Way TMI....seriously.

As most of you know, I have lots of kids. Half and half. Half boys, half girls. I mean each child is either a boy or a girl..and we have equal numbers of each. (Not that my kids are half boy/half girls....that would be creepy.)

In that mix of children, or should I say, on top of that mix, lie two teenagers.

(Drop to your knees and pray right now, would ya?)

So, here is where it gets tricky.

I am all up in their kool-aid. Literally. I like it that way. I like to know what kind of conversations they are having and with whom. I think it is my job. I think I need to know and watch and read and snoop. I have their passwords to their facebook pages and emails and I often do text-message interceptions and read their texts. (I've even been known to text their friends posing as my child...just to see what kind of response I get.)

(Sidenote: Let that be a lesson to all teens out there...if you are texting someone...never assume it is reaching your target audience and always assume that your friends' parents are reading...because they probably are!)

With that being said, let me tell you about a recent experience I had with my, uh-hem, teenage son. Who by all accounts is an upstanding, wonderful boy who helps with the family, mops the floors, cleans toilets, changes diapers and truly...TRULY...loves his baby brothers...and for now, tolerates his sisters. (I have accepted that tolerance may be all we get between siblings for a while.) This child of mine is respectful, most of the time, and usually always to anyone who doesn't live in our house. (Unless you are a Wal-mart employee...then all bets are off. Long story.)

So, imagine my surprise, when my sweet, respectful son was having a facebook "private" instant message conversation with a friend. They were talking about their plans over the weekend and were "bragging" about who had the hotter girlfriend. They were even scheming that they would tell me one thing and do another. (Duh...not the brightest bulbs in the box...I mean, hello...I read this stuff!!!) So, I had to confront my child. I had to tell him that I would absolutely take away privileges and all of his technology if he could not learn to be respectful of my rules and be honest with me. (The "scheme" had to do with going to see his girlfriend this weekend. Which I would never disallow...except under the circumstances...she was to be babysitting and he is not allowed over there!!) We had an even further conversation about how he was not only supposed to respect my rules, but the rules of other authority figures. And he was encouraged not to do anything that would get his girlfriend in trouble, especially if he cared about her.

And then I realized that he was 16. SIXTEEN! I remember how "deeply" I cared about my boyfriends at that age. How I really didn't care so much about whether any of us got in trouble...I just wanted to make out.

I know. Shocking. The Maid used to like to make out. And I was good at it. (And sure, I might be good at it again, if I could just tune out this dog barking, kid crying, washing machine dinging, dinner burning, tv blaring, and phone ringing life of mine.)

Despite my own experiences, I pulled up my big-girl panties (figuratively speaking of course) and snapped right back into my lecture. "You need to remember that this young lady is a member of our church and that you have a responsibility to God to respect her and her family. You need to make sure that you are above reproach and are always encouraging her to be honest." Blah Blah Blah.

I was even getting annoyed listening to myself.

Why? Because...I couldn't erase the thoughts from my brain of when I was sixteen. All I wanted to do was go to parties, and date, and make-out, and do wild and crazy things. (Let me clarify...I was not into drugs, and only drank on a couple of occasions before it was legal to do so, plus I was an honor student and I played the part.) So, how did I get here? How did I get to be so "parental?" It can be such a challenge to reconcile how I lived and what I did, with how I want my children to live. (And I wasn't even that bad!)

By my sons age however, I was kissing boys. And I mean "KISSING" boys...with a capital K, and maybe a little tongue. (I know...thus the blog post title..."TMI.")

Here I have this great boy...who hasn't even kissed a girl yet. (I know this because of how he spends his time and who he spends it with, plus we have a really open relationship for the most part. And, well, I want to believe that it is true.)

I got to thinking about how I need to let up on him again and let him find his own way. How I need to encourage him, but back off a bit. I mean, I've never really read or found anything all that disturbing in his texts or conversations.

Until last night. Sigh.

You just don't realize how hormonal and competitive and downright crass teenage boys can be until you have a voyeuristic look into a "private" conversation they are having. Let's just say that the two of them went on and on about who had the hotter girlfriend (normal) and how they had to wait a minute to finish their conversation because "I gotta p**s" (tacky...but probably normal for "I gotta go pee"...I mean how cool is that to say?) and then the shocker...
"Yeah, I'd hit that."

Excuse me? What did he just say?

My son's friend just told my son that a sweet young girl that they were talking to at church was good looking enough to "hit" that.

"Hit?" I mean we are not violent people.

And "that"...what does that mean? (Yes, I know, but I had to ask him.)

It went a little something like this:

Me: "Son, what exactly does "hit that" mean?"

Son: "You know."

Me: "No, why don't you tell me?"

Son: "Like you would do her."

Me: "Do her what? Her nails?"

Son: (laughing) "No"

Me: "Well, I'm sure you don't mean THAT...as in IT."

Son: "We were just messin around mom."

Me: "I should hope so. We just don't hit. Or do THAT. You hear me?"

Son: (still laughing) "Yeah."

Me: "Wait a minute...what is this comment...where your friend says hit it and forget it?"

Son: (rolling eyes) "Mooommmm" (In an annoyed whine.)

Me: "No, really. What does that mean?"

Son: "That you would go out with her and kiss her and stuff, but not really date her."

Me: "AND STUFF?"

Son: "Yeah."

Me: (Shrinking in my chair.) "So, I suppose the whole respect women conversation went out the window...and you are just a skirt chaser now?"

Son: "I didn't say it, _____ did."

Me: "But that is YOUR friend and you had the conversation and went along with it."

Son: "He's a nice kid, we were just playin' around."

Me: "That's what I'm afraid of. Playin' around."

Son: "Mom, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I like (so and so) and she likes me and I only want to date her right now. Don't worry."

Me: (Tossing back two Tylenol) "Okay. Clean it up. You don't want any other parents to read this stuff."

Son: "Aight."

(Yes...he said..."aight" Not alright, which would be proper and mature, but he went with the more socially acceptable gangster (excuse me...gangsta) version and said "aight.")

(I don't remember living in Compton...although I do remember a brief NWA music fetish. In highschool. And maybe my first year of college. But that was long before my son was in-utero. Do you think my eggs were affected by that?)

When did my sweet little boy turn into a saggy-jeaned, skater shoe wearing, horror movie watching, and babe-bagging "gangsta?"

I mean it was just yesterday that I was making out with the 80's version of that.

Now...if all of that wasn't too much information, you should know that my 13 year old daughter announced to me this week that she became a woman (yep...aunt flow...poor baby) and that her girl parts are lopsided.

I know. If I could just find that flux capacitor I would travel back to a simpler time. It was so much easier to be the teenager than to raise them.

Sleep well, blog world. And remember, today's teenagers are tomorrows "Maids and Butlers." Sigh.

The Completely Over-informed Maid