(I found this unfinished post in my draft folder, written last February when I was trying to blog regularly again. It stands.)
One day recently my mom stops by my house and comes in and says something along the lines of 'oh, you're all wet" and I say "I'm HOT" and my son Augustus who is five years old explains "She means sweaty hot Abuela, not sexy hot." (pronounced "saxy")
I'm sorry, what did you just say? Seriously, what? WTF mate. Not so recently, one day when I was talking to my dear friend Jessica whose family is not as media-centric as ours is asked me, after I explained to her that our current favorite song was Kanye West's "Golddigger" because it has a seriously bad-to-the-bone beat and crazy good samples, asked me if I thought my at times unadulterated exposure of musical media was going to bite me in the ass. Consider myself bitten.
In my own defense, or maybe I should say I have no defense because I don't think Augustus learned "hot" from the media, I think he got that from me. I think my husband is hot. Super hot. And I like to tell him so. And I have been known to ogle, more women than men, but that's only because I happen to think women are pretty spectacular as far as beauty goes. Hhmmmm...no wonder where my son gets it.
Anyway, my point is this, I have dropped the ball by my own standards of protecting my children's innocence and exposed them to far more media/screen time than I thought I would. Which happens to be considerably less than the average family, but I'm not ascribing to "average". I'll take eccentric, weird, odd, different any day.