Teenage Taboos--parents, grandparents, and the dreaded sex talk.

It seemed as though I woke up one day and my grandson (you will recall that four of my grandchildren live with me) had grown six inches taller and his voice sounded funny. I dwelled on this new awakening and it hit me like a bolt--he's clearly in the middle of puberty; you know, that strange age when that cute little fellow with a fishing pole in his hand is facebooking for hours on end and with a certain secretive look in his eye. Around the same time my 13 year old granddaughter came into my bedroom one night and said "Oma," "yes," I said. "I think that I have a problem, I think that I started ......" to which I simply pointed to my bathroom door and said, "I'm prepared. You will find supplies under the counter. Let me know what works for you and I will stock up." Boy did she breathe a sigh of relief. She headed off for the bathroom then on her way to the living room she said, "don't tell mom." I said, "OK." You see, Taylor is a highly private person, unlike me. I am noisy and will tell anyone what they want to know. Keeping secrets in my estimation is just too much work. Now that doesn't mean that I am likely to say something like "no I don't like your new hairdo, it makes you look like a freak," but it just means that most things don't require secrecy on an FBI level as most teenagers think. When you get to me my age very few things are shocking. Anyway, what about the topic--sex talks with teenagers. The fact that two of the four kids who live with me are in the throws of puberty, I figured that I should talk to them about sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Without airing ALL of my dirty laundry, I should tell you that they have seen plenty before they came to live with me. I wasn't sure what they knew, what they wanted to know, or what I should tell them. I remember hating the sex talks with my mother, a former nurse. I got the clinical explanation first, followed by a welling of tears in my mother's eyes as her quavering voice told me how my life would be ruined if I didn't listen to her warnings about sex. Gosh, no wonder teenagers hate sex talks. Drugs too. Surely there must be more pleasant topics; however all the health magazines and TV shows say the same thing--talk to your kids about sex and drugs. So as I tried to think of a good approach, I said to myself, "Karen, how did you talk to your kids about these topics?" I thought real hard and recalled my coversation with my then sixth grader Jamee. As the eldest child, I wanted to get this parental chore just right. We were visiting my parents summer place and Jamee was in the bathtub. I thought, ah ha, perfect time. I walked into the bathroom and sat down across from the tub and said to her, "Jamee, you're getting older now and I suppose there are some questions about things that you want to know, but haven't asked," to which Jamee said, "no, I can't think of anything." So I turned up the volume and said, "I'm sure if you just think about it you will realize that at your age, things in your life are changing (how cryptic is that?) and you would like some answers." "Nope," said Jamee. "Can't think of anything." Feeling deflated, I just sat there and looked at her with one of those piercing looks that only parents can give. She must have realized by now that she was expected to come up with an answer that was pleasing to me as a parent. And well she should. I was sitting there waiting to be an A+ mother and she was not cooperating. After a period of silence, she said, "well, there is one thing that I have been wondering about." RELIEF! Now I get to be a really good mother; one with all the answers to life. I said, "go ahead Jamee and tell me what's on your mind." "Well," she said, "I've always wanted to know what the term Environmental Control meant." I braced myself from falling off of the stool and answered her with the most sober face that I could muster, left the bathroom, and decided that I wasn't competent enough to talk about sex matters with teenagers. But now, here we go again. A second set of kids to raise with the same needs. But alas, I am older and wiser. Besides, I really lacked a burning desire to talk about sex with anyone, much less a fourteen year old. So as the two topics--sex and drugs--loomed in my future, I devised a new approach. I would wait until I went to the dentist's office and my Gyn's office to set my plan in motion. The first opportunity came when I went to the dentist for a routine cleaning. As I sat in the waiting room, I scoured the rack with informational pamphlets. I gathered the one entitled "Meth Mouth," which showed a young girl with rotting teeth and deformed gums. Voila! Just what I wanted. I took one and stuck it in my purse. The next pamphlet was entitled "Tongue Piercing." That one was terrific. Swollen tongue, description of surgical procedures to repair the damage. Excellent!!! Just for the heck of it, I threw in a few others on healthy gums and teeth whitening. When I got home, I simply threw the pamphlets on the counter with the mail. When the kids got off of the bus, they all clammored into the house, plowing around the kitchen looking for something to eat as I was preparing dinner. As I knew they would, they spotted the stack of pamphlets on the counter, walked over to them thinking that perhaps they were advertisments offering something interesting to buy like snowboards, or Xboxes, or whatever. My grandson picked up the first one and said "OMG, what is this?" I innocently said "what are you looking at?" He replied, "this picture of a rotting mouth, where did you get this?" I said, "Oh, it's just some stuff the dentist had in his office, I was looking for information on teeth whitening and just picked up a bunch of pamphlets out of the rack." "Well," he said, "this stuff is awful." I said, "what do you mean?" "Oma, this is stuff about meth and tongue piercing, it's all gross." It had the effect I was looking for when my granddaughter--a hippie wannabe--said, "what's that Jake?" To which he said, "It's a bunch of junk that Oma brought home. It's gross. She needs to throw it away." "Wait a minute Jake," said Taylor. "I want to see it." Success I thought! "Oma," said Taylor, "look at this picture, this girl's teeth are falling out." I replied, "well, if you think that's gross, you should see the brochures at my Gyn's office on venereal warts." As I turned from the stove to see where the kids had gone, I notice that the Dell mini was missing from the counter. Isn't the information highway wonderful?

What grandparents won't do for their grandchildren

Well here's the deal. Over the past several years I have taken my four youngest granddaughters to the American Girl doll store in Atlanta in January for their birthdays. In the same car mind you. I did this because it is something I would have liked to do if they would have had American Girl stores when I was little. Two of the birthday girls were actually born in January, while the other two claim October and April for their birthdays. The cousins usually have a great time and I end up renting two suites at the Mariott right behind the store so that we can just stroll over there when we like. It is a fun weekend with madcap shopping for dolls and accessories, then eating at the American Girl cafe with dolls in highchairs at the table with us. In the evening the girls stay up to all hours playing with their dolls and things, then we head back to Alabama the next day. Great fun! This year, however, I decided to treat them to snow skiing. Mind you, none of us except for my grandson Jake has ever snow skied. Well, I did actually twice. Once at Sundance, Utah and once at Mittenwald in Bavaria. These events were 20 years ago, so they don't count. On Friday, January 21 (Karen's b'day is the 20th and Nicole's is the 22nd), we loaded up and headed for Mentone, Alabama. Mentone is located in the N.E. corner of the state and borders Tenn and Georgia. The ski run is short, but plenty of snow. We stayed in a chalet that smelled of many generations of mold families. The kids didn't care and were excited about skiing the next day. We must have looked like the Klampetts from the TV series as none of us had proper ski attire except for Jake. We didn't care, we just trooped over to the ski lodge (a shack with a fire pit in the center), paid an ungodly sum for our skis and lift tickets, put on our stuff, and went to ski school. There must have been 20 nubies like us. The first one to graduate was Nicole. She hit the pony lift and was off like a pro. Unfortunately, she sprained her ankle after an hour or two and had to go to the ER. I managed a couple of runs down the slope in the pizza pie position (beginners learn this as a stopping method). At least I didn't fall, but I must have looked ridiculous. Taylor (the 14 year old) did fantastic, while the two little ones, Karen and Madalyn, wanted me to pull them up the slope and then let them ski down. Now I will tell you, this is where you find all of the muscles that you lost over the last 40 years. Foregoing anymore skiing, I ended up helping them onto the pony lift, running in my ski boots up the hill and snatching them off the lift before they got to the top, then turning them in the right direction so that they could ski down the hill. After a day like that, I took an Ibuprofen, ate nothing, and flopped into my lumpy mattress in chalet heaven. I was counting my muscles the next morning as I tried to pull out of my twilight sleep, staggared to the shower, packed the car, drove home, and wondered why I thought this was a good idea. Then I uploaded the pics that I took from the ski trip. Kids smiling as they tried to ski, happy faces standing on the deck of the chalet, and little ones and big ones, flying down the slope without a care in the world. Then I knew why it was a good idea.