What they're learning

My heart goes out to the teachers in the recent furor over sex education in Ontario.

I simply cannot imagine having to add vulva to the "head and shoulders, knees and toes" song.

It will be difficult and it will be embarrassing.
Also difficult: Chemistry, Trigonometry, metaphors and syntax.

Difficult is what school is for. We send our kids to school so they will learn the hard stuff we don't have time or inclination to teach them. And let's be honest here, we also hope our public education system will teach some kids, the kids of "those people" stuff their parents don't want to teach them at home: work ethic, getting a job, respect for others, and maybe just maybe, some kindness.

In all the uproar about the updated curriculum, you may want to think about your kids' access to the Internet at school, McDonald's, Starbucks and Tims with that 'phone you provided to be sure where they are at all times. Do you have an idea what they might be seeing there?

I listened to a fascinating documentary about boys, sex and the internet a while ago that left me very worried, and pretty quick to back very serious very early education for our very young kids.

The guy who was the subject of the documentary wasn't able to get or keep a girlfriend because his ideas about sex and sexuality had come from the porn he started accessing online at home when he was about 10 years old. He started off looking at boobies, but kept watching online and eventually was seeing girls who seemed to be fond of men ejaculating in their faces, drinking champagne glasses full of semen, and having anal sex with three guys on a first date. He began to see the on-screen behaviour as normal. The more he watched, the more he needed to watch to get off into the socks he brought with him into the computer room.

Your kids don't have a computer room. They have a phone. Under their covers, and dear parent, when was the last time you saw their browsing history? Oh, right, you can't.

Teaching your thirteen year old that transsexuals exist isn't teaching them how to become one, but it might prevent your trans nephew from killing himself.
Teaching your seven year old to listen to the voice in their head that tells them something isn't quite right with that too-smoochy uncle might prevent your niece from being abused.
Telling 15 year olds about the legalities of gay marriage and divorce won't "turn them gay" which seems to me to be what the protesters at Queen's Park were saying yesterday.

Click here to read the curriculum for yourself and see what you think. There's a lot in there about respect for self and others. If, after reading it, you really, really think your kid should not know that it's a bad idea to take a naked picture of themselves and send it over the web, then by all means, keep them at home. Just be sure to take away their phone, for the sake of their future, and their future dates.

Banishing Blues

Here are a few random things that have helped me today as we struggle with the Coldest. February. Ever.

1. Chicadees have warm feet. I know this because I fed several of them from my hand on Saturday at the Wye Marsh and all their little feet were just a teeny bit warmer than my hands.

2. Scotland's National Animal is a unicorn. Seriously. It seems like a giant FU to the world, honestly, which would be typical Scots now, wouldn't it?

3. There are still more public libraries in the world than McDonald's restaurants. (Whew!)

4. A group of flamingoes is called a FLAMBOYANCE! (Now, to get somewhere where I can see one...)

5. Most of the dust in your house is actually stardust mixed with little pieces of you. Remember this from the famous book by Robert Fulghum: "The majority of Stuff comes from just two sources: people—exfoliated skin and hair; and meteorites—disintegrated as they hit the earth’s atmosphere. (No kidding—it’s true—tons of it fall every day.) In other words, what’s behind my bed and bookcase and dresser and chest is mostly me AND STARDUST."

Holding Fast

My family motto is "hold fast", which is what I am attempting to do during this month of self-imposed sobriety.

19 days in, I have learned a lot about myself and also about our society's love of 'the drink'.

Like many families, my family's relationship with alcohol is a jumbled one. Three of my uncles have had a very tough time with booze: one's an admitted recovering alcoholic who told me when I was younger that he was "interrupted by God' as he used an axe to chop down the door of his own house during a booze-fuelled fight with his wife. He hasn't had a drop ever since that day. Another uncle died of drinking and smoking; he had cancer of the esophagus, stomach and lungs. Still another is estranged from the family, living off the grid in a single-wide in the woods somewhere in BC. We haven't seen him in decades, but I'm told he has struggled with the bottle since his teens.

On the other side, my father's parents had a bottle of something or other in the house, somewhere deep in a closet, and it lasted at least 20 years, since they weren't sick all that often. It was for medicinal purposes only, and I don't know what was in it. Rye, probably.

We don't have get-togethers with one side of my first family, and we don't serve alcohol at gatherings on the other side. One of my cousins says the lack of 'truth serum' is why we still manage to have those family parties, and she might be right. Although, I think there might be a secret beer or two swilled near the fire at the corn roast some years.

With my in-laws, Sweetie's mother is banned from making my drinks at his family functions, because, as she puts it, she, "doesn't like wasting the mix". I make my own, to prevent, as I put it, 'being shitfaced at Thanksgiving dinner." I'll never forget being offered 'moose milk' at Christmas when I was 17 as Sweetie and I had just started dating. There were certainly no drinks offered to underage girls at our weeknight dinners at the farm.

Over the years, my relationship with alcohol has become quite close. A cocktail before dinner. Wine with dinner. Port or something afterwards. Prosecco and OJ in the tub, Bailey's in coffee on weekends. Two drinks after curling four nights a week, boozy dancing at a bar, membership in a Scotch Society for Sweetie. Thinking it over, it's... a lot.

Which is why this month of sobriety proposed by the Health Unit was so intriguing to me. Somewhere, I was wondering if I was really in charge.

It turns out, I am cut from the bolt of my Dad's teetotalling parents. This not-drinking thing has actually been a bit of a breeze. I'm 19 days in and have had exactly one time when oh, boy, I really, really wanted that drink. Pizza Friday and Moosehead are simply made for each other, and the desire was very strong that first Friday of the month. But, just like when I have quit other habits, I acknowledged my craving and watched as it passed by.

What I have discovered is that I use booze as a treat. I know because I am replacing my glasses of wine and my vodka/Frescas with extra food and food-type treats. I'm downing chocolate bars at work, making chelsea buns at home, taking an extra portion of last night's pasta and some afternoons, I'm having chips while watching Netflix even though I just munched through a big bowl of butter-laced popcorn. So far, the switch from booze to food has shown up as three unwanted pounds on the scale. Three pounds in two weeks is about the amount of weight a 4-H beef calf is supposed to gain. Silly me for thinking I might actually lose some weight during this exercise!

Speaking of exercise, there is clearly more of it in my future, plus a bit more of that McLeod-style, jaw-clenched motto. I'll hold fast, just not to the martini, wine or beer glass. And I should definitely let go of the fork, too.