It's war - and I'm not winning

I have a new mantra: I love my kids, I love my kids. You see, today was a testament to my patience, my self-esteem and my sanity (which is slowly leaking out my ears.) Let me explain.

I believe my children are conspiring against me. Like a diabolical television episode, they have hatched a plan to drive me to an early grave. Or, perhaps, just out of the house.

It all started late this afternoon. After busting my hump cleaning up after my tribe, well, I stunk. So I hopped into the shower and began my grooming rituals. After emerging, fresh like a newly grown spring tulip, I went to my bedroom to dress myself. Where Frac was playing video games. Now we are a pretty open family. Nudity is not a big deal. And while I don't flaunt myself, I am not going to hide either. Afterall, this is my bedroom. I proceeded to get dressed. No big deal. Underwear, check. Pants, check. And as I bend over to pull on my socks, my son looks up and innocently asks "Are your boobs supposed to be long and hangy like that?"

Now tell me, internet, what would any self-loving momma do?

Well, I don't know so I'll tell you what I did. I threw my towel over his head, told him a woman's body is beautiful no matter what form it takes, and said "Don't you have any homework to do?"

I promise you dear internet, never again will my son see my naked, sagging, danglers ever again. Effectively killed my whole-open-with-nudity-attitude in one fell swoop I tell you!

But it gets worse.

Fric gets in on the action.

She needs help with her homework after supper. So I pull up a stool, right next to her. I am helping; feeling ridiculously grateful that I still remember grade four math. When I look up from checking her homework I realize that she is staring at me. Intently. So I ask her, "What, do I have a booger?" as I check my nose.

"No, silly!" she responds. And then she giggles. I'm curious now, so (stupid me) I prod.

"What? Tell me," I whine.

"Well," Fric replies, "I was just wondering if, when I grow old like you, will I have stripes on my forehead too?"

I primly inform her that those were frown lines, not stripes, and they were hard won. And then I told her to never forget the sunscreen.

So do you understand dear internet? They have declared war on my self-esteem. What's a saggy titted, striped mother to do?