Gossip boys

We did not baby-proof our house for Asher. It’s not that we were negligent parents, but the kid never moved. He did not walk until he was 19 months old. Prior to walking, he did nothing. He didn’t crawl or do the boot scoot or roll anywhere. Occasionally, I would place a favourite toy just out of reach. Perhaps that obnoxious orange, plastic bear he loved so much would motivate him to make an effort. No such luck. Asher would look at the toy, suck both of his thumbs and remain in place. Not a twitch or even a whimper to indicate that he might be frustrated. He preferred to stay put.

Even when he did start moving about the flat, he was very cautious. Asher never poked an outlet or opened a kitchen drawer in search of knives or ran around banging into walls or furniture-all things Levi does daily. It wasn’t until other children came over to play that I realized how dangerous our home was. The stair gates, the outlet covers, the finger guards for the doors, the table corner covers-all put in place for the sake of other kids.

It would probably not surprise you that Asher has not been a particularly curious child. Or if he has been, has hasn’t been very forthcoming with inquiries. In entries past, I’ve made mention of the fact that he doesn’t seem to be very interested in the difference in boys’ and girls’ anatomies, for example, and aside from one question about whose tummy he was in, he really hasn’t seemed very interested in the details of his origins or family make up. Once again, I find myself in the position of “child-proofing” because of other people’s children.

I was substituting at Asher’s pre-school last week while her indoors focused on finding gainful employment. My presence at school sparked some interesting conversations amongst Asher’s schoolmates, and I was as unprepared for them as I was for those precious rugrats who found their way into my unlocked kitchen cabinets during play dates and discovered blenders and various other weapons of destruction.

On Thursday, I was in the other 4 year old class-meaning not Asher’s. That wouldn’t be kosher. We were all in a queue to take the children outside. I was at the back to make sure no one got lost along the way or tripped over their own feet, and I overheard one boy tell his friend, “Did you know that Asher has 2 moms?” He was laughing while he said it but more in a goofy 4 year old way than a mean-spirited way. I was not upset but felt obliged to participate. “That’s right, Kid. Who’s in your family?” Kid responded with “I have a mom and a dad.” I then turned to Kid’s friend and asked him the same question. His reply was the same. “Huh. How ‘bout that?” I said with a big smile on my face hoping to prove that there was nothing else worth saying. That was that, but I started to wonder if other kids had talked about Asher’s moms and if they had posed any questions to Asher directly. Asher certainly hadn’t mentioned anything.

The next day, Friday, I helped out in the 3 year old class. Friday is a special day at Asher’s Jewish pre-school. All the kids from all the classes gather in the chapel to sing songs and listen to stories in preparation for Shabbat. Asher and I are always excited about seeing each other during school, and we look forward to that moment of acknowledgement during chapel time on Fridays. I guided the 3 year olds into our row and waited for the other classes. Asher’s class arrived and sat opposite our class in the same row but on the other side of the aisle. I was across from one of Asher’s classmates who couldn’t wait to strike up a conversation with me while we waited for the Rabbi to start the show. “Look!” he said. “I’m in the same row as you are but we’re not in the same row because you’re over there, and I’m over here!” “Funny!” I said. “It’s like we’re in the same place but we’re not because there’s this space right here, see?” “Yes, I see!” “Asher’s sitting on the other side way over there. Do you see him?” “Yes, thanks for telling me. We like to wave to each other.” “Yeah. But I’m really close to you over here.” “Uh huh.” And just as the Rabbi started speaking, Asher’s classmate leaned across the aisle and asked, “Why didn’t you marry a boy?”

I had no time to respond. We were called to attention before I could lean over and answer, but what would I have said? I felt pressure to come up with something really simple yet profound, but I was just not prepared. I wasn’t about to say, “Been there, done that.” I thought perhaps he wouldn’t understand the expression. I certainly didn’t want to say anything disparaging about boys. I wasn’t about to mention that I was happy I didn’t have to watch ESPN or complain about upright toilet seats.

Perhaps I could focus on the positive. Anyone who knows me knows I can’t get away with “girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.” And anyone who knows Gabriella and me knows I can’t honestly say, “I didn’t marry a boy because girls are more in tune to each other’s feelings,” because the success of our relationship is based on Gabriella’s ability to ignore me. How about, “I don’t know either. Girls are hard work, and tampons are expensive.” That wouldn’t do. Though I felt like breaking out into song, somehow I didn’t think this one would go over very well:

The lyrics are outdated, but the chorus is catchy, and I love Harry.


Of course, the right answer, for me anyway, would have been to simply say “I met a girl I love.” But for whatever reason, because I was caught off guard or because I was reaching for something more complicated, I missed an opportunity.

I don’t want Asher to ever feel caught off-guard, and I want to arm him with information and simple responses that will keep him a step ahead of the game. But I also want to avoid calling attention to things unnecessarily. I never really come out about my relationship with Gabriella. I refer to her in conversation and correct people who refer to my husband. I find that the more I treat it like a non-issue, the more others do, too.

Perhaps a few words of warning? Perhaps an outlet cover or two? To be determined.