Babies Come Out Of Girl's Butts

Last night the wife and I are calmly listening to Cold War Kids and getting pumped to go see them Friday night when all of a sudden our six-year-old, long-haired, hippie daughter comes tearing-ass through the room screaming “babies come out of girl’s butts!! Babies come out of girl’s butts!!” and giggling while holding her bum bum like she’s got a full diaper.

The show Cake Boss is a favorite in this household. And, apparently the “Cake Boss’s” wife just birthed their fourth child.

And, they showed the PG version of this woman spitting out a baby while my wife and I were being neglectful parents in the other room.

It wasn’t until the town-crier move the daughter pulled by running through the house announcing the apparent mass production of ass-babies that we realized we’d allowed something bad to happen.

While I was acting like I smelled smoke in the basement, the wife quickly screamed “OK, bedtime, let’s brush teeth!”

And it was over.

Thirty minutes later when the house was silent and our shoulders slowly started relax and drop from the afternoon parental pressures, the wife and I locked eyes.

It was for only a few seconds…mainly because the wife knows if she looks at me for more than five seconds I’ll start ripping my clothes off and drooling.

But this look was different.

It was the look of knowing the time to have “The Talk” was becoming closer and closer each year.

Just over a month ago, the we had creatively avoided questions from the little bastards about “how the seed gets in mommy’s belly?” Here’s more detail on that one.

The daughter’s six and the boy is eight.

We hear the sex-talk clock ticking loudly in the other room.

The only thing preventing us from talking to the boy in the next year or two is the fact that we know he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.

He’ll completely botch the translation of how babies are made and have half our city’s parents knocking on our doors with baseball bats and other creatively deadly blunt objects wanting to know “why my son thinks jack-o-lanterns shoot from his pecker?”

The wife and I will eventually have “The Talk,” mainly because we’d rather be the ones opening that dialogue with our children than the schools.

And by “we” I really mean my mother-in-law.

The wife and I have full intentions of waiting until my mother-in-law visits, tell the kids “grandma wants to talk to you about sex and how babies are made,” and then running like hell to the nearest bar for the next 24 hours.

If you’re reading this my sweet, awesome mother-in-law…I was kidding.

I love you and would never do anything like that to you.

See you in a couple weeks! 

Oh How I Dread "The Talk"

This past weekend I’ve been doing the pool hardcore-style.

School starts Wednesday for the little bastards so I figured I’d try to get into the wet-stuff as much as I possibly could. The pool that is...

As I slide my white-assed self into the pool waters and started tossing the little nippers around I quickly noticed…holy shit, there’s a lot of teenagers around here. And like being thrown into a warp-speed, throw-your-head-back kinda light-year geeky TV-effect I was projected to 2020 - my daughter’s 15, wearing a bikini, at the pool and I’m in the corner clutching a beer crying while thinking, “I really really need to have ‘The Talk’ with her.”

I’m scared shitless of “The Talk.”

I’ll never forget my dad giving us “The Talk.” I was 12 (I think), which would have made my brother 14.

My dad was all liquored-up and probably felt it was time for my brother to hear about the birds and the bees so shit, why not the younger brother too?!

Long story short, for the next year or so, I was confident sex was when a man lays next to his wife, places his penis inside her, then they both go to sleep. That’s right…with the penis still inside her.

And I remember I had two HUGE questions.

1) What happens if the dude has to go pee in the middle of the night?

2) What the hell does a jack-o-lantern have anything to do with sex?

To this day when someone says jack-o-lantern I suddenly become 12 again and hear my dad say, “and then the man jack-o-lanterns into her.”

A part of me feels like when it’s time for “The Talk” I should just find a picture of a penis, hold it up in front of the kids and wait two minutes till everything in the room feels really awkward.

Then I’ll turn to the girl and say, “this is a penis. Boys have the penis. If a boy shows you his penis, I’ll kill him. If a boy talks about his penis to you, I’ll kill him. If you touch a penis, I’ll kill you and him. There is no need for you to see, touch, talk about, experience, or go near the penis until you graduate college.”

Then I’ll turn to the boy and say, “if your sister sees, touches or comes near a penis, I’ll kill you. If you see or hear-of anyone coming near your sister, thinking of your sister, or dreaming of your sister with their penis, tell me and I’ll kill them.”

Then, I’ll buy them both some new music, hug them, and send them on their way.

OK, I’m exaggerating…but I’m also kind of not.

I’m thankful to have plenty of time to plot my war-plan to protect my kids’ innocence as best I can, while making sure I arm them with enough knowledge so that when they do fuck up, it’s not life altering.

In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy tossing them around in the pool and watch them fight with all their might to come right back to my open arms.