Busted In Bed

*Previously published by Edwina Caito on Club Mom

Have you ever had the feeling you were being watched? A couple of weeks ago I experienced that eerie sensation. I was in bed with my husband and deep in the throes of passion. I was enthusiastically tossing my hair and panting breathlessly when suddenly, I felt as if we were being watched. I slowly turned my head and opened my eyes to find my 8 year old daughter nose to nose with me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I fumbled and groped for the blankets as my husband quietly slid under them and out of sight.

This is the child that makes an uproarious racket wherever she goes. But for some reason, that night, she had the silence and speed of a Stealth Bomber with tiny pink feet. The dogs didn’t even hear her sneak attack. Their tails usually alert us by pounding out a friendly, "Hello" on the floor, welcoming anyone into our bedroom.

"I have a headache." She whispered as she rubbed her tired little eyes.
I snatched up my robe and hurried her off into the kitchen for a dose of Ibuprofen. She didn’t mention seeing or hearing anything, but she did ask, "Where’s dad?" I should have told her he was cowering under the blankets in shame.

My son, the middle child, was never one to wander into our room in the middle of the night. He did, however, have the keen hearing of a fruit bat. I discovered his super sonic hearing talent one evening during a family dinner.

Noticing my son yawning and looking bleary eyed, my father asked him why he was so tired. My son stretched and said, " Mommy was having a bad dream last night. She kept saying ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ And she got louder and louder. I didn’t think she’d ever stop dreaming."

I cleared my throat and gazed at my feet, "Anyone want more chicken?" My mother was appalled, my father was obviously amused and my son was clearly confused.

I thought I had gotten lucky with my oldest daughter. She never wandered into our bedroom at an inconvenient time nor did she ever overhear anything and announce it to the entire family. She did, however, develop impeccable timing as a teenager. The worse part about getting busted in bed by my teenager is that she let us know exactly how she felt about it.

Before moving into our house, my husband and I were sharing the sofa bed in the living room of our tiny apartment so our teenager could have her own room. She was out one evening, and since she wasn’t due home for hours, we decided to take full advantage of our time alone. At the apex of passion, the front door flies open, and there was our teenager daughter, two hours before curfew.

She stood there with her mouth gaping as she absorbed the site of her precious mother with her legs sprawled in the air. She wrinkled her nose in apparent disgust.

"What are you two, rabbits? Geesh, are you trying to scar me for life here?" She stomped off to her room, slammed the door and turned up the volume on her stereo.

We didn’t learn our lesson and the second time she caught us was far more humiliating. It happened during an overnight stay at a Ronald McDonald House. Our daughter was out and about in the house, hanging out with new friends she had met . My husband and I were stressed, tired and were in need some very quick comfort. So as we were relieving some stress, we hear the sound of a key card in the door. The lights from the hallway spilled in and pierced the pitch black darkness of the room. There we were, naked and eyes wide with shock, literally caught in a spotlight.

Our daughter stood there in the open doorway and read us the riot act. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed at the top of her voice, "You are in the Ronald McDonald House! Have you no shame?! Can you not stay off of each other for one night?! I’m leaving again, please be dressed when I get back. Eeeeeeeewww!" She shuddered as she slammed the door.

We got dressed right away and made sure we were fast asleep when she returned. We were humiliated, embarrassed and fearful as to how many guests in the house were aware of our deviant conduct. We felt like perverts. We had soiled the name of an upstanding clown and world wide children’s icon. We didn’t have sex for weeks after that incident.

So let our story be a lesson to you. Try not to freak out when your toddler wanders in and announces that he sees daddy’s bottom. There’s no need to cower in humiliation when your daughter asks you what you were screaming about last night. It’s okay, really. You will have plenty of time for humiliation when they are teenagers!

The Evolution Of Passion

*Previously published on Club Mom by Edwina Caito


I fondly remember the night I met my husband and how, when his arm brushed mine, everyinch of my skin responded with an electric tingle. When we slow danced and it seemed like Iwas melting into him. My raging body wanted to take over my mind. I wanted to throw caution to the wind, rip off his clothes and do unmentionable things to him, right there.

After we started dating, I was on cloud nine every time we were together and I yearned for him every moment we were apart. Kissing was amazing! We could kiss and kiss and kiss for hours on end, each one getting more fiery and passionate than the last. I felt alive in his presence, sexy and insatiable in his arms.

What the heck happened to those people?

You see, I was given a stark reminder of just how much our steamy, passionate and erotic love affair has fizzled during 10 years of marriage. My neighbor and good friend has started dating someone special. He's a terrific guy who takes her nice places, does nice things for her and constantly compliments her. Oh, and did I mention that they regularly blow the roof off ofher house with the passionate sex I used to have?

She has this musical giddiness in her voice whenever she speaks of him. She gets all dolled up before they go out, making sure her hair looks perfect and her butt looks amazing in her new jeans. She looks forward to every brush of his arm, every kiss and every opportunity to rip off his clothes and do unmentionable things to him. I started thinking about how much I miss that. How much I miss dressing perfectly, doing my hair, cramming into tight jeans and..........wait a minute!

While my friend is dining by candle light and wondering if dinner will give her gas, my husband and I are cramming kettle corn into our faces, swigging cola and passing gas freely (well, my husband is). While my friend ponders whether her new love interest will spend the night with her, I am yet again snuggling against my husband's warm chest with a pillow over my head to drown out the snoring.

While my friend works to plan the perfect meal to make an impression on her Prince Charming, I am passing off pizza rolls and salad as top notch cuisine. While my friend frantically searches the far reaches of her closet for the perfect outfit, I realize that I had better sew up the fourth hold in my blue sweat pants or throw them out . While my friend is dashing out the door for another evening on the town, I'm dashing in from my daughter's dance class or was that my son's bowling practice?

While my friend is waiting for a sign of commitment, for her new beau to give her a signal that their relationship is progressing, my husband and I kiss again and say, "I love you." We will kiss our kids goodnight and fall into an exhausted pile on the sofa and watch anything but cartoons. We won't worry where our relationship is going because we have already been there and done that.

As much as I miss those special tingles and the breathless anticipation, I think I'll take the comfort of being me in all my holey -sweat- pant, kettle-corn-eating, pizza- roll- baking glory!My husband and I may not be exciting every moment we are together, but we have the passion and the tingle when we're not too exhausted to muster it up. And yes, we can still blow the roof off of the house from time to time. I love my husband and he loves me. I think I'll take it!

Quick! Hide The Sex Toys

*Previously published on Club Mom by Edwina Caito

Having our bedroom toys close at hand, ready to grab at a passionate moment's notice, was somewhat important to me. The last thing I wanted to do was jump up from our bed, run to ourcloset naked, climb onto a chair and rummage through a box to retrieve the perfect lubrication or vibrating plaything. The two words "climbing" and "naked" should never even be muttered in the same sentence. But my daughter, who was 4 years old at the time, changed my entire outlook on keeping our toys conveniently located in our night stand drawer.


It was a typical Saturday evening one summer. We had several friends over to watch a reality television show, play some board games and go for a dip in the pool. I glanced over to see my daughter holding something in her hand. She gazed, wide-eyed, at the treasure she had found. She turned it this was and that in her hand, admiring at it from every angle, trying to figure out exactly what this pretty, neon pink thing was. She was in absolute awe but obviously befuddled by what she had found.


"Mommy, what is this?" My inquisitive little girl asked as she thrust the item out at arm's length for everyone to see.


All heads in the room turned to behold what my daughter held. At the same moment, Irealized exactly what was in her tiny, curious little hand...my 6 inch, crystal jelly vibrator. Igasped, but froze in my seat, fully intending on not making a big deal out of the situation.


"Honey, that belongs to mommy and daddy. Please put it back where you found it."


She thrust the vibrator toward me again. "But what is it?" The pliable toy quivered in her hand.


By this time, our guests had moved beyond the initial shock of seeing our adorable little girl holding a vibrator and had begun to snicker under their breath.


Beginning to giggle a bit myself, I took a deep breath and said seriously, "It's a grown-up thing. Please put it back where you found it."


A sigh of frustration billowed from my daughter's mouth. She put one hand on her little hip and again thrust the toy forward, this time shaking it to enhance every word she said. With each shake, the vibrator bounced and bounced. "But tell me what it's called.." she insisted.


The entire room burst into hysterical laughter. I could no longer contain myself and began to laugh. My husband was already doubled over and giggling.


This angered my little angel. Her brow furrowed and again, she tried to make her point by shaking the thing harder."Tell- me- what- it's- called!" (Boing, boing, boing, boing, boing.)

We all roared with laughter. Wiping tears from my eyes, I contorted my face, trying again to be serious. "It's a grown-up massager. For when mommy's shoulders hurt."


My daughter looked down at the object she held. She looked up at me and her dad. Glanced back down at the vibrator and shook her head. "Grown-ups are weird." She turned and disappeared into the shadows of our bedroom doorway.


To this day, I still laugh when I think about the night our little girl found our stash of sex toys. It was funny, but at the same time a learning experience. Our night stand drawer now holds a magazine, a tube of muscle rub and some stray pens, pencils and receipts.


I am already thinking of an excuse to give my daughter when she discovers me, in the middle of the night, naked and dragging a chair into our bedroom. Some things just outweigh convenience.