We were shopping with our mom, Sybil at a large grocery store in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. We were walking along side of the shopping cart occasionally asking for something that we saw like all kids do. Kathy, my younger sister was reading the products as she walked along; “Toothpaste, Kleenex…” she paused and then asked, “Mom, what are tampoons?”
My mom stopped, leaned over, and hissed into her ear, “S-h-h-h, I’ll tell you later.”
We finished our shopping. Kathy was quiet. She stopped reading the products and seemed contemplative. She said nothing more. Mom paid for the groceries and pushed the cart to the car. We helped to unload the cart and then climb into the car for the drive home.
Mom hadn’t much more than exited the parking lot when Kathy asked, “Mom, what are tampoons?”
Mom’s answer was the same, “Kathy, not now, I said I would tell you later.”
I never knew what mom told Kathy later, but I am sure that Kathy reminded Mom to tell her what tampoons were.
My first child Amanda went through a stage where she became a vacuum cleaner and picked up anything that was on the floor; lint, a piece of thread, a bit of paper. She would carry whatever she had found and carry it to the nearest adult and hand it to them. She was toddling around in her diaper looking for things to collect.
Most of us had gotten into the habit of holding out our hand and take it without looking. One day when we were at my parent’s house, Amanda had been picking up things and giving them to Kathy. For some reason she had singled Kathy out as the recipient of her gifts.
Amanda toddled over to Kathy and held out her find for Kathy to take. Kathy was talking and instinctively held out her hand. When Amanda deposited her “treasure”, Kathy thought it felt heavier than what Amanda had been finding.
Kathy stopped talking and looked in her hand. It was a turd. The bowel movement must have fallen out of her diaper and she picked it up off the floor, carried it across the room, and handed it to her aunt Kathy.
Now my sister, Kathy always looks before she accepts anything from a kid.
The next story involved my daughter Amanda again. She was a bit older and we went to my parent’s house for lunch after church. Amanda was carrying around her small purse. She opened it and took out a little white tube. She was rubbing it across her lips.
My wife being curious asked, “What do you have Amanda?”
My wife said, “Thank goodness she didn’t take it out in church.” The “Iptick” was a tampon in a plastic holder.