The Trouble With Explaining Things

A while back, someone I knew during childhood posted that her young son had heard something about abortion on the radio and she had explained it to him.  She made a point of stating that it was funny that her 6-year-old could understand how bad abortion is when so many adults can’t seem to.  I wasn’t there so I don’t know for certain, but I’m guessing her explanation was along the lines of equating all abortion to killing babies with no discussion of the differing views on when life begins or why there are caring, loving people who may see the issue differently.  Abortion, like many other divisive topics, can be explained in a variety of ways.  I often struggle with how to explain these topics to my kids. 

How things are explained to us and how we hear them discussed in our environment as we’re growing up form the foundation for how we think and what we believe.  As parents, we want to teach our kids to know the difference between right and wrong and how to make good choices and all the basics that will help them turn out to be good people.  Many of us also attempt to impart our religious and political beliefs to our children as part of teaching them what is right.  These last two things are what have concerned me recently.  There is nothing wrong with teaching these views to our children; my concern is more about how we do this and how differences are explained.  

The family I was raised in was very conservative and vocal about sticking with conservative, “biblical” values.  I knew from a young age that Republicans were the “good guys” because they care about things like saving babies and keeping God in America.  I vividly remember overhearing a conversation between my parents when I was about twelve years old, in which my dad revealed to my mother that, although he had been voting Republican for years, he was still a registered Democrat.  He’d simply never gotten around to changing his registration.  I remember getting this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, wanting to say something and yet knowing I couldn’t since I really wasn’t supposed to be listening.  MY DAD?  A Democrat???  How was this possible???  Why on earth would he want to be associated with the very people who killed babies and wanted to take God’s name off our money?  I obviously don’t have to tell you how all these things had been explained to me… either directly to me by my mother or by absorbing it from the Christian publications in our home, hearing people speak about them at church, or overhearing the conversations of concerned adults.

If you know me at all or if you’ve read many of my previous posts, you know that my beliefs have changed quite a bit since I was twelve.  I wouldn’t say that my views are the total opposite of how I was raised, but I am certainly the minority in my family now and I am not teaching all the same things to my kids that I was taught.  So here is what keeps tugging at my heart: Twelve-year-old me would have been horrified by present-day me.  Twelve-year-old me would have thought that someone like present-day me had taken too many steps down the slippery slope and plunged into darkness.  Thinking about this, I realized that when we are teaching kids to hate, fear, disrespect, or disparage the politicians and political parties and points of view we disagree with, we aren’t just teaching them these things in big, nebulous ways.  When we do this, we are teaching our kids to view their neighbor or their teacher or their grandmother or their aunt (or even their future-selves) as a villain, as someone who should be hated or feared or disrespected or disparaged.  It was the aunt thing, especially, that hit home with me this week.

My sister has an almost-three-year-old son and three tiny one-month-old babies.  I love these four kids as much as I love my own kids.  My sister and I had a brief conversation yesterday about something my mom mentioned to her about something I’d said about a certain political viewpoint and was concerned about.  Knowing that my sister and her husband agree with my mom on the matter, I got to thinking later about how much I love my family and how much I love my sister and brother-in-law and how much I love their kids, regardless of any disagreements on certain issues. 

Then I got to thinking that it's possible that the way things are explained to them as they grow could influence my nephews' and niece's opinion of me.  How would I feel if the triplets didn't think of me as the aunt who cried when she held them for the first time and drove to their house in the middle of the night once a week when they were tiny to feed them and cuddle them so their mom could get some sleep?  And it devastates me to think that their big brother could one day not care that I was the aunt who would pick him up and spin around until we both got dizzy and fell on the carpet laughing or the aunt who would sneak him fruit snacks and let him drink chocolate milk straight – not mixed with white milk (at least at my house).  It absolutely breaks my heart to know that although I would give my life for any of them in a second, they may one day think of me as a political enemy, someone to look at with scorn and disdain.  Not because I'd done something terrible, but because they realize that I think about things differently from they way they were taught was "right."  Tears are streaming down my face as writing this, just thinking that it is a possibility.

I am not in any way whatsoever insinuating that my sister and brother-in-law would ever tell their kids to think of me in such a hurtful way, because they would not do that.  I am not saying they would ever even tell their kids to think badly about anyone.  But what I am saying is that this is where what we say about others in generalities goes from a seemingly justified political or spiritual rant to becoming a real, face-to-face, heart-to-heart hurt.

This made me wonder about what I'm teaching my kids with the way I talk about what I believe.  It breaks my heart to think that based on how I explain things to them, my boys might one day look at my sister and brother-in-law as anything other than the people who love them as much as their dad and I do.  I hate to think that anything I would say to my kids about a view my sister and brother-in-law happen to hold might make my boys think badly of them.  Their aunt and uncle are two of the most generous-of-spirit and big-of-heart people I have ever met in this world.  They have stayed in our home with the boys and spent countless hours manufacturing all sorts of fun projects and silly games for them and showered them with love and affection.  I honestly don't care if we disagree about certain issues and I would never want the way I talk about things to cause my kids to care either. 

But since I am raising my kids with a few different views from some my sister's family holds, how am I doing that?  Am I teaching them the same exact thought process I was raised with, but only with different villains?  Or am I teaching them love first and foremost, regardless of political or religious differences? 

Our political or religious beliefs are only part of who we are and as we are searching and questioning and trying to grow, they can change.  That doesn’t mean we become completely different people.  In some cases, like mine, I would say that the evolution of my religious and political beliefs was more a process of bringing them in line with the person I am.  It doesn’t mean I love my loved ones any less because they may not agree with me.

So here is what I think we should do:  The next time we are tempted to act as though what we think or believe is the absolute, 100%, no-questions-asked right thing to believe and that we know the exact right way assert it to "stick it" to dissenters.... before we start to type or say words that demonize or disparage anyone, we should think of the people we love most in this world.  I want us to think of how we SHOULD discuss the matter if those people we love were the ones on the other side.  We should think of all the things we love about them, all the wonderful things they add to our life, all the things that make them individuals instead of the labels we assign to people for their beliefs.  We should think of how we would feel or what it would mean to us if we were speaking those hateful words to those we love -- to their face.  We should think of how we would be destroying something precious by directing those words to them and teaching our kids and those around us to do the same.  If that doesn’t give you pause, well, it should. 

We need to stop.  We need to think.  We need to remember that those groups and parties and politicians and other-side-ers we so love to rant about are representatives of individuals.  They represent individuals we know and love.  We need to teach our kids and the people around us that there is another way, that who we are and how we treat each other is far, far more important than whether or not we agree on things that are decided in the voting booth or can only be believed rather than proven. 

That, my friends, is what I intend to explain to my kids.

Baffled

For anyone who either grew up in the church or is familiar with the more often-told Bible stories, you probably know the story of the woman caught in adultery.  If you are not familiar, here is an excerpt from John 8:  

The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her....” At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there.
Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
“No one, sir,” she said.
“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

I've seen this story come up multiple times in discussions over certain social issues around which there is much debate and disagreement.  When I read this story, two things stand out to me.  The first is, where the hell is the man?  Unless I'm misunderstanding something, it takes two people to commit an act of adultery.  Was he in the crowd with a rock in his hand?  What injustice that only this woman is facing death for a crime committed by two equal participants!

The second thing I see is how Jesus stands up for her, this scorned woman who is facing the judgment of the religious leaders of the day.  He not only saves her from a brutal death, but treats her with dignity.  What a scene that must have been and what confusion she must have experienced at this shocking change in her fate.  When I read this, I see a story of mercy, grace, and love, but also of justice -- the woman is treated equally with the man and does not receive solo punishment for the sin of two. Those are the things that stand out to me in this story

I've noticed, however, that what some people focus on in this story is that last line, “Go now and leave your life of sin.”  In the KJV translation, it reads, "Go, and sin no more."  To some, it seems, the main point of this story is that Jesus tells her to stop sinning.  Sure, the rest of the story is nice, but look!  Jesus made it clear that she had to lead a blameless life for the rest of her days!

It has always troubled me, this split in how the story is explained and how some seem to use it like a weapon against those they believe are sinning in a way that is less acceptable than their own sin.  I would always be baffled that the proverbial "moral of the story" could be so completely different to people who all seem to agree on the basic tenets of the Christian faith. 

I just finished reading a book by Richard Beck titled Unclean: Meditations on Purity, Hospitality, and Mortality that shed light for me on why there is such a difference in approach when this type of story is discussed.  I wish I had read this years ago.  I have re-read this section of the book (below) numerous times, and now that I've had time to consider it, it makes perfect sense.  For anyone who has spent a lot of time studying psychology, this may be old news.  For me, well, mind = blown.

Given that the experience of the divine is often regulated by disgust psychology, conversations about God, sin and holiness are often being torpedoed at some deep level. A dumbfounding is occurring. These dynamics make conversations about God inherently difficult because our experience of the divine is being regulated by emotion rather than logic, affect rather than theology. I think people in churches have always known this, and felt that people in conflict within the church were generally talking past each other....

Conservatives make appeals to the Purity/Sanctity foundation while liberals restrict their moral judgments to the foundations of Harm/Care and Fairness/Reciprocity. This is simply another way of saying that liberals, weakly or strongly, reject appeals to a vertical, transcendent dimension... in favor of the horizontal dimension of human affairs.

Conservatives will contend that there are times when the sacred...should be privileged over the... call for justice or equity.... For liberals, the metaphysical (“the sacred”) isn’t a category worthy of consideration if real world harm and injustice are at stake.... (emphasis mine)

 I highly recommend reading Dr. Beck's book, as this excerpt really doesn't do justice to his thorough examination of the analysis he offers, but I hope you can see what he is getting at here and what his words illuminated for me.  When I read it, I immediately thought of the different responses to the adulterous woman story. Due to our life experiences and the way our minds work, some of us are thinking more of what is fair, caring, and just when we consider what is "right" and what is "wrong" or what we focus on in certain issues.  Due to the same factors, others are thinking more of what is righteous, pure, or acceptable when considering what is "right" or what is "wrong."

I know this insight doesn't actually change anything.  It doesn't make me more likely to think about the story of the adulterous woman in a different way or change my mind about other frequently debated issues.  I will still disagree with people over where I stand.  However, it does help me see that there will be times when I need to step back and appreciate that I'm arguing in a completely different right vs. wrong "language" than another person.  It doesn't make either of us bad people, it just means that our brains work so differently that we may never be able to agree on that subject.

This knowledge reminds me that there will be times when I need to determine if my relationship with a person is more important than trying to get them to see where I am coming from.  I may never truly grasp the point of view of someone whose mind works differently, but there may be ways to compensate for this difference.  We may never gain full comprehension, but maybe we can get to understanding in the sense of "a state of cooperative or mutually tolerant relations between people."  If we can find a way to relate to those on the other side of this divide, cooperation may be possible.  I have to believe that even if we never get there, it is a goal worth pursuing.

Is God a Christian? Am I?

“God is not a Christian, God is not a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist. All of those are human systems which human beings have created to try to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition, I walk through my tradition, but I don't think my tradition defines God, I think it only points me to God.”
- Bishop John Shelby Spong

I hate that in my past I've limited God by acting as though he can only be experienced by everyone else in the world in the same way that I experience him.  In a way, it seems utterly absurd that anyone would think that, but when you believe for so long that the way you believe is the only way, it takes some doing to shift your paradigms.  The past several years have been quite a spiritual journey for me.  

Granted, it has been a long time since I have acted like I thought that my way was the only way, and even longer since I actually thought it.  The thing about being immersed in a culture from a young age (in my case, the conservative evangelical faith) is that when you start to doubt some of the fundamentals of it, it is difficult to simply make a clean break.  You know you don't believe what everyone around you believes, yet you aren't nearly as sure of what you believe INSTEAD as the others are of what you SHOULD believe.  Blurting out "I think that's poppycock!" in response to an assertion, when you have not yet built the framework for your new beliefs, will alienate you more than it will do anything else.

When you finally do get confident enough to make the break from your old beliefs, it can be difficult to do it gracefully.  When I finally did it, my transition was anything but graceful.  I posted my new thoughts and opinions daily on Facebook.  I got into discussions (read: arguments) with old friends.  I could barely hide my disdain for some of the old ideas and I'm sure that came across to my friends and family (who still held those ideas) as disdain for them. I offended people.  I think that because I felt my new point of view was so right for me, I wanted to help other people see that my old way wasn't the only way. 

I can understand why I felt that way, but I now realize that just as my beliefs are personal and stem from my experience, it is the same way for others.  I learned a lot about how scary it can be when someone starts questioning shared beliefs, because it is comfortable to be surrounded by like-minded people.  But no matter what our beliefs, we should not be scared of questions; We should be scared when everyone pretends they don't or shouldn't exist.  Through my questions I've determined there are so many things I don't know at all.

Here is a passage from a book I just finished reading.  This is where I am right now:

There are a lot of things I don’t know. I don’t know where evil came from or why God allows so much suffering in the world. I don’t know if there is such a thing as a “just war.” I don’t know how God will ultimately judge between good and evil. I don’t know which church tradition best represents truth. I don’t know the degree to which God is present in religious systems, or who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. I don’t know if hell is an eternal state or a temporary one or what it will be like.... I don’t know which Bible stories ought to be treated as historically accurate, scientifically provable accounts of facts and which stories are meant to be metaphorical. I don’t know if it really matters so long as those stories transform my life. I don’t know how to reconcile God’s sovereignty with man’s free will. I don’t know what to do with those Bible verses that seem to condone genocide and the oppression of women. I don’t know why I have so many questions, while other Christians don’t seem to have any....

I am learning to live the questions, to follow the teachings of a radical rabbi, to live in an upside-down kingdom in which kings are humbled and servants exalted, to look for God in the eyes of the orphan and the widow, the homeless and the imprisoned, the poor and the sick. My hope is that if I am patient, the questions themselves will dissolve into meaning, the answers won’t matter so much anymore, and perhaps it will all make sense to me on some distant, ordinary day.

(From:  Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions By Rachel Held Evans.  Buy it.  Read it.  Seriously.  Although it tells her own journey, she does a much better job of explaining the process than I am doing here on this blog.) 

What I'm learning is that, regardless of what some others may think, I haven't lost my faith.  I do experience God through faith in Christ -- not just because that is how I was raised, but because that is what I choose and what speaks to me.  Christianity is my "tradition," as the bishop said, but it is not my dogma.  I can see some of my ideas of God in other religious traditions.  I can see God in people who have no religion.  The way I experience God through Christianity may be very different from the way others do, and that is okay.  There are so many things about God that I freely admit I don't know or understand, and that is okay too.  We all make choices about what we believe, what pieces we have to keep in order to become better people and what we have to discard because it is an albatross to our faith.

Of all the ideas we can discard, I think the belief that we all have to experience God the same way should be the first to go.  God is a mystery and we do not own God.

The Opposite of Empathy

em·pa·thy   [em-puh-thee]  
Definition:  The intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.
Antonyms: apathy, misunderstanding, unfeelingness


I read an article a few years ago that cited a study that sought to find the most basic and universal human emotion.  I can't remember what they were trying to prove that it was, but what they determined was that empathy is the universal emotion that all humans are born with.  (Side note: I tried, but could not find that article again.  However, if you Google 'empathy in babies,' you can find references to this type of study.)

Obviously, not every person is empathetic.  Babies can outgrow empathy for a variety of reasons.  Lately, though, I've been wondering if some people are purposely taught to not show empathy.  I mean, I can understand that people in some circumstances would lose empathy pretty easily.  Children who are abused or neglected are not shown empathy and those scars can wreak havoc on psychological wellness.  I'm not talking about those people.  I'm talking about people who seem to be okay, to whom nothing terrible or abusive has happened, who live an "average" life, yet seem completely incapable of feeling even a tiny twinge of empathy.

I get that with different life experiences people have different points of view, different thoughts, different opinions, and different ideas.  What I do not get is making the leap from, "Well, we disagree." to "Well, you are a terrible person because you disagree with me."  We've all seen it or heard it or even experienced it over the past couple years.  Disagreements quickly turn into stereo-typing, name-calling, demonizing, and worse.

This concerns me for many reasons, but mostly because it seems many of us have lost our ability to empathize with others.  To me it seems that some have even been taught that empathy is wrong or bad or should be avoided at all cost.  It seems some think there is no way we should try to put ourselves in the proverbial shoes of someone else or try to see a situation from their perspective.  Why should we?  We know everything, understand everything, and have it all right.  If someone thinks differently from us or their life is different from ours, they are bad and it is all their fault. There are people I encounter or see in the news who seem to have been taught all of the above.

What baffles me about this is that, with as many choices as we have in life and as much as I believe in personal responsibility, there are so many things out of our control.  For example, I did not choose my parents, and yet I have amazing parents.  I did not choose where I was born, and yet I was born in a location that is comparatively safe and offers a decent amount of opportunity.  Conversely, there are many born to parents who do not want to be parents and in places that are dangerous and where opportunity is scarce.  Some are born privileged and some are born relatively privileged  and some are born with nothing.

Thinking about all this reminded me of a blog post I read recently over here at this link.  As soon as I read the following sentence, I knew I would remember it forever:  "At its heart, recognizing privilege is simply recognizing that your life experience is NOT universal." - Dianna Anderson  This is exactly what I'm getting at.  Other people have not lived the same life I have lived.  If they disagree with me on something, they have that right.  Yes, it is difficult sometimes when I do not understand why someone could think about something so radically different from the way I think about it.  Yes, it can feel like criticism or even rejection when someone expresses a difference of opinion.  However, if I don't at least try to see where another person is coming from, if I can't empathize despite disagreement, where does that leave me?

Perhaps you're someone who was told (and then believed) that you were going straight to hell if you accepted a certain type of person... that the only way for you to be true to your beliefs was to hate certain other people. I get that, as I have sometimes been guilty of believing what I was told instead of what I knew to be true.  I understand how fear can cloud our judgement.  But what if, for just a second, you set that aside?  What if you pretended/imagined/visualized that things were not the way you've always been told and tried to think about something from the perspective of someone with a totally different life experience?  What if you could really try to feel what it must be like to live and function in that experience?  Would it be so easy to hate/condemn/reject them?

I feel like I am kind of rambling now, but I have been thinking about this so much lately that I had to write about it, even if it is a long, ramble-y, post.  I just wish that we could all take a step back from our own experience and practice empathy.  To  me, living in apathy, misunderstanding,and unfeelingness seems like a pretty unpleasant alternative to taking the time at least try to identify with the feeling, thoughts, attitudes, and  experience of others.  Think of how different things could be if we would stop embracing the opposite of empathy.

The Big Bad Wolf

When I was really little, the thing I was most scared of in the world was the Big Bad Wolf.  I don't remember when I first started being scared of it, but to me the Big Bad Wolf was horrifying.  He was the terror hiding under my bed, he was what was waiting in the shadows ready to pounce, and he was the in the nightmares that would leave me awake and shaking in the middle of the night.  I could not stand the stories of Little Red Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs. 

If the lights were off in my room and I needed to get out of bed, I would sit on the edge (feet up, of course) for a long time, trying to decide if it was worth the risk.  I just knew that as soon as my foot hit the floor, the Big Bad Wolf would reach his hunormous* paw out to grab me and pull me under the bed, never to be seen or heard from again.  If I really absolutely had to get out of bed, I would jump out as far away from the side of the bed as I could, and race out of the room. 

One of the main problems was, that if I was getting up in the middle of the night, it was probably to go to the bathroom.  The 1950's house I grew up in still had the original tile half-way up the bathroom wall.  Along the way, someone had decided to paint that tile several times.  Most of the tile was painted white, but along the floor was a spot where someone had dropped something heavy (a paint bucket, perhaps?) and put a large chip in the white paint.  Of course, the chip revealed a layer underneath that had been painted black.  And it was in the shape of a wolf.

Thinking back on it, it all seems so silly.  To be terrified there was a wolf under my bed and to let my imagination run wild that he could hide in a chipped tile on the wall and would somehow come to life and get me if I didn't watch the chip the entire time I was in the bathroom alone.  Thankfully I've outgrown all that and realize now that The Big Bad Wolf is a fictional character.

Although, to claim that I've completely gotten over absurd fears would be a lie.  There are still some things that scare the bejesus out of me.  Of course, I try to act like a normal, rational adult, but sometimes and in some situations I just want to freak out.  I guess in a way I am still scared of the Big Bad Wolf, only now he has taken on a the form of bad things I fear could happen or risks I'm scared to take.  Maybe I will never really be grown up. 

Oh well.  At least I can get up in the middle of the night without racing away from the bed.



*Hunormous is a word my 4-year-old uses all the time to describe something that is huge and enormous.  I love it so much I cannot bear to tell him it is not a real word.  Maybe someday it will be.  Didn't they just add "ginormous" to the dictionary?

Blank Stare

My oldest son, Luke, is not very social. He is quite witty for a four-year-old and amazingly thoughtful when he wants to be, but he just doesn't seem to feel like he should interact with most people in the general public. In a way, this is quite irritating because I don't want to be that parent with the weird kid who won't talk to people. However, I kind of admire him. There are so many people I wish I could ignore or respond to with a blank stare.

I also can't blame him for not wanting to participate in the lame-o activities at school. They had a Mother's Day Tea at his school Thursday. Of course, the teacher had prepared a little song and dance routine for the kids to do for the moms. Okay, so it was more like songs with motions accompanied by a kid's sing-a-long CD than it was singing and dancing, but you get the idea. As soon as the teachers asked the kids to come up to the front for their songs, Luke looked at me and said, "I don't want to." I encouraged him to go up, but he gave me that look and an "Uh-uh." The teachers were looking at me and I told him again that he should go up, but it was obvious that trying any more than that was going to end badly. So I just shrugged it off and let him skip it. He sat in his chair next to me and watched while his classmates performed 'Skitta-ma-rinky-dinky-dink' and 'A Bushel and a Peck' with motions that included lots of hugging themselves, throwing kisses, and bouncing with their hands on their hips.

How bad is it that I was actually proud of him for not participating? Sure, I understand that participation and collaboration are important life skills, but what is it teaching him if he is forced to do something stupid just because everyone else is doing it? There is really only one outcome I can envision from this whole attitude of kids needing to do things for amusement just because all their friends are doing it. Is that what I want to be teaching my kids? I mean, sure, if they really like singing goofy songs and want to do it, that's fine. But if they hate it, why should they have to?

Now, I'm not saying I intend to teach my kids that it is okay for them to do whatever they want, whenever they want. They need to learn manners and responsibility and how to treat people with respect. But I also want them to learn that there are things they should not do just for approval or just because other people are doing them. They need to learn to evaluate what are those things that are beneficial to their lives and what are the things that add no value. I know I'm still trying to teach myself to say 'no' to things that add no value to my life but that I feel obligated to do anyway. How much easier my life would be if I had learned that lesson starting in preschool!

Luke still gave me the big, floppy, paper hat he made for me. And the card with a picture he drew of the two of us with the dog. And the flower with a snapshot of us glued in the middle. He still served me cake and he still sat on my lap while the teacher read the sad story she chose to try to make all the moms cry. His choosing not to participate in the singing and bouncing did not ruin the Mother's Day party for me. It made me hopeful that his future will not include too much time wasted agonizing over how to say no to something in which he has no interest but that he still feels he pressured to do because all the other kids are doing it.

Hair Color and Stuff

Today we were driving to church and Luke started saying things about each of us that match. Mommy and Luke both have blue eyes. Daddy and Mommy both have dark hair. Etc., etc... Then he said, "Me and Owen both have bright hair (By which he meant light hair. He always says 'bright' in place of 'light' when discussing color) and Mommy has dark hair. If Mommy had bright hair, she would be a boy too." Haha... I love kids' logic. So of course I reminded him that Daddy has dark hair too and he is a boy and that things like the color of your eyes or hair don't make you a boy or a girl. And we started talking about other ways we are alike and different.

Of course, I took the opportunity to talk about ways other people are like us or different from us, but how we are all people and God made everyone and loves us all the same. Some of us have light skin and some have dark. Some of us are tall and some are short. He named off some people we know who have darker skin than ours and I responded "Yep. There are lots of ways we are different, but because we are all people, we have a lot of things alike no matter how different we look. We treat everybody the same, right?" He nodded in agreement and then went on talking about something else.

But I actually teared up thinking about our exchange. Something about knowing that I needed to purpose to remind my kids of this over and over, and the thought that there are people out there who tell their kids the opposite, really bothered me. Maybe it's because we just passed the eighth anniversary of 9/11 or maybe it's just because I'm tired and allergy head which makes me more emotional, but I do worry about the world my kids are growing up in. I worry that I am trying so hard to teach them to be accepting and tolerant of differences and to be good members of society and to help others who need help, but that some of those things might get them bullied or ostracized or worse. I worry about all the people they will encounter who do not value any of those things. I hate that the time is coming when they will experience bigotry or prejudice or hate..... directed at them or not.

I guess all I can do is continue to teach them about the importance of acceptance and tolerance and helping when they can. And hope that there are enough other people out there who also value those things so they won't be alone.

One day our descendants will think it incredible

that we paid so much attention to things like the amount of melanin in our skin or the shape of our eyes or our gender instead of the unique identities of each of us as complex human beings.

-Franklin Thomas

Poseur

I was in Whole Foods the other day to buy yogurt. Surprisingly, the kind of yogurt I like is much less expensive there than at Kroger. I was wearing dark-brown dress pants, a pink (Pink! Seriously?) short-sleeved sweater, and brown strappy heels. I hate wearing dress pants. I usually wear dresses to work in the summer, but it is excessively cool for July and I knew it would be about 40 degrees in the office so I just wore pants. Here is the bad thing about wearing dress pants... they always make me feel like I'm pretending to be an adult. I was walking down an aisle in Whole Foods thinking to myself, 'What am I doing? Why am I dressed up like a business person?" It was so weird. I felt completely uncomfortable. I had the impulse to run out, buy a pair of jeans, put them on, and burn the dress pants in the parking lot.

I finished up my shopping, but couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I was a total poseur. That I'm "a person who adopt[ed] the dress, speech, and/or mannerisms of a group or subculture" but who does "not share or understand the values or philosophy of the subculture." Yes, I have a college degree to pay for and yes, I need a good job with benefits to pay for that degree and for my mortgage and for my other various bills. But I just feel like such a fake. I dress up every morning and drag myself to work and sit in a tiny cubical near all these other people in tiny cubicles who take their jobs and the business world in general very seriously as though business is actually important in the grand scheme of things. As though someday they will look back on their lives and be happy that they gave the majority of their life to a corporation. If working at a big, heartless company truly makes them fulfilled, then I am happy for them. However, I just can't believe they all love the business world as much as it seems they do.

I know it sounds like I hate my job, but I don't. I actually think it's a great job. I learn new things all the time and get to talk to lots of different people and try to figure out why something went terribly awry and what we can do to fix it/prevent it from happening again. But despite that I like my job, it's not as though it really matters to anyone other than some of the people at this company. I'm not helping people or doing something meaningful or for the greater good. I'm just here. Sitting in a cubicle. Wearing dress pants.

Later, I read my friend Irena's post in which she discussed her current gainfully-employed-yet-unfulfilled status and that just added fuel to the flame. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time the next morning, thinking back to when I was just finishing up high school and who I was then and why I went to college instead of floral design school and how I ended up here instead of somewhere else. It's kind of weird to look yourself in the eye and try to picture what you should be doing instead of what you are doing. (Just to be clear, this isn't an "I want a different life" crisis. I love my family. This is strictly a personal/occupational crisis.)

When I picture myself doing what I'm supposed to be doing, I'm standing in front of a table full of flowers and scissors and floral tape and wire. I'm wearing a black t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and chuck taylor's. My hair is longer and pulled back to keep it from bothering me while I work. I know it would be delusional to think that if I was doing that I would be perfectly happy and never stressed and everything would be great, but I just think I would feel as though I was doing something that I liked and something that was meaningful to other people.

There is no good place for me to go from here. I can't just quit my job and join the circus (or a flower shop). I guess I need to take baby steps to something else, even if it's just on the side. And I think I need to do more things that make me feel like myself and not a different, office-worker-poseur version of me. Today, I wore a purple t-shirt with a koi fish and flowers on it with my dress pants and heels. Tomorrow it should be warmer and I can go back to wearing dresses, which are nothing like dress pants. I can get away with wearing a dress with a funky or mod pattern and heels and look professional enough without feeling unlike me. I know this isn't really about what I wear, but I guess I don't like the thought that I even look like I fit in here. Anyway, I'll figure it all out somehow. One step at a time. Wearing a pair of Chuck's... at least in my mind.


Red-handled scissors
and tan walls
closing in,
ominous.
Endless drone of
traffic
out the window.
People going places,
not trapped.
Not trapped here.
Likely trapped
where they are going.
Autonomy
is far too
elusive.

Breathe In Deep

More lyrics I love right now. (Caedmon's Call, on their 1997 self-titled release.)

CLOSE OF AUTUMN

When I'm cold and alone
All I want is my freedom
and a sudden gust of gravity.

I stop wailing and kicking
Just to let this water cover me, cover me.

Only if I rest my arms, rest my mind,
You'll overcome me
and swell up around me.

With my fighting so vain,
With my vanity so fought,
I'm rolling over.

All the time I'm thinking,
Wondering how it would be
to breathe in deep.

I guess I need to be careful
when I ask for a drink
(Just might get what I ask for).

And I know just what
You'd say to me,
That's why I don't ask You.

What would I ask You?

An awful lot of talking,
I don't leave You much to say;

You didn't ever leave me-
And my greatest fear was
You'd leave me here.

A long time back
my feet could touch the bottom.


It probably makes more sense if you listen to the song, but I think it has some really great lines. I especially love the last line. I guess with my own last line and ending issues, I have a soft spot for really great ones.

I think this song, and especially that last line, describes how I feel right now. Just a few months ago, my feet touched the bottom, but now I mostly forget what that feels like. I don't think that, had someone asked me back then, I would have said that I had everything figured out. I'm smart enough to know I never have. But I think that looking back, I felt I had enough figured out. That I knew what was going on and that I knew what I thought about most things. Now I'm exploring and thinking and mulling over and trying to swim. Despite that it is unfamiliar, it's much better than just wading in.

Unraveling

Lately I've been feeling extremely discontent. Like I'm coming apart. As though I'm watching myself unravel and there is nothing I can do to stop it. It's quite disconcerting. I really feel as though there is something wrong with me. 'Unravel' is the best word I can find to describe it. When I find a word I like that seems to perfectly describe something, I like to look it up and see if it has other meanings I wasn't aware of or had forgotten. Unravel is my perfect word right now.

UNRAVEL
un·rav·el [ un rávv'l ] (past and past participle un·rav·eled, present participle un·rav·el·ing, 3rd person present singular un·rav·els)
verb
Definition:
1. transitive and intransitive verb: undo knitted strands, or become undone: to undo the knitted or woven yarn, thread, or other strands of something, or become undone by having the strands come apart 
2. transitive and intransitive verb become or make something understandable: to make the complexities of something clear and understandable, or become clear and understandable

I am a reasonably intelligent person. Not genius or anything, but smart enough to do well in school despite holding down two or three jobs at a time and volunteering and spending time with friends. I've managed to get decent jobs since I graduated, some impressive (but ultimately meaningless) certifications at work that require passing difficult tests, and I think most people who know me would say 'yes' if asked if they think I'm smart.

But, for the first time I can remember, I feel not smart. I feel like I've missed something really important and I hate (yes, hate) the thought of it. At what point did I start just making decisions and not asking myself a million questions first? For example, when I stopped going to church after college, I had decided that there were things involved in going to church that I didn't want to be part of my life. I didn't want to judge people and treat them badly because they didn't live up to my ideals. I didn't want to be narrow-minded or fake or hypocritical. Looking back, it's as though I said to myself, "Great. I have it figured out. I will just not be those things."

And since then it's like I've just been coasting. Yes, I've been reading my Bible and other books and started going to church again. But I've also been making decisions about this or that based on how I feel and trying to not be the things I don't want to be. I'm not sure how I was okay with that. Not to make excuses, but I guess I was just so busy with life and being an employee and then a wife and then a mom that I completely overlooked many of the questions I should be asking myself about the things I do. Well... no longer. I might be unraveling in the sense that I feel like I'm coming apart, but I am not going to continue that way. I'm making an intentional effort to unravel the complexities of my life, faith, and decisions into something clear and understandable. And I am going to work on becoming clear and understandable in my conversations.

I Peter 3:15 &16 reads, "But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience..." It is unacceptable to me if I can't give an understandable answer for the things I do, in regards to my faith and otherwise. Yes, it may be difficult for me to talk to someone in person without seeming like a complete dork, but that doesn't mean I can just hide behind that excuse and resign myself to being unable to communicate effectively. It will take practice and determination, but I'm hoping it will be worth it. I'm going to keep unraveling until I make sense.

Romans 12:9-13 in Two Translations

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.
(NIV)

Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle. Don't burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don't quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.
(The Message)



I usually like to read through whole passages of scripture until something jumps out at me and then I read it in several translations. And I'll read it over and over for days on end. This time, I kept remembering the phrase 'practice hospitality' from reading it a long time ago and I searched for it until I found it.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I have some sort of genetic mutation. I have a terrible aversion to entertaining that makes me turn into a complete wreck. It's not that I don't want to have guests over. I do. It's just that I turn into such a freak about it and I hate that.

Several months ago, I heard someone speak about Moses. At the burning bush, God spoke to Moses and asked 'What's in your hand?' and Moses replies 'A staff' (Exodus 4:2). He talked about how the staff represented everything that Moses was. It showed that he was a shepherd and that he had flocks and probably a large family. The gentleman speaking then related this to our lives saying that God isn't necessarily asking us to all become missionaries or pastors or church music leaders. He argued that God just wants us to be faithful to him with what we've been given. For some of us that may be a talent or a passion. For others, money or possessions. He encouraged us look at what is in our hands and see how we can serve God with it.

I know I've done a terrible job of explaining all this, but it made so much sense the way he explained it and I just kept thinking about it. I still think about that question a lot. What is in my hands? I've already mentioned my very talented sisters and how I really don't have that obvious talent or passion. The more I thought about it, the more it became frighteningly obvious... I have a house that is perfect for practicing hospitality and that is what I should be doing. Seriously? How am I going to do that when having more than two people over sends me to the brink of a nervous break-down? Even though I was really apprehensive about it, this was one of the situations where I just made myself jump. And, to my complete surprise, my first attempt wasn't a complete disaster.

Soon I will be trying it again. And again. I think that eventually I will be having some sort of gathering at my house every month or so. I'm not sure where it is all going. This isn't an attempt to try to convert anyone or push my beliefs on anyone or anything like that. This is simply about me being faithful with what I have. This is about me being faithful to love other people and to live in community with them. To be a good friend and to be there when I'm needed, even if that is just to facilitate people taking time from their busy schedules to relax and visit with other people. To be inventive in hospitality. To practice hospitality.

So... Love and Hospitality. Those are the things I'm working on right now. I think there is a good reason I keep thinking 'practice hospitality' over and over in my head. Practice makes perfect, right?

Orion

When I was driving home from my Girls' Night a few weeks ago, the sky was so clear and I could see the moon and so many stars perfectly. Amazing. I started thinking about something I wrote a few years ago. I rifled through my old work and managed to find it. I'm posting it here with some edits:


I can't look at Orion without thinking of my maternal grandmother. I saw it on the way home from Christmas shopping tonight. Luke was asleep in his carseat in the backseat of the Jeep and the stars were so bright. I looked up through the windshield and there he was -- belt, sword, shoulders, knees. I have very few memories of my Grandma before her illness made it too painful for her to walk. It didn't matter to me. I loved her. She taught me how to blow bubbles with bubblegum and how to find the big and little dippers and what cardinals look like and how to tie my shoes and the importance of a firm handshake.

I got my first paying job from her when I was 7 or 8. She paid me fifty-cents a room to dust the furniture. She always checked my work and pointed out any missed spots. She didn't believe in letting me get away with poor work just because I was little. She did get angry sometimes. She would try to bite her tongue until we left the room, but we could still hear her lash out at her caretakers because of the pain. I didn't fully understand then, but I understand now how horrifying it must have been to live in constant pain.

She had been a teacher and an artist in her younger, pain-free days. That teacher spirit never left her. She loved to show us things and help us learn. Sometimes we would hear a train coming on the tracks across the field from their house. My sisters and I would push her wheelchair to the window of the enclosed porch on the front of their house so she could help us count the train cars together. I still count the cars when I get stopped at a crossing and have to wait for a train to pass.

I remember her hands. I'd seen her paintings and sketches, so I know she'd had artist hands, but I never got to see them like that. In my memory, her skin was paper-thin and blotchy. The ends of her fingers were always bruised from from the constant pricking to check her blood sugar. I mostly remember her in her wheelchair, barely even able to lift a spoon. But she could still love us. And still teach. And because of her, I can spot Orion.

Polka Dot Bathing Suit

I really don't like swimming. I know that is weird for someone who loves summer as much as I do, but it's true. I hate bathing suits.  I hate that it's so easy to fry my skin in the water, despite that I have applied sunscreen. I hate that the water is often extremely cold, giving me goose-bumps.  I hate goose-bumps. I hate that it is a huge pain/production if I have to pee since I have to try to dry off and go inside and attempt to peel out of my wet bathing suit just to do so.  I hate that wherever the bathroom is, they are usually BLASTING the A/C, causing me to get even more goose-bumps and stand shivering in the stall as I fight with the wet suit.  I hate that being in the water makes me SO hungry that I just want to eat whatever happens to be around, usually chips or brownies or some other fattening food that will make me look even worse in a bathing suit.

Oh yeah... and I hate that I can't actually swim. Not any real swimming stroke, anyway. I can tread water and I can dive under and kick my feet and move my arms to try to move to the other side of the pool, but I can't actually swim laps or anything.

When I was 5 or 6, my mom put me in swimming lessons at the local swim club. We couldn't afford a membership, but my aunt had a membership that somehow allowed us in to sign up under her name and go to lessons for a fee. I had a dark blue swimsuit with white polka dots and a little blue and white striped skirt. I loved the swim suit (that was obviously before I cared how I looked in swimwear), but I hated the lessons. I'm guessing it would have been helpful for me to be able to practice swimming between lessons, but that would have required a membership to be able to go to the pool other than at lesson time.  Oh well. I did learn to tread water, so that's something.

I don't remember much about the classes other than when it was time for us to learn to jump off the diving board. We all had to line up by the ladder and wait our turn. I was terrified. I remember wishing I could just leave and not have to stand there in line dreading having to walk out on that board. Sure, it was only 4 feet above the water (or however far the standard is... don't feel like looking it up), but they may as well have been asking me to skydive with no parachute. When it was my turn, I would walk out to the end of the board and look down and just stand there. The instructors would be telling me to jump, that they would get me as soon as I jumped in. Yeah, right. I trust you. Finally, after I stood there long enough without jumping, they would let me walk back up the board to the ladder and climb down without jumping. Every week. Walk to the end, stand there, walk back, climb down.

I remember one girl who all the instructors loved. She ALWAYS jumped. And sometimes took an extra turn. And the last week of class, she jumped off the high dive. I hated that girl. Well, actually, I didn't hate her. I was jealous that she wasn't scared. I think I spent most of my childhood being scared. I'm not sure what made me think of all this and remember this swimming thing, but I was in bed last night thinking about it for a long time. In a way, I'm still that scared little girl. I'm scared of everything... that something bad will happen or I'll mess something up to the point that I won't be able to repair it. But, in a lot of ways, I've learned to push that scared little girl off the end of the diving board. Someone who is always scared would never go on a trip alone to Spain. Would never have kids. Would not get tattoos. Would not put her thoughts online for anyone to read. I will probably never not be scared, but it's good to keep making myself jump.

Even if I don't like swimming.

4 AM

(Note: This is a different style of post for me, but I had a lot of time to think about it EARLY this morning so I thought I'd try it out. I apologize in advance if I've messed up the tense anywhere. I tried to proofread thoroughly, but I sometimes find it difficult to edit my own work.)

It's 4AM and I'm trapped in the death-grip hug of a 4-year-old. I can tell by the uneven breath on my cheek that he is still awake. He was just snuggled up to me before, but as soon as I tried to get up, I got the hug. I can't sleep like this and I have no idea how he can either. But he is. At least drifting off. I'm SO tired and I have to get up for work in two hours, but this is what moms do. So I just lay here, waiting for him to fall asleep for real so I can get up and get in my own bed and catch a few more winks before my alarm goes off.

My arm is getting numb so I shift and he hugs tighter. When you're that little, you don't think about how silly it is to hug someone's neck like you have to hold on for dear life. You just think if you hold on to them you won't be alone or scared or sad, so you hold on. As we grow up, we realize there are personal boundaries and we don't cling to other people like that. But I fully understand the impulse. There are days I just want to hold on for dear life to the people I love. There are days I don't want to leave the house or I don't want Ryan and the boys to leave because I just want to hold on to them. To keep them close where I can see they are safe. To hold on to them so none of us will be alone or scared or sad. This is an impulse I can control. Of course I don't just stay at home or try to keep my family at home all the time. But there are days it takes a surprising amount of effort for me to not cling just a little too long.

I'm lost in thought when he finally relaxes his grip and lets go. He rolls over on his back, arms above his head, like kids sleep when they are completely exhausted. I can tell he is really asleep now, even though he is still moving his fingers and sighs deeply when I move. He looks so little when he sleeps, but I know it will be far too soon when he will not be little and the last thing he will want is a hug from his mom when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Time for me to retreat, but I stay for just a few more minutes and watch him sleep. I guess I am clinging to him, even though we're not touching.

Thank you Friedrich Nietzsche... and Mom

"The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently." -Friedrich Nietzsche

I was homeschooled from the time I entered 4th grade until the end of my junior year of high school. As I've already stated, I grew up in an extremely conservative church. My family is Republican, pro-life, pro-family, pro-prayer-in-schools, pro-NRA. Even when I read these things, I get a stereotype in my head of what someone who came from this kind of family would probably be like. They would either be the same.... or they would completely rebel and go 180 degrees in the opposite direction in life.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately... and how I didn't end up going down either of those paths. Oddly enough, I have to give my parents, especially my mother, some credit for it. Despite how strongly they hold to all of those beliefs, I have never once seen either of my parents treat someone badly for being different from them or for believing differently. While I never remember a time they specifically said "It is not okay to alienate someone or put them down because they are different from you" that idea was always understood in my family. My mother was always just as welcoming to the perpetually dirty kids from up the street who wandered the neighborhood till past our bedtime, as she was to our next-door neighbor kids who were always clean and called home for supper at 6. She was just as chatty and polite with the mom in the grocery aisle who was cursing at her kids and buying only cigarettes and soda as she would be with another homeschooling mom if she bumped into her in the store.

I guess what I took away from this is that people are people and you should treat them the same. Not that I'm really that great at it. My mom has a lot more grace than I do (she can even be polite to someone who is talking down to her, which is something I will never be able to do). But I think that spending my growing-up years with her helped me to see you shouldn't reject someone just because they aren't like you. That, in turn, helped me to be more open to other points of view. As I moved away from the little conservative bubble I grew up in and really began to form my own beliefs, I was even more able to study and appreciate views that weren't like mine. Granted, I can be really passionate about what I believe, not just in my (for lack of a better term) 'religious' beliefs, but also in what I believe is fair or unfair, right or wrong, good or bad in general. But I can appreciate, and even enjoy, discussing other points of view regardless of how different from my own they may be.

I know my mom isn't exactly a fan of Nietzsche. I'm sure that me writing a blog about her that begins with one of his quotes would seem extremely odd to her (heck, it seems weird to me and I'm the one writing it), but I think it's also a testament to her. That any of her kids would take a Nietzsche quote and be able to appreciate the truth in it, says to me that she is more than just a conservative, former-homeschooling mom. She tried to set a good example and teach us to think for ourselves.

You don't have to agree with someone to appreciate them or their point of view. I'm so glad this is something I've learned, as I would have missed out on many good experiences and relationships if I hadn't. I sincerely hope this is something I can teach to my own children.... that while they should carefully consider what they believe and why, they should never give more value to people who agree with them than they give to those who don't.

I Need.... Something

I am a mess of a person. I honestly have no idea how I have been able to accomplish anything at all in life. I wish I could say that my kids are to blame -- that my insanity is caused by all the worry and sleepless nights, but no. I can blame them for the worry and sleepless nights and the gray hair I found the evening after I posted a blog about how young I feel.... but I was a mess long before I had kids.

I had big plans last night. A birthday dinner with two very good friends at a really nice restaurant in downtown Cincinnati, then meeting up with an out-of-town friend from college and his wife for drinks at a Martini Club. Now, I do try to get out and do things with friends without my kids on a regular basis, but it has been probably a year since I had plans like this, dressing up and going downtown, etc. I needed to leave my house at 4:45. I started getting ready at 3:30. My sister was over to watch the boys. It went something like this:

Put on the dress and ask my sister if she thinks the neckline is too low. She gives me the whole 'Whatever you think' thing. I decide that even though I've worn the dress one other time and it wasn't inappropriately low for having a bunch of girlfriends over to my house for my 30th birthday, it was probably too revealing for meeting up with my best guy friend from college when I'm meeting his wife for the first time. So I look at all my other dresses and decide that I still need to wear this one and it won't be too difficult to just stitch the neckline a little higher where it crisscrosses. I start looking for my black thread. I get distracted by thinking about which shoes to wear and come out to the living room wearing one of each. My sister votes for the cute black ones and Luke votes for the funky pewter ones. Owen doesn't vote because he is taking a nap. I decide I will wear flip-flops and take both pair of shoes and ask one of the girls I'm meeting up with because she is my fashion consultant.

I remember I need black thread and I find it. But I can't find a needle so I look in the several places I think one might be, still don't find one, and decide I will do my hair while I think of where a needle might be. I do my make-up. I dig out the sewing machine box, but no needle. Then I realize that I don't have a card for the birthday girl because I tried to find one at Target and all their cards were really lame and the boys were beginning to run amok and being loud in the store (which is not okay with me) so I told myself I would get one later and never did. I look for my box of emergency back-up cards and can't find it. Then I do my hair. Then I think of where a needle is and have to dig out the step ladder to get it from the top closet shelf out of the little box part of the sewing machine. I take off the dress and sew it, but when I put it back on, it pulls funny to one side. I rip that out. I find my purse and make sure I have everything in it. I put on lip gloss, which I don't usually wear, but the dress makes my lips look pale.

I decide that I could probably sew the dress correctly if I could pin it while I'm wearing it and then take it off and sew it. But then I remember my straight pins are on the top closet shelf, which I can't reach. Screw it. I sew the dress while I'm wearing it. It is still slightly revealing, but now it is 4:25 and I really don't have time to mess with it any more. I ask my sister what she thinks and she tells me she thinks it's better even though I think she thinks it looks the same. I look for the card box again. No luck. Oh well. I didn't give her a card last year and she is still my friend so I move on. It is really warm, but I know I will be freezing in the A/C at the restaurant so I look for my red cardigan that I'd left on the counter that morning. I can't find it. I look in the laundry and everywhere I can think of. No luck. I start to look for a black one, but I only have a black wool cardigan and one with black sequins (wow... that is an embarrassing sentence). Then I remember the red one is in the car from when I put it there that morning when I left to run errands.

Ok.... purse, sweater, three pair of shoes....check. All ready and it's 4:45! Oh, but I need a camera. Where is my little point-and-shoot that will fit in my purse? And I should probably put on more deodorant since it's about 90 out. And I have a headache so I take something for that. And get some water in my eco-friendly refillable water container. And get 35 million kisses from an uncharacteristically affectionate Luke. Oh, and I should switch over the laundry so I can run another load in the morning.....

See what I mean? I'm really not a high maintenance girl when it comes to how much time I actually spend on my hair and make-up. It's the fact that I get distracted by 50 million other things. Leaving for church this morning was full of issues too, and I had to go back in the house 4 times (after I'd already strapped the kids in their car seats) to get things I'd forgotten. I don't know if this is genetic (although I doubt it because my sister is very practical and calm) or some form of mental illness or just that I am a complete mess, but it's pretty annoying sometimes. And the fact that I'm writing this for anyone to read is a little scary to me because I really don't think some people believe me when I tell them I'm a mess. Maybe they will now.

My sister suggested that I just start setting out everything I need the night before. She's smart. That would work for a normal person. I guess she forgot for a second that she was talking to me and that I would still certainly forget something even if I tried to get everything ready in advance.


Oh... the funky pewter shoes won, in case anyone cares.

I Hate Geese

I realize this is awful, especially on Earth Day, but I really, really hate geese. I like animals, in general. I'm not an animal rights activist, by any means, but I would not purposely hurt most animals unless my life or someone else's was in danger. However, I think I'd make an exception for geese. They are disgusting. They crap all over everything. I have no idea how they produce so much waste. Every day as I'm walking to or from my car in the work parking lot, I have to watch very carefully to ensure I don't step in a giant pile of goose crap and ruin my shoes.

Geese are also extremely mean. They do not care that you are simply trying to walk past them to get to your office so you can sit at your desk and work.. They will run after you and flap their wings if you get too close. If this doesn't make you disappear, they will take to flying and squawking and swooping at your head, like giant pooping bats.

When I was about eight months pregnant with Luke, I was the victim of a brutal goose attack. I was walking to the building after returning from lunch and I heard the screams of two of my co-workers as they ran toward me, away from a goose they had enraged by trying to walk to their car. They ran straight toward me, ducking and running for cover. As I was, at that point, the largest object in the parking lot, the goose singled me out. It came after me, flapping it's hideous, smelly wings and shrieking like a demon.

Pregnant women should not have to run from geese (or be laughed at for this by their co-workers who were watching from the 4th floor windows). I am (obviously) still traumatized by it to this day. This morning as I was walking to the office, I glance up from watching for goose crap to see a lone goose, standing in my path. I reflexively turned away from it to duck behind a car and was almost hit by an oncoming vehicle.

My point is that geese are dangerous and a menace to mankind. I propose extinction for them.

Well... maybe tomorrow. When it's not Earth Day.

How Far We've Come

I love Matchbox Twenty. That's not what this post is about, I'm just throwing that out there. Their first album came out my senior year of high school. It is one of the few albums I can listen to all the way through and like every song. The song 'Push' is still in my top five songs of all time. I know a lot of true music-ies (like foodies? Not sure... I think there is a term for it, but I don't feel like looking it up.) who can't stand them. Oh well. I love music, but I don't pretend to be one of those people who knows all the trivia and band member names and what instruments they used on each album and how far all their songs went on the charts. I work full time and have two kids. My brain doesn't have room for that kind of stuff. I like what I like. Anyway.... I just got the Matchbox Twenty 'Exile on Mainstream' album so I thought titling this post 'How far we've come' was fitting.

My sister and I have started a project to go through all the boxes of old snapshots my mom had in various locations all over her house. We're sorting them out to scan them so we can have copies of them forever (no, I don't know why). Wednesday night, we were having a sort session and our husbands were looking through them too. I must say I was.... pretty scary from the time I was about 11 until I was 15 or so. I had dorky glasses and super long hair. I was skinny and awkward and self-conscious and weird. Total bookworm.... only not the all-she-needs-are-contacts-and-lipgloss-and she'll-be-prom-queen kind of bookworm. No... the serious socially-awkward-no-amount-of-makeover-can-cure-and-we-pray-she-grows-out-of-it kind of bookworm. My husband spent the evening teasing me mercilessly for this. I lost count of the number of times he said something like "Wow. You were just so weird looking! Not good, Babe." For the most part I don't really care, but I think that when I'm in a situation where I already feel self-conscious I see myself as that person in my mind instead of the moderately more presentable and socially-integrated (but still weird and awkward) person I am today.
Today I feel like I sort of had an eye-opening experience. I had a meeting with a director in our company to review a problem report I'd been frantically working all day to put together. He was questioning my work and that awkward 14 year old reared her ugly head. I looked down at the retro-mod dress and heels I was wearing, thought about all the work and research I'd put into the report, and answered his question with complete confidence in my answer.... despite that I knew it was completely contradictory to what he wanted to hear. I braced myself for a barrage of questions, but he just said 'okay' and moved to the next item.
Confidence.... so elusive and yet so liberating!

Unfinished Business

So.... I have five draft posts lurking in my post list. All of them are unfinished and I'm not sure if I will ever finish them and post them. In some ways I think I seem like a pretty open person. That I am ok with sharing my thoughts with other people -- not just in a blog but in person as well. Not that I'm an over-sharer (I don't think), but I don't really see the point of not telling someone my thoughts on something if they ask.

But I am also a pretty private person. I have no desire to ever be famous. I like anonymity. I like having my own little world in my head that I don't have to share with anyone. (I know that makes me sound crazy. Which I am, but not in a 'wow, she needs meds' way. More of a 'she's quirky and a little off' way. I don't hear voices or anything.) The world in my head is just where I am always writing. I tend to go over things that happen throughout the day and think of how it would come across if I were writing it down..... Okay, maybe I do need meds.


But some things, when I 'write' them, are too much to share. I don't want people knowing what I thought about a situation. I don't want people knowing what I really wanted to say. I'm glad people can't read my thoughts because then they would know what I really think. And sometimes I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with what I really think.

I guess it kind of goes the other way too. How many of us really want to know what other people are thinking? Some situations are uncomfortable enough and they are only made worse if you venture a guess at what the other person/persons thought. Sadly I usually cannot stop myself from guessing.
I'm thinking it's not so crazy for everyone to have their own world in their head. It's kind of ideal.