A Parable about Potty-parts (Part 2)

*The following is the continuation of a fictional story I told you last week that is based on a true life possibility. You were the momma or the poppa in the story. Oh, and remember, you have a daughter named Krista, age 5.

Last week on Tamar’s Redemption:  Krista told you while displaying a mouth-full of chicken nuggets that Brady touched her “potty parts”. In addition she’s revealed that Brady is a big kid and he touched her during recess. Before you could process what she was saying, she told you that her friend Gaby is getting a dog and she wants one.

I gave you a test to see how you should respond to Krista. You were wise. Smart. You chose answer D regarding how to respond to Krista’s disclosure.

 D. You say, “Krista, I’m glad Gaby is getting a dog. We can talk about dogs later. Thank you for telling me about Brady and that he touched you at recess. It’s always good to tell me about things that bother you. Right now, I’d like you to tell me a little bit more about it.” You calmly ask open-ended questions like: “Where were you during recess when this happened? Who was there? And then what happened? And then?

Our story continues.

“Can you tell me how old Brady is?” You ask.

“I don’t know, but he’s in fifth grade.”

“Where were you playing at recess?”

“Near the swing set.” She stops eating her nuggets. “With Julia and Katie. But Brady said he wanted to play a game.” She looks down at her feet.

“It’s okay, Krista. You can tell me. What happened next?”

“Brady said the game would be fun, but we could only play it down over the hill.” She stares over your shoulder.

“Then what happened?”

“He told me to come with him, that I could go first.”

You gently wipe a crumb of nugget breading from her cheek. “Then what happened.”

“I went. I . . . I didn’t like the game.”

“Tell me about the game, honey.” 

“Brady told me that I couldn’t or he would tell everyone that I like him and  . . .”

You tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “And what?”

“He said he would tell everyone that I touched him.”

“It’s okay. Remember, you can tell me anything. I won’t be mad. What happened next?”

***

I’m going to end the version with the open-ended questions here.

But what if you hadn’t asked open-ended questions? Your conversation may go something like this.

                                                                    ***

 “Krista, we’ll talk about dogs later,” you say. “How old is Billy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he in fifth or sixth grade?”

“Fifth, I think, maybe sixth? I’m not sure.”

“Were you playing with your friends or just Brady?”

She stops eating her nuggets. “With Julia, Katie, and Brady.”

“Well, what were you playing, some kinda touching game or something?”

“No, yes, no. I mean . . . we were playing on the swings and then down over the hill. I don’t like Brady. He makes me mad.”

“Where did he did he touch you, on the front of your bottom or the back?”

“I told you. On my potty-parts.”

                                                                 ***

Image curtesty of David Castillo Dominici

Leading questions can confuse children. They want to give the correct answer, but when you give them choices they feel they must choose one of your answers. However, these answers may not be the correct answers at all. Keep your questions open-ended, and when you have enough information to know that something questionable happened, contact the authorities. Trained forensic investigators understand how to gently find out what really happened to your child and if further investigation is needed.

Teaching our children the proper names for their private parts helps them communicate clearly. When we listen, ask open-ended questions, and don’t jump to conclusions, we find the truth.

I Dream a Dream for Our Children

“Children disclose abuse incrementally. They will test you to see if you can handle it [sexual abuse disclosures].” said FBI profiler, Jim Clemente, this week, on the Kate Couric Show.

Test us. Test us to see how we’ll respond. Test us to see if we’ll get upset.

“I asked mom what the website was where she read about people who did bad things to kids.” (Aaron Fisher, Silent No More: Victim 1’s Fight for Justice Against Jerry Sandusky, p49.)

Aaron was testing his mother, giving just a little bit of information, indirectly, to see how she’d respond. Sadly, his mother didn't know enough about sexual abuse at the time. She unknowingly failed the test.

But what if our kids didn't have to test us? What if they knew we could handle it? What if they knew we WOULD handle it?

I dream a dream for our children. I dream of families where parents teach their children what sexual abuse is and what they must do should they encounter it. I dream of parent/child relationships where children don’t have to test us because we've already given them the answers to the test.

Rise and Shine Movement, Copyright 2011

And I dream that, one day, sexual abuse will no longer be an epidemic and more children will be free to dream their dreams.

Do you dream that dream too? Begin the conversation today. Help others begin it too. Need a tool to show you how? Please visit RiseAndShineMovement.org and share our website with those who long to protect their children too.

Why Yes, Virginia, You Can Be Disobedient

I like obedient kids. Don’t you?

Nothing broke the mood of a romantic date with my husband more than a bunch of noisy brats seated at the table next to ours. It happened more than once. We would get a sitter and plan our escape only to be assaulted by someone’s spaghetti drippin’ faced cherubs screechin’ out songs of lamentations.

We left our children at home. Thank you. Very. Much.

Once we planned an overnighter at a local inn known for its relaxing Jacuzzis and romantic visits to faraway places. Just walk through the door and you’re lost in Paree. Oui. Oui. Evening becomes night. And what happens in Paree, stays in Paree. Then suddenly you’re jolted from your dreams at 7 AM by two mattress jumping screamers next door. Their parents decided to take them on the Orient Express. The train derailed. And this momma’s oui, ouis  bolted right out of Ol’ Paree.

We left our seven, count them, seven children at HOME! Thank you, oh, so, VERY MUCH!!!

My husband and I have gotten grayer, wiser and perhaps, more senile through the years. We choose to laugh at situations like this now. It’s just easier on our blood pressure and a kinder approach to mankind.

Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Kids will be kids. Parents will be parents. And quite frankly, I've grown fond of disobedient kids. I hope my kids give birth to or adopt a whole gaggle of them.

I want grandkids who test the waters with their tiny big toes just to see how far they can stick them in without getting hurt, who question whether the sky is really blue or if it is just the way our eyes perceive it, and grandkids who trust their parents for unconditional love, gentle guidance, and thoughtful answers to their unending questions.

I also want grandkids who know that there are just sometimes that it is totally okay to be disobedient to an authority, whether that be an older child or an adult. I want them to know with certainty that no one is allowed to touch them where their swimsuit covers, and that they are not allowed to touch anyone else where their swimsuit covers.  I want them to believe in their hearts and understand with their minds that it’s right to say—no, yell, “OH NO, I WON"T!” And run.

I also hope those worn-out children of mine, drop those mischievous little grand kids off at my house, just so they can have a date—without their kids. ;)

Teaching our children to be obedient is good. Very good. But teaching them that sometimes they must be disobedient is even better.

No! She Didn't Just Write That, Did She? (Teaching Our Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too, Part 4)

“But won’t I take away his innocence? I mean, teaching him about sex, won’t that put ideas into his little head?”

Perhaps you've had this question too. It’s a good one. And in my humble opinion, there’s nothing more precious than a child’s innocence. It’s sacred. It must be protected.

But here’s the thing, it is not knowledge that destroys innocence. It is silence and shame.

Image courtesy of ImageryMajestic/Free DigitalPhotos.com

I've been reading the experts.

Do you know that male fetuses have erections in utero?

I know . . . you just squirmed reading that. Sorry. But hang in here with me.

Take a deep breath now. Here’s another one, it’s not uncommon for both male and female infants to experience sexual arousal during nursing. It’s as natural to their bodies as a hiccup or a burp.

Fast forward a year or two. You find your little one with their hands in their pants. You have a choice to make. Do you freak out, "Stop that! Stop that RIGHT NOW!" Or do you acknowledge their sexuality? “Yep Sammy, that feels good doesn't it? It’s great that our bodies were designed to feel good." Then redirect their attention. "Can you go get that new toy you got for your birthday? Show me how it works.”

One response brings silence and shame, the other knowledge.

Our kids are sexual beings. We are sexual beings.

When we ignore this important part of who they are, of who we are, we are pushing them toward silence and secrets. Their bodies are going to respond to stimuli. Are we going to guide them through it or pretend it doesn't exist?

Won't teaching my child about sex take away his innocence? is a good question. Perhaps the better question is, How do I want my child to approach his sexuality, with knowledge or shame?

Teaching healthy sexuality to our kids not only helps our children understand their bodies and feel validated, it helps protect them from sexual abuse. Predators want children who don’t understand their bodies and who are frightened to talk to their parents about sex and sexual abuse. It is not knowledge that destroys innocence. It is silence and shame.

Books I recommend to help you teach your children healthy sexuality. They help take the hyper out of your ventilation.

Words We Wish We'd Said (Teaching Our Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too, Part 3)

“They teach that [sex education] in school. That’s their job. I don’t have to do it.” I could see the relief on my friend’s face as she spoke these words and could hear the “Whew, thank God that’s not my job” sighing between each sentence. She was relieved, free from that dreadful responsibility.

We were seated in a large group of women just as a meeting was beginning to start. She spoke her words loudly for all to hear. I remained mum on the subject. I didn't want to challenge her thinking, even though my gut was gurgling up so many come-backs I thought I might erupt. And it was clear that blissfully ignorant was where she wanted to remain. I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer and mess with her bliss. No sir, no bliss-messing for me.

Yet, she was rearing a flock of children and to this day, I remember her words.

Ah, those things we wish we had said. I can’t go back in time now, but if I could  . . .

“Ya know,” I think I would have said, “I think teaching kids about sex is a privilege and a parent’s responsibility. Do you really want to leave that to the school?’

And now, years later and with the knowledge I have about how to protect kids from sexual abuse, I would add, “Plus, teaching kids about healthy sexuality from the cradle helps protect them from sexual abuse. Do you want them to come to you if someone wants to play a secret sexual game with them? How can they tell you if you've never discussed the subject? How can they speak the words if they don’t know the proper names for their reproductive organs, what sex is, and what the definition of improper touch is?”

I’m sure my friend never thought past her own uneasiness with teaching healthy sexuality to think through the ramifications. I honestly believe if she would have known better, she would have done better.

Image Courtesy of Stewart Miles/ FreeDigitalPhotos.com

And that’s another reason why this momma refuses to be mum on this issue. I speaking to help you understand, so you can speak and your children can be protected.

Teaching Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too Part 1, Part 2

C’mon, Give Those Reproductive Organs a Little R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Teaching Our Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too – Part 2)

“Our children don’t deserve our shame.” That statement erupted out of my mouth at my last speaking engagement. I was shocked. Not because I didn't think I believed that statement, but because it wasn't part of my original presentation. I usually like to examine my words over and over again before I spout them out to my audience. I think my listeners deserve that. But there it was—a big blurp out of my oral cavity. And as we all know, once something comes out of that orifice, we can’t take it back.

My mind went reeling as I continued to present my next points. That’s it. That’s why we don’t use the correct terms when we speak to our kids about their reproductive organs. We’re passing on our shame. Duh!

Now I've had some time to think about it. I've read the experts advice. And I still agree with my blurp. 

We all have our stuff. When we leave the hospital with that helpless, totally dependent creature in our arms, and a freshly packed diaper bag over our shoulder, we still have the invisible heavy backpack on our backs we took to the hospital—the backpack of shame.

I don’t know what your story is. Perhaps you were raised by one, two, or more people that never spoke to you about sex and you found out through friends, pornography, and wherever else you could find it. Shame. Perhaps you were raised in a home where you were told that sex is dirty. Shame. Perhaps you were raised in a home where you were taught that sex before marriage was wrong and if you participated in that whopper of a sin, you are evil, without hope of redemption. Shame. And even more grievous, maybe you experienced the ultimate violation—sexual abuse. SHAME.

Shame renders us mute. So we don’t speak about sex or give our reproductive organs the proper respect they’re due. Our helpless babes are left to navigate this territory without a navigator. “No thoughtfully packed bag containing a GPS for healthy sexuality for you kiddo, momma and poppa have their own backpacks to carry.”

Image courtesy of Photostock/FreeDigitalPhoto.net

So what’s a loving parent like you supposed to do? First of all, choose to empty your backpack. Some of the items in your backpack were packed by others and, yes, some of them were packed by you. But there is healing and forgiveness available. But it is a choice you have to make. Find a good, trust-worthy friend or counselor and start talking. Unpack that backpack.

Secondly, don’t feel shame about your shame. If you haven’t used the proper terms for penis and vagina, start now. No shame in that.

Stand up tall, lighter, without the backpacks, and let’s begin at the beginning. If you have a daughter, she has a V.A.G.I.N.A. If you have a son, he has P.E.N.I.S. When we teach our children self-care, we use the correct terms and give our kids and our reproductive organs the respect they deserve. No made-up names. No silliness. Just a little R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

When we respect our sexuality, our children will. And when we teach healthy sexuality to our kids, we also help protect them from sexual abuse. Perpetrators look for children who lack knowledge. You CAN begin the conversations. You CAN do it! This not so "Mum Momma" is cheering for you!

And join me next week for Tamar's Redemption Thursdays - Parenting with Purpose, Parenting without Paranoia.

To read Teaching Our Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too, Part 1, The Mum Momma click here.

The Mum Momma (Teaching Our Kids about Sex While Protecting Them Too, Part 1)

We were walking hand in-hand through Wal-Mart somewhere between the women’s section and the men’s department. Suddenly my seven year old yanked on my hand, pulling me in the opposite direction, covering his eyes with his other hand. “Don’t make me see that.”

I looked around. “See what?” I asked. I didn't see anything unusual.  

“That.” He pointed in the direction of the negligees, bras and panties, while keeping his hand over his eyes, continuing to lead me in the other direction.

I honestly can’t remember how I responded, but I do remember feeling sad for him. He was trying to protect his childhood. And the intimate department at Wal-Mart was intruding on his innocence.

Photograhpy by Christy Mae, Used by permission, Copyright 2013

A child’s innocence. Nothing more precious. Nothing more vulnerable. Sacred. Our culture snatches it away far too early. You can’t go to the mall, the grocery store, or even Wal-Mart without encountering sexual images on display.

What’s a parent to do?

We can’t keep them home. We can’t continually block their view. And they won't cover their eyes forever.

How do we engage the culture, but protect them from it?

We teach sexuality. Sorry, I know it’s not the answer you wanted. This momma would prefer to remain mum on the issue too. But the experts tell us silence is the worst thing we can do.

So join me over the next several weeks as I attempt to make this job easier for you. I’ll read the wisdom of experts, and I’ll share little things you can do to teach your children about the birds and the bees. Okay, I’ll stop with the nonsense jargon. We’ll talk about teaching our kids about sex. There, I wrote it. It’s in black and white. No turning back now. We’re diving in, parents.

And here’s a promise. I’ll keep my posts short and practical.

See ya next week on Tamar's Redemption Thursdays: Parenting with Purpose, Parenting without Paranoia.

Teaching our kids about sex not only helps them navigate a sex saturated culture, it helps protect them from sexual abuse. 

Finding the Real Me, Christy's Voice (Part 3)

When my kids were small they thought a band-aid could fix anything. A tiny scratch or a banged up knee just felt better when you put a band-aid on it.

You and I know there is nothing magical about those sticky, adhesive bandages. They are a temporary fix while the real healing work happens—under  the band-aid, from within.

In a perfect world you could stick a band-aid on the hurts of life, ignore it for a few days and you'd be good as new. But real healing is intentional and it takes a lot of hard, often agonizing, work.

In my mid to late twenties two major conflicts in my life, including years of not dealing with the pain of childhood sexual abuse, became the catalysts for deep personal healing.

I had unknowingly put an invisible wedge between me and God. I wanted to feel connected to Him, but I struggled with feeling let down by Him because He didn't intervene. I had concocted an idea of who I wanted God to be and when He didn't measure up, I was convinced it meant He wouldn't take care of me. I wanted God to swoop in before bad things happened in my life, not just clean up the mess after.

www.ChristianPhotos.Net

This is where God found me—covering myself with band-aids and in a lot of pain.

God started removing the bandages one by one. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow and careful. This process hurt as He showed me all that I had been hiding under there. With the bandages removed I could finally see the real me—wounds and all.

This is when the real healing began.

Curiosity Killed the Mom: Help for Survivor Moms

The following is a fictional story based on true accounts. Situations happen like this all across the world, probably each and every day. It’s common, however  . . .

Sheryl climbed the steps lugging the wash basket filled with little girl’s clothing, a week’s worth of vacation laundry, finally washed and neatly folded. She was glad to be home and smiled as she heard giggles from her daughter’s room. It was a good move, inviting Emily’s neighborhood friend, Jason, over for a play date, she had gotten the laundry nearly completed without interruption. A good day.

She pushed Emily’s bedroom door open with her foot, “Hey guys, do want a . . . snack?” Her heart pounded. The laundry basket fell to the floor. “Pull your pants up. What are you two doing? You can’t do that! Jason, get your jacket. Go home. Now!”

                                                          *****

It was a game. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. Curiosity had gotten the best of Emily and Jason. Neither one of them had a younger sibling of the opposite sex and they both simply wanted to know what the other looked like.

Emily had never seen anything like that. She giggled. Jason had never seen anything like that either. He giggled because Emily giggled, although he didn’t see what was quite so funny.

Kids will be kids and their curiosity won’t kill them, but it might kill their moms’—especially if their mothers’ are survivors. And that’s understandable. Because deep within a survivors heart there is a resolute determination that what happened to them, will never happen to their child, not on their watch, not in their lifetime. Their child will never feel the hurt; their child will never know the shame.

                                                        *****

Sheryl locked herself in the master bathroom; her cell phone trembled in her hand. “You don’t understand,” she said.

“Yes, I think I do,” her husband said.

“No, you don’t,” she wiped the tears with the back of her hand as she sank to the floor.

Silence. Then finally, “You’re right, I don’t. I can’t. But I do know this—kids experiment. Kids play doctor. Where is Emily now?”

“She’s in her bedroom. The look on her face . . . I’ll never forget it.” Sheryl closed her eyes. “What have I done?”

“You reacted the only way you knew how. You’re human.”

“What do I do now?”

“You do what you and I both do when we get it wrong. Apologize. Tell Emily that you understand that she and Jason were curious, and that you’re happy to answer any questions she has about boys and how they’re made. Remind her that her private parts are private.You’ll get through it. And, Sheryl . . . you’re a great mom.”

                                                              *****

Sheryl took a common situation and gave an uncommon blessing. She apologized to her daughter and began to build a bridge of communication with Emily that would strengthen through the surge of a lifetime.


And to “Sheryl” and all the women like her—you are good mothers.




Image'>http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2588">Image: Phaitoon / FreeDigitalPhotos.net