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The Plastic Banana

May 29, 2012

Back when we first moved into our house and the kids were both really little there was a time when me and The Man would try and sneak in some sex pretty much wherever we could get it. On top of the freezer in the basement while groceries were getting put away, on the stairs while cleaning up, and one time on top of the kids play kitchen while they were watching TV.

Now, this seemed like a good idea at the time. We would totally hear if the oldest was coming, right? We were only going to be a few minutes anyways. It seemed like the perfect crime, that is, until the oldest came around the corner and yelled “NO, MY MOMMY!”

At first I was mortified. “Oh my God! We’ve traumatized our kid already!” We both scrambled our pants back on and then I remembered that I had a similar thing happen to my young impressionable self that I only know because my Mom insisted on retelling the tale so many times that it’s stuck in my head forever, and I still turned out kind of ok. She’s gonna be fine.

And while I was reconciling this in my brain she went into her play kitchen, grabbed some fresh plasticey produce and came up to me. “Here you go Mama!”. Oh just what I was needing, a plastic banana! How did you know? Her insight at that moment was for me the most traumatizing part I think.

Now I know you’re wondering what happened to me at her age. Thankfully for me I have no real memory of this and I’m hoping the same can be said for the oldest.

Back when my parents bought their first house and were in the midst of renovations they didn’t have a door to their bedroom. One night after my bedtime they were getting busy missionary style. I snuck into their room with my ninja skills, and tabi footie pajamas, hopped on my Dad’s back and yelled out “HORSEY RIDE!” The next day they had a door, with a lock.

Image courtesy of Menkind

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