The birds and the bees and bugcatchers

The other day my sister-in-law was in town, visiting from Las Vegas. I babysat my niece and nephew while my sis-in law took one of her sons for a special outing that’s become a tradition in their family. She took him to Temple Square for lunch and a talk about eternal families and the birds and the bees. (I love this picture they took of themselves from the Joseph Smith Memorial Building.)

This made me think about my own plans for this chat, what with Sage having what seems like a preliminary round of PMS in her little dramatic 5-year-old life. I remember my own special chat with my mom (or at least the first round) came after I posed some awkward questions during a scripture time on Mary’s becoming pregnant with baby Jesus.

As for our family, we have been avoiding scripture topics like "Mary's conception" since I have no specific ideas about how to carry out this “Mother Nature” chat. Except that maybe I already have…rather poorly.

Earlier this month my kids were playing with a neighbor girl and we passed two box elder bugs that were, um, “stuck together.” The neighbor girl piped up, “My mom says that when two box elder bugs are stuck together, that means they’re married.” As I considered this, I was surprised to hear Sage’s quick reply. “My mom said that when two box elder bugs are stuck together, that means they’re having a baby.”

I cringed, not knowing exactly how to amend the lesson Sage had so carefully committed to memory. I do not remember ever saying that. Except, apparently I did. Nice work, self. Way to think through that one carefully.

And, speaking of the birds and the bees, last week at a nice park, Sage and her box elder bug friend spent an hour collecting treasures in a little bug catcher. When it was time to go, I noticed Sage waving around a shiny package that turned out to be a condom wrapper. It wasn’t until a mile down the road that I thought to inspect the contents of the bug catcher (what with the shiny package being empty and all). My heart sank when I peered into the little cage and noticed there were, not one, but two used condoms inside the bug catcher. Red ones.

The cup of hand sanitizer (or “hanitizer” as Eliza calls it) that I emptied onto each girl’s outstretched hands was not enough to dull the stomach ache I got as I thought with revulsion about not just the lack of manners, but also the casualness of too many people today. Just last week I read an article in the paper about a new sex-ed pamphlet in the U.K. that promotes casual sex and includes a section called “An Orgasm a Day.” The world wants to teach my daughters that adventure is a package of red condoms and a midnight stint in the park with a boyfriend, and that happiness can somehow be found in unchaste behavior.

My kids are growing up in a world where they WILL learn about the birds and bees at a young age, whether I like it or not. And since that’s not a subject I’d like to leave to the maturation or sex-ed teacher’s discretion, or to their friends, and CERTAINLY not to Hollywood, I need to make sure that they learn about it from me.

Although I may have handled the box elder bug conversation awkwardly, at least my girls will learn about the birds and the bees and eternal families (and maybe what they found in their bugcatcher) from someone who loves them to death. Someone who can (and will) promise that they were welcomed with joy to a family that wanted them. Someone who would give anything for them to find true happiness.

Temple Square sure seems like a good place to begin.

Deja vu

Do you ever feel like you're just repeating exactly what happened two and a half years ago? Just maybe with different colored bathroom tile?



And then there's other times when you think, "How could this possibly have happened at all?"

For example:

Eliza climbed on the table and stepped into a warm candle. On purpose.


Sage getting gussied up.


One of Provo's patriotic parades last year. They were singing "Three cheers for the red, white and blue."


I found this picture on our camera. Photographer and perpetrator: Sage. Way to incriminate yourself.


Sometimes it's not enough to just wear a Mardi Gras mask in the middle of July.

I guess this just proves that it's bound to be a very repetitive and very interesting next two and a half years.

Birthday squared

Since Sage and Eliza's birthdays are so close, we decide to kill the fatted calf. In other words, we forked out money for Kangaroo Zoo (aka overpriced, over-germed kiddie heaven).


Lily enjoying a snuggly moment on what was probably the orange inflatable equivalent of a petri dish.

Eliza jumped on this dinosaur, and two other kids climbed on with her. They had never met, but they all enjoyed shifting their weight, which made one of the trio dip down suddenly. Why don't adults make friends that quickly? Maybe if there were more adult-sized purple inflatable brontosauruses we would.

I poked my head into the frozen yogurt store next door to get directions home and felt so bad for the nice old gentleman that owned the empty place that we unpacked the girls and brought them in for a treat at the SELF-SERVE bar (aka bar of happiness).
I had to rescind the "self-serve" invitation when Eliza decided she needed an entire pound of gummi worms on her frozen yogurt. I also had to rescind some of my sympathy for the owner when he said business had been good all winter long, and then proceded to charge the near equivalent of Kangaroo Zoo highway robbery for our pile of frozen gummi products. When we got in the car I realized that I had really dropped the ball on all my college math training when I failed to calculate what "39 cents per ounce" really meant. It means that we paid $6.24/lb for circus animal cookies, white chocolate chips and gummi worms, that's what.

Later we made Eliza a really lovely birthday cake. Lovely, according to our newly 3 year old means pink, hearts and M+Ms. She showed her approval by digging in for a taste test long before dessert time.

The next day we had a tea party birthday bash for Sage and Eliza. (They wanted a princess party, but I just couldn't do it.) My neighbor loaned me all sorts of beautiful table decor, and we set up a fancy tea party/lunch on the front lawn.
Here's Eliza after she served herself a pile of about 20 lemon drops (before tasting one).

You would not believe how much better cheese tastes when it's painstakingly cut into star shapes.
What's a of party without a bunch of olives? Because we are just classy like that!
Mark made a neat 4-layer cake for the girls.
If the truth be known, I deserve at least most of the credit for the fact that it was 4 layers. I wanted a thin sheet cake, so I mixed up what I thought was half the package and cooked it. The result truly deserved to be called a "sheet" cake because it was as thin as a pancake. After a little improv and another "half" of a cake mix, it ended up with four layers.

And lest you think I'm rambling about a cake, and who cares anyway, the answer is, you're right. Eliza did not care. She did not eat one piece of her birthday cake. She was too busy smearing herself in her new present--a makeup kit. I'm not sure if she's trying to keep her lipstick from smearing in the picture below, or if she was just irritated that I made her stop beautifying herself for a ten second photo shoot. I wonder if pink is really her color, though.


And this little girl played in the grass (in her PJs) during the entire party. And for the record, I'm not sure if that pink forehead is from Eliza's makeup kit, or a little nose dive. I was busy snitching olives and cheese stars.