I've known for about 3 weeks, and although I was understandably eager to share this news with you (being the father and all) I was waiting for that perfect moment, you know, when you were flipping through the real estate classifieds, to share this with you. I just knew the moment would come, when you'd say "How about this one...it has three bedrooms, a view, an office...." and I could reply "And maybe a nursery?" with a sly grin. And you'd be excited and smile back, and then we'd cuddle in the bed, dreaming about the baby to be...
Oh come ON. Seriously? (If you watch Fringe, you know I just lifted this scenario straight from the script...and I do apologize if you thought you were getting some juicy information about my own uterine status...)
What is with all the stupid writing when it comes to all things baby? Now, I'll admit I've seen some pretty creative, real life, announcements about this particular life event, but the way the media spins it is downright stupid.
You'd think with as much practice as I've had in particular area, I'd have shared this news in some cute, creative way at some point, but I live in Real World and it's never gone down like that. No, it's been far more practical and boring than all that.
It starts out with me being kind of tired, kind of well, bitchy. If Jamie has to say the words "Man, what's your problem..." at any point during the day, we know the possibility is there. It becomes a little more obvious when someone hugs me and it hurts my chest so badly, I want to punch the person in the face. Finally, when I turn green in the grocery store, Jamie demands I buy a test right then. Romantic right?
After the test is brought home, the husband will ask "Can you pee or do you need to drink?" Lovely. And then he stands post right outside the door (because I won't let him in there with me) and immediately barges in when the test has been duly baptized. So as soon as I know, he knows. There is no surprise element happening and honestly he knows before I do. I will argue that buying a test is a huge waste of money, that I am NOT pregnant and he simply states "Yeah I think you are....pee on the stick..."
I don't know one female who has waited more than 24 hours to share this informaiton with her beloved, not the mention the entire world, so this whole Hollywood idea of announcing a baby is simply not reality.
And then you have the....labor drama. The mom-to-be standing in a crowded public area, exclaiming "Oh no, my water broke. The baby will be here in five minutes. Quick!!! Emergency!!! Hopsital NOW!!!" Really? Has this ever happened, even once, in the entire history of humanity? Have we not had enough babies born to shift the Hollywood perception of labor and delivery? Birth is quite dramatic on it's own without the time sensitive emergency nature of the scenarios being written and acted out. You are not going to see a first time Mom, even with her water broken, having a baby within the time frame of an ENTIRE movie, let alone the 15 minutes usually alloted for this particular cinematic climax. Let's get real.
In Real World, you have contractions for days and days and maybe, just maybe you might go to the hospital thinking it's the Real Thing, but more often than not, it's a false alarm. You walk around cursing Mother Nature for still being pregnant and plead with God to let these contractions work their magic and get this child out of your personal space. You become a wretched, wicked version of your previously sweet self, and swear you'll never, ever do this again. You walk, and walk, and walk, fold baby clothes, get the house completely in order and wait. One night, after you've given up ever having the baby...the ONE night you said "To hell with the house being clean, I'm over it..." you'll go into real labor and wish you had spent some of that cleaning time, resting, because the whole hospital experience is exhausting. You aren't rushed in, breathing between intense contractions, having a baby in the first 15 minutes of your arrival. You are being clothed in ugly hospital attire, having the same questions you've already answerd a million times asked again and having needles shoved into your skin in various places. You're given a handy little heartbeat belt and strapped down to a zillion wires and then...you wait. And wait, and wait. Then you push, and push and push...and when it's time to meet your baby, it will be an ugly, alien looking thing, all wrinkled and white, screaming it's bloody head off. Contrary to popular media placement of the "newborn baby" you will not give birth to a clean, fluffy-headed three month old. You will not exclaim "Oh she looks just like your mother.." you will think, to yourself "What the hell happened? She doesn't look like ANYONE...Wait, is she ASIAN??? Did someone switch my baby..???" (even though the baby has never left the room...)
And after it's all said and done, you will not appear glowing, with perfect eye make-up and glistening pink lip gloss, hair totally in place and a brilliant smile plastered across your face. You will be slumped against the bed, looking like you've been rode hard and put away wet, the worst possible version of your physical appearance, but the one thing you will have, that Hollywood DID get right...
The brilliant smile, while holding your ethnic baby (don't worry, she will eventually morph into some version of you and your's partners physical features) and thinking "Damn, glad that's over with..."
That my friends, is the truth about pregnancy, childbirth and how stupid Hollywood is.
And no, I'm not pregnant. But I did get you to click open my blog huh?? Ha!!!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
The Cat's Outta The....
Kitchen. Yes, kitchen. This is a tale about a cat named Sophie...
Sophie was adopted into our family in the fall of 2006. She was a beautiful and fun little kitten. But then, we took her into the vet to be spayed and declawed. Bad decision. Not the spay, but the declaw. If I had to do it over, we would have opted out of this little operation, but in my mind, little babies, new furniture and kitty claws didn't mesh well together. After this surgery, she got very sick and had to be rushed back to the vet for a shot of antibiotics and steriods and we were told she may not make it. She did, thankfully, but was never quite the same after that.
She grew up to be a gorgeous cat, and tolerated her environment quite well, even when the kids treated her like a doll rather than a cat. One of their favorite past times was dressing her up and playing cat model.
You can tell, she's absolutely thrilled :)
Getting Sophie from New Mexico to Georgia was an interesting adventure. She was not too fond of her cat carrier and the only reason we weren't completely annoyed by her incessant howling in the back of the van was because the 6 children along for the cross-country trip out-louded her.
Our first stop was in Texas. We got a suite, so there'd be room for all of us, and at night we set up a litter box, a food spot and let the cats run the room, you know, to stretch their legs and all that. Apparently, a door got opened sometime after we locked it down and Sophie got out. We didn't discover this until the morning, as we were getting the cats back into their kennels for another long stint across the states. Calla was hysterical. I was hysterical because she was hysterical. Not a fun time. As we were walking to and from the van, loading up, we heard a howling cat sound. We couldn't figure out where she was, and we were kind of on a time crunch because our trip was meticously planned so as to arrive in Georgia the day before Jamie had to report to his new job (same day we were closing on the house) Kyle was running up and down the stairs, thinking he heard her up there somewhere, but Calla swore she heard her by this car parked outside our room. We looked high, we looked low. We looked under the car and even peeked in the car, but what Sophie had done was incredible. She had climbed up into the engine of the car, and couldn't get out. So not only did we have a cat trying to relocate herself to Texas permanately, the second her new owner revved up the engine, she would be a goner. I can't even remember how exactly we got her out of that, but we did it without having to track down the owner of the vehicle and without having to add an extra day to our trip. Jamie was...well...annoyed and I was fried before we even got on the road. But from then on, we paid really close attention to the cats, locking them down in the bathroom of all places we were staying in, so this wouldn't happen again.
We made it to Georgia in one piece, (well, in body. I am pretty sure my mind was severely fragmented at this point.) We started out with 6 kids, 3 cats, a guinea pig and two parents, and the head count was the same once we arrived, even if our nerves were completely shot. We got to the hotel, Jamie made his first day of work and we even closed on the house exactly as planned. We ended up camping out in our house because it was way more fun than staying in a crowded hotel room,and the cats also enjoyed the room to roam. After we had been here a couple days, we took Sophie out the back porch so that when the movers came and we were unloading stuff, she wouldn't just bolt out the door and get lost again. We were trying to acclimate her, a little at a time, just in case she would get out (she was strictly an indoor cat) but this plan back-fired hugely. She didn't just sniff around and roll on the concrete like our other cats did. She immediately bolted to the woods. We couldn't find her anywhere. Calla cried for days, and kept looking for her, but she was just gone. Her being an indoor cat her entire life, plus the fact she was declawed, didn't tip the odds in her favor. She was a city dwelling, urban princess out in the wild, rural woods and we honestly gave up hope of ever seeing her again. I felt like the worst Mom on the entire planet, because it was my idea to bring her outside.
30 days later, Kyle was out in our garage, getting our new puppies some food, when he heard the trademark "meow" and there was Sophie. He rushed in the house, holding this poor cat, and yelled 'MOM.....IT'S SOPHIE!!!" I was cooking eggs for Jamie, but paid no mind to them. I grabbed her and immediately bolted upstairs to Calla, who was sound asleep, shook her and yelled for her to wake up. She jumped out of her bed so fast it scared Sophie, grabbed her tight and started bawling, which made me cry too. I still, to this day, cannot believe she came back. She was a little ragged looking and skinny, but all in one piece and happy to be home. And she had since never been interested in the great outdoors. She all indoor, all the time, which would be great if she would leave...
The kitchen.
The cat will NOT leave the kitchen. We have this huge house and she will not stay in any of the rooms we bring her in. At night, she will creep into the laundry room, where her litter box is, but never during the day. She sleeps on top of the fridge, or the big hutch we have in there, and when she's hungry, she'll come down for a little love and begging, but if we bring her out of the kitchen, into the main part of the house, she immediately runs back. It's weird. And now we have a little problem. The door on the laundry room is now complete, blocking her entrance to the litter box and there's no way I'm putting a litter box in the kitchen. Gross. (Well the whole litter box concept as a whole is nasty, if you ask me, but I haven't had much success in potty training my toddlers in a reasonable time frame, so I'm pretty sure any attempt to train the cat would fail.)
We have a bathroom upstairs (you know, the coat closet with a toilet) that would be a perfect location for the litter box, but now Taylor (our pooch) sleeps in that bathroom at night. I could relocate Tay-Tay to the laundry room and put the litter box up there, but chances are Sophie wouldn't go that far (even though she used to....) and I'm not quite sure how to work around this conumdrum.
I've searched my mind for ideas about relocating the litter box to somewhere downstairs, but there is honestly no good place for it. I will not have it in the downstairs bathroom because there's no way to hide it. I don't think a cat box makes for good decorating, even if it's disguised as some plant stand or whatever else is popular these days.
So what I really need is someway to train her to stay upstairs, or at least GO up there as she needs to. Without traumatizing her. (And you have to understand, looking at her wrong is traumatic for her. She's a very particular kitty..) So blog readers, how would you re-train a mentally challenged cat to embrace the whole of the house and not stand post in the kitchen all hours of the day? Is there some trick to this, outside of just stuffing her into a room and closing the door indefinitely?
Is it time for a cat whisperer type person?
Help!!
She grew up to be a gorgeous cat, and tolerated her environment quite well, even when the kids treated her like a doll rather than a cat. One of their favorite past times was dressing her up and playing cat model.
Getting Sophie from New Mexico to Georgia was an interesting adventure. She was not too fond of her cat carrier and the only reason we weren't completely annoyed by her incessant howling in the back of the van was because the 6 children along for the cross-country trip out-louded her.
Our first stop was in Texas. We got a suite, so there'd be room for all of us, and at night we set up a litter box, a food spot and let the cats run the room, you know, to stretch their legs and all that. Apparently, a door got opened sometime after we locked it down and Sophie got out. We didn't discover this until the morning, as we were getting the cats back into their kennels for another long stint across the states. Calla was hysterical. I was hysterical because she was hysterical. Not a fun time. As we were walking to and from the van, loading up, we heard a howling cat sound. We couldn't figure out where she was, and we were kind of on a time crunch because our trip was meticously planned so as to arrive in Georgia the day before Jamie had to report to his new job (same day we were closing on the house) Kyle was running up and down the stairs, thinking he heard her up there somewhere, but Calla swore she heard her by this car parked outside our room. We looked high, we looked low. We looked under the car and even peeked in the car, but what Sophie had done was incredible. She had climbed up into the engine of the car, and couldn't get out. So not only did we have a cat trying to relocate herself to Texas permanately, the second her new owner revved up the engine, she would be a goner. I can't even remember how exactly we got her out of that, but we did it without having to track down the owner of the vehicle and without having to add an extra day to our trip. Jamie was...well...annoyed and I was fried before we even got on the road. But from then on, we paid really close attention to the cats, locking them down in the bathroom of all places we were staying in, so this wouldn't happen again.
We made it to Georgia in one piece, (well, in body. I am pretty sure my mind was severely fragmented at this point.) We started out with 6 kids, 3 cats, a guinea pig and two parents, and the head count was the same once we arrived, even if our nerves were completely shot. We got to the hotel, Jamie made his first day of work and we even closed on the house exactly as planned. We ended up camping out in our house because it was way more fun than staying in a crowded hotel room,and the cats also enjoyed the room to roam. After we had been here a couple days, we took Sophie out the back porch so that when the movers came and we were unloading stuff, she wouldn't just bolt out the door and get lost again. We were trying to acclimate her, a little at a time, just in case she would get out (she was strictly an indoor cat) but this plan back-fired hugely. She didn't just sniff around and roll on the concrete like our other cats did. She immediately bolted to the woods. We couldn't find her anywhere. Calla cried for days, and kept looking for her, but she was just gone. Her being an indoor cat her entire life, plus the fact she was declawed, didn't tip the odds in her favor. She was a city dwelling, urban princess out in the wild, rural woods and we honestly gave up hope of ever seeing her again. I felt like the worst Mom on the entire planet, because it was my idea to bring her outside.
30 days later, Kyle was out in our garage, getting our new puppies some food, when he heard the trademark "meow" and there was Sophie. He rushed in the house, holding this poor cat, and yelled 'MOM.....IT'S SOPHIE!!!" I was cooking eggs for Jamie, but paid no mind to them. I grabbed her and immediately bolted upstairs to Calla, who was sound asleep, shook her and yelled for her to wake up. She jumped out of her bed so fast it scared Sophie, grabbed her tight and started bawling, which made me cry too. I still, to this day, cannot believe she came back. She was a little ragged looking and skinny, but all in one piece and happy to be home. And she had since never been interested in the great outdoors. She all indoor, all the time, which would be great if she would leave...
The kitchen.
The cat will NOT leave the kitchen. We have this huge house and she will not stay in any of the rooms we bring her in. At night, she will creep into the laundry room, where her litter box is, but never during the day. She sleeps on top of the fridge, or the big hutch we have in there, and when she's hungry, she'll come down for a little love and begging, but if we bring her out of the kitchen, into the main part of the house, she immediately runs back. It's weird. And now we have a little problem. The door on the laundry room is now complete, blocking her entrance to the litter box and there's no way I'm putting a litter box in the kitchen. Gross. (Well the whole litter box concept as a whole is nasty, if you ask me, but I haven't had much success in potty training my toddlers in a reasonable time frame, so I'm pretty sure any attempt to train the cat would fail.)
We have a bathroom upstairs (you know, the coat closet with a toilet) that would be a perfect location for the litter box, but now Taylor (our pooch) sleeps in that bathroom at night. I could relocate Tay-Tay to the laundry room and put the litter box up there, but chances are Sophie wouldn't go that far (even though she used to....) and I'm not quite sure how to work around this conumdrum.
I've searched my mind for ideas about relocating the litter box to somewhere downstairs, but there is honestly no good place for it. I will not have it in the downstairs bathroom because there's no way to hide it. I don't think a cat box makes for good decorating, even if it's disguised as some plant stand or whatever else is popular these days.
So what I really need is someway to train her to stay upstairs, or at least GO up there as she needs to. Without traumatizing her. (And you have to understand, looking at her wrong is traumatic for her. She's a very particular kitty..) So blog readers, how would you re-train a mentally challenged cat to embrace the whole of the house and not stand post in the kitchen all hours of the day? Is there some trick to this, outside of just stuffing her into a room and closing the door indefinitely?
Is it time for a cat whisperer type person?
Help!!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Book Smart
I read somewhere that you can tell a lot about a person by examining their bookshelf and the titles contained therein. If someone judged who I was based on the reading material in my house they might come away with a belief I have several personalities to deal with on a daily basis.
To view my shelves would leave you believing that I....
Have no idea what faith I am. I'm a Christian and yes, I have books about other religions. I find the whole topic interesting and studying other belief systems has only served to fortify my own faith. I feel I owe it to my children to understand what other people believe, why they believe it and how it differs from their parents' faith.
Like poetry. Which I do, but I don't read it. I just feel like it needs to be on shelves for the children because I am positive that one day one of them will become enamoured with the rhymthic beauty of poetry as I was as a young adult and I certainly don't want them Googling "Poetry..." I'd rather start them off with some Dickinson rather than explaining about the man from Venus, if you catch my drift.
Do real art with my children. Please. Paper mache with children isn't something I'll do willingly until I get to purgatory and need to do some sort of penacne for something I've done horribly wrong on this side of heaven. My version of art with the children is a pack of coloring implements and some paper, but I will say children naturally take themselves through the gamut of what art can offer. Just ask a five year old to draw her Momma and you've got a perfect replica of a Picasso to put in her portfolio. Toddlers have a natural ability when it comes to impressionism. We've got art covered without the books (Thanks Crayola!)
I'm a Martha Stewart Fan. Not really. I kind of think she might be alien, but the woman can fold a fitted sheet and has an excellent book to pass this handy bit of knowledge on to the mere mortals and it will never leave my bookshelf. When I need to know how to polish silver or have a hankering for an entirely organized laundry area, that book has it covered.
That I'm a mothering schizophrenic. Ha!! If ever a book was written on parenting, I've either read it, plan to read it or have saved a space on my bookshelf to read again. This is a topic I am absolutely facsinated with and as such have ensured through procreation that I will always get to practice the methods I am studying so intensely. I am unconcerned that all the books on parenting completelty contradict each other. There is always something to learn when it comes to raising little humans. Even if the advice in the book is a total 180 from my beliefs, I will take the time to study it. Knowing what NOT to do is just as handy as knowing what to do and even the worst parenting books can offer a bit of handy information (Oh wow...safety pinning socks together...what a cool idea!)
That I build stuff. Yeah, don't think so. But I have a husband that just LOVES me bookmarking projects that HE wants to do ;) Because he has so much time on his hands and wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't building a custom bathroom vanity or sketching out a treehouse. I'd be totally willing to do some of this handy work myself, but apparently I cannot be trusted with the power tools. He came to this conclusion shortly after I ended up in the ER for stitches after scissors attacked me. No, really, they did.
That I can do super duper upper level math. Bwhahahaha.. Again, those are Jamie's books. I'd be lost on this earth without a calculator and I'll even admit that sometimes when my knitting configurations stump me, I'll call on The Man to help me out. I hate numbers. I think my love of letters sort of took up the brain space for numbers. It's all good. God knew what he was doing when he put us together. I wrote his college papers, he figures out how many stitches I need to increase in a self-made pattern. It works.
I'm a weird food cultist. Yup. My bookshelf has many titles about nutrition and food and cooking. Maybe I should round out this collection by adding some physical fitness type reading material. You know "Okay, so now you know how to eat to fuel your body, so get off your ass and do something with all those calories." Something kind of like that.
I've also got the random assortment of books that provide proof I homeschool. All homeschooling families have these. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, science project books, what your child should know when so you don't feel like a complete failure and so on and so forth. Which really, are all unneccessary with the advent of Google, but saying to someone unfamiliar with homeschooling "Oh we just Google that" isn't as impressive as a whole bookshelf of "Look we REALLY homeschool" books. We have been known (dude, I know you all do it, so don't even try to pretend you dont') to keep all sorts of books we bought with the best intentions, just to feel better about what we aren't doing. Besides, it's also good for our souls to know the hundreds and billions of dollars we spent on those books isn't going to waste....they make for great bookshelf decorations, if nothing else ;)
My goal in all this is to produce readers out of my children. To teach them that books are friends and that they better get really good at reading because when the end of the world comes and there are no lights and no televisions or microwaves or YouTube, they are going to be really darn bored if they haven't become one with reading. In my fantasy world, this rant has my children scrambling to the bookshelf, eagerly selecting an exciting title to curl up with, but in reality all I get is "Oh yeah!!!! I bet the new episode of Walking Dead on on Vudu right now...!! Yay!!"
(Which is one title I suggest steering clear of. I won't admit to getting the graphic novels for my children after seeing their love for the show, but I will say I DO know someone who did this and thankfully my, uhm, friend's husband, wanted to read them first, and without a wordmy, I mean my FRIEND'S husband walked over to her, flipped open the book and asked her to read the page. NOT KID FRIENDLY. Shoot, not even adult friendly if you have any class about yourself. Wow, really, really bad language.....)
To view my shelves would leave you believing that I....
Have no idea what faith I am. I'm a Christian and yes, I have books about other religions. I find the whole topic interesting and studying other belief systems has only served to fortify my own faith. I feel I owe it to my children to understand what other people believe, why they believe it and how it differs from their parents' faith.
Like poetry. Which I do, but I don't read it. I just feel like it needs to be on shelves for the children because I am positive that one day one of them will become enamoured with the rhymthic beauty of poetry as I was as a young adult and I certainly don't want them Googling "Poetry..." I'd rather start them off with some Dickinson rather than explaining about the man from Venus, if you catch my drift.
Do real art with my children. Please. Paper mache with children isn't something I'll do willingly until I get to purgatory and need to do some sort of penacne for something I've done horribly wrong on this side of heaven. My version of art with the children is a pack of coloring implements and some paper, but I will say children naturally take themselves through the gamut of what art can offer. Just ask a five year old to draw her Momma and you've got a perfect replica of a Picasso to put in her portfolio. Toddlers have a natural ability when it comes to impressionism. We've got art covered without the books (Thanks Crayola!)
I'm a Martha Stewart Fan. Not really. I kind of think she might be alien, but the woman can fold a fitted sheet and has an excellent book to pass this handy bit of knowledge on to the mere mortals and it will never leave my bookshelf. When I need to know how to polish silver or have a hankering for an entirely organized laundry area, that book has it covered.
That I'm a mothering schizophrenic. Ha!! If ever a book was written on parenting, I've either read it, plan to read it or have saved a space on my bookshelf to read again. This is a topic I am absolutely facsinated with and as such have ensured through procreation that I will always get to practice the methods I am studying so intensely. I am unconcerned that all the books on parenting completelty contradict each other. There is always something to learn when it comes to raising little humans. Even if the advice in the book is a total 180 from my beliefs, I will take the time to study it. Knowing what NOT to do is just as handy as knowing what to do and even the worst parenting books can offer a bit of handy information (Oh wow...safety pinning socks together...what a cool idea!)
That I build stuff. Yeah, don't think so. But I have a husband that just LOVES me bookmarking projects that HE wants to do ;) Because he has so much time on his hands and wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't building a custom bathroom vanity or sketching out a treehouse. I'd be totally willing to do some of this handy work myself, but apparently I cannot be trusted with the power tools. He came to this conclusion shortly after I ended up in the ER for stitches after scissors attacked me. No, really, they did.
That I can do super duper upper level math. Bwhahahaha.. Again, those are Jamie's books. I'd be lost on this earth without a calculator and I'll even admit that sometimes when my knitting configurations stump me, I'll call on The Man to help me out. I hate numbers. I think my love of letters sort of took up the brain space for numbers. It's all good. God knew what he was doing when he put us together. I wrote his college papers, he figures out how many stitches I need to increase in a self-made pattern. It works.
I'm a weird food cultist. Yup. My bookshelf has many titles about nutrition and food and cooking. Maybe I should round out this collection by adding some physical fitness type reading material. You know "Okay, so now you know how to eat to fuel your body, so get off your ass and do something with all those calories." Something kind of like that.
I've also got the random assortment of books that provide proof I homeschool. All homeschooling families have these. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, science project books, what your child should know when so you don't feel like a complete failure and so on and so forth. Which really, are all unneccessary with the advent of Google, but saying to someone unfamiliar with homeschooling "Oh we just Google that" isn't as impressive as a whole bookshelf of "Look we REALLY homeschool" books. We have been known (dude, I know you all do it, so don't even try to pretend you dont') to keep all sorts of books we bought with the best intentions, just to feel better about what we aren't doing. Besides, it's also good for our souls to know the hundreds and billions of dollars we spent on those books isn't going to waste....they make for great bookshelf decorations, if nothing else ;)
My goal in all this is to produce readers out of my children. To teach them that books are friends and that they better get really good at reading because when the end of the world comes and there are no lights and no televisions or microwaves or YouTube, they are going to be really darn bored if they haven't become one with reading. In my fantasy world, this rant has my children scrambling to the bookshelf, eagerly selecting an exciting title to curl up with, but in reality all I get is "Oh yeah!!!! I bet the new episode of Walking Dead on on Vudu right now...!! Yay!!"
(Which is one title I suggest steering clear of. I won't admit to getting the graphic novels for my children after seeing their love for the show, but I will say I DO know someone who did this and thankfully my, uhm, friend's husband, wanted to read them first, and without a word
A Mass Produced Faith
Jamie came home several months ago and related to me one of the most interesting at-work conversations he'd ever had. We were both in awe. It was about religion. This guy, and I forget his name but wouldn't put in on here even if I could remember, was a regular church going type guy. But he expressed a curiousity at Jamie's passion for his faith and admitted it wasn't something they shared. He said "You're just more passionate about Christianity than I am...." and it wasn't a derogatory remark at all. He admitted that he went to church because it was just "what you did" on Sundays and that it didn't really translate into a lifestyle for all the rest of the days he spent on the planet. Very interesting. But also, in our own experience, very common.
In our house, we call this "Churchianity." It's the by-product of a mass produced faith, or the ATTEMPT at a mass produced faith. It looks like Christianity on the outskirts, but upon further examination, it's missing a little something.
When Jamie went out to sea for the first time, I decided I would make him a quilt for his second patrol. A little bit of handmade love to wrap around himself on the cold, lonely tin can he spent his days and nights on. This sparked a new passion in me and I went to town making quilts for every person in my house and for other loved ones. I had always loved the look of a handmade quilt and by golly, I was proud that these unique, beautiful creations could be traced back to my loving hands. Once, when I was short on time but anxious to get my daughter's bedroom redecorated, I opted for a store bought quilt. Martha Stewart, from Kmart, in a super pretty wedding ring pattern, in the most perfect blend of pinks and whites. It was gorgeous. But shotty. The stitches were too far apart and when it started unraveling (after just a couple washes) you could readily see the shortcuts taken to make this quilt. The seam allowance was nothing like your typical 1/4' on a handmade blanket and the fabrics were cheap and became thread-bare way sooner than they should have. Looked fine, but when really put to the test, it was nothing like a really, real quilt, made by loving hands with attention to every detail, including quality control.
And such is Churchianity. It looks remarkably like Christianity. It might even keep you warm at night, but eventually, it will wear itself thin and be a useless rag among many. It doesn't hold up. It's not rooted in anything other than cultural expectation and it gives Christianity a bad name. If all anyone knows is a piece of crap quilt that wears out after a couple washings, you can bet they aren't too awfully interested when you offer to make them a real quilt with your own hands. "No thanks" they will exclaim, " I had a quilt before and it was junk....I'd rather stick with fleece." And can you blame them?
You find people who hold up popular Christian titles as equal to the Bible, with promises of a prosperous life, rocking marital romantic relations, more friends than you can count and that every circumstance you encouter is "bearing a cross." It's a feel-good motivational marathon, discounting the real meat of the Word of God. It's really hard to take and it's really hard to live in a world where this brand of spirituality is so grossly misrepresented by people trying to make the faith so palatable, they leave out the truth of it. Sure, it tastes good (so does cotton candy...guess what that does for you??) but it's really of no value.
For a Christian who really lives and breathes the Word, this kind of sucks. It's like you are immediatley outcast the minute you bring up anything real. 'Well, that was back then...this is now..." or "Well, that's not what the scholars interpret that saying.." and so on and so forth. Now, I am not downplaying the awesomeness of those who have devoted their lives to studying and teaching their faith, but I will say that without *some* selling out to what they REALLY believe, they can't mass produce the message. They can't bring it to the many, because only a few will really hear. To me, I'd rather be true in who I am and what I believe with 5 people, than put on a mask to attract 50. Sadly, this does not pay the bills of the big buildings people gather and so in order to reconcile that which you need with that which you believe, you water it down a little. Make it go a little farther, even if in doing so, you distort the original intent.
I have, within my circle, passionate, God-loving Christians. They have tattoos, color their hair, wear make-up and earn money. They watch TV and play video games and even swear every now and then. They eat, breathe, live and love and yet I'm confident every single one of them has been called out at one point or the other for not being a REAL Christian.
But they are as real as real can get. They just don't do the fluffy, surface stuff that a good deal of Churchians hold up as the ultimate proof that one "walks with God."
They are unique in a world of mass production. They are a hand-made by God and not mass produced by man. They are Mary, rather than Martha (Stewart) and honestly, after the experience I had with her crappy quilts (from crappy Kmart) I'd rather have a handful of Mary's than a hundred Martha's any day of the week.
Even Sunday.
In our house, we call this "Churchianity." It's the by-product of a mass produced faith, or the ATTEMPT at a mass produced faith. It looks like Christianity on the outskirts, but upon further examination, it's missing a little something.
When Jamie went out to sea for the first time, I decided I would make him a quilt for his second patrol. A little bit of handmade love to wrap around himself on the cold, lonely tin can he spent his days and nights on. This sparked a new passion in me and I went to town making quilts for every person in my house and for other loved ones. I had always loved the look of a handmade quilt and by golly, I was proud that these unique, beautiful creations could be traced back to my loving hands. Once, when I was short on time but anxious to get my daughter's bedroom redecorated, I opted for a store bought quilt. Martha Stewart, from Kmart, in a super pretty wedding ring pattern, in the most perfect blend of pinks and whites. It was gorgeous. But shotty. The stitches were too far apart and when it started unraveling (after just a couple washes) you could readily see the shortcuts taken to make this quilt. The seam allowance was nothing like your typical 1/4' on a handmade blanket and the fabrics were cheap and became thread-bare way sooner than they should have. Looked fine, but when really put to the test, it was nothing like a really, real quilt, made by loving hands with attention to every detail, including quality control.
And such is Churchianity. It looks remarkably like Christianity. It might even keep you warm at night, but eventually, it will wear itself thin and be a useless rag among many. It doesn't hold up. It's not rooted in anything other than cultural expectation and it gives Christianity a bad name. If all anyone knows is a piece of crap quilt that wears out after a couple washings, you can bet they aren't too awfully interested when you offer to make them a real quilt with your own hands. "No thanks" they will exclaim, " I had a quilt before and it was junk....I'd rather stick with fleece." And can you blame them?
You find people who hold up popular Christian titles as equal to the Bible, with promises of a prosperous life, rocking marital romantic relations, more friends than you can count and that every circumstance you encouter is "bearing a cross." It's a feel-good motivational marathon, discounting the real meat of the Word of God. It's really hard to take and it's really hard to live in a world where this brand of spirituality is so grossly misrepresented by people trying to make the faith so palatable, they leave out the truth of it. Sure, it tastes good (so does cotton candy...guess what that does for you??) but it's really of no value.
For a Christian who really lives and breathes the Word, this kind of sucks. It's like you are immediatley outcast the minute you bring up anything real. 'Well, that was back then...this is now..." or "Well, that's not what the scholars interpret that saying.." and so on and so forth. Now, I am not downplaying the awesomeness of those who have devoted their lives to studying and teaching their faith, but I will say that without *some* selling out to what they REALLY believe, they can't mass produce the message. They can't bring it to the many, because only a few will really hear. To me, I'd rather be true in who I am and what I believe with 5 people, than put on a mask to attract 50. Sadly, this does not pay the bills of the big buildings people gather and so in order to reconcile that which you need with that which you believe, you water it down a little. Make it go a little farther, even if in doing so, you distort the original intent.
I have, within my circle, passionate, God-loving Christians. They have tattoos, color their hair, wear make-up and earn money. They watch TV and play video games and even swear every now and then. They eat, breathe, live and love and yet I'm confident every single one of them has been called out at one point or the other for not being a REAL Christian.
But they are as real as real can get. They just don't do the fluffy, surface stuff that a good deal of Churchians hold up as the ultimate proof that one "walks with God."
They are unique in a world of mass production. They are a hand-made by God and not mass produced by man. They are Mary, rather than Martha (Stewart) and honestly, after the experience I had with her crappy quilts (from crappy Kmart) I'd rather have a handful of Mary's than a hundred Martha's any day of the week.
Even Sunday.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
When She Remembers
I got a text the other day that was short, to the point and rather blunt "Hey I need x's shirt. Did you find it yet?" No hello. No how ya doing? Just an out of the blue, random thought. And I laughed.
That's Christine for you. Is she rude? No. Is she unkind? Not even a little. I can't really say anything bad about her. She's just her. Spontaneous. Funny. And a little direct. It's just her way. The second a thought pops into her head, out it comes, but not in the socially accepted order of back and forth that most people pay attention to. Some time ago, this would have bugged me, but as I got to know her, it's a quality I found endearing, rather than off-putting.
Christine is my mirror opposite. She'll call (or more likely text) and say "Hey want to get together?" I'll say "Sure, when?" thinking we are planning some future event and she'll surprise me with "I was thinking about 2." Uhm, what? 2 TODAY??? "Yeah...2 today. We're having a birthday party today." My brain overloads and I think "How does someone plan something so fast?" and the answer is, she didn't. She didn't plan it until the last minute because that's how she works. This is a challenge for someone who plans a month in advance if I have to have all my people ready and dressed acceptably and clean and all that. But the thing is, she doesn't care how you arrive, just that you do. She doesn't care if your socks match, or if the girls hair is neatly placed in bow clips and matching clothes. Because her focus is on the people themselves, not what condition they arrive in.
She's taught me to laugh at my parenting fails and to admit them to the outside world. She's the person I can say "I said such and such to hellchild today.." and instead of rewarding my confession with silence, she busts out laughing and exclaims "I TOTALLY KNOW THAT FEELING" with so much emotion and empathy and delight that you can't help but want to tell her *everything* because you know, she will not only listen, she'll understand. She's got "been there, done that" down to a science.
She's misunderstood, of course, because in Girl World, that sort of acceptance of NOT accepting yourself is against the rules. She'll forget important details of your life, and you'll have to remind her a couple times what order your children were born in, but she will remember they like the color purple. She'll listen to all your woes, but forget the details enough that it's impossible for her to gossip about them. And she laughs about it.
Christine takes time to understand, but in the end, it's worth it. She's a cheerleader, therapist, comedian, mothering expert, tech support, sounding board, and more. She's inspiration that there is no stage of life that doesn't have it's own share of beginnings and excitement. In short, she's an amazing person that I'm very blessed to have in my friend porfolio. You just have to remind her to remember and when she remembers....she's completely worth the effort.
Love ya girl!!
That's Christine for you. Is she rude? No. Is she unkind? Not even a little. I can't really say anything bad about her. She's just her. Spontaneous. Funny. And a little direct. It's just her way. The second a thought pops into her head, out it comes, but not in the socially accepted order of back and forth that most people pay attention to. Some time ago, this would have bugged me, but as I got to know her, it's a quality I found endearing, rather than off-putting.
Christine is my mirror opposite. She'll call (or more likely text) and say "Hey want to get together?" I'll say "Sure, when?" thinking we are planning some future event and she'll surprise me with "I was thinking about 2." Uhm, what? 2 TODAY??? "Yeah...2 today. We're having a birthday party today." My brain overloads and I think "How does someone plan something so fast?" and the answer is, she didn't. She didn't plan it until the last minute because that's how she works. This is a challenge for someone who plans a month in advance if I have to have all my people ready and dressed acceptably and clean and all that. But the thing is, she doesn't care how you arrive, just that you do. She doesn't care if your socks match, or if the girls hair is neatly placed in bow clips and matching clothes. Because her focus is on the people themselves, not what condition they arrive in.
She's taught me to laugh at my parenting fails and to admit them to the outside world. She's the person I can say "I said such and such to hellchild today.." and instead of rewarding my confession with silence, she busts out laughing and exclaims "I TOTALLY KNOW THAT FEELING" with so much emotion and empathy and delight that you can't help but want to tell her *everything* because you know, she will not only listen, she'll understand. She's got "been there, done that" down to a science.
She's misunderstood, of course, because in Girl World, that sort of acceptance of NOT accepting yourself is against the rules. She'll forget important details of your life, and you'll have to remind her a couple times what order your children were born in, but she will remember they like the color purple. She'll listen to all your woes, but forget the details enough that it's impossible for her to gossip about them. And she laughs about it.
Christine takes time to understand, but in the end, it's worth it. She's a cheerleader, therapist, comedian, mothering expert, tech support, sounding board, and more. She's inspiration that there is no stage of life that doesn't have it's own share of beginnings and excitement. In short, she's an amazing person that I'm very blessed to have in my friend porfolio. You just have to remind her to remember and when she remembers....she's completely worth the effort.
Love ya girl!!
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
The Mother of Invention
There's something kind of cool about being a mom over a couple decades rather than having them all squeezed into a minute time frame. It's like every few years all the parenting tools get re-vamped and the baby-stuff-engineers come up with all new ways to get your child through that tumultuous babyhood phase. Just walk into any Baby Superstore and you'll see what I'm talking about. When I had Kyle in 1998 they just had your standard baby swing that went back and forth, front to back, although they had improved upon the wind-up mechanism thing and instead decided batteries that needed changed every couple hours was better than waking up the baby to wind the thing back up. Now, we have battery operated swings that can go back and forth, or side to side. We have bouncy seats that vibrate, seats that take the not-quite-ready-to-sit-up baby and prop them up well before their head is ready for that position and all sorts of other goodies to make parenting a small child, easier, better, faster.
But, as an expert in the field of mothering (I recently got my PhD), I have to say there are still many, many convenience items left to invent and market and based on my experiences in this realm, I have a few suggestions:
1. The Anti-Teenage Pregnancy Modification Device- Upon reaching puberty, all teenagers would recieve a "shot" that would implant a chip into their person to monitor rising levels of hormone and at the appropriate time, like leaning in for a forbidden kiss, their body would put of a scent, ala skunk, combined with a rather loud, reverberating flatulence sound. This would deter teenagers from even trying that shiz. This would be on a time-release sort of deal, fading as they aged, as appropriate. It would only take one time trying to manuever around this mechanism for them to never, ever try it again.
2. The Baby Butt Genie. Alright people, we now have, on the market, a LITTER BOX that cleans up after a cat, washing it's waste products away into the septic tank or sewer system and we haven't applied that same technology to BABIES? Why? I definitley think when compared to a baby's nasty diaper, cat waste is way lower on the todem pole. So you could have this device that looks very similar to one of those stationary walker things. Put baby's butt in, it gets the diaper removed, it's tush sprayed off, and in the same vein at the "Cat Genie", it gets washed away with the rest of the household wastewater. We do have the "Diaper Genie" but it is in no way, shape or form as cool as the "Cat Genie." I personally believe quality of life with a baby would be much improved if you didn't have to be so hands on when it came to...well....poo....
3. The Marco-Polo Electronic Monitoring Device- Seriously this is a must have for parents with toddlers. This chip would be self-sticking to any object that your child likes to "play" with. For me, this would be my cell phone. The premise is simple. Can't find that object? Scream, as loudly as possible, "MARCOOOOOO" and the object would holler back "POLOOOOO" This could also come in handy after a long day of Dora, and Blue and toddler babble when an adult voice "talking" back to you is music to your ears.
4. Webinator 2000- This would be mistaken for your standard Hot Momma fashion accessory, coming a vibrant range of colors and patterns (including animal print) But oh, no, no, no...it's not just another pretty bracelet. It's actually a net throwing device ala Spiderman. One flick of the wrist and that toddler that will NOT listen after 17 admonitions to get down from that thing gets netted. Pinned. To the GROUND. Humane and effective.
5. Book incinerator. Yes, this would be a parenting tool. It would be for every stupid book written by every stupid "expert" telling you how to raise your child. You know what I'm talking about. Every few years, there's a new and improved way to parent a species that's been on this planet for a really long time. What did we do without these genius people directing us on what to do with the miniature humans??? Oh yeah, we followed our instincts. Parenting books, while helpful sometimes (mostly for humor) can really suck. They must not be trusted. Throwing them away does not provide the level of satistfaction that burning it's stupid ass does. Trust me. Light em up. And go on your merry way.
Our development engineers have a few more prototypes that are looking quite promising, but not quite ready for review yet. As lead technologist, I will say I'm really excited about what will be on the market for future babies joining our team. Although I will say, as we advance in understanding, it becomes more clear that gadgets aren't truly necessary when one or two loving adult models are present and accounted for, but we haven't quite figured out how to duplicate that yet, so this secret is under wraps. For now. Once it can be mass-produced, battery operated and sold for 17 times it's production costs, we will be marketing this one hard core.
Coming soon to a store near you.....
But, as an expert in the field of mothering (I recently got my PhD), I have to say there are still many, many convenience items left to invent and market and based on my experiences in this realm, I have a few suggestions:
1. The Anti-Teenage Pregnancy Modification Device- Upon reaching puberty, all teenagers would recieve a "shot" that would implant a chip into their person to monitor rising levels of hormone and at the appropriate time, like leaning in for a forbidden kiss, their body would put of a scent, ala skunk, combined with a rather loud, reverberating flatulence sound. This would deter teenagers from even trying that shiz. This would be on a time-release sort of deal, fading as they aged, as appropriate. It would only take one time trying to manuever around this mechanism for them to never, ever try it again.
2. The Baby Butt Genie. Alright people, we now have, on the market, a LITTER BOX that cleans up after a cat, washing it's waste products away into the septic tank or sewer system and we haven't applied that same technology to BABIES? Why? I definitley think when compared to a baby's nasty diaper, cat waste is way lower on the todem pole. So you could have this device that looks very similar to one of those stationary walker things. Put baby's butt in, it gets the diaper removed, it's tush sprayed off, and in the same vein at the "Cat Genie", it gets washed away with the rest of the household wastewater. We do have the "Diaper Genie" but it is in no way, shape or form as cool as the "Cat Genie." I personally believe quality of life with a baby would be much improved if you didn't have to be so hands on when it came to...well....poo....
3. The Marco-Polo Electronic Monitoring Device- Seriously this is a must have for parents with toddlers. This chip would be self-sticking to any object that your child likes to "play" with. For me, this would be my cell phone. The premise is simple. Can't find that object? Scream, as loudly as possible, "MARCOOOOOO" and the object would holler back "POLOOOOO" This could also come in handy after a long day of Dora, and Blue and toddler babble when an adult voice "talking" back to you is music to your ears.
4. Webinator 2000- This would be mistaken for your standard Hot Momma fashion accessory, coming a vibrant range of colors and patterns (including animal print) But oh, no, no, no...it's not just another pretty bracelet. It's actually a net throwing device ala Spiderman. One flick of the wrist and that toddler that will NOT listen after 17 admonitions to get down from that thing gets netted. Pinned. To the GROUND. Humane and effective.
5. Book incinerator. Yes, this would be a parenting tool. It would be for every stupid book written by every stupid "expert" telling you how to raise your child. You know what I'm talking about. Every few years, there's a new and improved way to parent a species that's been on this planet for a really long time. What did we do without these genius people directing us on what to do with the miniature humans??? Oh yeah, we followed our instincts. Parenting books, while helpful sometimes (mostly for humor) can really suck. They must not be trusted. Throwing them away does not provide the level of satistfaction that burning it's stupid ass does. Trust me. Light em up. And go on your merry way.
Our development engineers have a few more prototypes that are looking quite promising, but not quite ready for review yet. As lead technologist, I will say I'm really excited about what will be on the market for future babies joining our team. Although I will say, as we advance in understanding, it becomes more clear that gadgets aren't truly necessary when one or two loving adult models are present and accounted for, but we haven't quite figured out how to duplicate that yet, so this secret is under wraps. For now. Once it can be mass-produced, battery operated and sold for 17 times it's production costs, we will be marketing this one hard core.
Coming soon to a store near you.....
I'm Not Saying Jesus Got Sloshed....
I have this look about me. Well, when I'm perplexed, befuddled, confused...you get the idea. Usually when this comes on, I don't have a mirror handy to inspect myself and I'm not exactly sure what it looks like to the outside world, but I'm thinking it's something like:
My children concur. This is my face when something I have heard or seen is just completely baffling to me. Very often, it's what I look like when hearing religious commentary. There are many eggs in this basket I'd like to crack, but today I simply have to focus on one that has me particularly confused.
"Jesus didn't turn the water into wine, he turned it into grapejuice....."
And THEN my friends, he poured that wine into neat little plastic pitchers and placed those pitchers into his handy Fridgeadaire, you know, to prevent the almost *immediate* process of fermentation (starting) that happens when juice from fruit is exposed to the natural elements??? Right??
(As a side note, I will never forget the look on this girls face as she went to take a swig of her apple juice, at band camp, after the jug had been sitting in the sun for a couple hours. It was no longer juicy and sweet, but already morphing into apple wine. She should have been suspended for such immoral behavior. Sheesh.)
This is one of those things that has me reeling. Come on people. Do we really want to portray ourselves, Christians, as complete morons without a lick of scientific sense? Cause if that's the plan we're doing a REALLY good job. Every bit of conventional knowledge completely smacks this little diddy down, hard core.
So here's the thing. In today's culture, alcohol is portrayed as something kind of bad, kind of edgy, kind of crazy-inducing. This is only partly true. Yes, people drink to excess, get drunk and wind up loving someone they would have ran away from in their sober state and this is, well, bad. It's bad for your body, bad for your mind and bad for your conscience, if you have one. However, numerous studies have shown the benefits on the human body from injesting a moderate amount of fermented liquid. I'm not talking rotten corn mash, distilled, I'm simply talking about a process that happens to all fruit without outside cooling devices taking center stage. Juice doesn't stay juice for long at all. It's just common sense. It's not a difficult concept to embrace.
And what really chaps my ass is how these HUGE fat guys will preach this. Wine is bad. It's bad in any form, in any amount, and you're certainly going to be dining with the Devil if your meal includes a glass of Chardonnay. They forget one little word: excess. Too much. Too much of ANYTHING is bad and that's a biblical concept as well. But these guys didn't reach into the realm of obesity by practicing sensible eating. They ate to excess. But food isn't bad right? Five Big Macs and a triple order of fries with a Diet Coke isn't sinful at all, because it's FOOD. (Ever notice people that order a lot of crap food get a diet coke with it? I mean what's that about? If you're going to go down to heart attack lane, at least go down without a nasty after-taste....why stop now. Sugar it up baby!!) I just want to scream "Dude, your freaking OBESE. What about gluttony??? How is one glass of wine with a meal worse than eating your weight in drive-thru burgers like three times a day???" I don't get it. I mean I simply cannot wrap my mind around the total disconnect these people have between what they abstain from and what they freely choose. The kicker is, they completely make it a salvation issue on top of it being a social issue. Because that's WJWD right? (Okay, I reconfigured the letters for my own selfish purposes. I do realize the bracelets say WWJD....I don't own one because I already know Jesus would not scream at his followers "WHY IS THERE PEANUT BUTTER ON THE FREAKING CEILING??" and I have too much guilt to be constantly reminded of how much I suck when it comes to what Jesus, himself, would do)
There are times, as a Christian woman, I offer up a little prayer for these types of people...and hopefully it's not irreverent, as I have to believe God gave me my sense of humor for a reason...
"Dear Lord, forgive them, for they know not how absolutely completely moronic they are. Forgive them for changing your word to suit their purposes and for climbing onto a soapbox with every moral ephiphany that comes to them. Forgive them their judgement on others and lack of it for themselves, and please God, could you give me a small break from having to see, hear or interact with these people for at least 24 hours. My logic chip got all smoked out trying to process this and I need a bit of time to recuperate before the next attack on my sensibilities. In Jesus name, Amen."
Now I'm off to gather some recipes for breaded fishsticks and honey yeast rolls, because when Jesus fed the masses fish and loaves of bread, he REALLY actually fed them frozen fish sticks and big fat yeast rolls. With juice.
Sigh.
"Jesus didn't turn the water into wine, he turned it into grapejuice....."
And THEN my friends, he poured that wine into neat little plastic pitchers and placed those pitchers into his handy Fridgeadaire, you know, to prevent the almost *immediate* process of fermentation (starting) that happens when juice from fruit is exposed to the natural elements??? Right??
(As a side note, I will never forget the look on this girls face as she went to take a swig of her apple juice, at band camp, after the jug had been sitting in the sun for a couple hours. It was no longer juicy and sweet, but already morphing into apple wine. She should have been suspended for such immoral behavior. Sheesh.)
This is one of those things that has me reeling. Come on people. Do we really want to portray ourselves, Christians, as complete morons without a lick of scientific sense? Cause if that's the plan we're doing a REALLY good job. Every bit of conventional knowledge completely smacks this little diddy down, hard core.
So here's the thing. In today's culture, alcohol is portrayed as something kind of bad, kind of edgy, kind of crazy-inducing. This is only partly true. Yes, people drink to excess, get drunk and wind up loving someone they would have ran away from in their sober state and this is, well, bad. It's bad for your body, bad for your mind and bad for your conscience, if you have one. However, numerous studies have shown the benefits on the human body from injesting a moderate amount of fermented liquid. I'm not talking rotten corn mash, distilled, I'm simply talking about a process that happens to all fruit without outside cooling devices taking center stage. Juice doesn't stay juice for long at all. It's just common sense. It's not a difficult concept to embrace.
And what really chaps my ass is how these HUGE fat guys will preach this. Wine is bad. It's bad in any form, in any amount, and you're certainly going to be dining with the Devil if your meal includes a glass of Chardonnay. They forget one little word: excess. Too much. Too much of ANYTHING is bad and that's a biblical concept as well. But these guys didn't reach into the realm of obesity by practicing sensible eating. They ate to excess. But food isn't bad right? Five Big Macs and a triple order of fries with a Diet Coke isn't sinful at all, because it's FOOD. (Ever notice people that order a lot of crap food get a diet coke with it? I mean what's that about? If you're going to go down to heart attack lane, at least go down without a nasty after-taste....why stop now. Sugar it up baby!!) I just want to scream "Dude, your freaking OBESE. What about gluttony??? How is one glass of wine with a meal worse than eating your weight in drive-thru burgers like three times a day???" I don't get it. I mean I simply cannot wrap my mind around the total disconnect these people have between what they abstain from and what they freely choose. The kicker is, they completely make it a salvation issue on top of it being a social issue. Because that's WJWD right? (Okay, I reconfigured the letters for my own selfish purposes. I do realize the bracelets say WWJD....I don't own one because I already know Jesus would not scream at his followers "WHY IS THERE PEANUT BUTTER ON THE FREAKING CEILING??" and I have too much guilt to be constantly reminded of how much I suck when it comes to what Jesus, himself, would do)
There are times, as a Christian woman, I offer up a little prayer for these types of people...and hopefully it's not irreverent, as I have to believe God gave me my sense of humor for a reason...
"Dear Lord, forgive them, for they know not how absolutely completely moronic they are. Forgive them for changing your word to suit their purposes and for climbing onto a soapbox with every moral ephiphany that comes to them. Forgive them their judgement on others and lack of it for themselves, and please God, could you give me a small break from having to see, hear or interact with these people for at least 24 hours. My logic chip got all smoked out trying to process this and I need a bit of time to recuperate before the next attack on my sensibilities. In Jesus name, Amen."
Now I'm off to gather some recipes for breaded fishsticks and honey yeast rolls, because when Jesus fed the masses fish and loaves of bread, he REALLY actually fed them frozen fish sticks and big fat yeast rolls. With juice.
Sigh.
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