Let's Talk about Sex, Baby.

I saw a preteen in clinic the other day. She was going into 6th grade. When I examine this age-group, I like to keep things light. Cheerful. Safe. Interesting. I ask questions, even with the parents in the room, about everything. I ask them as if it's totally normal to bring up questions of grades, schoolwork, friends, safety, peer pressure, alcohol, drugs, puberty and yes, even sex. I almost always bring up the more stereotypically "awkward" subjects by first assessing the patient's level of knowledge or experience, and open it with this simple question: "Have you had health or sex education at school yet?"

YET. I always use that word, as, silly me,  I thought it was standard in ALL school curriculum to teach children/teens about not only their bodies, but one of the MOST BASIC of all human interactions: intercourse. You know. Procreation. How a species survives. One of our most primitive and natural instincts. One's sex drive is so vital to human existence that it is one of the 4 major groups we use, as physicians, to assess quality of life. When meeting a patient for the first time and/or screening for things such as Major Depression I ask about these basic things: Appetite, Sleep, Mood and Libido. (Admittedly, with some well-adjusted, healthy seeming adults, I will just inquire into one or two of these categories and leave it at that, but only sometimes.)

So, I proceed with my usual exam with this patient, and I ask her my usual question. She sat there somewhat silently, so I looked to her mother, who was shaking her head, as if to say "no". I responded, "oh really? I thought most schools did this in 5th grade, but maybe it's 6th." The mom continues to shake her head. No? "They don't teach sexual education at ## #####." I'm fairly certain my jaw dropped to the floor. I'm still looking at the patient, and I ask, "Did they teach you about the menstrual cycle, or periods?" While continuing to avoid eye contact by looking down, I hear a rather meager, "no, they don't teach us anything to do with that kind of stuff". I ask if she and her girlfriends have talked about it. Still a no!! This visit continues, I give some education, ask some questions. Talk to both the mom and daughter, trying to keep communication lines very open, make it clear to her mother that she needs to be sure and continue this education at home, and that the daughter should feel comfortable to go to her mother, me or a teacher if she has any questions or concerns. I print some materials for them both to read and discharge them on their way.

What just happened? Why would this be cut out of a curriculum? I don't care your religious beliefs, there is no way to remove procreation from the equation.  Our bodies were created for it. Girls start bleeding. Boys...well, I have four boys, I really don't want to think about what happens to boys. But I HAVE to!!! My boys ask me questions all the time, and though I mostly keep it scientific, they are getting honest, real answers with true anatomical names. I am educating them. Preparing them for life, a happy life, a realistic life...and hopefully, an open, honest and respectful one.

I don't just answer questions about their boy parts either. I put them to bed at the same time every night. When they try to fight this, I explain (futile as it may be) how important sleep is to their little growing bodies and huge growing brains. When I offer food to them, I try to help them understand healthy choices. No, my kids don't get a fruit and vegetable every single day, or probably even week for that matter. I think we just had pepperoni pizza for the fourth night in a row tonight, but, yes, I still talk about nutrition when the opportunity arises. When they are having a tough day, or a melt down, I try to bring awareness and validation to their feelings, so hopefully, in the future they can deal with their anger or sadness appropriately...and not like a 2 year old. (By the way, 2 year olds were NOT meant to be 40lbs. Makes picking them up or forcing them in a car seat A LOT harder.)

What I'm saying, is it's not just about sex. Kids need to learn about life. Everyday. We are cultivating their future attitudes and decisions towards VITAL human needs. And by we, I mean adults. It doesn't have to be mom and dad. It can be aunt, friend, teacher, coach, doctor. I am slightly enraged that an entire generation of children that have gone through this school (and I'm certain it's not the only one) will secretively discuss sex amongst their peers. Will feel so insecure when they have their first menstrual cycle. Will have been led to believe that sex is a taboo subject that should not be freely and openly discussed. Will think that something as vital to the human existence {experience} as sleep is to be ignored, shushed, brushed under the rug, left to those much less qualified to teach. I can't help but wonder what kind of sex education a male college student got from his school, parents, peers, that led him to rape an unconscious woman? Insomnia leads directly to psychosis. Lack of dietary eduction leads to obesity or other major health concerns. What does ignorance of sexual drive lead to...? I can't help but wonder.

The Easter Tantrum

From the gate, Easter was difficult this year. Matt traveled to France and Belgium (which got bombed by terrorist the day before we was set to ride the train into Brussels) the week of Easter, planning to fly into St. Louis the Saturday before to meet us. This means, I played single mom (with A LOT of help from my sisters, moms and nanny) and worked full time, with a broken garbage disposal and an insane work schedule for the week leading up to Easter Sunday. I woke up EXHAUSTED Saturday morning. It's extremely rare for me to actually feel physically tired, but, wow. Eight days, with five kids, alone, even with help, is rough. Period. So, my expectations for the weekend were relatively low, and despite this, for whatever reason, I totally forget, from year to year, how awful Easter really is for families with toddlers.

But think about it for a minute. We fill eggs and baskets with chocolate and jelly beans and chocolate and suckers and chocolate. They hunt for eggs, fueled by sugar, with no interest in "real food". Our parents, family, relatives and friends just have jars upon dishes of candy sitting around the house. We pump them full of this candy. We give them gifts. Then we force them into nice clothing. We take them to church where they are supposed to be both quiet and still, while they are still buzzing on a sugar high (and perhaps heading downhill.) We then want a picture because they are so stinky winky adorable in their Easter clothing, and this must happen before brunch, because, well, if it doesn't, the outfits aren't so cute anymore. We do this year after year.

I couldn't really put my finger on why Easter seems so much more tumultuous, and tantrum-filled than Christmas, but then again, I never really tried. Until today. We go to mass on Christmas Eve. They all have their adorable outfits for evening mass after a full day of good food and naps. We then open gifts and eat mounds of candy in our pajamas the next morning. We leave them in their jammies and let them just play. All day. No obligations. No fancy, smile at the camera, type pictures. Just good ol' candid fun.

I guess I really wanted to figure out what went wrong this year, because we drove all the way to St. Louis. (By we, I mean me getting all 5 kids packed and ready alone. There was a point on Saturday morning that I was not sure we were actually going to be able to make it out of the house. Not my finest moment. It never would have happened if my Mother-in-law hadn't taken them the night before to let me pack, and then rode up with us that morning. I think she was also played an integral role in helping me get out of my speeding ticket, from the woman cop, state trooper...oops.) I had all their clothing set out, as well as my own dress. I had time to shower. I got us all ready (Matt helping minimally, but he's in charge of the family Easter egg hunt AND had returned from France/Belgium the night before. His father helping bathe Mitch who had a blow out right before dressing change.) We could have made it to 10:30 mass, but, when it came to it, neither of us could stand to put ourselves through the torture. We had 5 wild children. It would be a sweaty, anxiety provoking hour or so of just corralling and shushing our children. So, we accepted the Catholic guilt, and just skipped it. Which, prompted me to assess the situation and try to figure out what we could have done to make it go differently.

First. No more candy in the eggs or Easter basket (except their Laura Littles' Chocolate Bunny, of course). The stuff sitting around is ENOUGH.

Second. Real breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Yogurt. The works.

Third. As early a mass as possible. Maybe even save baskets and egg hunt for after.

Fourth. Maybe pictures after mass, before the potential hunt (if it gets moved). Then they are free to play as they please for the day.

Yup. I think that's it.

Despite all of this, it was a truly Happy Easter, filled with joy, blessings, family and love...with a few melt-downs in between.

The War on Laundry

I am not proud of the way I acted. I'm not proud of screaming at Mitch so loud, the baby started crying because she'd never heard her mother make noises that frightening. I'm not proud of how abruptIy and roughly I shoved Mitch out of the closet. It bothers me, the amount of effort it took to compose myself enough to walk up to my sobbing 2 year old, squat down to his level, look him in the eye, speak in a civil tone and "discuss" his behavior. It ended in a "sorry" and a hug. But I was livid.

You see, in less than 90 seconds, Mitch managed to undo what took at least 6+ hours of hard work and effort: my laundry. 

I have been waging a war on laundry for months. Years. Well, really, ever since the 2nd child came along. I hate sorting and folding clothes. I don't care who you are, you can only do it so fast. It's a time sucker. It takes hours out of my week that I could otherwise spend doing, oh, I don't know; ANYTHING else!!!! Building a marble run with my kids. Making a home-cooked meal for the 3rd or 4th time in my life. Painting a room in the house. Crafting with my kids. Going for a walk. Relaxing. 

I've become so bitter about laundry, that I have gotten rid of 3 trash bags full of it in the past week. I figured, if I went all out, got it all sorted, folded, organized, maybe I could stay on top of it easier. I moved it all into my closet. 

My system was going great. I've dressed cute all week. I had reduced the time spent getting dressed in the morning by half!! No more walking between closet, laundry room, bedroom, back to closet just to assemble my outfit for the day. It was so, so beautiful. 

Then. Tonight. While I was washing my hands, after changing Diana, he did it. Mitch walked in my closet and pulled EVERY. SINGLE. Piece of clothing off of my shelves. He pulled shoes off the rack. He destroyed so much. He broke my spirit. I'm not sure I can ever face the laundry again. Mine, or the kid's. 

So, next time you see me, if you're questioning my style sense. Or the children appear disheveled. You know why. I've simply given up. You win, laundry. You win.

Big City. Small Town.

The other day, while examining a patient, he mentioned the name of a specialist he had recently visited, to which I responded, "Oh yes! I know him really well. In fact, he's a friend of mine." The foreign born patient, most recently from New York, kind of laughed to himself, and in his lovely accent said, "Oh yes, I forget that everyone in this town seems to know one another."


Though, the connection in this instance, isn't surprising at all, as I was the referring doctor, the observation from the patient remains significant. And true. And what I love most about my town.


Yesterday, my second born, requested we go to the "burrito place with red sprite". He was talking about Ninfa's. A quite literal, hole in the wall, family owned and operated, tiny little, as authentic as they come Mexican food restaurant that serves warm, fresh, handmade, melt-in your mouth tortillas instead of the "traditional" chips and salsa. These are the "burritos" to which Curtis referred, and the "red Sprite"? Strawberry Fanta. Seeing as I have a 2 hour lunch break on Fridays, how could I resist the opportunity?

Eventually, I texted my mother and sister, and informed them of my lunch plans. To which, my sister replied, "Ha! Mom and I were just talking about that and she said, don't say anything to Erin until we know what time..." Thus. Had I not texted them, there is a really good chance we would have run into one another at this place anyway! Which, I forgot to mention, is no where near our neighborhood. I also forgot to mention, that the owners of this establishment had children who attended Matt's grade school. So, we kind of know them. Which is why we even know of the spot. Which I then introduced to my mother, who has a special affinity for tiny dives with amazing food.

 As we lunched, a few women walked in, and my mom remarked, "Oh how funny, I went to high school with a couple of those ladies." Small town is right! Then, not a moment later, who walks in? My mother-in-law. She was meeting these ladies for lunch. Curtis pops up and runs over to give his surprised Mimi a hug (and ask her to play on her phone.) What should have been a quick little lunch date with my 2nd child, turned into a family affair, and mini reunion of sorts. I left lunch all warm, and fuzzy, and full. Really full. Full of incredible food. Full of love for my family. Full of love for my city, and my life, and where I have landed.

Born and raised in Kansas City, I have lived in the same 6 mile radius for my entire life, with the exception of 5 years. I have moved exactly 6 times. Ever. Three of those instances occurred in those 5 years of college and post-grad work. I went away to Indiana for under grad, mostly because of swimming, but, I would have been fine staying near home. Though, I sometimes wonder if I am missing out on some beautiful part of life because of my extreme lack of wanderlust, I am mostly thankful that my family chose to establish themselves here. In Kansas City. Maybe, had I been born elsewhere, I wouldn't have such a content feeling about my city. Had I been born elsewhere, I definitely wouldn't dine out at the most seemingly obscure of places and run into 10 people that I know, let alone are my relatives.

I know the world is filled with all different types of people. To some, this small town living sounds appalling, and awful. I assume they feel trapped. Suffocated. Stymied. Missing some larger opportunity lurking for them, out there, in the great unknown. I am not sure what makes one full of adventure and the desire to uproot. To me, more possibilities and opportunities await me here, in my village full of people I know, who know me. It's who you know not what you know, right? Perhaps, there are 7 degrees of separation for humans throughout the WORLD, but in Kansas City, there are only 2 degrees.  Knowing that I can enjoy a meal, a moment, a conversation, face to face, with a friend or loved one, at nearly any time of any day? I love it. It makes me feel comfortable. Important. Supported. At ease. Loved. And home.

I will never claim to understand the meaning of life, yet, I can't help but think, living in the right place helps you discover it. I will never insist that Kansas City is the place for you. But, thank you, God/universe/random chance for dumping me here. In this wonderfully large city of opportunity, and this small town of comfort and familiarity.

I have a question.

Scratch that. A few questions. Ok A LOT of questions. Like:

At what age do they stop crying!? Because at nearly 7 years, Brock still cries, probably EVERY DAY. Curtis every day, a few times even. George, about the same as Curtis. Mitch, every 2-3 hours, or every hour of you count his scream. And Diana. Well, she's a baby.

When do they stop the candy obsession? My sister recently mentioned that she had forgotten she even had candy sitting out at her apartment until my 2 oldest boys walked in...she has a 10 year old, so I guess by then?

When do they stop getting into shit. Like everything. I mean, NOTHING is safe. Not even junk mail. My children's particular favorites seem to be dirt/mud, puzzles/board games, legos, art supplies and food. With the occasional medication or hazardous substance attempt.

I feel like my husband is relatively well potty-trained. He seems to get 97% of his urine in the toilet, and lifts the lid, and whatnot. At what point in his life did he become completely self-sufficient in the bathroom? Even this morning, Brock somehow managed to get poop on the toilet seat, and urinated, almost completely, outside the toilet.

When do they become able to put themselves to bed? I fantasize about that moment where I am sitting on the couch, my 5 children happily playing quietly around me, I look at the clock and it says 8:00pm, so I say, "Everyone go to bed." Then, they all get up without complaint, put away whatever entertainment device seemed to be occupying their attention, come give me a kiss and hug, say, "goodnight, mom. Love you." Then proceed to walk upstairs, brush their teeth, and go to bed. OK. I know. That NEVER happens. Not even when they're grown. But, that's why I termed it a fantasy.

When will people not get up because they got seated near us at a restaurant? (Yes. OMG. That really happened, for the first time ever the other night.) In our defense, they were seated at the exact moment that Diana grabbed a water glass and poured it into Matt's lap as well as the car seat, and George was about to throw a fit about Mitch eating his french fry, so I jumped up and pulled George out of the establishment (again, a first for us.) Otherwise, the meal went smoothly, if I do say so myself. In fact, the booth behind us complimented us on our beautiful and well-behaved family. So, I guess I change my question, when will dining out with the whole family become an enjoyable experience for everyone?

When does the antagonizing stop? Haha. Ok, I am kidding about this one. Obviously, never. Still one of my favorite things to do to my siblings. And mom. And husband...

When can I leave them all home alone? Will that ever be a good idea?

When will they just do their homework? On their own? Without prompting?

When will they do their own laundry? Well, at this point, I'd just take them being able to get one shirt without unfolding and emptying their entire dresser drawer. I mean, damnit. That takes a lot of time and effort for clothes to get washed, sorted, folded and put away!!!!!!!!!! And. When will they stop stripping randomly throughout the day, creating more laundry than necessary? Will they ever stop tearing holes in the knees of their jeans? I don't anymore, so I guess it stops at some point.

When will I stop thinking they are so cute, that I want to squeeze them to death? Or stop wanting another one?

Will the questions ever end? I don't think I want them to...