Two in the morning

Punk and her mister scramble into a bed layered with blankets. The sheet is cold, and the mister grumbles and curls into a fetal position. Punk squinches her numb feet between his calves.

Punk: You know what we should have?

Mister: Sex?

Punk: ...Okay. No, what I was going to say was that it would be great if we had one of those old-fashioned heat iron thingies, like from Little House on the Prairie. It would warm up the bed before we have to get in it.

Mister: No. Maybe an electric blanket?

Punk (shuddering at the thought): Uh, which would get used like five nights of the year? Not to mention how I would be sweating at three in the morning, and then there would be anger and fighting in the middle of the night.

Mister (considering the fighting and anger in the middle of the night): ...Yeah. It probably wouldn't be very good for us. I guess not.

Punk: And by "good for us," you mean our marriage as a whole, right?

Mister: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Punk: Chahead.

Inappropriate Anecdote

Do you recall that I mentioned I was still working out where my line might lay for what's appropriate to share with the world at large? Well, I've thought about it somewhat and decided that I cannot in good conscience talk about either a) my personal experiences regarding sex, as that's between me, my husband, God and no one else, and b) questions and conversations we have with our children about sex. I came to this particular conclusion when I realized that by sharing those particular conversations with you, I was betraying the safe environment we're trying to create for our kids to ask questions about private things.

However... *enter evil chuckle here*... I'd already had this written before I came to that conclusion. Plus it's short. And already written so I don't have to write something else. Whatever.

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We recently had The Talk with our nine year old. I knew the time was coming, but that time came to fruition when I overheard a conversation he was having with his eleven-year-old neighborhood friend.

Me: OMIGOSH. Cue nervous giggling and fast talking.

The Talk was worse for me than it was for him, but it opened the door for us to have more conversations about sex and sexual matters in a very private, safe environment. Read: NOT THE PARKING LOT WITH A PREADOLESCENT ACQUAINTANCE. It should be noted that since that first, blushy introduction to the graphic details, I have lost all embarrassment and now say things I probably shouldn't.

So I relayed the entire talk to Bryan and recommended he have further discussion with his son -- since HE'S THE MAN -- which he then did a few nights later. They walked around the block, looking at Christmas lights and talked about a few things, and somehow they came around to this:

Elijah: But you didn't have sex when you had Asher.

Bryan: Um. Actually...

Elijah, alarmed and possibly appalled: WHERE WAS I?

... It's a good thing I wasn't with them, because I may have actually answered this question.

The Danger Inherent In Having No Audience

There is a danger to believing I'm alone in a room, talking to myself: I'll say anything. I'll get this wicked impulse to say things that I would never say to another person. For instance, when I first noticed Yahoo was allowing users to enter statuses, I became bolder and bolder with those statuses, thinking to myself, "Who's going to see?" Finally, I put in a status that read "Got some," the pinnacle of inappropriate public statements. True, but, really, who needed to know that?

Then the day came in which Bryan noticed that Yahoo was allowing users to enter statuses, only, as is his way, he started looking around at the other statuses and users rather than impulsively enter his own. Saw mine. Laughed his head off.

In discussion, he said that the only reason that particular status of mine would bother him is if it didn't refer to him, but (having done the math) because it did, it became nothing more than a hilariously inappropriate public statement.

Of course, now that I knew someone had seen it and that there was a distinct possibility of others seeing it, I went through and deleted all but one status and haven't entered another since.

This makes me wonder, though, if this was the mindset of a particular twitterer I follow when he tweeted "Just had incredible sex with my wife. No, my Twitter acct wasn't hacked." Why in the world would he tweet that? Who knows.

I followed him immediately upon reading it.

He's also the same twitterer who, this week, tweeted, "Holy crap, I'm like a real pastor." I wanted to reply so badly because there's something about a man of God who says "Holy crap" that just tickles my feet. Nothing quite like keeping it real, you know?

My point... right. Knowing/ suspecting that my readers are few to none makes me want to write about just about anything. I have things to say, trust me. It's a danger, a temptation. I guess I'm still deciding where my line is. I'll let you know.