School’s out, and my kids are ready. They’ve been counting down the days since the beginning of May, keeping a surprisingly accurate count in their heads of how many days are left, total, and of those, how many are school days, and of those, how many are half-days. Who knew they were so good at math?

I can’t decide whether I’m excited or alarmed. On the one hand, it’ll be nice to have a break and get to just hang out with the kids, doing fun summer things—hanging out at the beach, going camping, running through sprinklers.

But of course, nothing’s without its downside—the stresses that end with the close of the school year are often just replaced by a different kind of hassle. In fact, for every summer “pro”, there seems to be a distasteful “con” that taints my end-of-year excitement with a dose of dread. For instance:

PRO: I won’t have to drag the kids out of bed early every morning.
CON: If I ever allow myself the delusion of expecting to sleep in, I’ll just be that much more frustrated when the baby wakes me up at the crack of dawn.

PRO: The joy reflected on the boys’ faces when they realize they have three months ahead of endless fun, little responsibility and much more freedom.
CON: The frustration reflected in my tone when I field the hundredth complaint of “Mom, I’m bored—there’s nothing to dooooo!” and the on-the-edge crack in my voice when I yell “It’s beautiful out! Go outside, already!”

PRO: My three-year-old will be beyond excited to have his brothers around all day.
CON: My three-year-old will throw 18 tantrums a day when his older brothers leave the yard and he can’t follow.

PRO: My kids will be around all the time.
CON: My kids will be around all the time.

When I feel ambivalent like this, I try to imagine a picturesque summer scenario: my entire family lounging around the yard sipping ice-cold lemonade.

In reality, I know it’ll be everybody but me doing the lounging. I’ll probably be running back and forth, filling up their empty glasses and re-applying their sunscreen.

And I’ll be alternating between counting down the days until summer break ends—and wishing I could keep them just like that forever.

“Mom,” my son said to me one day, “When are you going to tell me about the birds and the Bee Gees?”
After I was done laughing, I felt a twinge of guilt about the fact that my son, who was decidedly a “tween” and moving ever-closer to puberty, was so in the dark about the birds and the bees that he confused the facts of life with a feathered-hair disco trio.

When it comes to sex education, most parents I know fall into one of four basic camps:
1. “I don’t want my kids to learn about sex until they have to figure it out—on their wedding night!”
2. “I want to teach my kids about sex myself, so they don’t learn it in the gutter!”
3. “I want the school to teach my kids about sex, so they don’t learn it in the gutter!”
and:
4. “What’s wrong with learning about sex in the gutter? “

But I’ve never quite settled on a philosophy of my own it. In fact, out of nervousness or awkwardness or just plain not knowing what to say, I’ve tried to just not think about it at all.

The part of me that doesn’t want my children to ever grow out of their children’s-sized clothes, let alone date or think about such adult matters, wants to shelter them from anything remotely sexual. And the part of me that wants them to know about sex, but cringes at the idea of having to tell them myself, gravitates toward #4. Hey, if learning about sex in the “gutter” was good enough for me…

But then I remember that my first real exposure to sexual information came from reading my older brother’s copy of Truly Tasteless Jokes at age 11—and then repeating the jokes, which I didn’t understand until much later, to everyone at school. One joke I recall involved Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and was utterly disgusting. I had no idea what it meant, but I got a thrill out of shocking the older kids at the bus stop.

And I was the same age one of my sons is now.

Knowing that my kid could be soon regaling his classmates with raunchy jokes he doesn’t really understand—or, worse yet, that his first exposure to sexual matters might be some other kid’s retelling of the Snow White joke (or worse) on the playground—has gotten me thinking harder about the whole issue. Have I been falling down on the job by not cluing in my son to the facts of life sooner?

We’ve never shied away from correctly labeling body parts in our house—even three-year-old Owen knows the correct names for his man parts—and my older kids have a basic understanding of how babies are made. But, to my knowledge, while my eldest has the basic idea of what has to happen for sperm and egg to join in the first place, he doesn’t really understand the rest of it…such as why anyone would want to do that in the first place.
And now that he’s so curious, how much information should I give?

Do I whip out charts and graphs and three-dimensional models, or take a slightly less functional approach and focus on feelings? Go into a lot of detail, or just enough to keep him from making embarrassing gaffes on the playground? Preach abstinence or pass out condoms?

I can’t pretend I’ve got all the answers right now, but I’m—reluctantly—ready to start thinking about it. After all, no matter how much we try to shelter our kids these days, we live in a sex-crazed culture where they’re going to learn about it somewhere: if not from us, then from MTV, YouTube or even the nightly news. When push comes to shove, I’d certainly rather have my kids come to me with their tough questions than ask their equally-uninformed friends or rely on what they see on TV.

So—gulp—think of me as I prepare myself for The Talk with my son, where I’ll give him the real lowdown on the Birds and the Bees.

The Bee Gees, on the other hand? We’ll get to them later.

I’ve got several new posts up at THE HAPPIEST MOM. Check ‘em out!

Okay, so it’s not officially here yet. But Memorial Day weekend always feels like the true beginning of summer to me, especially when it’s as sunny and warm as this one has been so far. We spent yesterday at my brother and sister-in-law’s house, eating, drinking, watching the kids run around, talking and laughing. Laughing a lot.

(my nephew, Jack, and a little friend, Lucy)

My brother John, the musical talent

My niece, Ruby. Don’t you wish you were her in that picture?

What are you up to this weekend?

My latest 23andMe post is up:

My husband and I have a lot in common: a twisted sense of humor, similar values, similar taste in movies, music, travel venues, and even clothing. But in one area we’re very different. While I tend to react to life changes, disappointing news or life’s many stressors with an “Everything will be just fine!” attitude, his usual initial reaction is far more gloomy and defeatist.

But why do we come at things from such different perspectives to begin with?

Read the rest at 23andMe. (Remember, you’ll need to create a username to participate in the 23andMe Pregnancy Community, but it’s free, easy, and you can take fun surveys, track your pregnancy and/or contribute to important research.)

Check out my newest baby (blog, that is): THE HAPPIEST MOM

For the last nine months we’ve been fortunate enough to live just off Lake Michigan, a few hundred feet from a pier and a gorgeous beach. The deck off my bedroom faces a channel into the lake, and I watch boats go in and out constantly. Several times a day (and sometimes, spookily and almost silently, in the middle of the night) I’m treated to the sight of a cargo ship heading in or out of port, so close it seems like I could almost jump right on deck. This photo was taken about 100 feet down the channel, right before the start of the pier.

We won’t be in this house much longer–it was a temporary home while we got our bearings in a new town, and when the summer season starts, the rent goes up-up-up. And up. We were lucky enough to get a full month of beach weather back in September. It’s been a little too chilly to really get in the water this spring, but we’ve still had plenty of opportunity to enjoy the sand and dunes:

Isaac enjoys jumping off a little cliff at the tallest point of the dune, then tumbling down the rest of the hill. It only makes me a little nervous.

Notice the three cool kids squinting in the afternoon sun…and their littlest brother’s big, cheesy grin. There were about a dozen other photos that looked pretty much just like this.

Cue “Chariots of Fire” theme song…of course, William beat his littler and slower brother as he always does, but Owen insists he’s “winner number two”. Fair enough.

“I’m the numba two winna!”

This reminds me of a scene from Karate Kid.

Owen appears to be casting a spell on the sand drawings his brothers are making.

A walk in taller-than-your-head beach grass…which I’ve just learned is a popular habitat for ticks, little creatures who have been feeding on our family with gusto recently (we found six on us in a matter of a week). Suddenly, looking at this picture makes me want to strip the entire family down to skivvies while I give them a careful inspection. Maybe we could all check each other, tallest to shortest. Wouldn’t that be a great photo op?

As much as I dislike the ticks, I know I’ll be missing this view in a few weeks.

What’s the view like from your back (or front) door? What would you change if you could? What would you never want to give up?