...Sex, Race, Bullying and Breast Buds

What the f**k have I been doing over the last month?? Well, let's just say there have been some serious PBS specials going on in the afternoon at the Davis household and not the good ole message filled PBS specials. These Parables of Bull Shit (PBS) have involved profanity, name calling, crying, gasping for air and death threats. Yep, we have been keeping it classy.

Sex has become an ongoing topic in our house since the "talk" with the two oldest Divas. They love to ask me questions that cause me to choke at random moments when I am at peace with the world.

The oldest Diva: I read there is a woman with 20 children. Did she have sex 20 times? That's so gross.
Me in my head: Pretty sure she is having a lot of sex, but I can't say this. Maybe, I need to let her believe that every time a person has sex they will get pregnant and that sex is gross.
Me: Yes. She has had sex 20 times.
The oldest Diva: So, you and dad have had sex at least three times.
Me in my head: WTF is wrong with her??
Me: Yes at least three times. I don't keep count.
Me in my head: SHIT!!!! What did I just say to her?? What message am I sending? I think she does this shit on purpose just to see my startled response that I try to hide from her. 

She then proceeds to skip off like everything is just fine and dandy. I secretly want to get stoned, but I learned in college that getting high and going to the hospital is not good for me. So, I just stare off into space and wonder how I will make it through the years. Miss B knows my soul. She can sense when I am in turmoil about something because that little bitch walked right into the kitchen and said "Can I see a picture of your dead mother? What was her name again?". I just look at this beautiful

This should be a yoga pose called "Mamas trying to keep it classy"

child that I have been blessed to create for a couple of minutes with my mouth wide open. I literally want to do flips backwards out of the kitchen while screaming "Help me Jesus!" Instead,  I proceed to pour a glass of Prosecco and pull out a photo album full of pictures of my dead mother. Times like this make me jealous of the sexy bald fella. I try to tell myself that it's not a conspiracy against me. I try to believe they don't get together in a room and say "Let's see what we can ask mama to make her take an extra pill, curse, and drink champagne". I also tell myself that they don't ask the SBF because he's a dumb ass...giggle. He's offered his commentary on certain topics many times in the past, but made sure to inform me that he will never discuss "BJs" with his daughters. Well, shit who else is going to do it. I'm not. They have a mother who thinks "road head" is the ultimate trump card, but I shall never let them know. I mean a mama has too keep it classy. Doesn't she?

On to Race....I may only go to church twice a year on Sundays (but we do go almost every Wednesday...giggle). I may drop the f bomb occasionally. I may flip the bird to strangers and friends in front of my children. BUT...I have engraved one truth I know for sure on each one of their souls...the color of someone's skin says nothing about them. I am very fortunate to come from a very blended past and present. So blended that the girls do not blink an eye at interracial dating or marriage. The SBF and I both dated outside of our race. The Davis's have friends of all races. There is no tolerance for racism. So when a little shit tells my middle Diva "he doesn't like black people. he's a racist", all hell breaks loose. I bypass "mama bear" and go straight to the "clown from the movie "It" by Stephen King". I want to f**k someone up. I know the world is not perfect. I know children repeat what they learn at home. I know this. I also know that silence will not change the world nor mold a child. One can hate math. One can hate Chinese food. One can hate RHOA. One can hate working out. One can hate anything, but the color of a person's skin. I live in Mississippi and struggle with some of the racial issues that are still present. I went to a college that is still fighting an image supported by racism. Hating a race is deplorable and will not be tolerated. I want to tell so many racist "sons of f**kers" to hate CANCER because that shit can kill ya. We need cancer to go away permanently. I have talked with the Divas. I have let my guard down and threatened to beat the shit out of the little boy's parents. I have offered to teach him. I have encouraged the middle Diva to take her lunch box and slap the little shit across the face...not one time, but many times. I know others may disagree with this advice. But little children that have no fear of allowing themselves to hate will grow up to be adults who will act on their ignorance because they never had a life changing moment to teach them better. The life changing moment may show itself through education, communication, or maybe an "ass whooping". If it works, I think the little shit deserves to take one for the team. The world will be a better place because of it.

You would think two weeks of sex and race would end this Parable of Bull Shit special, but not for us. This special just got picked up for another season starting right off with "bullying". First of all, I had the shit beat out of me until I was old enough to get a boyfriend. We moved around a good bit when I was younger. So, I was the "new girl" quite often. Well, let me tell you...."bitches don't like new girls." I was small, so I didn't learn how to fight with my fists. But, I learned how to spew balls of Hell fire out my mouth. My dear mother helped me with the language and even offered up "family secrets" of the bully to share. I did go back and reiterate very shameful things and got my ass whooped again, but finally I would come up with something so foul they would walk away. Some may look at this as a "not so shining" point in my childhood. I look at it as survival. Have I carried the propensity to read a bitch from the rooter to the tooter into my adult life...yes I have. BUT, I don't bite unless provoked. I am not sure how to teach the Divas to find balance, but I want them to stand up for themselves and each other. I guess the SBF finally had enough because just last week he told my middle Diva to tell a little shit to "GO TO HELL." The middle Diva is a lover not a fighter. She is a saint not a sinner. She is truly the salt of the Earth and I am not sure how she managed to end up in

I created this lovely pic on my lunch break. Nice?

this household. She gasped and almost collapsed at what the SBF told her to repeat. He toned it down some by stating tell him "MY DADDY SAID TO GO TO HELL!!" I chimed in with "make sure you whisper it in his ear." She was dumbfounded. Poor child. The other two Divas were present. The oldest Diva laughed with excitement and muttered something like "you are so lucky that you get to curse." Miss B just took it all in and calmly added "I don't like him" which translated in my head to "I would f**k him up if I could." I go back and forth with which is worse...mean boys or mean girls. Mean girls can cause some major damage and then the bitches grow up to be mean mommies. Through all of this, I have learned I am the mother that will tell a kid to "stay the f**k away from my child or endure a lifetime of anal leakage". Before you judge me, we teach a shit load of kind words. Manners are mandatory. Shut up is a bad word. I am not striving for an A+ in parenting. That is ridiculous and unattainable and not necessary for them to be functional, loving people. I just need to get shit right most of the time.


And last but not least....breast buds. Lucky for me, I get to discuss breast buds on a daily basis because of the book I introduced my Divas to. They couldn't take just one discussion and walk away pleased with the knowledge. Through several discussions and photo comparisons, I decided it was time to purchase a bra. I embarked on the bra journey with all three Divas to JCPenney. I am surprised we were not asked to leave the property. Three little girls in a dressing room is not healthy. Miss B spent most of the entire timing pulling her breast buds because she wanted them to grow. The middle Diva was sulking because she wanted a "bra-ra" as Miss B kept calling it. When Miss B proceeded to grab another Diva's breast bud, I decided to leave. Screaming "stop touching her breast buds" in a small dressing room is not a good look for a "normal" family. It took hours to pick out the right one...not because of fit, but because they are putting decorations and shit on "bra-ras". What the hell??? Some of them even snapped in the front. We walked away with 2...gray and hot pink. The hot pink almost killed me, but our choices were slim. The ladies checking us out laughed because I was nauseous and rocking back and forth. But, I did it. I can check that shit off my list for now.


I have come to realize that raising these three beautiful souls is one of the hardest and most important jobs I have. The rules change daily. The discussions are getting crazier. Their need to understand how this world works is growing daily. I have a long time to screw shit up and scar them for life. So, I have learned one thing...pick your failures cautiously because it's a long road ahead of us. My kids go to school looking like shit some days. I forget to show up for some school parties. I may purchase $40 worth of bull shit at a General Store on a 15 hour field trip as a bribe to skip the last part of the itinerary....f**king Chuck E Cheese visit. I may lie about not being able to attend a field trip because I just don't want to fucking go. I don't consider those my low points. I just recently had to take my middle Diva with me to go see my psychiatrist. She had been sick the previous day and I couldn't find a sitter. So, I packed her up and I drove an hour to go see my shrink. As we walked in the waiting room, she looked around. Finally, she asked "What kind of doctor is this?". I paused for a moment. Finally, I said this is a doctor I get to go talk to about anything I want. She helps me calm down when I get stressed or worried. She really listens to me and gives me good advice. Sometimes, I get really nervous because of things that have happened to me. This doctor is like a best friend that you can tell your secrets too. She smiled and "that was that". I left her in the waiting room with my cellphone as entertainment and  talked to my shrink. Maybe, she will remember this as a moment where mommy told her it's okay to not have your shit together and talk to someone about it. Maybe, this will be a comical story that will resurface at Thanksgiving Dinners..."remember that time mama took me along to see her shrink". Both outcomes would be just splendid because that kind of shit builds character. I may not always get it right, but I keep it real. 

...Sh*t Just Got Real

It's a new year and how else would our house decide to "turn up" in 2014...with the SEX TALK!!! Oh yeah, we had a "PBS special gone bad" in our house last night and I was the star of the show. Let me start this off by saying....shit just got real.

I ignored all the signs yesterday. One friend had spent the day doing a wonderful job introducing her daughter to the ins and outs of "becoming a woman". A friend told me during pick up that her students knew about sex and that I needed to talk to my Divas. I knew the conversation was coming. I purchased a book last summer and had all intentions on fully reading and becoming educated on "sex". Giggle. Well, I didn't listen to the SBF when he said do it before school starts and I put it off. For months, that book has sat on my nightstand under two other books I should have been reading. I was thinking I had a couple of more months before the birds and the bees. BULLSHIT

As always, the car rides home from school involve the Divas filling me in on the drama of their lives. The two oldest have had trouble with a certain friend excluding them at school (typical Mean Girl shit).  We have encouraged them to go make other friends because sometimes this particular friend talks about things that the Divas don't understand. How I have managed to raise innocent and conservative little girls is beyond me. I know everyone thinks their child is heaven sent, but these girls are the salt of the f**king earth. They are the sweetest, kindest, most generous and polite little bitches that I know. They correct me when I flip off strangers. They pray for me when I am having a bad day. They worry about hunger in the world. They secretly judge my second glass of champagne. We pray as a family every night....WTF??? They ask for forgiveness and patience and pray for their friends and shit. Who would have "thunk" it. Back to their little friend....well, when I made a comment about their friend saying inappropriate things....the oldest Diva chimed in with a "yeah...like sex".

I saw the light. The light that every mother sees when they think..."oh, hell this is it. This will be what destroys me." This light is not similar to what I believe people see when they die. This light is more like flashing strobe lights, screaming, and getting slapped in the f**king face. There is no peace and comfort. There is nothing but your past flashing before your eyes...every bad choice, every bad hook up, every lie, and any other thing you did wrong presents itself....damn KARMA!!! I managed to swallow and ask the oldest Diva if she knew what "sex" was and she quickly said "yes".

Oldest Diva: "Yes, I know what sex is. My friend told me."
Middle Diva: "I do too. It's male or female."
Oldest Diva: "No, it's when a man sticks his penis in a woman."
Me: "How did your friend find out,"
Oldest Diva: "She heard her mom screaming one night and went to go check on her and her
                              parents were having sex."
  ***I choked, coughed, pissed myself a little, ran off the road**
Middle Diva: "She was screaming??"
Me: WHAT??????
Oldest Diva: "Yes. Her mom told her because it felt good."

I stopped the conversation there because Miss B was all ears and I couldn't see or hear too well. They started sounding like the damn Charlie Brown teacher. I managed to get out..."We will talk about this when we get home." I know I mouthed WTF out my window 50 times while driving home. The Divas were laughing and shit. I was slowly drifting off into hysteria. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call my mom. I wanted to shit myself and take a nap. I sent the SBF a text of the convo and he pulled out the "I told you so" comment and I flipped off the phone. I managed to get them fed and finished homework. As they started bath time, I began reading that book like a mad woman. I had pen, paper, highlighter, and sticky notes. They would walk in every once in a while and look over with a little smirk on their face. They knew it was coming. Miss B was jumping on the bed and I was trying to memorize the stages of puberty. I'm looking at sketches of vaginas and Miss B is flipping off my bed.

I realize it's getting late and say "f**k it. Game time." I manage to find a barbie movie on Netflix and headphones for Miss B and place her at the foot of the bed. We hang out in our bedroom more than any other room. So, I felt it would be great just to cuddle up with my two oldest Divas and have the talk with this book. I called them to the room and these bitches were almost squealing. They jumped in...one on each side of me. I have my book, my highlighter, my pen, my paper, my sticky notes and I stated with the utmost confidence..."Let's start off with puberty...." I picked that because I had already discussed periods with them. So, I felt this was a good starting point....

They looked up at me and giggled and then "BOOM!" Those bitches tag teamed me. The shit that unfolded from our conversation...HOLY HELL!! I blocked some of the conversation out. I will share the highlights, aka, what I can remember.

Middle Diva: So, I have a pesticle?
Me: No. Pay attention. Stop laughing. You have a VA-GINA.
Middle Diva: My friend said it was called a "virginia". Okay. Do I have balls too?
Me: No. Your daddy has balls. Balls go with penises.
Oldest Diva: GROSS!!

Me: I'm on my period now. You have to have a period to have a baby.
Oldest Diva: So you can get pregnant? When can you get pregnant?
Me: I don't know. Let me look at my period tracker app.
Oldest Diva: So, you can get pregnant again?
Me: Yes. Well, No. I shouldn't. Your dad had a vasectomy.

Oldest Diva: I'm not using those tampon things. You will have to stick them in for me.
Me: I WILL NOT!

Oldest Diva: Do you and daddy have sex?
Me: Uhm..yeah!!!
Middle Diva: So dad sticks his penis inside of you?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: Gross!!! Why?
Me: Because it feels good.
Oldest Diva: I'm never having sex.
Middle Diva: Did you have sex before you got married?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: You did!!!!!! You had sex with daddy before you married him?
Me: Yep
Oldest Diva: Did you have sex with anybody else?
Middle Diva: That's none of our business.
Me: No

****LIE. LIE. LIE!!***** And the middle Diva knew I was not telling the truth. She looked into my soul.

The SBF comes home finally and sits down and joins the conversation. And it goes like this....
SBF: First and foremost, God created sex.
The Divas in unison: He DID!!!
Me in my head: F**k!!! Did I mention Jesus? Shit. Shit. Shit. He's so self righteous. Damnit!!

****I exit and go load the dishwasher****

Those are the highlights. I felt like I was at a press conference. I was not prepared for how comfortable they would be with me. I was not prepared for all of the questions. Then, I remembered they are my daughters. They may not have filters!!!!! Shit!!!!! I did the best I could in the amount of time that I had. I foresee many more conversations. There is so much more they need to know and so much they didn't need to know. My mom told me about sex in the 5th grade. I begged her not too. She sat down with a book and proceeded to tell me I was conceived in the backseat of an automobile when she skipped school. My mother was very open and honest for which I am so thankful for because I lost that beautiful woman at such a young age. I do look back and think that some of the stuff she said....I didn't need to know. Giggle

I have realized that this shit is going to be hard for me. One, I love sex. I think it's awesome. I like it. I think everyone should like it. I think it's pretty f**king amazing if you get the right person. I am pretty open about my life...sex and all. So, my filter is weak. I don't think my daughters need to be virgins when they get married. I don't think it's necessary. I do regret having sex in high school...in college...not so much. I don't want them to be prudes. I don't want them to just lie there. I want them to enjoy it. I want them to love their bodies and be comfortable with their bodies. I don't think sex and love are the same thing. I think little shits will say they love you to have sex with you. Note: I will kill those little shits. I don't want them to get pregnant or an STD. I am pro choice. I had an abortion. I want them to just date and have fun. I want them to know I will never be their judge or jury. I will be their beside them all the way...for as long as their is breath in my body. I will "catch a charge". I will seriously beat the shit out of the little asshats that hurt their hearts.

The night ended with the usual family prayer...like nothing had ever happened. Miss B did inform us that she knew we were talking about boys. KILL ME!!!

Let this be known: We did inform the Divas that what we talked about was "family talk"....private family talk that could not be shared with their friends. It's just the rules. Even if their friends ask them about sex, they are not allowed to talk about it. If their friends have questions, they have been told to tell their friends to ask their parents. We even went so far as to tell the Divas that their friends' parents would get upset if they were to tell their children about sex. They love their friends and would not do anything to jeopardize their friendships. It is not their place to educate other little girls or boys right now.

This is not a slut campaign. This is not an opportunity to judge. This is a warning. This is a lesson.

TALK TO YOUR KIDS SOON AND TELL THEM TO KEEP WHAT THEY KNOW PRIVATE FOR NOW!!

I have struggled with my feelings about the screaming mom. Part of me wants to high five her and suggest a pillow next time. Part of me wants to call her up and go WTF? Then I have a flashback of me telling the Divas that "Yes I could get pregnant. I mean...No, I shouldn't get pregnant because their dad had a vasectomy.". AND I REALIZE....shit happens. I tried my best last night. They may have whooped my ASS last night, but I'll be ready...next time...hopefully...who the f**k am I kidding........I raise my glass and my bottle of pills. Cheers. Best of luck. Cause shit just got real."   

Cheers