Sex...what they want to know

I am teaching Introduction to Psychology this semester. I allot extra time to talk about sex, sexual motivation, and sexual orientation. I leave a drop box at the back of the classroom so students can submit questions anonymously. Where else can they ask? Most of the kids students in the course are in their first year of college--it's the first time they are away from home, with more freedom than they've ever experienced. I think it's really important to inform them about sex.

What kinds of questions did I get this year? I have tried to answer them here to the best of my knowledge, but if you know more about something, please chime in. I will be editing my answers for the class.

• Why do guys like it doggy style so much?
• I don't know how to answer this. Have you considered asking one of them? I know a lot of women who like it too, myself included.
• What is the best time to have sex if you want to get pregnant?
• Did you pay attention in health class? Wait, did you even have sex ed in high school? There's a good chance the answer is no, or that you had a version of sex ed that was "don't do it until you're married". I'm gonna go find some charts and graphs for class.
• What is a G-spot and where is it?
• Is it okay to start having sex without a condom, then add one before ejaculation/half-way through?
• This is a perfect example of why I want you to submit questions. You are headed for disaster.
• What causes whiskey dick? How can they prevent it?
• I think the cause, and solution, are implied in the term.
• Is it more fun to have sex when you're high?
• High on what? I would like to answer your question, but I don't remember. Just kidding. Sort of.
• Is there something wrong if a female doesn't orgasm during sex?
• "Wrong"? I'm not a fan of that word. Do you mean physically wrong? Probably not. Does she ever orgasm? Is she bothered by not having orgasms during sex? Does she orgasm through masturbation? Many women have trouble achieving orgasm during intercourse, but can still orgasm through masturbation. Very few women orgasm with only vaginal stimulation--most require some sort of clitoral stimulation.
• Does size matter?
• Size of what? Heh. 
• For gay men, why is it more pleasurable to have the penis go in the anus instead of the vagina?
• Maybe because they don't have vaginas? I think you are asking why they prefer anuses instead of vaginas? I think it more about preferring men, as whole people, rather than a particular body part. Also, not all gay men are into anal sex.
• Can you get pregnant on your period?
• Yes.
• How have casual sexual relationships undermined the future relationships of today's youth and young adults? Does casual sex affect the monogamy of a relationship later in an individual's life?
• You're religious, aren't you? I don't know how to answer this. Are you asking whether people who have casual sex will later cheat because they had casual sex? A better question would relate to intimacy. If someone only likes casual sex, they probably have problems with intimacy. Those problems with intimacy are what will likely cause problems later. And I'm not sure that young adults today are particularly casual about their sex, from a really broad historical perspective.
• Why do men wake up with an erection?
• REM sleep causes genital arousal in men and women. Women just don't get erections.
• How does one treat orgasmic disorders?
• This is a big question. For most women, they need to find the clitoris.
• Why are animals more influenced by sex hormones than humans?
•  Are they more influenced, or do we fool ourselves? We probably seem less affected because we have TVs.
• What does sex feel like?
•  Depends on how you define sex and who you do it with.
• If a guy ejaculates in a hot tub, can the girl get pregnant?
• Not likely, but I like Glee too.
• Is penis curvature normal?
• Mostly.
• What is the average penis size?
• I get this question every year.
• Are there any taboos left?
• Depends on who you ask.
• Are there areas of sexuality that we don't know about?
• I'm sure there are.
• Is it true that you can't get pregnant if you have sex in water?
• No.
• Can masturbation ruin your sex life?
• I certainly hope not. I think the consensus is that it helps.
• What is the average age to lose your virginity?
• Depends on the culture. In the United States it's around 17, but there are ethnic/cultural variations. In Japan, it's closer to 22.
• When do kids become curious about sex?
• Define sex. Kids are curious about everything.
• What sort of "sexual" behavior do young kids exhibit?
•  I don't know if it's "sexual", but they will stimulate their genitals at about the same age that they disover them.
• What happens if you bleed after sex?
• If it's just a little blood, nothing. If it's a lot of blood, you might want to call your health care provider.
• What if the condom gets stuck?
• Define "stuck". Stuck inside? Pull it out. Hopefully there is no semen in it yet.
• Is the pill dangerous?
• I don't take it. But I also birthed at home and selectively vaccinate. Generally, I don't trust doctors except in emergencies and I don't like messing around with my body chemistry.
• What are the first signs of pregnancy?
• A missed period is usually the first sign.

These are the questions that 18-22 year old college students in North Dakota most want to know.

Collard Greens!

We still have a lot of Halloween candy left, because I dole it out slowly--a couple of pieces a day. I'm actually considering stashing some away for his Christmas stocking...Our neighborhood apparently takes Halloween very seriously, as evidenced by the ridiculous pile of loot he received from 20 minutes of trick-or-treating.

But I digress.

The boy is star-of-the-week at school this week, which means that I was asked to pull together something starry, like family pictures, for the wall. Does anyone have printed pictures just lying around the house any more? Of course, they sent the letter home last Friday, and because I just threw the pile of papers in the back of my car, I didn't notice it until Sunday night. Bah.

Dear Preschool,

If I had time to pull something starry together, I wouldn't be paying you to take care of my child all day.

Sincerely,
Works-too-much

Seriously, though, I was excited about this, but disappointed because we could have discussed this ALL WEEKEND if I'd actually looked at the stuff they sent home on Friday. We could have made a PLAN and he could have helped me pick out pictures and it would have been nice quality time for us.

I found a few pictures and asked the boy to pick out three favorite books for show-and-tell.

I picked him up from school Monday afternoon, and he was excited that Teacher V. had read his books to the WHOLE CLASS and Teacher V. wanted to know where I got one of the books so she could get it for the classroom.

I asked boy what he wanted to take for show-and-tell on Wednesday. He wanted to take Eddy, our iguana. I explained that we couldn't do that, and suggested that he take in a picture of Eddy, along with a bag of collard greens to show the class what she eats. He was excited about this idea.

Tuesday night, I printed a picture of Eddy and put some collard greens in a bag and told the boy that everything was ready for school. I had been talking with him all day about what Eddy eats so that he would remember that the leaves are called collard greens.

I asked boy if he would like one of his Halloween candies since he had finished dinner and it was almost shower time (he prefers showers to baths). He sifted through the bowl, and said what is this? while holding up a pack of RAINBOW!!! Twizzlers (I would have been much more excited about Twizzlers as a child had they come in multiple colors).

I said, those are Twizzlers.

No, they are not. They are like the bad guy in Candy Land.

Any Candy Land experts out there? No? Well, lucky for you--I AM. I am an expert in Candy Land because I have been forced lucky enough to play it over and over and over again. For those of you who may not be such experts, when you land on a licorice space, you get stuck for a turn.

Oh, they are licorice! You're right--they ARE like Candy Land.

Of course, this meant that we had to play a game of Candy Land before he went to the shower. We played the game. He beat me, and I noticed he had one Twizzler left. I told him to eat his Twizzler because it was shower time. It was a green twizzler.

He picked it up, held it up in the air like a sword, and said,

Dun-duh-na! (bugle horn sound). This is green! It is a COLLARD green!

And then he giggled like crazy at his own joke. Just like mommy does. Just like mommy's daddy does. It runs in the family, and if you don't find it as funny as we do, we'll gladly repeat it twice more so that you are given additional opportunities to laugh at us...

I kind of like having boy around. A mirror.

NaBloPoMo here we go, now with inappropriate fart jokes

I recognize I am already two days late, but by golly, I need some kind of inspiration to actually sit down and write here.

I will break my long hiatus with a simple story that illustrates life with an 3.5 year-old-boy.

Yesterday morning, I played a Care Bears movie on my computer so that I could lay in bed awhile longer while boy watched the movie. When the movie was over, I suggested that we go eat breakfast.

Boy: No, we have to hide under the covers. Get under the covers, mommy.

Me: Okay, but why are we hiding?

Boy: Because there are monsters outside.

Me: Oh, no. Monsters? What will we do?

Boy: It's okay. The Mighty Shark is here. He will protect us. Go outside Mighty Shark.

Boy lifts covers so the Mighty Shark can get outside. 

Me: What is he doing out there?

Boy: He is eating all of the monsters. 

Boy lifts covers.

Boy: Come back inside Mighty Shark. Mommy, the Mighty Shark eated all the monsters!

Me: Phew, what a relief.

Boy (in stage whisper): Mighty Shark, pull mine finger.

Mighty Shark (performed by boy): Okay. Doodleootleoot! (sound effect to indicate said finger pulling) 

Boy: PPPPHfffffffTTTTTT (fart noise).

At which point, I laughed so hard that I cried.

Fast forward to later that day, approximately 11:45PM. Boy is asleep in our bed. Hyrum and I climb into bed, and I proceed to tell him about the events of the day, and as I begin recounting the Mighty Shark fart story, I can hardly get the words out because I am laughing so hard. At some point, boy wakes up and hears me telling the story, and of course takes advantage of this opportunity to illustrate more fart noises.

For the next 15 minutes, the three of lie in bed, giggling hysterically, because every time the giggles died down, someone (not ME, of course...okay I'm lying...I was totally one of the instigators) would make a new fart noise. The BOY was the one who finally said it was time to sleep, and instituted the Quiet Game.

This is not what I envisioned parenting would be like. It's so much better.

What do you want?

We'd all had a few drinks. He came back from the toilet, and as he was sitting down with the rest of us, he turned to me and said, so, now that I've had a few drinks, let me ask you an existential question.

There are moments in your life that standout against the background of all of your experiences as if they are larger than life. Because they were moments when your path shifted and threw you off balance. The trail of your life streaming down the mountain was going in was going in one direction, but then swerved somewhere else. It takes your breath away.

What do you want out of life?

Simple question, yes? But when was the last time someone asked you that simple question? Out loud? And meant it? And expected you to actually answer it?

When was the last time you asked it of yourself?


Somewhere in mid-to-late November of last year, I taught section/lesson on existentialism in my Personality course. Existentialism, you old bastard you. Like a tired old bony ache that's  dormant for awhile, but creeps back up  at the most inconvenient times.

What do you want out of life?

An authentic life. Right? But you can't say that. It's a cop-out. Merely asking the question what do you want is a step along the way to the authentic life. At the moment you ask it, you are LIVING the authentic life. Asking about the meaning of life is part of living an authentic life.

What do you want out of life?

To tell the truth, it knocked the wind out of me. Because it's one of those questions you think you know the answers to, but then the words fail you.

I want to be happy.

So he asked me to operationally define happy? Operational definitions are most often given in terms of quantity. What can I quantify? How would I measure it? But in this context--an existential operational definition--I think it can broadened a bit.

to have a good career and be pay off my student loans and be free of debt and have enough money to travel and to not fuck my kid up too badly by the time he's an adult

and yes, I want a career and yes tenure would be nice and I want to be able to do research as well as teach even though sometimes I think it would be easier to say fuck it and just teach at a community college

and I don't have to be the next "big" social psychology researcher, but I want to get a healthy dose of publications out the door

but my career is not everything and so I struggle about how badly tenure matters and how badly I would like to just stay here because there's some job security and I love this town and this department and feel like this is my home


and yes, I really said all of these things.

And all of them were true. At least mostly.

And within a week, it happened again, though less forcefully. And with a totally different person.

What are your career goals?

Oh, for crying out loud. This again? Granted, it is not as vexing as "what do you want out of life" but it still ranks up there as a kick to the groin if you're not prepared for it, and/or respect the person who's asking enough to not make up a bullshit answer, and/or quite frankly, don't know and/or all of the above.

And then I saw M for lunch. And told her I could see myself settling in Grand Forks. And she asked if it was because I really wanted to stay there or didn't want the hassle of moving.

The answer is both. 


I could see myself here for the rest of my life. But who's to say this is the only place like that? What is my frame of reference?

If academic life weren't such a complicated fiasco, I'd move around some other places and come back if I wanted to. But it doesn't work like that. Academic jobs are hard to predict, hard to come by, and almost impossible to come home to. AND at the end of the day, I  LIKE  it here. For so many reasons.

But I can't stop thinking about the question, what do you want out of life? More and more, I allow myself to consider the possibility that what I WANT out of life is THIS. Simply this. Right here. Today.

Dear Dude (3rd birthday edition)

I can't believe how tall you're getting.

How tall you've gotten.

The way your clothes hang on you--a lithe little boy rather than a chubby little Michelin-man cherub. You have clothing preferences--no jeans for you! You want "nice and toasty" pants, which means soft and fleecy sweatpants. Who can blame you?

You build things. You are DRIVEN to build things. Out of whatever. Anything. Everything. Blocks, train tracks, train pile-ups, bristle blocks, tree blocks, dominos. You love your cars, your trains, your stuffed animals, your tools, and of course, Tiggy.

Daddy helped you build this robot, but then you decided to take a nap with it:

You want to play games. Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, matching games.

You love books. You enhale them. You are a slave to them. Welcome to the order of the nerds, son. This is how so many of us ended up where we are today.

I put you to bed one night at 7:30 and peeked in on you a little later. You were still reading by the light of your nightlights and the hall light. This happens a couple of nights every week, and you usually fall asleep with an open book on your chest, part of it covering your chin.

This particular night, you were still awake at 9:30. I gently explained that it was time to stop reading and time to get some sleep.

3 years old and silently looking at books for TWO HOURS. Okay, almost silently. Occasionally you would slip and let loose with some exclamation or gibberish. But mostly, you were silent. Even when you got out of bed to grab new books, so that in the end you were trying to sleep with 10 or so books at once. In a toddler bed.

Ahem.

You are my son. I am so honored to know you.

You stayed the night with the babysitter for the first time a few weeks ago because it seemed easier than waking you up to bring you home (and it's easier for you to be at her house because she has a wee-un that's younger than you). You snuck out of bed at 5 in the morning, got a stack of books from their cabinet, and crept down to the living room to look at them. She woke up to the sound of whispering from the living room, and was concerned that someone had broken into the house. It was just you, and she sent you back to bed, but let you take some books with you. You were over there today, and apparently were trying to cuddle with and read to the cat. He was not amused.

You have imaginary friends. The whole lot of them showed up one morning after a week of crappy sleep. I have learned that when your sleep goes to shit you are either getting sick or about to have some kind of developmental leap. Some of your friends are Disney/Pixar/fill-in-the-blank-corporate-creations. But some are not. They ride in the car with you. You tell them to line up behind you to go into school. This morning, when caught tearing pages in a book, you said Penny told you to do it. We explained that sometimes you have to tell your friends no, that it's not the right thing to do. You introduce them as "see, mine friends" and pan your hand around. One of them is Petos, the dragon, along with his best friend Walter. Petos and Walter are characters in some of the stories I tell you. Stories about why it's a good idea to walk, not run, on ice. Stories about why it's a good idea to let your mommy put lotion on your face and hands. Stories about why it's important to wear your snow boots and coat. Petos ran on the ice, and he hurt his wing, but the wizard made it better and now Petos knows that walking is safer. Petos didn't want to put lotion on, and his poor tail and wings got all dry and cracked and hurt, but the special dragon lotion keeps his wings and tail soft. Petos got mad at Walter one day and hit him, and then he felt very sorry, so now when he gets angry he takes nice, deep, dragon breaths to let out his fire. I always ask you what color Petos is, and what color his wings are, and those change from day to day. I didn't know if you actually heard the stories, until you started repeating them back to me. One day I was so upset I couldn't stop crying, and you said, "mommy, just breathe, like Petos doos". You are such a blessing to me. If you can remember that, to just breathe, and remind other people to do it too, you'll be just fine in life.

You have friends from this dimension too. This year was the first year that when I asked who you wanted to invite to your party, you had an opinion and it was consistent over several days. You had opinions about your cake, too. It was to be a chocolate train cake. And so it was.

You love the movie Wall-E, and spend much of your time as Wall-E. You will pick up "trash" from the ground, squeeze it towards your belly with a grrrr sound and then drop it back to the ground, "like Wall-E doos". I recorded you one day as you acted out parts of the movie along with the movie. Then I showed you the recording. Now you ask to watch yourself doing Wall-E. I don't know what the long-term effect of seeing yourself on video so young will be, but I do know that we're well on our way to having another performer in the family. You also ask to watch footage of your cousins and yourself from when we visited Arizona for the holidays. I am so happy that you have a big extended family and can't wait to watch you all grow together.

It's hard to believe that less than a year ago, I was worried about your language. When we moved here in June, it was a big deal that you were consistently putting two words together. Even when I met with your teacher last October, it was rare for you to put four words together. Now, you talk constantly. And you even have a special language for your imaginary friends that is some kind of hodge-podge of English and gobbledeegook. I wish I could speak it too.

You asked for a Barbie. Sigh. What a dilemma for me. On the one hand, I want to support your interest in non-gender-normative toys. On the other hand, IT'S BARBIE. I don't want to support the notion that she is what a woman is. In the end, I bought you the Barbie, but it was the rock star one, by god. I kind of want to tell you that she's from another planet and that's why she looks so strange, but that might be a bit much.

You love the digital camera and take good pictures. You have started to sing songs you know. You love the alphabet. You love counting. You love school. You love cats. You love hot chocolate. You LOVE. And sometimes you rage. And I love you always.
 
~Mama