has barely left her side since. I have to hide it when her friends come over because she regales them with it otherwise. “I don’t want to be a teenager. They are so gross.”

Now every time we see a magazine with the s-e-x word on it, Miss covers her mouth and points and giggles. Oh-for-crying-out-loud. And now I think she is starting to grow buds. She asked me for a bra. (I am soooo not ready for this...)

And since we’re on the subject of arses, mine has barely left the chair in front of my computer for weeks and weeks. Busy doesn’t even describe it. I try to stay all cheerful with the whole, “I’m so lucky to be this busy since I have my own business.” It’s a crock of shit. I don’t do dusk-to-dawn without being a little bitter. But the steady paycheck is a good plus. And overall, life is good. [Insert smiley face.]

I hear the restless crew upstairs. Bean is crying for “baby cheese” (AKA Baby Bell in the red wax). It’s all the child wants to eat. That and apples. Or strawberries. Miss 8 is arguing every single point. And plaintively explaining to Bean why she is right and the whole rest of the entire world is wrong. And I need to get to the Halloween store to return the 8-yr-old’s costume since she “didn’t care” what she was going to be and now really, really wants to be a butterfly. And you can’t forget the four dozen pumpkin-face cupcakes that have to be baked and decorated. And the face make-up for the two costumes. And the playdate tomorrow afternoon. And soccer practice. And the meeting with the preschool director about a new website. And the websites I am already doing for two people. And the HTML that needs to be designed. And the invoices still to be generated. And the new credit card app for the business. And the visit to the book keeper. And the bid for that other website for a new client.

And you wonder why I’m hiding in the basement in the dark pretending that I already left.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Just Breathe. Pearl Jam. I’m a lucky man to count on both hands. The ones I love.