Terrible Twos? Puh.

Our house is kind of the neighborhood hang out house. Why, I have no idea.

Our house isn't the biggest or nicest. We don't have the coolest stuff or the biggest tv. Our cupboards are not stocked with lots of yummy junk food, and if they were, they would be locked up tight because I can't afford to feed my own teenaged son, much the less everyone else's.

I am so notoriously stingy that the kids who hang out here bring their own drinks and snacks. The empty ziploc bags, cheez-it cartons and Gatorade bottles perpetually litter my front lawn.

Perhaps it's as simple as the fact that we tolerate them.

The point is, at any given time, there are likely to be at least one or two extra warm bodies roaming around our house.

I try to be mindful of this. I don't wander around in my underwear. I always wear a bra. I make an effort to comb my hair, wash my face, and brush my teeth. Most days. And probably 5 days out of 7, I even have make-up on.

But Saturday was a rare exception. We found ourselves ensconced in the living room, ready to watch our weekly family movie, with only our own offspring in attendance.

WHAT? No impossibly long and knobby limbs scattered upon my living room floor? No testosterone fueled arm wrestling? No dueling farts? No teenaged boy funk permeating the air?

Ah. Bliss.

So we watched the movie, some silly Jackie Chan thing in which I really had no interest, but which the boys (including the 42 year old boy) found wholly engaging, and after which, the boys disappeared upstairs to fritter away their weekend video game allotment(s).

Husband and I went upstair to...ummm...bed. Yeah.

Now listen, when you have teenaged kids, you really have to just get over any heebie jeebies you have about having sex when they're around. At least, you do if you actually care about having sex while you're still young enough to enjoy it.

I'll admit, it used to skeeve me out to have sex knowing they were conscious. It just seemed so wrong. And then came the awareness that I so dreaded, which made it even worse.

One Saturday evening, as we were all preparing for bed, Pubescent One asked if he could snuggle with me. Even though Pubescent One is too cool to acknowledge my existence in public, and Diminutive One doesn't want me to touch him if anyone is looking, they still enjoy curling up in bed with their Mommy.

Husband and I had plans, however, and I had to decline.

"Whhhyyyyyyyy?" he whined.

"Because I'm snuggling with Dad tonight." I said, naievely thinking that this explanation would be taken at face value.

"Well can I after?" he asked hopefully.

"After WHAT?" I demanded.

"After you guys..you know...snuggle."

We did not have sex that night. I just couldn't. My children knew we were having sex and that sucked the libidinous wind right out of my sails.

But I got over it. Self enforced deprivation will do that to you.

They know what we're doing when the door is closed. I'm not sure if this is scarring them for life, or creating a healthy attitude about sex as a normal and non-shameful part of a happy marriage.

Whichever the case, the jig is up and we all just have to make the best of it.

Usually, they respect the closed door. Sometimes they do not.

And sometimes, they use the closed door as carte blanche to do stuff they would otherwise not be permitted to do, knowing full well we will be engaged within for an indeterminate period of time, but one sufficiently lengthy enough for them to perpetrate any number of misdeeds.

So anyway.

Saturday night we took advantage of the quiet to close the door.

We emerged an hour later, more or less, to find that Pubescent One's room, mere feet from our own, was once again host to more than just our own children.

It had been after ten o'clock when we went up. This would normally be too late for people to be invited in. And, though kids constantly come and go from our house, after a certain hour, permission is needed.

Not to mention the fact, that Pubescent One knew what we were doing. And still he invited people in.

So let me just go over that for you one more time....My thirteen year old son invited people up into his bedroom knowing full well his parents were having sex in the room next to his.

Misdeed, indeed.

When confronted about what he had done, he was completely ignorant as to why this was inappropriate, inconsiderate, and just plain rude. He honestly had no idea why we were so upset.

He never once thought about the fact that we might like and deserve some privacy in our own home. Or, that while we are open and frank with them, we don't need everyone else to know the intimate details of our sex life. Or that his friend's parents might not appreciate us bumping uglies while their children are right down the hall.

He was...get this, annoyed that we sent his friends home, and annoyed that we embarassed him.

You know...realistically, I understand that when they're gone and the house is empty...I'll miss them. I know empty nest syndrome will likely hit me very hard.

But right now, it's hard to conceive of doing anything other than a dance of jubilation.

Naked.

In the kitchen.