Thursday, 21 March 2013
Belly Buttons and Vaginas
Anyone in a marriage or relationship quickly realizes that Family of Origin plays a very important part in roles, responsibility and functionality of life within that partnership.
When Dylan and I were first married, we attended marriage counseling that included exploration around our family experiences in regards to values and beliefs. Don’t get me wrong, this was very important and I recommend it to anyone to try to figure out some of the ‘big stuff’ before walking down the isle.
But…it’s the everyday shit that you are ON YOUR OWN for to figure out through trial and error.
For example: language around body parts, bodily functions and issues pertaining to sexuality. They should add that to mandatory pre-marriage counseling. That would be beneficial for the real life stuff.
Or simply for comical value for the counseling Pastor. Just sayin’ Pastor Jim...that would have been well worth your timeJ
Please know that I am all for kids being as comfortable with the word penis as they are with the word elbow. When the girls were little and learning body parts, we labeled noses, eyes, belly buttons and vaginas correctly and with equal amount of praise and gusto.
However, you can count me out when it comes to specific anatomy of the lady bits…I’m pretty sure they cover that in grade 5.
In my Family of Origin, in an attempt to appear lady like and classy, we had nicknames for private parts. Like ‘front bum’ or ‘wee wee’ or ‘pee-pee’er’. Pooping was lovingly referred to as a ‘jobie’ and farts were cleverly disguised as a ‘puff’.
I shit you not.
These were the words we used and I thought they were normal. Can you imagine my surprise in college when I excused myself after a puff to go to the washroom for a jobie?
Those words still make me cringe and my kids know it and say them just to see my reaction. Oh what fun. No…not fun. At all.
My Family of Origin was just a wee bit more delicate around wording compared to Dylan’s. When making dinner I still refer to the chicken boob parts as ‘chicken chests’ and my mom still goes all red and flustered if you say the words menstruation or ovulating.
Trust me it’s funny.
I know this because we say them randomly and repeatedly just to bug her.
Hmm…I wonder where my kids get their assholeness from?
Don’t answer that.
Dylan’s family however, was much more literal. Don’t get me wrong, I hit the In-Law jackpot. Dylan’s parents are awesome and I am truly blessed to be in their family. They are also a lot ‘different’ than my own family. I truly appreciate this and have learned much from these differences.
I have also made fun of them. Shocker I know.
Don’t worry, they can hold their own and tease me right back. The tricks my father-in-law has played on me are blog worthy.
(Note to self: Write blog about father-in-law)
Dylan refuses to use the word ‘poo’. He goes bat-shit-crazy when he hears a child say, “I have to go poo”. It actually puts him over the edge. It’s hilarious.
Yes…I say it just to see his reaction. Ok, even I am beginning to see a theme here.
In his family it was called a bowel movement.
Close your eyes and imagine a three-year-old saying “Mommy, I need to have a bowel movement”.
Anatomy was called by the proper terms at all times and farts were never discussed.
Come on Stilwell's!!! Farts are funny!!
So we compromise. While the girls know correct terms, we do have some family words that I am sure will make the girls cringe when they are grown and parenting their own lovely children.
For example, a bowel movement is called ‘business.’
Why you ask?
After realizing that pooping was an Olympic event similar to the Decathlon for Dylan, I started calling the washroom his office. Hence…he would go to his ‘office’ to attend to his ‘business’.
Farts were cute little ‘foo-fits’ when the girls were younger. We've grown as a family and farts are just farts now. And yup... still funny.
Vaginas are ‘vajajay’s’ or ‘jays’ (thanks Greys) or ‘woos’. Don’t ask. Just go with it. There is nothing funnier to say than balls or junk. And breasts are boobs or boobies or melons or gazungas.
Don’t judge me. I never said I was mature.
The compromise part is that Dylan still uses correct terms when in conversation with them. While they were younger this was fine, but Dylan is quickly learning that it is highly embarrassing for 13-year-olds to have a verbal exchange with dear old dad as he throws out these terms. The girls almost died the other night at dinner as he asked one of them to pull up their shirt, as he didn’t care to see their breasts.
Food was spit in horror, milk was snorted as children were successfully embarrassed and just like that dinner was done as high pitched squeaky girls left the table in disgust.
This morning as Dylan was getting them all out the door for school and I was getting ready for work, I heard the usual arm-flapping rant from Dylan about clothing choices.
Tights are NOT pants.
One of them was instructed to “go show your mom and see what she says”. Knowing full well what moms answer would be, said child wisely decided to change rather than face the scrutiny and lecture of moms outfit judgment zone.
The other one sent me this text.
Somewhere between the two of us and the quirky combination from our Family’s of Origin, the girls will sort it all out and then pass their learned dysfunction onto their own children.
And then I will teach my precious future grandchildren what words to say to remind mom of her youth and her amazing parents. The words that can make their mothers recoil on the spot.
I can hardy wait.
P.S. I also don't like the following words: slacks, blouse, brassier, stump, soda and cyst.
So please refrain from ever using the sentence below in conversation with me.
"As she sat on the stump, she put down her soda to straighten her slacks and adjusted her brassier that covered the cyst under her blouse, then let out a puff and realized she needed to have a jobie.