Teaching your children about the birds and the bees can be a terrifying ordeal. Many parents avoid the subject like a venereal disease at a Kiss concert. Not us.
Not that we've sat any of our kids down with diagrams, or handed them a stack of dirty magazines, but we have kept ourselves abrest of our need to provide nuggets of information and guidance when and as necessary.
As our 13-year-old daughter advances farther along through her teen years, the opportunities to impart bits of wisdom arise with greater frequency. The movies she watches, the magazines she reads, the websites she browses -- all media at her disposal is rife with sexual content. It is our responsibility to ensure she and her brothers are prepared to process it in healthy ways.
Unfortunately, some of life's most important lessons do not present themselves in scripted Hallmark Moment splendour. More often than not, we stumble through, desperately hoping not to screw things up too badly. The very first discussion I had with Our Daughter on the subject of male anatomy is a perfect example.
Some years ago, when Our Daughter was a mere toddler, we stayed at a hotel at which my Lovely Wife attended a work-related educational training. My role during the event was to watch over Our Daughter during the day. We swam in the indoor pool, played fun little games, read a few board books, and watched an episode or two of SpongeBob and Blues Clues.
One afternoon, following our final round of swimming, we were back in the room getting cleaned up for dinner. I showered while Our Daughter watched a little television. When I came out, I found her jumping up and down on the king-size bed. The warning to stop had barely escaped my lips when I watched her fly backwards off the bed and land flat on her back, knocking her head on the thinly carpeted concrete floor with a sickening thud.
I picked her up and held her until her crying subsided. Determining no serious damage had been done, yet still with heart racing from the scare, I placed her in the bathtub and continued to distract her with silly jokes from my perch atop the closed toilet. Suddenly, staring at what I thought were my knees, her face went dead serious. She pointed and said, with some noticeable measure of disgust, "What is that?!"
In my panic, I had completely forgotten I was still only barely wrapped in the towel from my shower. Unbeknownst to me, while I sat there on the edge of the toilet entertaining her, my nether region was hanging loose and free for all to see. A quick shift of the towel and a summary dismissal of the subject were not going to be enough to undo the damage, so I decided to face the challenge fate had placed before me.
In language familiar to her, I explained, "It's my peepee." The shock of disbelief showed in her widening eyes. She looked down between her legs, back up at me, and said: "Well, wash it off!"
I laughed so hard, I ended up using the towel to dry my eyes. Not only had I traumatized Our Daughter by flashing her, my follow up only served to convince her I was horrendously unhygienic. Between that, and her having to endure years of watching her brothers streak through the house as only little boys can, it'll be a miracle if she ever gives us a grandchild.
© 2011 Mark Feggeler
Showing posts with label tears. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tears. Show all posts
Monday, March 14, 2011
Friday, November 19, 2010
The First Break
About a week ago, the German fell and broke his thumb. Being the diligent child he is, he didn't break just any old bone, he broke the growth plate -- the part of the bone structure responsible for ensuring his thumb develops properly along with the rest of his body.
As a caring parent whose responsibility it is to ensure the safety and well-being of my children, I responded accordingly when he entered the house holding his hand and crying.
"Can you move your thumb?"
"It's just swollen. You probably just sprained something."
"It'll be okay with a little ice. Or is it heat? I'll look it up online."
"Go show your mother."
Unfortunately, my Lovely wife's responses were amazingly similar to mine. We iced his hand and by the next morning some of the swelling had improved but he still babied his hand and didn't seem able to move his thumb with full range of motion. So, we did what all concerned parents should do -- we spent the day shopping in Fayetteville and took the entire family to play indoor laser tag.
By the next morning, it was obvious we couldn't rely on a "time heals all wounds" approach. After going to school to participate in the Veteran's Day program -- hey, he had a line to perform -- I signed him out and brought him to the family practice our children have gone to since our Darling Daughter was born 13 years ago. Sad to say, it seems we need to change practices. Not only did they leave it to us to find an orthopedist who would take our insurance, they ushered us out the door with crappy x-rays and no sort of treatment or stabilization whatsoever for the German's hand. I'll leave it at that because I'm still too pissed to write about it without excessive use of foul language.
Fortunately, we located an outstanding orthopedist who took our son's injury seriously. After a thorough exam, followed by a three-dimensional CAT scan of the injured hand, our second meeting resulted in the confirmation the German would require surgery to realign the bones and insert a pin to hold them in place. What the swelling had hidden and the standard x-rays did not show was how his thumb was off kilter by 35-degrees.
Now, both my Lovely Wife and I are free-cryers. You give us half a reason to well up and we unashamedly will. Just the thought of the German being admitted to the hospital was enough to choke me up.
When the time came early Thursday morning to bring him to Outpatient admitting, I was concerned about our ability to hold it together in front of him. The last thing anyone -- especially a 9-year-old boy being wheeled through a hospital for his first ever surgery -- needs is to be surrounded by blubbering idiots over-reacting to everything anyone wearing scrubs has to say.
"He'll need to wear this gown."
"A gown?"
"And when we take him back we'll take him in a wheelchair."
"A wheelchair?!"
"Here's the remote for the television."
"Remote?!?!?! Waaaaaaaaaaaah..."
But we held together well, even when we entered the staging area and they inserted the intravenous line into the back of his right hand. The German was amazing. He watched the entire process like it was a documentary on the Discovery Channel. When I looked at my Lovely Wife, I could see the tears beginning to build in her eyes. At last, was I finally being given the opportunity to lose control?
As it turns out, no.
Not long after the IV went in, the nurse added some "happy juice" to the flow. Several seconds later another nurse asked Nathan why he was there. He lifted the cast to his face, stared at it blankly, and finally answered, "I lost track of everything."
We couldn't help laughing.
The nurse turned to us instead for answers to her questions. The German interrupted a couple times with seemingly disassociated comments such as "Max-A" and "Nellcor," both of which were written on the pulse oximeter taped to his index finger. Little did we realize that general anasthesia could be the solution to his dyslexia.
In the end, our brave little man made it through the entire day without an "ouch," a whimper, or any apparent fear. Most shocking is that his Mother and I made it through without a single tear.
© 2010 Mark Feggeler
As a caring parent whose responsibility it is to ensure the safety and well-being of my children, I responded accordingly when he entered the house holding his hand and crying.
"Can you move your thumb?"
"It's just swollen. You probably just sprained something."
"It'll be okay with a little ice. Or is it heat? I'll look it up online."
"Go show your mother."
Unfortunately, my Lovely wife's responses were amazingly similar to mine. We iced his hand and by the next morning some of the swelling had improved but he still babied his hand and didn't seem able to move his thumb with full range of motion. So, we did what all concerned parents should do -- we spent the day shopping in Fayetteville and took the entire family to play indoor laser tag.
By the next morning, it was obvious we couldn't rely on a "time heals all wounds" approach. After going to school to participate in the Veteran's Day program -- hey, he had a line to perform -- I signed him out and brought him to the family practice our children have gone to since our Darling Daughter was born 13 years ago. Sad to say, it seems we need to change practices. Not only did they leave it to us to find an orthopedist who would take our insurance, they ushered us out the door with crappy x-rays and no sort of treatment or stabilization whatsoever for the German's hand. I'll leave it at that because I'm still too pissed to write about it without excessive use of foul language.
Fortunately, we located an outstanding orthopedist who took our son's injury seriously. After a thorough exam, followed by a three-dimensional CAT scan of the injured hand, our second meeting resulted in the confirmation the German would require surgery to realign the bones and insert a pin to hold them in place. What the swelling had hidden and the standard x-rays did not show was how his thumb was off kilter by 35-degrees.
Now, both my Lovely Wife and I are free-cryers. You give us half a reason to well up and we unashamedly will. Just the thought of the German being admitted to the hospital was enough to choke me up.
When the time came early Thursday morning to bring him to Outpatient admitting, I was concerned about our ability to hold it together in front of him. The last thing anyone -- especially a 9-year-old boy being wheeled through a hospital for his first ever surgery -- needs is to be surrounded by blubbering idiots over-reacting to everything anyone wearing scrubs has to say.
"He'll need to wear this gown."
"A gown?"
"And when we take him back we'll take him in a wheelchair."
"A wheelchair?!"
"Here's the remote for the television."
"Remote?!?!?! Waaaaaaaaaaaah..."
But we held together well, even when we entered the staging area and they inserted the intravenous line into the back of his right hand. The German was amazing. He watched the entire process like it was a documentary on the Discovery Channel. When I looked at my Lovely Wife, I could see the tears beginning to build in her eyes. At last, was I finally being given the opportunity to lose control?
As it turns out, no.
Not long after the IV went in, the nurse added some "happy juice" to the flow. Several seconds later another nurse asked Nathan why he was there. He lifted the cast to his face, stared at it blankly, and finally answered, "I lost track of everything." We couldn't help laughing.
The nurse turned to us instead for answers to her questions. The German interrupted a couple times with seemingly disassociated comments such as "Max-A" and "Nellcor," both of which were written on the pulse oximeter taped to his index finger. Little did we realize that general anasthesia could be the solution to his dyslexia.
In the end, our brave little man made it through the entire day without an "ouch," a whimper, or any apparent fear. Most shocking is that his Mother and I made it through without a single tear.
© 2010 Mark Feggeler
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