Dear Kids,

I think it is time I told you something about our family. We are a little weird, and we share too much information with people we don’t know. We are probably more normal than I realize, but it’s just that everyone else has taught their kids there is a time and place for certain topics and certain language. I realized this when we walked into the restaurant the other day and the hostess handed us the pager. When one of you grabbed it from me while shouting, “It’s my turn to hold the vibrator!” I knew it was time for this talk.

I mean, of course you don’t know (please say you don’t know yet) what a vibrator is. You meant nothing by it. You simply just like the feeling of it under your shirt and want your fair share of turns with it. This also makes me think we shouldn’t put pagers under our clothes anymore. I mean, who knows where those things have been.

Anyway, maybe we could just lower our voices a bit. Maybe we could not shout in public places, lock it up, zip our lips, and not say anything unless we know what the hell we are talking about. That would be super helpful and save your mother from wanting to go bury her head in the corner.

And I know you get really excited when I buy you a new toothbrush since I am always having to remind you to brush your tiny fangs, but if Mommy has to run and tinkle before leaving the store, it really is not the time to rip your new toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag and brush your teeth in the water fountain after you have been instructed to wait for me on the bench. Doing what you are freaking told is always the right answer here — always.

I know I laughed the other day when you announced you had to take a “Trump dump” as you trotted off to have a very lengthy bowel movement, but when I told you not to say it again, I was serious — even if my face was contorted as I was trying to hold back a boisterous laugh. You thought you were a riot, and the fact that Mommy was having a hard time demonstrating self-control made you feel very validated, so you figured you really had a winner. But that doesn’t mean it was okay to say it again the following week while we had guests over for dinner to see how your new audience would react. Again, let’s keep some things to ourselves. I like them and would like to have them over again very soon.

And I get that it was shocking for you to barge in on me last year while I was crying and peeing on a stick, but I explained to you what was happening, and really, nobody wants to hear that story anymore. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to. I did not discover I was with child on my 40th birthday, but it totally would have been fine. Those were tears of mass confusion you saw that day. I was able to laugh about it once or twice since then, but we need to move on. Maybe it was therapeutic for you to talk about it — something you probably want to unsee — but maybe you should stop opening the bathroom door when someone is already in there.

And a few months later, when daddy was rolling around on the sofa moaning and groaning while he held icy fingers on his crotch under a blanket, I explained to you he had something tied off so he couldn’t have kids anymore. You compared it to when we had our puppy fixed — and I agreed with you because it seemed like you understood, and well, I was exhausted from waiting on your father. But after listening to you tell people your father got his balls chopped off so he couldn’t make babies with Mommy anymore, it was clear to me you were a bit confused. Let this be a lesson: If it involves private parts, ask Mommy or Daddy if it’s okay to share with the rest of the world before you go spewing at the mouth in aisle 6 of the grocery store.

Also, hissing when you are upset has become a healthy, safe outlet for when you are mad at each other. I rather like it. It certainly beats yelling or slapping each other in the eyeballs, but it is not okay to do it to an adult, especially your teacher.

Unfortunately, your time is up. Your age has surpassed the point of using it as an excuse to get away with saying silly things and blabbing intimate details about the bathroom habits of our family to the rest of the world. Let’s start fresh. Let’s try to be appropriate and politically correct, and not tell strangers things about your father’s balls. We can still be crazy, but it is okay to keep that crazy hidden from the rest of the world. Let’s keep it locked up in our four walls. There’s no need to share everything.

As an added bonus, I bet we will get invited to do more things with more people, and that could be almost as fun as humiliating me every time we go out in public. Also, I will yell at you less and save money because I won’t buy so much alcohol.

It is a win for everyone. We can do this.

Love,
Mom

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