The image above is from the Boy’s Body Book, by Kelli Dunham. You’ll find a brief review, as well as a bunch more titles, in Homeschool Sex Ed, Part II, coming next month.
When it comes to sex ed in our house, there are a lot of considerations in play. First of all, we have a ton of kids and they are all different ages, so I need to have appropriate ways to talk to each one. Second, one of the most important things to me – maybe even more than giving my kids accurate, useful information – is creating a culture in our house where normal things are normal, and we can talk about stuff that we have questions about. And I’m not embarrassed to say that we hope to delay our kids having sex for as long as possible, with the ultimate goal of them making it to their wedding day, although I recognize a lot of that will be up to them.
Having a healthy view of sex and a functional sex life is foundational to having a successful marriage. We know it’s a tool our kids need to have, and we have to figure how to get them started with the information they need, long before they are having sex themselves.
When I was in college, I had a friend who apologized constantly. It was the first time I became aware of the mostly female habit of apologizing unnecessarily. In my friend’s case, it came to seem as if she were apologizing just for taking up space.
My self esteem wavered at that time, but I saw value in myself. Enough to recognize what I didn’t want: to be in a place where I was apologizing for existing. I determined not to let that happen.
I’d like to say I never apologized for anything that wasn’t my fault again after I made that decision, but my inner self has always taken the marathon route when it comes to personal growth. Slow and steady wins the race, right?
I have been especially guilty of it with the Chaplain. The Chaplain isn’t someone who wants or needs me to be sorry all the time. And we’re at the point now where I’ll catch myself starting to apologize and then I’ll stop myself aloud.
I have made big strides with how often I do it when I’m out in the public sphere.
But I also do it with my kids.
I was so excited about the first load of laundry in this story, I hung it on the line. And then took a picture.
I’ve been working nights for more than ten years. During that time, we’ve added 6 kids to our family, for a total of seven. Laundry started out being primarily my responsibility, with unloading folded baskets of laundry delegated to whichever kids were capable of delivering piles where they needed to go without unfolding everything again.
As our family grew, I taught my big kids how to do their own laundry. That starts at age seven. That leaves me responsible for laundry for my husband, the four Littles, myself, and whatever family laundry is generated, including bedding and towels. It ends up being a minimum of two loads a day on most days.
On weekends that I worked, I understood that whatever shape I left our laundry room in when I left for work, it would be the same or worse when I came back to it later that weekend after sleeping off my shift. That was ok for a long time.
This July 4th felt a little icky.
I’ve been thinking about it, trying to nail it down. I know it began with the Election Season last fall and the toxic atmosphere online that caused me to take a step back from the news and finally be ready to quit Facebook.
My big kids are out of town staying with their aunt, and I have been home alone with the Littles. Granted, I was only alone with them for one day, Tuesday, since Monday was a travel day. Today, the Chaplain had off for the holiday and was here to help me out.
But Tuesday was the day I needed to recover from that traveling over the weekend and using a TON of social and emotional capital that I didn’t really have to spend. By the last day of the trip, I was feeling full of the meaning that comes from spending time with people with whom you have shared memories and a certain understanding.
I was also completely exhausted and had lost my voice.
And once we were home, my First Day Back was home alone with the Littles.
When I was in college, my favorite cousin was visiting our family on Long Island one summer. During that stay, the family went to the beach. She and I were doing our own thing. We wandered down the beach, talking to one another and enjoying the summer freedom and sea breezes.
As we walked, we came across a pick-up soccer game in the sand. The players had pulled up garbage cans to use as goals. Some of the players noticed us and smiled, gesturing for us to join them.
We hesitated.
