Thursday, November 13, 2008

Give Me a "HUH"???

Last weekend my dear little girls glammed up in sparkles and spandex to compete in a cheer competition. It was quite fun. The girls did well. However, I don't think that up until that point I realized how horrific a southern accent can sound when screamed at the top of little girls' lungs. (The letter "I" is pronounced "A," totally ruining the word they are trying to spell.)

After each group competed, they were given a complimentary "goody" bag from some of the competition sponsors. My girls were thrilled to get the pink, draw-string bag, and tore it open with untempered enthusiasm.

My youngest, Amy, looked up at me with complete shock and dismay. "Mommy, they gave me a shaver!" She reported, holding up a packaged razor.

"And foamy shaver stuff, too!" my older , Emma, reported, waiving it madly in front of my face.

"Oh my. Well, I guess that is really meant for some of the older girls competing," I said while I calmly stuffed the offending merchandise far down into the recesses of our gym bag.

If only it had stopped there...

That night when we got home, the girls were putting away all of their "stuff" from the competition. Suddenly two little girls came to my room with very confused looks holding two boxes of tampons.

"What are these?" the elder asked.

"Where did you get them?" I asked, standing like a deer caught in headlights.

"They were in our pink bags," Emma replied.

"What are they for?" the younger asked.

"They're just something for mommies," I hedged while I snagged the boxes and looked helplessly for someplace to make them disappear.

"What do you do with them?" Amy pressed.

"Well, they're just something that grown up ladies use sometimes in the bathroom," I was dancing like mad.

"Like what?" Emma pushed.

"Oh, just... big girl... stuff..." I said, running out of steam.

"Will we have to use them someday?" Amy asked.


"How do you use them?" Emma looked up at me with her big brown eyes.

I was mentally socking the snot out of the marketing genius that put these handy cheer bags together to promote their products. I'm sure they had no idea that girls as young as three were receiving these "complimentary samples." But at that moment I wanted nothing more than to tar and feather them anyway.

"Well, maybe we should talk about this later," I tried.

"Why?" Amy asked.

Never have my children been so inquisitive about broccoli or how to clean a toilet or how the stock market works. But at that moment, they were completely obsessive/compulsive about the

"All New Comfort Plastic Glide Applicators" and the promise of "Super Absorbency- No Leaks Guaranteed." My only saving grace was that my son was nowhere around.


"When she says that, it means she thinks we're too young," Emma offered to her sister.

"I'm not a baby, mom!" Amy was offended.

"I know. Uhm, it's just that, well..."

I have always kept a strict policy that I tell my kids the truth in a way that is most age appropriate. I had been able to stay off this subject for years with a simple, nondescript explanation, and then a super-quick change of subject.

It was painfully obvious that my luck had run out.

So I began a very watered-down version of an explanation, which, of course, led to more questions. Until, finally, we had a mini "birds and bees" talk, which left me in knots and the girls with their faces scrunched up into an expression that plainly said, "GROSS!"
Hubby came in about that time and, naturally, asked what was going on. I could only reply with,

"Oh, you know. Cheer stuff."

He seemed satisfied to go with that answer and continued his trip through the room.
Finally, Amy broke the deafening silence by holding the box between her finger and thumb, as though she were holding a live spider by the leg, and saying, "Here. I don't think I'll need these for a while."

That made Emma laugh, and me choke, then laugh.

"So, do you have any other questions?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Amy said, hands on hips.

I held my breath.

"Why did they give those to us?" she demanded.

"I don't know," I said, feeling defeated.

"Well, they're stupid," Amy proclaimed.

"Yes. Yes, they are," I agreed.

Amy and Emma left the room and I plopped down on my bed. I can only imagine what the next competition will bring...

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