Several months ago, a few girlfriends and I had a day out in the city.
What did we do on this day out in the city, you ask?
Well, we had an extremely enlightening day mulling around the Taboo Sex show exhibit. I know what you are thinking, not your usual ‘Mom’s day out,’ but we thought what the heck! Let’s go for gold today, we are kid free!
I saw things my naive self had never even dreamed of in regards to the bedroom provisions. I felt as though I learned a little something and I even got some free samples and what seemed to be an industrial size tub of ‘erotic body chocolate.’
Oh, the wondrous things I could do with all of my new extravagances, I thought to myself while giving the husband my best attempt at bedroom eyes. … Unfortunately that look came off a bit more creepy than alluring. And with all things that I intend to use but never do, it got shoved in the bedside drawer never to be seen again … or so I thought, until just recently.
I am cleaning the house in preparation for some upcoming parties, so I am doing a good intense job of it. I am wholly involved in my cleaning and have placed the children in my bedroom to watch a movie.
I haven’t heard them for a while, and any parent knows that when the kids get quiet it means one of two things:
l They are badly hurt.
l They have got into something.
Panic becomes me as I briskly half-walk half-run toward the boudoir.
At first I see Lars, I immediately notice the look of guilt that is painted all over his face. Something gooey glimmers off his little hands. He knows they are doing something wrong and is trying his damndest to play it cool. He does a terrible job of it.
My second glance moves towards Sophie. At first I see her face is covered in some sort of brown swath, I think it may be poop and I begin to gag a little. But then, then she begins placing the brown stuff in her mouth and gobbling it up like it is. …
OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD … NO!
On my third take of the situation, everything becomes disturbingly clear. There sprawled on my bed is a bouquet of individually wrapped lube packs. All of them open and smeared upon my duvet like some kind of sadistic joke. A vibrator is humming somewhere between the bedside table and the bed and Sophie has her hands embedded in the industrial sized tub of erotic body chocolate.
THIS CAN’T ACTUALLY BE HAPPENING. …
“Mama we found chocy!” The smile that gleams through her chocolatey face is so upsetting that I have to turn away.
“Mom, what is this stuff? … It’s so slippery!” Lars asks me while he tries to wrangle a pack of lube, attempting to keep it within the confines of his little four-year-old hands.
OK, Lindsay, you must deal with this. As much as you’d like to walk away and pretend it is not happening you, have to deal with this. This horrid chain of events. The fact that your children are consuming sex chocolate, playing with lube and more than likely have been handling a vibrator. … That of which is still MIA aside from its droning buzz that is creating an alarming murk into the forefront of your mind. Yes, it is time to deal with it. And so that is what I do. I clean up the girl, wipe off the boy’s hands, establish the vibrator’s locale and place everything back in its new spot at the top of the closet. A place where little hands cannot explore. As well as explain to Lars that ‘No condoms are not balloons and I will not blow one up for him.’
I end our unbelievably awkward conversation with advising the children in the utmost of ‘angry mom voices’ that, “We do not look through things that aren’t ours.”
I think they heard me, but on the other hand I could have never foreseen that I would walk in on a display such as I did today.
I guess it’s true that once you become a mother, privacy becomes a thing of the past.
Lindsay Brown is a Sylvan Lake mother of two and freelance columnist.