Ramble-ramble-ramble-nonsense-and-shit

Tick season has started over here. I need to get some anti-tick drops for Marianne (They don't make tick collars for St Bernards - at least my vet don't have any) I also need to get an appointment for X-rays and the 1-year-old check up for her. She'll be 1 year May 21st. w00t!





Marianne has been inventive() this week(read: Runar forgot to watch her) She managed to persuade Runar(read: she looked up at Runar and waggled her tail happily as normal dogs do) to take her to work with him. He had a meeting at his partners' shop and guess what she found? A whole mound of finely ground graphite - you know, the stuff pensils are made of  - and she gave herself a graphite bath.

Runar called home and warned me and told me to rig up the hose to give her a bath on the patio, because the black dust monster wasn't safe near anyone, or anything. Only thing is that the extra piece needed to hook the hose to our shower, had disappeared during winter(read: I'm afraid I threw it in the garbage during one of my frantic cleaning-out-the-damned-shed modes). It was either ice-cold water from the outdoor tap, or we'd have to get her into the shower. We chose the shower, because it's still cold enough that an outdoor shower in cold water would probably give her a serious cold. She's fine swimming in the lake, or sea, because her fur is such that it insulates from water getting all the way down to her skin, but as soon as you add soap/shampoo, that protection vanishes and they get wet and cold as us furless two-legged beings.

We barely got her into the shower. Runar pulled and I pushed and then forced the shower door closed. I had to hold the door closed during the entire shower ordeal, because Marianne tried to gnaw her way out.

I iz sowy










The shower got more than half of the graphite dust off her, but not all, so Runar volunteered(read: I was thiis |~| close to strangle the man to death) to take her down to the lake and get her to take a long swim. It didn't really help, but it gave me time enough to clean the dust off everything she touched on her way to the shower and to cool down a bit, so as not to stand ready with a cleaver when man got back. I don't think it did much good with the swim. She still has grey-ish spots here and there and it's been 2 days, 1 shower and 3 baths since she dove into the mound. At least it doesn't smear off onto everything else, anymore.

Helene ended up in the ER, yesterday. They suspected appendicitis and kept her over night, but her CRP levels was much better today and the pain was almost gone as well, so they let her home today. She got a note giving her immediate access to a hospital bed if she gets worse during the first 24 hours.

Runar has a minor repair job to do in Stavanger tomorrow, so I'm hitching a ride with him and will spend the day with her. I just have to see with my own eyes, that she looks okay.

 (yes, I admit I'm as hysterical as any other mom when it comes down to these things). I embarrassed the heck out of her. She gave me a text saying she was on her way to the hospital and that it was possible it was appendicitis, but that I couldn't call as she was out of power on her cell. Of course I called the hospital and got them to track her down and give her a hospital phone so I could talk to her. Duh! It's what moms do under such circumstances. Actually I was ready to steal a car and start driving, but Runar managed to persuade me otherwise.

It's funny, I've never viewed myself as a hysterical mom, but when things like this happens, the infamous mother-monster in me wakes up and roars. Loudly.




Messages like "I'm quite fine, you don't need to come". translates into "Oh, my god, I'm dying, you have to come. Right now!"  It's the same with messages like "I didn't do anything wrong, but..." They translates into "I've committed a terrible crime and will be locked up in prison for life" (When Simen calls and begins his sentences like this while out doing his russe shenanigans and has run out of money and needs help to get home.) I automatically interrupt him mid sentence and  half yell, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, NOW?!?"




Also, I have sadly reached the point where I have to start dieting. *pout* Damn 40+ Things really starts going downhill fast after 40. My mind tells me I'm still quick and flexible. My body shouts otherwise. And fuck! Kilos shows up in thin air and clings to my body for life. I expect to gain weight during the worst of the winter months, because I  take shorter and fewer walks and no hikes in the wood. I've done that every winter the last few years, but earlier, those extra kilos have vanished quickly enough when spring comes and I start hiking again. Not this year. *pout*

Okay, I still don't do dieting for realz, because my dieting consists of eating whole grain breads of various kinds and no chocolate or candy snacking. I still have a ton of butter on those whole grain thingies and I still eat normal dinners as always. Meh.

I have plans on starting doing yoga, but I still haven't found a youtube yoga session that I like. It's probably more a case of me  just not knowing what to look for. Halp, plz?


Oh, OOOOOHHHH! Guess what? Those pesky cottage neighbors actually PAID!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAH!

Uhm...it doesn't really give us any extra money to use on fun stuff, to be honest. We're in the minus after a winter of little, to no paycheck, so what it means is that we get to keep both our house and Vintland and escape bankruptcy. We are fit to keep on hanging in there.   HIPfuckingHURRAY!

I'm desperately trying to de-frost my freezer. I've got one of those combi fridge/freezer thingies. It is supposed to! be of the type that does these things automatically. After enough years and after enough incidents of forgetting to shut the door properly, the automatic-get-rid-of-excess-ice function, doesn't function. Ice was threatening to take over the whole thing.

I have a regular old fashion freezer too, so I moved all of the frozen wares into that and let the door open yesterday morning. The idiotic thing with these fancy automatic thawing wonder machines, is that when you actually have to do it manually, there is no way of turning off the power  for the freezer only. Options are spoiled food in the fridge, or thawing out the ice by leaving the freezer door open.

After 24 hours of open door thawing, the ice has been reduced by NOTHING!


Like this times 9.












Naturally, I've now done what is said you should not do. Ever. I've put a heating fan right outside the freezer door and it is working excellently. So there!
At least it hasn't started any fires...yet.  Patience issues much?!?

Since it's almost Friday I wish you a fantabulous weekend, guys!

I have a dream.

I've been out with Marianne 4 times tonight. Then an extra time with Georg. We finished the paintjob on the patio(not sure what it is called, really, it's a wooden veranda at ground level with 7 ft windbreaks around 2 of the sides) and I had to keep Marianne upstairs. We keep her in our bedroom(on the floor only, yes I am a hard woman in these matters) with the garden door open. It works brilliantly and we have never experienced more than one accident, when she peed on Georg's blankie the first night). We are going to keep at it for as long as we can stand it – seeing that temps already drops to 10 C, that might get difficult in a month or two.

I'm too tired to write, really, but it is always then! I get creative and have fun writing.

I dream of a new sofa up at Vintland. The old one we have now, is a sofa that lived his late years down at my parents' old house. They got him from their elderly neighbours who were getting a new one. Let's call him Truls. Truls is living his AFTERLIFE with us up there. I swear you can feel the strain of every pair of bollocks that has put their imprint on this poor ugly thing. 

By now I bet half the stuffing left is doghairs. And he IS hideous. It is exactly the kind of sofa a dog would love. Georg loves it. I'm prepared to bring the ugly corpse home to Mandal and let my house be his mausuleum, as long as I get a new sofa in the cottage. It will mean no dining table, but faaak! 

I want one more like this

I want a soft sofa with high backing so bad. It's just that, even though I generally don't want the dogs in the furniture at home, Vintland isn't home. It's our haven. It's been Georg's haven. It was Marianne's first home and her haven. It should continue to be so. There is absolutely no way I could ever deny Georg climbing up on our lap on the three-seater. No. Fucking Way! I don't want to, either. I love having a monster of a laptog drooling all over me. I know it sounds insane and I know I am a walking contradiction of terms, but there you have it. It's just how I am knitted together. (I don't think we should try to understand me, it will give you headaches, believe me, I've tried for years. ...bad headaches)

I like a clean house, but I also like a house you would immediately feel comfty in. I think most people actually do. Visitors rarely sit in our sofas, they slouch in our sofas. I do have a very relaxed relationship with mess. I can let it flood my table and not care one bit. And then BAM! it's enough and I can't STAND IT ANYMORE! And I race around speed-cleaning like I'm the energizer bunny in those old commercials, before I collapse back like a sack of potatoes, again, taking part of the conversation, watch TV, whatever. 

Mental much?!? 

I've given up a bit on the floors. I vaccuum on average 3, or times a week. Depending on weather. I wash them once, or twice. I don't think I have had a house where doghairs aren't floating around in the air, behind and under furniture, in the corners, behind doors, you name it! since we got Doris 18 years ago. I don't allow babies on the floor unless I bring up a clean blanket for them to lie on. 

We kept Simen in a crib the first months of his life. They would have eaten each other up. Literally. Their language as babies was synonymous with mouth. It was disgusting. By the time he was 6 months, I was like; Meh! Eat each other and share food for all I care, we've all got the same shite anyhew! It may have had to do a little with Simen having had the whooping caugh and wasn't healed until then and I had suffered 6 months on very little sleep. 

My mother was ready to throw the child service peeps down my throat. “ELI!” That kid isn't going to talk when he turns 1, he'll bark! Are you aware of that?!?” 

He didn't. He did pant as one to get Doris' attention when she walked into the room. It was hilarious. And a little creepy. They were the best of friends who helped each other do mischief on a daily basis until they were 3 years old. 

When he started school and came home to an empty house, he had to open the door while hiding behind it. He said it was because Doris would be standing waiting and jumped out the door in such excited joy she ran down whomever(whoever? No, that doesn't sound right) was standing there. 

I think she made Helene feel safe too. She was very protective. In a happy whimsical way.

Simen has told me that he never felt like he was coming home to an empty house. “Because Doris is there, of course, mom.” He used to exclaim with a tired-of-life look that did so not fit his age, whenever I asked him if he ever felt alone as a kid. Hey, I'm a mom, all working moms will enter the pit of guilt a time or millions!

Oy, I'm rambling. Why didn't any of you stop me?

What I really meant to say is I need your help.

I need some advice. I want to make a sheet cover of sky leather, or something similar and just as easily cleaned, type of sheet cover. Problem is, I have no idea how to make one. Have any of you guys done this? Seen it done? Know a good site?

I can't afford it yet, but that doesn't mean I can't make plans. [satisfied evil low cackle] I am totally going to manipulate hubby into agreeing to this. 

Oh, yeees.




PS! Helene and her boyfriend came home for the weekend. It was also the weekend of the annual sea food festival. The 3 of us walked to town and ate lunch. I had the best sea food soup and fresh baked bread I have had in a year. It was heavenly, I tell yahs! Simen stayed home with Marianne, because he was going out with friends later and didn't mind staying behind. It was a nice weekend. I think the boyfriend at least didn't hate it, even though he suffered terribly from his allergies. Thankfully there has not been dogs in their bedroom and he was able to seek refuge there when it got bad.

PPS! Oh, and Marianne is well again. No more UTI.

*Whoosh* - the sound of yet another week flying by

It's been an eventful week.. The kind of week that doesn't abide well with me. The cold temps and then this last week with temps going below and above freezing, rain, sleet and snow alternately is wreaking havoc with my fibro and arthritis. I have to admit that in those periods I don't handle stress very well. Not. At. All.

I followed my mother to the doctor earlier this week. They've reached that age where the line between child and parent remains, but where the roles are swapped.

Turns out they had forgotten to give her the prescription on blood thinners, she was supposed to have started on last year. I also mentioned to her doctor about the pressure she's feeling around her chest when she's doing physical work - like shoveling snow. (They shouldn't be doing these things, but they insist on clearing the steps on their own) She, herself, had completely forgotten to mention this,  because she didn't think it was important. My dad, thankfully, remembered to mention it right before we left the house. The doctor found it important enough to put her up for a thorough check at the hospital.

My dad was hospitalized this week. Atrial fibrillation and liquid in his lungs. He's been put on diuretics, which they hope will remove it, or at least reduce it. He's coming home today.

It's tough to watch them grow older and weaker. Even though I knew this would happen and I've observed grandparents growing old and how our parents had to care for them, I wasn't prepared. I'm not sure you can be fully prepared for these things.

How to offer them help without compromising their integrity and pride. How to suggest necessary steps to ensure their safety without insulting them. How to persuade them to accept that there are things they can no longer do themselves. How to do all this without ending up a slave to all their whims and impulsive ideas. How to avoid getting frustrated and annoyed at them 'nagging' on you all the time.

They don't nag on me all the time, but I still get frustrated and annoyed. I'm just not a good enough person to avoid the groan when the landline rings and I know it's my mom, because my phone number is the only number she remembers and there are only two persons in the whole world who ever calls me on the landline. And no, I don't have the heart to drop the landline, even though it is expensive, because that IS the only number my mother remembers. I'm not THAT bad a person, either, and if there is an emergency she needs to get hold of someone, like when my dad was hospitalized.

There may be permanent nerve damage on Simen's teeth. He's up for further checks next week. For now, he's surviving on soft foodz only. Recipe suggestions are much appreciated.

I've started on Vater's Yoda-hat. Whee!

Culture

There is a debate about culture going on up here these days. Our Prime Minister chose Hadia Tajik of Pakistani descent as Minister of culture. I personally think she'll do as good a job as the previous Ministers of culture, but there are also those who firmly believe the opposite.

The world is so full of hate and disgusting inhumane behaviour these days it's depressing. When did we all so completely conform into this type of negative hateful culture? It is scaring the living daylight out of me. I don't think you can pinpoint one single country or any specific single area of the world, I think i's universal and it isn't healthy for anyone.

Culture is important to most people. Culture is a way of defining who we are. Some people feel very strongly for theirs. Culture is usually a good thing, but it isn't all good.

 The culture of cutting off part of a girl's clitoris and sewing up her vagina is not a positive, or healthy culture. That doesn't mean that the culture of an entire nation is bad, just that this particular one is. Most people around the world agree on this. The culture that nurtures young male athletes into thinking they are so above others they can "do what they like, when they like it" culture is another example of culture gone bad. We've all read about the poor young woman who was drugged and gangraped in Ohio. The culture that enables men to gang up on a woman and abuse her to death, like they did in India is yet another example. The culture that enables others to spread hate and provoke someone of committing suicide because they don't look "the right way", or because they're gay. The list goes on and none of it is good.

A journalist who writes for the tabloid, Nina Witosze, wrote her thoughts around Norwegian culture and about the culture debate going on in an article today. She immigrated from Poland in the 80s and at first had issues with finding any Norwegian culture at all. She spent some years dedicated to finding it out. It resulted in 10 things that frustrated and provoked her. She  then wrote that these provocative things is why Norway is "the best place in the world". 

I don't think Norway is the best place in the world to live, by far. That is just a point of view and also beside the point. I was fascinated by her 10 provoking and annoying straits about Norwegians. I translated her list: 

 

1) A strong, priestly, evangelistic tradition with the idea of goodness on the flag. «I want to die believing that the others are good.» (The Norwegian author)Bjørnson sang. 

2) A disappointingly little romantic view of the world, based on pragmatism and a rock-steady belief on sensibilitiy. 

3) A great trust in the government, quite unbelievable for a skeptic Polak or an Italian.

4) A genuine egalitarian drive which often leads to glorification of unapatizing medeocrity. 

5) An obbsession of telling the truth, annoying for those who come from countries where lying is a way of survival. 

6) An idea that freedom is something that comes from within, not from an external power of an oppressor and protector. 

7) A tradition for «dugnad»(This is a Norwegian word for a thing that is uncommon in all other parts of the world. It means Unpaid voluntary, orchestrated community work. For instance; Norwegians tidy and clean their neighbourhoods every year, for free, local authorities usually provides equipment like trash container and plastic bags,etc)  that came as a shock, because it's not forced and sponanous. 

8) A stubborn search for consesus rather than confrontation. 

9) An «Erotic patriotism of nature» - that I have never before seen. 

10) A strong belief in Norwegian good luck and that Norway is best. 

She's earned a storm of negative, racist and stupid comments for this article and her list. I think it's brilliant. I think she hit it spot on, whether we like it or not. I am guilty of being a mediocre Norwegian with a world view as romantic as a granite rock, who can be brutally honest, trust in my government and a firm believer in good ole common sense, who in addition is spoiled rotten enough to actually believe that freedom comes from within.

Perhaps it is time we all sit down and look into our own cultural set of beliefs and values. What are we teaching our children? What type of men and woman do we want them to grow up to be? How do we talk about those who are a little different around young adults and children? I'm just asking, because hey, this negative culture didn't spawn out of thin nothing. I wish that instead of looking for a scapegoat to blame, we'd stop and think and then ask ourselves; What can I do to stop this trend?  

It's just so depressing. and I know I'm being unrealistically romantic in thinking we can change things to the better, but you have to start somewhere, right? And you have to believe it can get better, or it certainly won't ever get better at all.

Drugs

A friend invited me to one of those home parties last week. I hate all of those, but since I hadn't seen her in almost a year, I thought this was a good opportunity to get to see her and get an update on what was going on in her life. She's had health issues, some of them similar to mine and she's got a son the same age as Simen.

We used to hang out a lot a few years ago when both our sons and we practiced karate. She lived on a mountain farm and Simen loved to stay there during weekends. When I had to quit karate and Simen chose soccer practice above karate practice, we sort of lost contact, because of them living an hour away and the boys belonging to different school areas.

The home party was just as annoyingly boring as they always are, but it was nice getting to meet her and her grown up daughters, that I hadn't seen for a while. They were all doing well. The party was ending and I was getting ready to leave, when she subtlety asked me to stay behind for a bit. It was already late, but I figured there was something she needed to talk to me about, so I waited. What she told me was so shocking and depressing, I am still out of sorts.

Her son got into drugs and dropped out of school. He's been dealing and stealing with some of the worst scum in town. Naturally he owes a lot of money. Naturally they've threatened to kill him and naturally they've called her and threatened to kill him and her other children and grand children - these people are scum without honor as most drug addicts and dealers are - naturally she's given all the money she has and then some.

She knows giving into their threats aren't a good solution and that it won't help her son, but I'm not sure I'd be able to do differently if someone called while torturing my child and yelling that they're about to kill him and all you hear are screams of terror and agony... She's tried the child service, she's tried the doctors, she's tried the police.

Nobody can help her, because he is 17. Even though he is an underaged kid he is old enough that the child service can't  force him to seek treatment unless he does it willingly. He's a fracking drug addict. His addled mind is not capable of seeking help. This, apparently, makes no difference. What is wrong with this country?!?

Doctors can't do anything for the same reasons. It doesn't matter that he is underage. It doesn't matter that they have deemed him dangerously psychotic and in dire need of mental treatment in a closed institution. It doesn't matter that he in his most desperate moments have begged her to have him institutionalized to save him from himself and that she's been guarding him for 3 days straight to avoid him getting more drugs before doctor appointments to do just that. As long as the kid changes his mind and tells the doctors that he doesn't want to be put up for treatment, there is nothing she can do about it. What the fuck is wrong with this country?!?

The police can't do anything until he commits a serious crime and is put away to prison. There are treatment options in prisons. WTF?!?

Her health is worsening at a rapid speed. She's lost 35 kg since last I saw her. She's wasn't a big lady when she was relatively healthy, she's only skin and bone now.

She and her oldest daughter had worked nonstop for two weeks to get her son to agree to another doctor's appointment. They've been monitoring him, making sure he's eaten, making sure he's stayed alive. Chased away drug dealers. They were told that there was a possibility for them to get him forcibly admitted to a psychiatric institution. It was her last hope. They got him to the appointment. They thought, this was it. Finally it'll be over. Alas, he was sent home, the doctor told them that they would only be able to keep him for 48 hours as he wasn't suicidal enough.

I asked Simen about him. He told me that he was completely crazy and drugged out of his mind most days. He hadn't told me, because he knew it would upset me and he knew his mom already knew about it. He had talked to him on the bus the other day and all he had talked about were devils and saving the lambs of Jesus.

I talked to her on the phone after that last doctor's appointment. I transferred her some money for gas and food. I'll visit her today with bags full of groceries. I have no idea how to help her. I can't give her any more money. I can't save her boy. She's so desperate she's guilt tripping everyone around her, demanding they help her save her boy. I'm not sure I'd be any different if I were in her shoes...

I remember him as a bright kid. A somewhat hyper kid with ants in his pants, but incredibly smart and bright. He has ADHD, it may have been an extra trigger for him seeking out drugs, but not necessarily. He started hanging out with some boys who'd been in and out of foster homes. It may have been a trigger, but not necessarily. Sometimes there are clear answers to why kids start taking drugs, but not always.

Drugs are ugly and viscous. They ruin not only the lives of the drug addicts, but everyone around as well. I HATE DRUGS!  

I have hearing dyslexia

I just responded to my son's cussing in a rather bizarre way. Again

First time:

Simen: FAEN! = FUCK!

Me: Ja'a? = Ye'es?

I just somehow translated 'fuck' to 'mom'.

Second time:

Simen: Satan!

Me: G'natt = G'nite

Yeah. I can't even begin to explain this. I have no idea how I could hear it that wrong. It's like I have hearing dyslexia. My son walks into a wall and cusses. I believe he is hitting the wall to get my attention and then calling up: 'mom', or calling up: 'G'nite'.
...my son has a bad habit of walking into door frames, now that I think about it.

In my defense, I have been yelled at by the kids for not paying attention to them when surfing the net, so now I answer whenever I hear them. Not because I'm actually paying attention. I've just programmed my brain to spew out nonsense whenever I hear they're voices. Because obviously I don't listen. ...I would make a terrible defense lawyer.

I called my nephew Georg today. His mother heard it. Ye gods! 

Parenthood - A non-serious lesson to parents. Today's topic: Perks or how to avoid answering tricky questions

There are a ton of parenthood-stories out there that are so rosy and sweet it just makes me wanna gag! I suspect these people aren't real, or their children aren't real children, but robots that are charged just long enough to perform as prize children, when necessary, all the while their real children are, in fact, kept in prison cells and used as cheap child labor.

Then we have the strict, serious, god-fearing, no-nonsense types. Where is all the fun?!? They just make me want to cry.

Same goes for the no-boundaries, free upbringing. They really make me want to cry, with the addition of making me shudder uncontrollably in between.

I miss good advice for your average everyday parent with average everyday kids. Don't you? Don't look at me! I'm not going to give you that. What I am, however, on a very irregular basis, is throw up blog posts that bring humour into the equation of parenthood.

Or, I may not... If I receive death threats, or people send me dead things in the mail, etc,  I'll refrain and just keep quiet. I mean...yeah.



Lesson 1 will be about Perks. Yes, there are perks to being a parent. Some of the better known perks are having your kids do all the work around the house/farm/store, or take care of younger siblings,or beg for money/food/stuff, etc and so on. Most of these are illegal and I'm not going to elaborate on those as there are already more than enough info about this in the world.  I want to bring up another fun perk that is talked about a lot less

TRAUMATIZING YOUR KIDS

It is such an underestimated perk. As a parent you get to traumatize your kids. Is there anything more fun? I don't think so!

"Wait a damn minute, here!" I hear you holler. Holler away all you like, but while you scream 'bloody murder' and 'child abuse' let me just explain what I mean by the phrase; Traumatizing your kids.

Traumatizing your kids, means in reality, lying your butts off about all important truths out there. What? Traumatizing your kids with big fat lies is a bad thing? Really?!? Well, the nifty part about this particular type of traumatizing, is to lie about it in such a way that the kids almost certainly know you are in fact lying your butt off, but just in case there might be the tiniest hint of truth in there, they check it out themselves.

Ahaa! you see? This way, your kids will not only learn the real truth about something, they will learn it in a way that they will not so easiely forget, nor will they take a person's word for it just because the person proclaiming it, is a grownup.  Sadly, this is an important lesson for any child to know. The reality of today's world is that there is a truckload of lying bastards out there and they do not find it beneath themselves to take advantage of young innocent and naive minds. I mean, if you just tell your kids a bunch of untrue words for no reason at all, that is an entirely different kind of traumatizing that is actually labled child abuse, which is a criminal act that is punishble and rightly so.

Okay, traumatizing your kids. For this purpose I can give you a helpful tool. The useful and VERY secret parenting tool; "The Book of Parenthood" The book of awesome every parent gets when they become parents the first time.

It is, of course, absolutely forbidden for kids to look in this book - even looking at it,  so it is

a) invisible for kids
b) in a secret vault that can only be found by uttering a secret code word. And then there is the coded and/or magical lock.
c) whatever works for your kids.

The book comes in handy for most things asked by children, or whenever you need a reason for this or that, or ....well, the possibilities are nigh infinite and I am off on a wild tangent, again. Back to the traumatizing business:

Your kid/kids will most likely be asking you this question in some version or other:

WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?

This is such a pain-in-the-ass question. Depending on how old the child is, there is the issue of whether or not you find it suitable to bring up the topic of sex. There is the issue of wether or not you find it suitable to bring up the topic of the female anatomy. Do you call it the vagina, the baby canal, or the Lady Garden? And besides, shouldn't they learn about these things at school? Read about these things in a book, or on the internet?  Yes, of course they should. Which is why you can just forget about explaining it in detail and just go for a big fat lie!


Baby Powder  It's the stuff babies are made of - for the blissfully ignorant of you. (It should perhaps be stressed that the baby powder explanation should only be used for older kids that ought to already have a certain idea of how babies are made.)

You find the baby powder at the grocery store. Usually situated between the dog food and the toilette paper, but this varies as the stores tend to move it around, so that kids won't get to  know the truth.


One fun variation of the baby powder explanation, is to explain how (for your second, third, etc child only) you had some baby powder left from last time, but needed to get some more and accidentally picked the wrong bag of powder and that you're afraid that sweet XX is part baboon which is why XX's behind is so shiny and red.

Again, it should be stressed that this variation should only be used for older kids that should already have a certain idea of how babies are made and, more importantly, wouldn't immediately flash their bullocks in order to prove their butts are perfectly normal and neither shiny, or red. I mean, let's keep it decent. If your kid is a sworn exhibitionist already, for Pete's sake, don't go near this variation!

We're merely traumatizing them gently, to better cope with life and the world at large and most importantly teach them that you should not take everything you hear for granted, even if it is told by a grownup.

We most definitely will not be feeding the already filthy rich businesses in the Mental Health branch, here.Just sayin'.

 I promise you you'll get a good laugh when the kid(s) come home from the store, or better yet, confronts you while you're at the store and loudly proclaims that they have searched and searched and can not find any baby powder between the dog food and the toilette paper.