How DO you do it?

Today I am extremely tired. Be it from the constant laughter over the weekend or the incessant jogging to the bathroom due to the excess fiber my mother was shoving down my throat, I’m not sure, but I really need to lie down.

There, much better.

Time with my family this weekend was glorious. (And exhausting, but mostly glorious). I have seven nieces and nephews, four of which I was able to spend time with this Friday through Monday, and it’s super fun to go from having changed their diapers at one point to be able to talk to them about more adult topics…like sex!

We have a strange relationship with sex in our family. Which is to say our parents never spoke of it and I think hoped that by their NOT mentioning it, we would never find out that it existed as an activity. When my brother finally got up the nerve to ask where babies came from (with excessive prodding from me), we were told to hush and the next day found a strategically placed book called “Where You Came From” in the playroom. The book, while I’m sure informative, was also well beyond our years intellectually. We poured over the illustrations and jargon and finally gave up, which is what I think my mom had hoped for. It was all too complicated and playing outside was more important than solving the complex issue of procreation. Plus, the detailed drawings of the reproductive organs were just creepy.

One day in high school, when I HAD figured out sex and was disgusted at the thought of my parents ever having had it, mom decided that it was time to have “the talk.” And this is how it went…

We were standing in the kitchen, making dinner. I was in charge of making the salad, and somewhere in between chopping the bell peppers and grating the carrots my mom let out this little gem:

“Jen, men like to have a lot of sex. And I mean a LOT. So be prepared.”

I remember, standing at the sink, completely traumatized, thinking “Sweet GOD, what do I do with THAT information?” followed by “PLEASE don’t let her go into greater detail because I’ll have to put my hand into the running disposal as a distraction.”

And that was it.

Still, in 32 years, that is the ONLY time she has ever said the word “sex” to me.

The second time sex was ever mentioned was years later. I had taken my mom on a mother/daughter trip to Napa. We were staying in a lovely little B&B in Calistoga. Mom was occupying the bedroom while I was on a cot in the living room. Our first morning, I went in to wake her up and found her sitting in bed, hair standing straight on end (she has the BEST bed head) and a look of complete distress on her face. I asked her what was wrong, and in a stage whisper, lest anyone should hear her she said:

“WELL, the couple overhead was VERY much in love, ALL NIGHT LONG. They had BETTER be married!”

The NERVE that people should be having sex RIGHT ABOVE HER was just all too much. I think she might have had a mimosa with breakfast that morning, just to brace herself against the memory.

And so this weekend, I brought up both stories over margaritas and my mother at first protested wildly – she would never talk of such things! But she finally admitted to both, and then added, “You know, I remember that couple now. They were LOUD. Can’t people have some decorum when they’re doing such a thing? I know - maybe he wasn’t doing it the right way!”

Which is when I cut her off from the margarita pitcher. Really.