I backed quickly down the driveway, ready to begin the school drop off rotation.  From the middle seat, my nine year said , “Mom, I really want to get some more Whoreland books.”

Screech of brakes. Back packs flinging forward. My neck almost snapped off as I whipped around to look at her.

“Excuse me?!” I choked out.

She seemed a bit stunned at the rapid fire response.  “Whoreland – it’s a series.”

My preteen let out a loud laugh from the passenger seat.  “I’d like to see that book,” he said.

I shot him a dirty look which silenced the chuckle but failed to erase the smirk.

I glanced back at my nine year old and noticed she had a “Goosebumps” book on her lap.

“Oh!”  I said relieved. You mean a “Horrorland” book.

She looked puzzled. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s called Whoreland.”

My son held his stomach as he cracked up.

“Trust me, it’s definitely “Horrorland”, I said firmly.

She shrugged and went back to her reading.

I returned my attention to the road and the hilarious adolescent seated beside me. “How do you even know what that word means?” I said to him.

He rolled his eyes. “Mom, I go to public school.”

I suppose it shouldn’t have shocked me, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in what context at the lunch room table, does that word just happen to come up.

It’s a struggle when we are called to live in the world but not be of the world.

Our children are faced with a daily paradox.  Hello Met Gala attendees, I’m talking to you. You market your movies and music to my twelve year old, who just viewed the health video about his changing body, and then rock the red carpet in an outfit that reveals more than Barbara Walter’s on her best day.  Push that out onto every social media platform and I no longer have the latent fear of my kid stumbling across a porn site.

Ugly, vicious words get watered down as off the cuff jokes for press junkets and the world’s voice becomes rip roarin’ loud.

The reality is the world’s unrelenting  noise will always be in our kids’ ear, so our voices need to be unmistakable. There’s power in numbers.  Anyone with me?

As my oldest two exited the car, I could hear my twelve year old jokingly ask his sister, “What was the name of that book again?”

I launched my heat seeking stink eye from 50 feet through a closing van door. Direct hit. His eyes met mine and with a sheepish look, he walked off to join his friends.

Oh yeah.  My voice is going to get real loud.  I’ve got some work to do.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Do you struggle with this issue with your kids? Any strategies that you can share to make sure your voice is louder than the world’s?  Tell me your thoughts below or on my Facebook page.