Let's talk about sex...

... Psych! Just kidding. I'm not going to talk to you about sex. But in lieu of my son's upcoming Maturation Program (which I will attend with him), I feel I just need to express a few things. Mainly, how unreasonably excited I am for this event!
   Now you're thinking, "Wow, this must be what it's like to find out someone you know is a child molester. I understand now why everyone always says 'I never would have expected it!'" But before you go calling Child Protective Services on me and whatnot, allow me to explain myself.
   My excitement is not based on the fact that there will be much talk about the anatomy and physiology of a male's and female's bodies. My excitement comes from knowing that I have been handed the golden ticket to escort my son and all the boys in his 5th grade class to Major-Embarrassmentville. How could I, with the sense of humor that I have been graced (cursed?) with, pass up an opportunity like this? I'm already getting to work on the material that I will hiss out anonymously as different topics are brought up and different slides are shown. In a couple of days, I'll begin practicing in front of the mirror to hone my nonchalance and my "innocent" face. This elementary will never know what hit them. I can not wait!!!
  I am prompted to share an experience I had with The Boy today as he came home with his permission slip, allowing him to attend said program. Of course, he seemed embarrassed by the idea of the whole thing. I explained to him that there is no reason to be embarrassed, that this little presentation is only there to help educate him about the changes that his body and the bodies of his peers will make as they grow up. I went on to stress the importance of understanding what his body will be going through, that it will help him to not feel so stressed, uncomfortable, or strange when puberty decides to rear its ugly head.
   We try not to shy around the appropriate names of body parts in this house. Husband and I feel that too many people are embarrassed or ashamed to use words like "testicles", "breasts", "penis", etc., in situations where these terms are necessary -- however, this doesn't mean that these words don't make us giggle sometimes. If that's wrong, then I don't want to be right. Anyway, this is how we've tried to raise The Boy. So when he asked me, "Um, why is it that women have breasts?" I wasn't shocked or surprised. I answered like so, "Well, a woman is the one who can become pregnant and have a baby. Breasts are used to make milk, which will feed the baby. That's about all they do."
  If you know children, you know that their minds move very rapidly. By the end of my answer, The Boy's mind had moved on to think I was referring to women now, not just breasts. He immediately says, "That's not true! They make dinner, they clean the house, they do all sorts of things!"
  Imagine my confusion as I stated, "What?! Breasts don't make dinner!!"
  We shared a look, and then The Boy said, "Well, they do for babies!"
 
   Ah, this is what being a parent is all about.

Janitorium

   In light of recent events (ahem, completely bogus furlough that will affect hundreds of thousands of hardworking Americans, my husband included), I have taken on a second job to help ensure that our family will not be hit as hard. As you already know -- and if you don't already know, read a few posts I've already written before continuing this one -- I am a lunch lady at a junior high school. It isn't a flashy or glamorous position, but I dearly love it. Even less glamorous is my new second job. That's right, ladies and gents: I am know a substitute janitor at the same junior high.

   As a lunch lady, it has been very easy for me to enjoy the company of most of the students I encounter (a very select few brats are exempt from this, of course). I have the privilege of conversing and joking with them, sneaking them extras, and brightening their days. I find this work quite fulfilling.

   As a janitor, it is a different story. Today was only my second day of work, and already I find myself asking "How in the world am I ever going to face these children again, knowing what I know now?" I feel like a child who has just spotted the mall Santa Claus smoking a joint behind the building with his beard pulled  way down and his jolly red coat opened to reveal a food-stained wife beater underneath. I wish I could go back to my blissful cafeteria-isolated ignorance, but that moldy log has been lifted, and the nasty creatures living in the rot have reared their ugly heads.

   Perhaps I'm over-reacting -- I've been known to do that, on occasion. But as I write this, I feel different, changed somehow. Maybe cleaning out the filthy locker rooms of teenagers can do that to a person. Perhaps scrubbing every urinal and toilet in the building has jaded me. I told myself that as the evening went on, I would become more used to the circumstances, that it wasn't so bad, after all -- but in fact, that was not the case. As I first extracted a Twix wrapper that had clogged up a toilet bowl, I thought to myself, "I hope I never learn who did this. I could never serve this child lunch again, and certainly not with a smile on my face and something nice to say." As I plucked no less than six wads of chewed gum from the drain of a drinking fountain later on, I couldn't help but think, "All right, here are six less children that I'd slip something extra to out of the goodness of my heart."  As time wore on, my thoughts became more and more colorful, and less and less did I keep these thoughts inside. Eventually, as I scrubbed a wall that some boy had deemed more appropriate to relieve himself on than the nearby urinal, I verbalized the following:  "All right, you little s**t, if I ever find out who you are, I will personally see to it that anything you consume from this school's cafeteria will contain a big, juicy lougie, made fresh especially for you."

   When my shift was over, arms violently scrubbed clean and the smell of human waste nearly cleared from my nostrils, I knew that some naiive part of me had died a horrible and tragic death in the last three hours. I had seen the hideous underside of the youth at this school. I had seen their filth, both literally and figuratively, and I could not unsee these things. I am not the same person I was this morning. I have learned very important lessons, some of which I feel compelled to share with you so that you may learn from my mistakes. Please take these to heart:

-one must remember to bring one's own elbow-length rubber gloves to occupations of this sort, as there is no guarantee that such gloves will be provided otherwise

-one must ALWAYS turn one's face away when flushing a toilet, regardless of one's proximity to said toilet, lest one's face become splashed with offensive toilet water

-one must NEVER forget to remove soiled cleaning gloves before scratching an itch, especially if said itch occurs on or near the face

-one must avoid inhaling nasally while one is in a restroom, whether or not a door or window is open while one is in said room. This rule applies to the restrooms of males and females alike, the former usually quite pungent with the odors of urine, whilst menstruation is the predominant odor in the latter

-one must remember to squint one's eyes while in close proximity to an uncleaned toilet or urinal, as the aforementioned odors may have a tendency to sting the eyes and cause unwanted tear production. One must keep one's vision as clear as possible so as to avoid all possible unnecessary contact with the previously mentioned waste receptacles

   As I pause whilst composing this post to reapply hand sanitizer for the umpteenth time, I recognize this opportunity to learn and to grow. I know more about my young associates, much more than I ever wished to know, and now I must learn how to live with this knowledge and continue my life. Will this be a challenge? Most certainly. But I can rise to this challenge, just as the fecal matter rises from a plugged drain. This children will not stop me from helping to support my family. I am no quitter. I will set my mind on my goal, and I will achieve it, come what may.

   I do believe that I will never enjoy lemonade or Twix again. But sacrifices must be made! I'll be sure to reiterate that sentiment to my husband and son, come chore-time. They can clean these damn toilets themselves.