My girls and I left the diner at which we had lunch on Saturday and were making our way to the bus stop, when we walked by the Museum of Sex. Yes, there is such a thing here in New York City, in case you’re interested, and it has one hell of a gift shop. In the window were two placards advertising their current exhibition, The Sex Lives of Animals. My daughters, who are almost 6, stopped short in front of the one of a silhouette of one elephant mounting another, right there on 27th and 5th. It looked like an Eric Carle illustration with an adult theme.
“Do you know what they’re doing?” I asked.
They shook their heads. I said that the elephants were making a baby. When Sasha and Vivian started asking questions a year or so ago, I read them a pop-up book about the sperm and the egg and what married people do when they really, really love each other and the daddy remembers to take out the recycling without the mommy asking and the mommy doesn’t emasculate the daddy by making snide comments about his earning potential. We’d gone over the mechanism by which the sperm traditionally gets to where the egg is hanging out, and how an embryo is formed and becomes a fetus. There were lots of questions about that, because Viv was concerned that she’d at some point have to lay the egg and that it might hurt. (There was also the whole side conversation about how because there was something screwy in mommy, mommy had to pay thousands of dollars to have a doctor pump her full of synthetic hormones and create embryos in a lab and stick them back in mommy, which is why mommy has twins and no savings…yay!) In the end they came out with a vague idea of the biology of the whole messy business, which was the goal.
So, elephants…the main thing Viv wanted to know now was about was how anyone could be sure the elephants did it that way. Had anyone actually seen them do it?
“Well, sure,” I said. “Elephants just walk around in the wild and do their business. It’s not like they go into the bedroom and shut the door or anything.”
“Yeah,” Sasha added, one minute older and wanting to assert greater her life experience. “And it’s not like the girl elephant had a chance to put on anything nice.”
That made me laugh–the idea of a female elephant slipping into the elephant equivalent to a Victoria’s Secret balconet bra and thong before seducing her sweetie is funny–but it also gave me pause.
One of the reasons I’m frank with my kids about sex is that I want them to understand that sex is a natural, normal part of being a (much older and more mature) mammal, so they won’t think it’s this big forbidden mystery and feel they need to sneak off and do it under the bleachers somewhere without birth control. But like any good parent, I also try to control how they get their information. I want them to know from me what sex is, not from some kid in their class who probably has it wrong.
And one thing’s for sure: they did NOT find out about getting all dolled up for some hot bedroom action from me. I’m a Formerly. It’s sweatpants and a T-shirt to bed, or maybe a tank top and underwear; my lacy negligees were worn out long ago and never replaced. I could be wrong but no one seems to have noticed. Certainly there has been no outcry from my husband. He’s a Formerly, too. The idea of putting something nice on just to take it off again (or, more likely these days, to roll over and go to sleep, too tired to scratch an itch on my ankle, never mind anywhere else) seems like energy better used for other things.
I’ve written about sex for women’s magazines for a very long time, and I know what the “experts” would say: that someone, like me, who makes next to no effort at keeping the spark sparkly is on the fast track to dried up old ladydom. But I don’t know if I agree. The elephant, as Sasha pointed out, didn’t get all hooched up and she’s getting some, right? Maybe as Formerlies, we can just, you know, be, and not try so hard. And that will be more fun in bed and out.
Or, perhaps like other things I’ve been writing about here, passing on the crotchless panties (good Lord, what’s the POINT?) is yet another step toward, as a 20something put it to me when I was also a 20something, “giving up and getting old.”
What do you think? And more important, what do you wear to bed?
Photo by William Warby CC
April 5, 2009 at 10:21 pm
: D
Haha, Wonderful!
The early part of this blog reminds me of when I took my Art Institute of Los Angeles students to the Museum of Sex in Los Angeles. It was Arts in Society class, and we were exploring gender and expression, gender in the media, and the ever-important topic of Overcoming Homophiobia.
One thing led to another, and I ended up convincing a bunch of Fomerly Homophobic teens and twenty-somethings to stick their hands in the plastic bins full of silicone body parts and feel away. They were giggling like five year olds. But were able to have much more mature discussions about gender, art, and society after that. Those museums are useful.
All that elephant imagery was very vivid and funny… Viv and Sasha are so wise, as is their mommy. And I’m completely with you about talking opnely and transparently about sex, and all its issues, with the kids.
April 6, 2009 at 9:07 pm
Personally, I think a tank top and underwear, or even sweat pants and a t-shirt can be as sexy, if not sexier, than some frilly Frederick’s of Hollywood thing. It all depends on how it’s worn and what’s going on in the mind of the wearer. Maybe that’s your point, but I’m not sure that’s what I take away from this. Hey, I don’t have kids, or even a steady partner at this moment, so what the hell do I know? But I find this post more than a bit sad. Not that your brilliant and observant daughters want to know about the birds and the elephants, of course. That’s fantastic. But the sense of giving up that comes through here is a bit discouraging.
April 6, 2009 at 9:16 pm
1) But what DO you wear to bed, Julie?
2) I used to wear nothing, but now that MY Sasha is 4, I’m feeling like I really ought to wear something, because he sees me get OUT of bed half the time, and while nakedness is natural and good, I’m not sure it should be daily and ubiquitous.
3) My instincts and yours, Steph, are identical. At least re: how to talk to our respective Sashas.
April 8, 2009 at 8:23 am
I usually go with the crotchless panties myself, but, because my kids can – and do – come into the bedroom at anytime of night, I also keep a full suit of armor by the nightstand, ready to throw on at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, hopefully you can talk to my kids about the birds and the bees so my wife and I don’t have to. You’re plan seems a whole lot better than ours, which was to send them both to a nunnery at age 7, which might be tough because neither is Catholic and one of them is a boy.
April 8, 2009 at 8:40 am
This made me laugh out loud! I don’t agree at all that it’s giving up – I think it’s just realistic and authentic to wear what YOU’RE comfortable in to bed, and not be pretending that the thong and bra set you’re putting on is comfortable OR is for you, which it isn’t. If it were up to the us, the women, we’d wear t-shirts, which is what I wear to bed and my husband doesn’t give a rat’s ass – he just wants what’s underneath that.
Great post – you took the words right out of my mouth.
April 11, 2009 at 10:10 pm
We don’t really dress up for anything, especially going to bed. (We took a family trip to Monterey a few days ago, and a colleague was listing possible restaurants we could eat dinner at, she said of one “You might not feel comfortable there, since you’re wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.” I explained that “not feeling comfortable” in casual clothes was not a feeling I was familiar with; the real question was whether they would kick me out or not.) Neither of us has anything sexy to wear. My idea of Denise wearing sexy attire to bed is anything other than the clothes she wore during the day. My own sexiest bed garb is tye-died tighty whiteys.
I also wonder what the point is of lingere when you’ve been married a long time. Isn’t the purpose of lingere to hint suggestively at what’s underneath, or cast it in the best possible light? If you’re extremely familiar with what’s underneath, I’m not sure lace really adds much.
I salute you for talking to the girls about sex. It seems like the right thing to do, but it still feels awkward. I think I’ve been pretty good about giving straight answers when asked, but I haven’t initiated a lot of sex ed in my house. I’m hoping that’s enough.