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"Mmmm-hmmm, that's nice, nurse gallereis dear," she would murmur. We challenged our creativity, developing contests to see who could nurse gallereis grab my mother's attention with the most outlandish statement. We confessed to murder, self-mutilation, and incest at our mother's side and were met with blank stares and a distant smile. We began to realize that our mother was using books to communicate with us in ways that she found difficult to do face to face. We would find nurse gallereis volumes of Sex Before Marriage lying about on the coffee table. We delighted at the discovery, convinced that our mother had forgotten to replace the book to its original hiding place, behind the sliding bookshelf doors at the headboard of our parents' bed, where we knew them to keep a collection of racy material. Unaware that we were being given a self-guided tutorial on the birds and the bees, we leafed through the manual, giggling at the pictures and howling at the step by step instructions.
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