Creative Sex-Ed

Quinn greeted me excitedly upon my return home from work today. She was impatient to show me a ‘flashlight’ she had built for school, explaining they would be adding the electrical components in class tomorrow but she had been working very hard on the outside structure.

As she showed me her creation with pride beaming from her face, I looked around the room to see if anyone else was observing what I was.

Quinn had built a penis.

I lost it.

Log bad parenting moment #112023 as Quinn looked at me and wondered why I was laughing at her engineering brilliance. I just held the homemade penis in the air until the rest of the family clued into why I was snorting.

Eventually the light bulbs, or shall I say penis flashlights, came on for everyone else.

The situation quickly spiraled downhill as the girls in grade 7 who have taken formal sex education and clearly know EVERYTHING added to the conversation through their giggles.

After all, penises are funny.

Peyton: Well at least it still has it’s foreskin.

Me: Ummm, no it doesn’t. Quinn has actually built a perfectly circumcised penis.

Peyton: Oh. Gross. How do you tell the difference?

Me: Like this

Me: If a penis has the foreskin, which means it is uncircumcised, it’s wearing a turtleneck. If not, you have a mushroom.  Like Quinn’s circumcised flashlight penis.

Olivia: <insert hysterical laughter here>

Me: We should call it a flash-penis. Or a penis-light.

Dylan: Did you just imitate a penis?

Me: Indeed I did. Any questions girls?

Dylan: What is wrong with you? 

Whatever, I thought this was a very effective visual lesson.  And I was able to capitalize on my wardrobe choice for the day.

I OWNED sex-ed tonight.

Dylan: Can we please stop saying the word penis?

Me: Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis.

I am thrilled to tell you that Quinn has fixed the flashlight penis and I don’t have to face an uncomfortable conversation with the teacher as to why my daughter is building cardboard genitals in her free time. Plus, one can only imagine how awkward it would be to insert all those wires into a penis to make it light up.

This would NOT have been an A+ project.

Later in the evening, Quinn came to me asking for help finding her earphones she had lost. Wondering if they may have fallen somewhere in her room, I suggested that she take her penis and go look under her bed.

Dylan seems annoyed.

Xo J

I Am a Mom AND....

Jobs can define us. Yes, I am a mom and without a doubt it is single handedly the MOST important job I have. It is also the hardest and lowest paying, yet brings the most reward. Most days. However, before I had kids (or Jessica B.K), I was a student and a waitress. And perhaps a wee bit of a party animal. 

Just a bit. Ok, a lot.

When I had the girls and became a mom, I lost my identity.

Just a bit. Ok, a lot.

I traded my cute purse and hot red lipstick for a tacky diaper bag and bottles. I became known as ‘the mom who had twins’ and identified with all the novelty that surrounded my new life. I threw myself into the job the only way I knew how.

With my all. With my everything.

Looking back, I lost myself.

Just a bit. OK a lot.

I don’t regret it and embrace the journey to who I am now. But I am more than a mom.

As most of you know I work full time outside the home with at-risk families involved in the Child Welfare System. I LOVE my job and it is a large piece of who I am. It is a fine line to do what I do and not bring it home while trying to find a balance of humour with a soft heart, gratefulness with perspective and overwhelming heartbreak with triumph.

What I really wish I could do is write a book about my job. It would be freakin’ awesome to be able to share with you what I have witnessed. I have had experiences that left me looking around for the hidden candid camera.

Seriously, moments of  “Is this really happening? Are you shitting me?”

I guarantee I could make you wet your pants as I told you one such tale that involved me actually squatting/hovering with pee running down my legs as live crickets jumped around my feet.

I could also tell you of horrors that one’s mind cannot possibly undo and then lift your spirit with moments of the pure power of family.

My job has helped shape me as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and professional.

But I CAN’T share with you all the gory deets of my job. Alas, there is this little thing called the Rule of Confidentiality. Sorry to disappoint ya’ll. I’m sad too…it’s like a book is banging inside my head wanting to come out and make me rich. Damn rules.

But I will tell you that I have seen more lady bits and nipple shots than anyone ever thought to warn me about in school. Nipple shots as in I saw areola, not as in I did a shooter off a nipple. Perverts.

Dylan is also more than a kick ass dad and husband. He works so hard for this family and has become very successful in food sales with a large company here in Canada and the States. It rhymes with GFS and is a fantastic family company to be a part of.

We have had to learn a balance in our marriage with stressful days at work and equalize what those conversations look like when debriefing our days and roles over a glass of wine. Mmmmmm, wine.

For example, when Dylan is bitching about a late delivery of green beans or how the world is coming to an end because some chicken wings were to small, I’m all like, “Seriously dude? Today I watched a mom lose her kids forever. LIKE forever. It was like a funeral with a living body. Get a grip about your stupid green beans. Asshole.”

 

I always win the bad day contests. Always. But I have had to recognize that in Dylan’s job, a lack of green beans and itty-bitty chickens arms are still a problem nonetheless to him and his customers. I am learning perspective and to care about fresh produce…after all legumes and poultry are clearly much more profitable for our family than our societies children’s safety.

I hate green beans.

I love my husband that holds me in silence when I cry.

The older girls have begun babysitting and are taking their very first employment role very seriously. About time the little freeloaders starting earning their own keep around here.

It’s so fricken’ awesome and the BEST deal ever for me.

Let me get this straight. You take my children AWAY FROM ME to your house for the night…and then actually pay THEM money?? I feel confused. I think someone has this all ass backwards and I really should be paying the other parents…but I’m keeping my mouth zipped.

Best kept secret EVER.

I have become their booking agent. I should get a managing fee of 20% right off the top.

I’m like a babysitting pimp.

See…just one more role to help define me.

What are your roles? What defines you?

Xo J

Dr. Phil Anyone?

Have you ever heard of some guy named Dr. Phil?

Yeah, me too.

I have been asked to share the following message with all my fabulous readers.
Yes, that's you:)

If you are so inclined to be on his show, email the contact below and while you are at it, can you send me one too, or cc me in at crazymomopq@gmail.com.

That way I can give ya a heads up about what to expect when your parenting takes a national stage:)
Don't be afraid...
Tell them I sent you!

Jess

Over-Protective Parent?


Are you or is someone you know a helicopter parent that constantly hovers over your child? Do you watch your child's every move and constantly worry about them? Do you have strict rules that you believe will protect your child but your kids think it's too much? Do you disagree with your spouses leniency or are BOTH of you helicopter parents?



Do Your Kids Have Free Reign?

Do your kids have free reign to do what ever they want? Have you tried to be the cool parent but it back fired and now your kids are out of control? Are you worried about the track your kid has taken because of your lack of rules? Did you have good intentions but now don't know what to do?

Regret Spoiling Your Child?

Did you spoil your child rotten when they were younger, and now they are totally disrespectful, entitled, or even out of control? Do watch TV shows like Sweet 16, and think, "OMG that's my child!" Do they expect everything to be given to them?

If so to any of the above, and you are willing to appear on a National Talk Show, please email me today!

Alysse.Rupprecht@cbs.com

A Letter to New-Mom Me

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and share what I know now with my new mom self....

Dear New-Mom Me,

Ok, someone has got to tell you to simmer down. Seriously relax you crazy psycho bitch. I figure since I know you so well I can be brutally honest and you can’t stay mad at me for that long. That or everyone is afraid of you and I picked the short straw.

Dude…you are out of freaking control.

Please stop stressing yourself out about when and how much they are eating. I promise, you are not going to starve them. Odds are pretty high they will let you know when they are hungry. Babies have this sound they make when they need something. They call it crying.

As far as the poop obsession thing goes, it’s a little humiliating.  You are a post-secondary education women and your focus has been reduced to shit. Literally, shit. I promise you that the colours, size, schedule and consistency of their poop doesn’t really matter in the big scheme of things.

While we are at it, you are not a failure if their socks do not match. Newsflash: Baby socks don’t stay on anyway. Get a grip and save your money. It’s ok if their little outfits aren’t coordinating every time you go out. I promise no one will judge you. In fact, people probably won’t even notice. 

Mind boggling isn’t it?

Take them out in their jammies…I double dog dare you. All of you will survive and you will feel ever so liberated with your time verses working up a sweat getting the selfish little things dressed that don’t even bother to try and stick there arm through a fricken’ sleeve to help you out.

Babies can be assholes can’t they? Just admit it….hello, I know your thoughts.

As far as your stroller hysteria goes, please stop buying them. You have THREE already and last time I checked all double-strollers still suck ass in any configuration and you just need to give into the fact that you will resemble a three ring circus when you go out in public.

In regards to crying at the doctors office when the little fatties had a harmless fungus under their fat rolls…it was embarrassing. Enough said. Please try to keep it together woman. And please do NOT call 911 when Peyton swallows water in her bath. Rookie mistake. You are not going to kill them. I promise.

Here’s a tip. I don’t know any 13 year olds that can’t sleep through the night or still needs a sucky to self-sooth. Let it go! Do what you need to do to make it through. Put down the damn books and do what feels right. Just make it through today. Trust me, in 13 years you will not be able to get them out of bed in the morning.

It’s glorious.

OK, here’s the important stuff.  Believe it or not you are going to get even crazier during the next year. Shocking, I know. No one is more surprised at this than me. When they bump their heads or scrape their knees or fight over a stuffed animal…. well that my friend, is the easy part.

This is just going to get harder.

You have small humans right now, that means small problems. 

In this moment you have the ability to fix anything with a fricken Dora Band-Aid and a kiss. Lucky bitch.

I wish I could go back to that. I don’t want to scare you, but right now sucks ass for us as a mom.

The girls are in the middle of elite basketball tryouts and they are not guaranteed a spot on a team. It’s stiff competition and we cannot swoop down and make it all better. Take a deep breath…we’ve come a long way. Yay us right? They may be facing a taste of rejection from the real world and you and I both know how hard we have tried to protect them from any pain. But the time is here that they need to live it to learn it. They need to feel what real life is and we cannot fix it. Trust me, it sucks balls.

Don’t worry we have wine.

I really want to tell you that you are doing a great job! Keep it up. I know that most days you don’t feel that way and you are full of doubt. Parenting is hard. I’m not going to sugar coat it, it’s gets much more complicated and I want you to have perspective.

Go get some more Dora Band-Aids and enjoy every minute, it really does go too fast.

Now, please go change out of those hideous overalls and throw away the Birkenstocks. They are not cool. Never have been. Never will be. You will thank me for it. Please don’t get that mom haircut you have been thinking about and good news, the mini-van isn’t forever. We have a sweet ass ride now.

Just a suggestion…go look at yourself in the mirror this instant and roll your eyes about 1000 times. That should help prepare you. Sorta. Just remember how sweet they are RIGHT now! Puberty is a bitch.

Oh, one last thing. Olivia will learn to roll over at three months. Heads up…don’t put her on the bed when you go and have a shower.

Love,

Me

Xo J

Have You Passed Gas? (that should be fun for Google)

Childbirth was less than pleasant, but worth every moment as I was wheeled into the special care nursery to hold the most beautiful miniature humans I had ever seen. It’s supposed to be that way right? To keep us going as a race? How quickly we forget the worst experience EVER as it fades away and melts into the best celebration of our lives.

Hormones must be magical, because as I look back on pictures when the girls were minutes old, I realize in my current hormone-stable (barely) state, they really were not all that cute, but actually looked like plucked see-through chickens. Seriously, they were almost 20’ long and five freaking pounds. 

But they were my chickens.

There are moments after their birth I try to forget.

Like apparently when you have a C-section, they ‘manipulate’ your bowels and the nurse’s really want to know if you have passed gas post-op. No, I mean like it is there one and only mission to log a fart on your medical chart. A sweet young nurse walked into the room as Dylan and I were visiting and asked loudly,

“Have you passed gas yet?”

Umm, can you please lower your voice? He can hear you ya know.

We were newly weds…the fart boundary had not yet been crossed and here she was announcing it to the world. Dude, I really cannot remember his middle name right now, can we not talk about farting? I’m just a blushing bride and need to be all impressing him and shit still.

Well, low and behold as I got out of bed I suddenly realized why it was so important to let one rip. I tried to shoo Dylan away as I bent over the bed.

Get out man! Run for cover! Save yourself!

He didn’t head my warning and with that we entered into a new phase of our marriage. And never looked back. Game on bitches!

There are other moments that still stand out for me. Like my roommate that spoke very little English and turned on every light in the room to calm her crying baby in the middle of the night as she sat on the toilet passing her own all important gas whilst singing at the top of her lungs

“It’s ok baby. La-la-la-la. La-la-la-la. It’s ok. It’s ok, la-la-la-la baby”

FYI, it was not soothing to the screaming baby. Or me. La-la-la-la.

Then there were Dylan’s own gas issues after treating himself to an Italian meal before coming to see us. Trust me on this one, bruschetta does not smell all that appealing the second time around and it hurts like a bitch to laugh the day after a C-section. I also recall being jealous for the fist time in my life that someone else's GI track.

It was like he was fart bragging. Jackass.

I remember my panic at their first bath and how I was sure I would drop those slippery little sausages onto the cold concrete floor. I remember my feet swelling so badly that my dad had to leave the room, as he was sure my piggy’s were going to explode foot guts all over the room from the building pressure. 

I was super hot ya’ll.

I remember when the milk fairy came to visit and the shock at how my boobs could possibly be this big and taut. Holy stripper boobs batman. I would do it all again just for the awesome rack.

But mostly I remember being scared. I had read every parenting book ever published and had gone to school to help parents be better parents, but as we settled into home and reality hit me like a ton of bricks, it was at that moment I realized I knew nothing.

Absolutely NOTHING.

It dawned on me that in fact all the books I had read, that the girls had NOT been studying them in the womb along with me. They did not have theories, parenting methods and applications memorized. They couldn’t have cared less that I had researched the very best diapers and had completely safety proofed the house with all the newest gadgets AND that I knew how to make them sleep through the night before they even took there first breath of air. No worries ladies, mommy’s got this.

But really I didn’t.

I stared at them for a very long time and felt afraid…very afraid and overwhelmed. Ok, scared shitless. I began to cry and hyperventilate as I realized that this was for at least the next eighteen freaking years. Ok more realistically like twenty-five years. Oh shit...it was forever!!!

What had I done?? What on earth was I thinking…I couldn’t do this. Okay, I admit there may have been a few little hormones flying around my body. I frantically looked in the bags to see if the hospital had sent home an instruction manual, return policy or at the very least a 1-800 number for troubleshooting. Nope, the bag was empty. Did I keep my baby receipt? Crap I probably threw that away while I was nesting. Damn type A personality. I couldn’t even ask where the return line was without a receipt. I asked myself if five days post partum was too early to start drinking.

Sadly it was…

But I also remember being so madly in love, and knowing, just knowing we were going be ok.

I look at them now after 13 years and I have never been so proud. I am proud of who they are and what they are becoming.

And I am still so very much in love.

Xo J