***Updated below***

Yesterday, after showering and waddling naked through my house, wrapped so tightly in a towel I resembled a sushi roll, I looked at my suitcase and schwag bags lying on the floor, taunting my lazy ass to unpack and put things away. I could just hear them dare me to leave them on the floor to become permanent parts of the decor. Do it, do it, they whispered.

Not one to succumb to peer pressure (snort), even the pressure created in my mind from two inanimate objects, I took a deep breath and dumped the contents of the bags on to the top of my comforter. There! Take that! I thought. This way, I would have to go through my dirty laundry and schwag and put things away. It was on my bed. My precious, soft bed. I had no choice now.

One would think that I would have immediately started putting things away, right? Nah. I was standing there, wrapped in my towel, and let’s face it, it was starting to get a little drafty. As the true blonde I am, I found myself distracted from one task to another, much like a raven with a nest full of shiney coins.

Standing in my bathroom, picking my zits, applying my war paint, er, brushing my teeth, my children wander in and see the mountain of goodies on my bed. Like the starving, neglected children they are, they immediately started to plunder my loot.

“Mom, can I have this tin of mints?”

“Mom, are you gonna use this note book?”

“Mom, do you really need another bag? One that would be perfect to store my legos in?”

Which is fine, because other than the dildo, everything I brought home I brought to impress my children. Look kiddies, your mother is the ultimate at scoring free schwag. Learn from me and cultivate this talent…

Suddenly, my daughter pipes up, “Frac, don’t put that in your mouth. It’s not a candy. Gross.”

My ears perk up, and I ask, “What, what is it? Show me.” I’m wracking my brains trying to think if I brought home anything toxic that was disguised as sugary delightfulness.

Fric snatched the offending item out of Frac’s hands and walks into the bathroom to show me.

“This, he was trying to eat THIS.” She is both disgusted and horrified and completely indignant said offending item was even in my possession.

“Oh. Ya. No Frac. That’s not candy. Don’t eat it.” Shame floods my face and I try desperately not to make eye contact with my daughter’s accusing eyes.

(I can just see her ten years in the future on the therapist couch, blaming me for the disappointments in her life and why my perversion is at the root of her disfunction.)

Frac is trying to grab the offensive object back from Fric while demanding to know what it is.

His lovely and ever so helpful sister is now standing on the toilet, holding the item well above Frac’s head, teasing him to jump for it.

With great authority, (after she catches my evil-death-glare and decides she had best step down from the toilet before her mother decides to duct tape her to the wall), she tosses the item on the floor and walks out of the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “Fine, have it. Eat it. After all, it’s the only use for a condom you are ever going to have.”

Frac bends over it, and examines the orange latex condom on a sucker stick, and mumbles how he thought it was a lollipop.

Examining it, he looks up at me with his big, innocent blue yes and asks, “Mom, what is a condom?”

Thank you Kristen, because having yet another sex education talk with my son while his father is absent is exactly what I wanted to do upon my arrival home.

There really is nothing like watching your nine and ten year olds apply a neon orange condom onto an over ripe banana. I will cherish the memory.

And try to find a way to explain to their daddy why the fruit is now sporting a jimmy.

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Thank you Mama Tulip for awarding me a perfect post award for this post. You are a fine Canuck and a true hoser.

For more perfect post awards, please hop on over to Petroville or Suburban Turmoil place to view the complete list. And thanks for hosting the awards ladies. Big slobbery Canadian kisses to you both.

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Racy Red is back and she’s hot n’ bothered. Go on over and see the action. Sadly, it’s the only action this momma is getting these days.

Also, her gal pal, Hot Mama wants to hear your dirty little secret. You may not want to share, but you sure will giggle.