I asked, "So how the bus ride was?" They snickered and replied fine. As the woman who bore them I instinctively knew that gesture meant something sneaky. I watched them carefully. Did my older son just gave his little brother a wink? The motherly voice in my head repeated, If you don't do something now, you may live to regret it.

I took a seat facing them, and folded my hands. In a voice similar to a news reporter I stated, " Boys, you know that germs spread in different ways." They paused with cupcakes in mid air at my tone.

"Germs from your mouth can infect anything it touches." I held eye contact hoping I sounded as important as their health teacher.

" Bacteria can be transmitted anywhere on the body through the tongue, saliva, and breath. Did you know that?"

They shook their heads then bit into the cupcakes. Sitting there with frosting on their chins, they looked so cute. I wanted them to remain innocent. But they would grow up, have to shave and take the bus to middle and high school. Maybe college. I braced myself, and reached for the journal. Better to end this once and for all.

"And this is what can happen if someone with germs in their mouth touches you here." I whipped open the magazine and flashed a sore encrusted, oozing, scabbed, wart covered, lesion filled penis. Their eyes widened, and the only thing I saw in them was fear. They dropped the cupcakes and ran clutching their privates saying, " Ewe, get that disgusting picture away from us."

Satisfied I'd made my point, I put the magazine away and was certain I'd traumatized them for life. It was a low point in my parenting history I'll admit, and will probably feel guilty about it forever.

And we never spoke of the incident again.

Over the years my approach to the subject of sex mellowed. My latest concern was teenagers killing themselves because of cyber bulling, drugs or not being able to deal with their homosexuality. This disturbed me. A child should always be able to confide and trust a parent. As the mother who created them, I wanted my boys to know they could come to me with any thing.

So I made up little jingles. One classic saying I'd repeat while washing dishes or driving was," If you're gay, don't be afraid to say, I'm your mother and will love you anyway." They'd stare at me as if realizing for the first time their mother is mentally challenged and say, " But Mom, we are not gay."

Another famous one I'd mutter before a date was, "If you sit on the leaves, under the trees, with a pretty girl in a dress without sleeves, remember the disease, of the birds and bees."

They'd shake their heads and say, "Mom, you are so weird."

I'd let it go, and never press the issue. They were males and would never understand having a life grow inside your body. Many times while pregnant I'd think how weird it was to have a tiny elbow protrude from my stomach suddenly or how my nipples lactated at the sound of an infant's cry.

My son's are nineteen and eighteen now. When I look at them I feel honored to call them mine. They each have girlfriends. Lovely things, with that fresh from the shower glow only teenagers posses. I still make them cupcakes and, remind them to call me if the car breaks down. I'd gladly travel to the ends of the earth to pick them up ... Just don't take the bus!

Incidentally, I never got that precious me time. Seems my husband made excellent use of those twenty- five minutes before work. Most days, morning delight led to afternoon delight, and sometimes evening delight.

I became pregnant a few months later with my third son. Incidentally his first word was... bus.