We sat. Staring at each other over our coffees.
Mine, a delicious Americano with 4 shots of espresso. What? I’m not a morning person, what can I say!?
Hers, some sweet drink with more whipped cream than liquid. And boy, did that whipped cream look yummy! What? I have a sweet tooth and it doesn’t matter what time of day!
I looked at her, with what was hopefully a welcoming expression. Ready to answer any questions. Or talk about anything that she may have needed to discuss. Willing to be truthful and forthright. Confident I could tackle this daunting matter without blushing, stuttering or vomiting.
She looked at me. Yeah. Just…looked at me. And shrugged her shoulders.
I took it upon myself to open the door of discussion.
“So?” I said.
She…looked at me. Again. And smiled. Not in the least bit embarrassed or nervous.
And, quite frankly, neither was I.
We bantered back and forth openly about what she had to unfortunately, audio-ly witness.
She shrugged it off as no big deal.
I told her about the time I walked in on my parents. We both dry heaved into our coffees.
I relayed to her the fact that she is lucky that her parents enjoy each other still, even in the biblical sense.
And she said…
no…they don’t. And if it was my parent’s having sex, I would have been very disturbed and upset.
She was half kidding. But I forgot, when we were discussing this whole lovely event, that I’m NOT the real Mom. Which, ugh, made it a little disconcerting. But, nonetheless…
And that was it.
We joked about it here and there, throughout the day.
I found out that my other daughter had, indeed, been listening to the moaning melody from the parents love nest.
But then…the clincher to the entire day.
The fact that confirmed we need a triple lock on our door. OR, perhaps and entirely different congenial house. Our own private house of ill repute.
When my oldest son came home from being with his dad.
The girls filled him in on what had happened in my bedroom, the night before.
And they told him about the lovely duo harmony they heard.
They informed him of the path of notes left, leading me to the doozywhopper on the kitchen table.
looked at me.
“Uh, Mom. You REALLY need a lock on your door. Because I’ve walked in on you guys before. I won’t even tell you what I saw. But yuck, I saw stuff. So yeah. Get a lock.”
The whole privacy thing was addressed, with all my kids sitting bug eyed and looking a little woozy around the kitchen table.
I’m going to be using the lock.
A sign will be put on my door that says:
Don’t come ‘asneakin’ when the bed is ‘acreakin’
Sorry. I had that stuck in my head!
Hopefully, we all learned a little lesson in this.
And, I can drop it now.
Until the next time. When another child walks in on something they shouldn’t.
Because with five kids. It’s so bound to constantly happen.
No matter what sign is on my door.
Or how many locks there are.
It’s some sort of disgustingly gross rite of passage to walk in on your parents schtupping…I think.