Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Why Do I have to Keep Explaining This?

Warning: this post comes dangerously close to just ranting, FYI.  OK.  Carry on.  You've been warned.

Let's just take a little trip down imagination lane, shall we? 

Leauxra has two children, a boy and a girl.  The girl is older by three years, and is named Crayola Pavlov. The boy is named Vladimir Pavlov.

Let's just picture them both as gingers, because my mom has red hair, and it could totally happen.  Also, I dyed my hair red recently, and I'm pretty sure if I had kids when I had red hair, the kids would be redheads.  That's how it works, right?


Vladimir Pavlov and Crayola Pavlov- my kids.

Crayola and Vlad would be bright children, but they would be around me all the time.

Just let that sink in for a moment.


Got it in your head?

I imagined up these kids when I was a teenager.  Somehow, it scared no one.

The reason I would give both of them the middle name of Pavlov is because I would most certainly condition them to respond to bells and whistles.  For the rest of their lives, they would have an overwhelming urge to pee, eat, or sleep if they hear a certain sound.  

I would homeschool them, and not teach them how to count in decimal... they would learn binary, and when they're ready, hexadecimal.  Really.  It's the computer age, and we're still counting on fingers and toes? Screw that.

I would make up an alphabet, as well as history.  It would make their lives more interesting.

I would also make sure that they are afraid of the light.

Just because... reasons.  I WOULD HAVE THE POWER!



Every few months, I get the question.

No, the question is not:
Why don't you play more Dungeons and Dragons?

No, the question is not:
When are you two lovebirds going to get married?

No, the question is not:
Are you a professional writer/artist/anything that doesn't involve a cubicle yet?

While annoying and humiliating, these are not the question.

The question goes something like this:

(Probably a)Well-meaning person: "So!  Do you have any kids?"

Me: "No."

Well-meaning person: "Awww... are your cats your babies?"

Me: "... No."

Well-meaning person: "Ha ha ha, well, you're young, you have time."

Me: "No, I am not having children. And I'm thirty-six."

Well-meaning person: "Well, that's not too old! My daughter in law had her first when she was thirty eight!"

Me: "I don't want kids."

Well-meaning person: "You'll change your mind."

Me:  "I don't think so."

Well-meaning person: "What's wrong with kids?"

Me: "Nothing, kids are fun.  I just don't want my own."

Well-meaning person (tapping the side of her nose meaningfully):  "You never know what's in store for you."

Me: "I know it doesn't involve spawning."

Well-meaning person: "You don't have to get sarcastic!  I know children are hard, but the rewards are endless!"

Me: "Sarcasm is a genetic trait.  And really. I. Don't. Want. Kids."

Well-meaning person: "Well, I really think that every woman should have at least one child."

Me:  "I don't."

Well-meaning person: "The Lord works in mysterious ways!"

Me: "I wonder if I can get this fork all the way through your eyeball and into your brain..."

Well-meaning person: "Ha ha ha.  Well.  You'll never know love until you do."

Me: "Until I stab you in the eye?"

Well-meaning person: "Have kids."

Me: "Which I won't."

Well-meaning person: (looks at me knowingly)

Me: (stabs well meaning person with fork, as promised).

Kids are fun.  They're great.  I like kids.  I just don't want to take them home with me.

Fine.  Endless rewards.  Fine.  Finally knowing true love.  Fine.  Great.  Why does this even matter to you?

My desire to remain mini-me-free is not a judgement on you, your choices, your children, or anyone else's beliefs.

But?  This conversation happens at family gatherings.  At work.  Pretty much... everywhere outside of a small group of friends.

I owe no one an explanation.  And really, how the fuck is it anyone's business but my own whether or not I wish to pass my genetic material on to the next generation?

One day, my mom, my paternal grandmother, and I were sitting around the kitchen table shooting the shit one afternoon and drinking daquaries (grandmama loooves her mixed drinks).  I had pretty much trained my mother to stop asking the inevitable "when you havin' kids" question, since I had reacted sullenly, angrily, sillily, snottily, and violently since about age twelve to this particular line of questioning.

But... as things go, somehow the possibility of future great grandchildren came up.

I looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to decide if I should just leave, leave with the pitcher of booze, or what, when it finally occurred to me how I should answer.

"Hey Mom," I said.


"Remember when I went away to college, and left the cats here?" I asked.

"Ummm.." she said.

"It wasn't that I didn't love and care about my cats.  They were awesome."


"I just couldn't take them with me."


"So," I said, "I can have kids.  That's fine.  Just don't be too surprised if I have to leave them here at some point so I can move on.  You wouldn't mind raising them, would you?"

Mom and Grandma stared at me, Grandma's mouth slightly agape.

"You know, Leauxra," said Mom, "You would probably be a good mother, but you shouldn't have kids if you don't want them."

I smiled.  "Thanks."