I’ve written lots and lots about the wonderful relationship I share with my now-26 year old daughter. She’s far from perfect – she can be acerbic, unforgiving, very demanding in her expectations of those around her – but she is also brilliant, funny, determined and loving. And she has my sense of curiosity about the world around her, a desire to learn and do everything. It is exciting to watch her growing up, growing into a human I am so proud to know.
We spend a good amount of time together, most of it pursuing one or the other of her or my interests, laughing, telling stories, being silly. She mothers me at times, and resists me mothering her, lol.
These past few weeks we have spent a lot of unplanned-for time together (and some planned) since she has recently split from her long-term boyfriend and moved back to the city, to within a couple miles of where I live. I can’t say I am terribly disappointed in the break-up. He is a nice person, but not right for her, and while I never encouraged her to leave (or stay with) him, I was glad when she finally made the decision. Just spending time in the little apartment she has rented, feeling how much it is her, as opposed to the place they had lived in, reassures me that she’s made the right choice – and I think her too. It also, as mentioned, has given us many opportunities to hang out unexpectedly, a development I absolutely love.
And more time together means more talk about life, love, happiness; ambitions, hopes and dreams.
And occasionally to have funny oddball conversations/situations that would never happen if I was not the person I am – openly poly, still highly sexual at 50+, kinky, an erotica writer and sex blogger – all things she is perfectly aware of.
About a month ago I had her and her brother over for dinner. She arrived early to help put together dinner. This was just after we had thrown a house party – one that involved putting up the spanking bench in my 2nd floor bedroom. Normally I have the door shut to conserve heat, but the temperatures had been unusually nice, and so I had had the door and windows open to air the house out a little. I’d shut the window before dinner, but not the door. The guest bath is on the 2nd floor. While we were cooking she excused herself to use the washroom; I didn’t think anything about the bench. Not because I was okay with her seeing it – it wouldn’t be a big deal, but I tend to be more private about the workings of my sex life than that – but because I had simply forgotten about it being there. It was just another piece of furniture to me.
When she came downstairs she said, “Hey mom, I shut the door on your room. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want Alex (her brother, who hadn’t arrived yet) to see your sex table.” We all had a good laugh at that, and went on about our night.
Fast forward to a week ago.The weekend prior she had invited me to join her and some of her friends/coworkers at a book/knitting/crocheting/wine-drinking club that she and her BFF had started. The inaugural meet-up was to be at her house. I was flattered to be included, and we all had a great time. It’s delightful – and insightful – to see your grown children interacting with their peers as an adult. You see a side of them you might never have seen otherwise, and it was an afternoon well-spent.
During the course of the day, she brought up doing a crochet/knitting project as a group for charity. There’s a place that you can either complete an afghan for, or just send in squares for and they will complete it and give it to someone in need. It’s a lovely project, and we all agreed to do it. She also mentioned wanting to make a baby papoose for a friend of hers, and needed yellow yarn (she wanted to make it into a pineapple because her friend is mad about pineapples.) I said I had some, and later texted her a picture of the color: did she want to come over to get it? She said yes, she’d come over after work one night that week; we’d do dinner.
The night of, I was late getting home. I thought about waiting til she got there to go dig out the yarn – I have several baskets of different weights/colors of yarn for projects I thought I’d do, eventually, someday…yeah, I’m a packrat that way. The baby yarn is in a basket in the 2nd floor bedroom, though, where the spanking bench was still set up (still to be used!), and decided I didn’t want to sit there next to it with her pawing through yarn. Again, she knows about stuff, but I am discrete. So I went through the yarn, pulling out all of the baby yarn that I had bought for a project I hadn’t done.
And what I found in the basket (made out of that same baby yarn), was a project I had completed:
Some of you might recognize it: it’s a willy warmer. :-D As open as I am with her, I was glad that I’d gone through the yarn basket alone!
Here’s another funny from that night, though. Asking her about her friend who was pregnant, I said, “A pineapple?” “Yeah,” she said, “remember when I asked you about what pineapples mean…?” I sat for a moment, then recalled the convo from several months before.
Ana: “Mom, I have this friend at work, I just went out for drinks with him and his wife. She is super into pineapples. Like crazy about them! Isn’t there something…like from your world (the kink/swinger world?)… about pineapples? Like, what they mean?”
I thought about it for a moment, then replied: “Yeah…supposedly it can mean they are swingers. Put a pineapple picture on your door, or in your window or on your porch, and (supposedly) people “in the know” will know you’re a swinger. Or so I have heard.” (I really didn’t know if this is just an urban myth.)
“Oh!” she said. “Hmm. Okay.”
Now, sitting across from her, hearing about her plans to make a pineapple baby bunting, and noticing the pineapple phone case she has, my eyes opened wide. “Oh!” I said. “That friend!” And suddenly I started wondering…
“So…are they swingers then? And are you…?”
“What?!? No no…” she laughed. “I asked them. She just likes pineapples. A lot.” LOL