Mommy, What Is a Hickey?

“It won’t kill them,” they said. “Just let them watch it every once in a while,” I was told. “You take the fun out of everything,” they complained. “Ugh, what’s it really going to hurt?” they asked. Well, if only they could help me that Friday evening when my seven-year-old daughter asked that infamous question, “Mommy, what’s a hickey?”

Dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to say or where to start. All I could muster up was, “Ummm…where did you hear that from?”

“Never mind, I already know what it is,” she responded. “I just wanted to know if you knew.”

Who? What? When? The…?!? I scratched my head and just stared at her. “What do you mean you wanted to know if I knew? How and where did you even hear it?”

Interestingly enough, I looked up to face the TV, having heard the ‘h’ word coming from the screen I so seldomly turn on during the day. There they were, a couple of my favorite childhood characters all grown up with the remake of one of my beloved programs going through what I was, except they exposed my children to the ‘h’ word.

Disgusted, I grabbed the remote control and turned off the TV. “That’s what I get for listening to other people’s advice on keeping my children occupied so I can take care of business-related things without being disturbed. Back to worksheets and book reports and presentations,” I thought.

With blank stares on their faces, I knew they were still waiting for a response from me. “I know what  it is. What do you think it is?” That was my strategy. Maybe they didn’t know and just wanted to trick me into telling them. What I heard made me cringe though. They knew…she knew. She offered to demonstrate it on her arm, which I passed on, admitting, at that point, that she was indeed correct.

It reminded me of the time I found them (my three children) huddled in the boys’ room giggling, obviously trying to keep me from hearing them. The only clue I had that something was going on was that I was in the kitchen much too long without hearing someone come tattle or ask me when dinner would be ready. Knowing something wasn’t right, I walked toward the boys’ room, which was slightly closed. The thing is our little people are well-aware that anyone who doesn’t pay the bills, mortgage/rent, or have a contributing job, has no business or right to door-closing in our house, so that half-cracked door was already a mistake.

I peaked in and saw them getting along and giggling away. I was almost tempted to let them be, but I knew something was off. I tried to strain my ears to catch what they were saying, but Nathaniel was talking and giggling very incoherently. Frustrated, I said, “Hey, I’d like to laugh, too. What are we laughing about?”

Like a bunch of thieves caught in the act, they looked up at me and stared. That was the tell…

“Nathaniel, what were you sharing that was so funny, buddy?” I asked.

Staring like a deer caught in headlights, his hands moved slowly to his lips, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anything from him. If I was to get a straight answer, I had to go to the little mama, the informer, who simply could no longer contain herself and asked, “Mama, do you know what balls are?”

Attempting to stay composed, because I knew this could potentially mean what I thought she was referring to, I simply replied, “Yep.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“Circular items that can be used for sports or for other purposes. Why?” And that’s when I got the response I dreaded, because it took me back to my elementary school days.

“THEY ARE A PART OF A BOY’S PRIVATES!” she roared out, completely over the top with amusement.

I stared at her brothers clearly unamused. My stare, with no words uttered, was a question they did not need me to ask in order for me to receive an answer.

The bus was there, and they began throwing each other under it until Nathaniel fessed up and said, “(Boy’s name) in my class told us during recess that his big brother told him that.”

The eye rolling happened, and I reminded them that when something is knowingly inappropriate, we do not share it.

Look, folks, I didn’t sign up for this. It took me back to my 7^th grade English, when Greg Hopkins annoyed me because every time he came across the word chicken breast in a passage, he would giggle for minutes on end, spewing saliva through his braces. I always hoped I wouldn’t have such nerdiness to deal with because my children, of course, would have a sense of appropriateness and be more classy.

Unfortunately, children will be children, and I’m learning that monitoring what they see and hear is very important, at least when we can. In my case, as they grow older and their interests quickly change from cartoons and toys to “real people” shows and electronics/ “big girl stuff,” I just need to be more available and continue to keep our lines of communication open, especially with the little diva, as always. She picks up so much from watching and listening to conversations that don’t concern her, and sometimes that scares me. The thing is, she trusts me, so she knows I’ll always hear her out, and we’ll discuss whatever she’s heard and seen, even if initially I squirm or wish I could disappear.