I don’t know which is worse, that I remember a scene I watched once in 1992 or that I’m still getting so many of my ideas from pop culture. I mean, I think I get most of my values from church, from the family dinners my parents conducted every night at 6 pm my whole childhood, but lately I’ve had sex on the brain, and movies and TV and the New York Times have had a lot of good things to say about it.

On Glee, there was a line about how it’s not who you’re attracted to, it’s who you fall in love with, and on the Op-Ed page of the Times there was a great piece on Why Monogamy Matters, where the conclusion from recent research is that “a high sexual ideal can shape how quickly and casually people pair off, even when they aren’t living up to its exacting demands. The ultimate goal is a sexual culture that makes it easier for young people to achieve romantic happiness — by encouraging them to wait a little longer, choose more carefully and judge their sex lives against a strong moral standard.”

Sometimes it’s hard for me to balance reality with idealism, especially when it comes to what I want my kids to know. And this is particularly important for my daughters, because that research shows that female promiscuity is strongly correlated to depression. This sounds sexist, but really it’s practical biology. (Not to mention backed up by my faith — which encourages chastity and fidelity for women and men.)

Last week Tom and I watched Easy A, and while it definitely earned it’s PG-13 rating (and then some, for language and theme, though nothing actually happens), it was a fantastic movie. I love high school movies in general, and one that pays homage to 80s John Hughes flicks and Nathaniel Hawthorne? Sign me up! The more I think about it, I’ll probably watch it with Avery in a couple of years, when I’m ready to take The Talk a little further.

A couple years ago I had to encourage someone who is more pure and innocent than most five-year-olds I know to get STD testing after her husband left her. Things happen. I don’t expect my daughters to be perfect. I wasn’t, and am not perfect, but there has to be a way to balance the high ideal we’re never going to give up and the reality that we’re human beings in a imperfect world. In Easy A, which is about truth and reputation/perception and gossip and friendship and family, the school counselor says something about this being a time in your life to make mistakes and explore but that she doesn’t want something to happen (unplanned pregnancy, STD) that will define you for the rest of your life.

That’s what I want to do for my girls — not by handing out condoms necessarily, as the school counselor does (though I have thought before that if I had a wild daughter, I’d take her in for a depo shot), but by teaching them and being available enough to them that while they’re free to discover who they really are, hopefully we can keep them safe from the type of decision that can’t be undone.

—-

I am participating in the Let’s Talk about STDs Campaign for RapidSTDtesting.com. I memorized Some Kind of Wonderful and had four daughters I now have to teach about all this stuff all on my own. (Ok, Tom helped with the daughters — but NOT with SKOW.)

Then, on the first full day of parenting the children, he took them camping. They got to the campground 15 minutes from our house in the early afternoon. They climbed willow trees, rode bikes, roasted marshmallows over an open fire that only claimed one wayward sock, ate Little Ceasar’s pizza, and were sound asleep by 7 pm.

I asked what he had planned for breakfast and he said they’d be home early.

This morning before I left, Tom and I were, uh, indisposed. Actually, he was amorous, and I was acquiescent despite my growing whale-like proportions for the aforementioned reasons (helping around the house really is sexy). Susan and Spot were playing legos in their room and Sally would be home from school at any moment. (It was her last day so she had an important hour-and-a-half of education before summer officially began).

Suddenly our locked door started rattling. Sally was home, and asking if Daddy was still asleep. (I had told her she would probably be home before he even woke up, and that I’d probably be gone by then). I said, “Yes he’s still asleep, go play with your sisters.”

She persisted. I insisted he was still asleep and she should go play with her sisters.

Finally she gave up and we were able to concentrate. Afterward, I asked her if she didn’t remember that talk we had a few months ago, about how if mommy and daddy’s door is locked, you don’t want to come in anyway. And she said,

“Well I knew you weren’t doing that.”

And how did she know that?

“Because you already have one.”

“One what”?

“A baby in your tummy.”

—–

When I could speak again, I told her that we still love each other and that married people sometimes do that for no other reason.

How awkward. (As if sex itself is not awkward (but fun!) enough.)

Being the martyr-like female that I am, I assumed that it was me (which it was). But how awkward. I certainly didn’t want to see my gynecologist about it. Ick. (I know, I know, I’d rather discuss it online, but I do have a point, if you can bear with me.)

So I went on WebMD.com, which has this great tool where you choose your symptoms, and view the possible diagnoses, read up a bit more about them, and then pick what’s wrong with you. My ailment was very apparent from the description. VERY. But before I got to that one, I read through the other possibilities:

*cervicitis (may be caused by STD)

*yeast infection (not enough good bacteria, not caused by STD)

*lice (“close contact”)

*trichomoniasis, chlamydia, herpes, HPV (all usually caused by STD)

The only bad thing about WebMD (versus, say, a real doctor) is that I start to wonder (especially late at night) … What if I have one of these other things? (What if I’ve got cancer and have only 6 months to live?) How well do I really know my husband? Can I trust him? Do I trust him? It doesn’t help that every few months there’s a House episode in which one spouse has to okay a form of treatment for the comatose spouse, a form of treatment that will be deadly if the person has never, ever cheated, but will save their life if it’s at all possible that they “slipped up” just once. I hate those episodes. Because it always turns out that in addition to lying, everybody cheats.

(By the way, I do trust my husband, and, as Tara pointed out, it helps that you can rule out the STD-caused problems.)

I spend a good deal of my time thinking that, as a minivan-driving Mormon, as a Christ-loving Christian, as a politically-conservative woman who hates Republican family-values hypocrisy, I’m really not that different from the other women in America.

I’m pro-life, but conflictedly so. I stay at home with my children, but I envy women with corner offices. I grind my own wheat and make my own bread (sometimes), but I would feed my girls Chick-fil-A every day if I could. I never miss a Sunday at church, but I nag Dick to let us watch Slumdog Millionaire, without the Clearplay turned on. (He stays firm, though.)

I have other, more serious sins, and other, more redeeming aspirations, but in short: I usually think of myself as an American first. Not so different from all the other American women who might read the same sorts of books and try to teach the same sorts of values to their children. Though I was married a bit young (21) and gave birth a bit young (23), I don’t think of my experience or expectations as being so out of the ordinary.

Until I start thinking about sex.

I read newspapers and blogs and think, well, so those politicians cheat and those parents think abstinence is unrealistic (if not also un-desirable) for their children, but surely most of us, the “us” that I count myself a part of, we all know that chastity and then fidelity are the right thing. Right?

And I keep reading, articles about studies and comments about real life, and I think, somehow, in my poor confused brain, that I can be cool, and hip (if that’s even a good thing any more), and most importantly, cynical and jaded, and REALISTIC — and, hey, I know that people cheat and kids don’t wait, and the world isn’t one sparkly montage of virginal unicorns in fluffy pink meadows.

But I’m hung up on wanting it to be. (Even if it means losing — if I ever had — my cool card.)

And then I watch a movie like He’s Just Not That Into You, and I am forced to the embarrassing conclusion that I, at age 31, college-educated, well-travelled to twelve countries on four continents, not a perfect example of anything myself; that I am in fact, compared to the rest of the country I love:

I am a religious fanatic.

How else do I explain being so thoroughly nonplussed by the acceptance and glamorization of extra-marital sex? I thought I was the target audience for the movie, based on the previews, but my life and my ideals, the life and ideals I want with everything in me for my daughters, are basically incompatible with most modern romantic comedies, and especially this one.

I really did think I’d like it, even before I knew that it quotes and creates a scenario from Some Kind of Wonderful.

*Spoiler Warning*
If you’re going to see He’s Just Not That Into You, I’d recommend you not read further, but what I’d really recommend is that you skip it (the movie). It pretty much sucks, especially if you have a sister whose husband left her and you can’t stop thinking about how much this movie would make her cry.

In He’s Just Not That Into You, the women are helpless, codependent, static characters incapable of growth or insight. The Jennifer Aniston storyline is rewarding, especially the part where Ben Affleck shows up unexpectedly. But why should a woman have to surrender and decide she was in the wrong to want marriage after seven years of living together, in order to keep her man? (Though I confess that if a man washed my dishes without my asking, I’d probably do anything he asked, even if he did look like Ben Affleck.)

The Ginnifer Goodwin/Guy from the Mac commercials storyline is a little bit cute, but it shows the Mac guy learning and changing, and the Ginnifer person stagnating at the irrational-obsessive level of infatuation. While the Mac guy grows up, she’s completely incapable of sustaining a mature relationship. And sex is not anything special, just something that accompanies dating like broken marriages follow Angelina.

And don’t get me started on that Will guy from Alias. Poor Scarlett Johanssen is in serious danger of being typecast as the whore of Babylon, and if I pass her in the street, I’ll probably slap her for Jennifer Connelly. In other words: Will cheats, and he’s a scumbag. The end.

So, fine: I’m a religious fanatic. But what does that mean?

It irritates me when people talk about how much worse the world has gotten recently. Because I read that part in the Bible where Cain killed Abel and that other part where those one chicks slept with their father. War has been happening forever, and I don’t think calling prostitution the oldest profession is hyperbole.

So I don’t think that the reality has changed that much. But our perception of the reality, our acceptance of the reality, has changed, not for the better.

And I’m far from perfect. I don’t honestly really know that many people who were perfectly, 100% chaste in thought and deed before marriage. But I know some. And the older I get, the more important it seems.

I don’t want to sound (or be) all evangelical or fundamentalist or fanatical (too late), but the truth is that if I could have one thing for my daughters, it would be chastity and virginity for them AND THEIR HUSBANDS before marriage.

When did that become the most outlandish, crazy thing? When did it become naive to consider abstinence a realistic and worthwhile goal?

When did it happen that I feel ninety-seven years old when watching a movie about twenty- and thirty-somethings?

Why is a determination of “unrealistic” considered the death knell to chastity and fidelity by some? There are a lot of other unrealistic ideals, like an end to poverty and war, but I don’t see any caring, conscious human being suggesting that we throw our hands up and turn our attention to making poverty and war as safe as possible for everyone. As if poverty and war can be made to be SAFE.

As if the fact of their inevitability somehow requires a relinquishment of the ideals of prosperity and peace.

Last week I got back in touch with a girl who was one of my best friends in eighth grade. We stayed in close contact throughout high school, but I haven’t seen her in fourteen years. She is now married with three daughters, and her husband is the boy that I was in love with for all my middle school years. In my mind, I was Anne and he was Gilbert Blythe. If I’d had a slate, I would have broken it over his head in order to increase the romantic parallels. (Of which there were many, not least being that we “hated” each other after being madly in love for approximately four months. I think he probably did actually hate me, or you know, didn’t care, but I was (not-so-secretly) pining, ever-hopeful, until my family moved away when I was thirteen.)

True love, at eleven, is pretty silly, of course. But, oh! did I love him. We met in fifth grade, in a tiny town, where elementary school ended at fourth grade, and we imagined ourselves quite grown up to be included in middle school, and especially the middle school dances. I still remember how it felt to dance with him, so close, so slow, so many hormones and so much heat. He was the first boy I ever loved.

We never kissed. We were chaste. (And yes, Mom, you were right to decide I wouldn’t go to any more dances until I was older, even so.)

The feeling I still feel for him, and for his wife, who was such a good friend to me, is overwhelming, when I think about it. I want their happiness, though we are not connected by any ties except old friendship, almost as much as I want my own.

And we never even kissed.

I cannot express to you how glad I am about that.

Chastity before marriage, and fidelity after. These things might be hard. They might be incredibly unrealistic, and uncool, and weird, and fanatical.

(And if my daughters are as imperfect as me, believe me — my idealism and my God do not in any way preclude understanding, compassion, repentance, and forgiveness.)

But chastity is what we are aiming for, and I’m not going to apologize or accept marginalization for that.

Who’s paying for your education?

How do you and your friends view smoking cigarettes? Do you smoke? If not, why not?

If you could have anyone’s job in New York City, whose would it be?

How many more people do you think you’ll sleep with before you get married?

How many would you like to?

I’m glad they didn’t bother with any frivolous questions like “Has college changed how you view the world. If so, how?” or “What one thing do you wish were different in America?” or “What’s your favorite gosh-darn book?”

Some of their answers to question four really inspire me about our future. Here it is, out of the mouth of babes, a bright, shiny new world:

I intend to sleep with a lot of people before I get married (if I get married). I think I’ll sleep with at least 20 people, maybe five of which will be as a part of committed relationships.

Hmm … assuming one a year, and I get married at 30…that’s 10 more people. I’m going to be stingy here and guess that I’ll sleep with maybe 12 to 15.

And to the final question:

How many would you like to?

Theoretically, like 14 — and without consequences.

Where did she get the misguided idea that such things could have consequences? I told you we should do away with that History of Civilizations course!

I asked if I were the only one to experience greater desire for sex than my husband and expressed frustration with (esp. Christian) marriage advice that assumes a man’s desire is always much greater, and bases whole marital strategies on this assumption.

Besides asking for help, the topic helped my post’s popularity. As one lurker commented, “I guess all it takes is the mention of sex for me to make a record of my cyber-presence on your blog.” Your response was overwhelming in understanding and good, concrete advice as to what I could do to reduce my frustration (both mental and physical, eh).

An interesting issue that has arisen from the continued comments is sex after pregnancy and childbirth. About how the maternal body reacts to pregnancy, labor and delivery, in feeling, perhaps, more vulnerable emotionally or physically, and also in experiencing pain again. I remember after my first daughter’s birth I was shocked by how much sex hurt (not as bad as our wedding night, though, when I feared we would have to get an annulment).

One commenter said that she was experiencing much reduced interest in sex post-baby, and that “with all of the lactation hormones . . . [I'm] feeling very protective of my own body, something I never experienced until after I had a baby.” I know another woman who experienced phantom pain and lingering fear, almost, of sex after childbirth.

Maybe this is just Nature’s way of spacing out our babies?

I’m curious as to how giving birth has affected you. Beyond the obvious sleep-deprivation and time-consuming care-of-a-new-infant issues that logistically limit opportunities/desire for sex, did you find yourself feeling more vulnerable or more protective? And has your experience varied after a first, second, third, etc, birth?

And one final, final question: What’s the best thing your husband’s ever done to make you feel desirable? Loved? Eager for intimacy? (I’m looking for hints to give Dick).

Thanks again for your willingness to share your ideas and advice on this topic!