This weekend, I called my dad while Lizzy and I were home alone. She saw me pick up the phone, and said, "I'm going to call Hello Kitty!" She picked up her little toy hello kitty phone and proceeded to repeat everything I said, about a second later, into her toy phone. I'm sure Hello Kitty was confused. Either that, or she was asking the same questions as my dad. It was rather jarring -- like that echo you get sometimes from a bad connection. And, of course, ridiculously cute at the same time.
A little later, we were in the car, with Matt, and Matt was trying (a conversation always involves effort if Lizzy's around) to tell me a story. I've gotten on his case before about how he talks. Which is unfair, but hey -- I'm a copy editor. It's hard sometimes not to try to edit the person you talk to the most. Specifically, he is guilty of the "so he's, like, "Blah blah," and she's like, "Blah blah." Which drives me insane after the fiftieth time, mostly because I will totally pick it up if I hear it all the time. And, well, it's irritating. After he said that a few times, we hear a little voice in the back seat pipe up, "And she's, like, ..." Matt and I turned to each other -- me with a horrified expression, he with a slightly guilty, somewhat alarmed look. oh NO. She can't have the disease, too!
*editor's note -- please don't feel that YOU, gentle reader, have to 'edit yourself' when you talk to me. I want it pointed out that I was NOT one of the people who e-mailed copy editing mistakes they'd caught on the church's Web site... Not that that's a bad thing... I'm just conscious of not coming across as the 'annoyingly anal one.' Even if that is probably in fact exactly what I am. And if we're all anal together, well, good for us! I won't feel as weird.*
We had a reasonably good time at Boo at the Zoo. Probably not a $20 a head great time, though -- perhaps that's one of those things you can do once or twice and call it good. Though, since the money goes to the zoo, and I'm a big fan of the zoo, I can feel a bit better about that part.
Lizzy was adorable, of course! my Evil Queen costume was a big hit, too. Especially at the Whole Foods stand, where they were giving away nice JUICY RED APPLES... Heh heh.
We'll venture out again tonight. I hope it's warmer. And I hope we see a bit of witchery and bionicleness about at some point!
Happy Halloween, y'all.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Mirror, Mirror
I wasn't going to dress up tonight for Boo at the Zoo, but I got a costume I think would go over well (or not) with the kiddos -- the Evil Queen from Snow White. We were looking at costumes last night (when, by the way, we ran into Lady Light and the Lightfamily! In Target! In Manassas! An unexpected treat. It makes me feel so much better to know that perfectly sane, normal people -- stop it, yes they ARE, or if they're not, none of us should be -- are in my town, or near it. Centreville, etc. I'm not as isolated as I sometimes feel), when I saw this costume. Awesome! Total evil, in the guise of a great beauty, at least in her own mind (hm, why is that appealing) ... No hair or close-fitting garments required! That, I do believe, is the biggest attraction of the costume. I hadn't realized somehow, before this year, how difficult it is to find a costume (what, you say? One can be MADE? You've clearly forgotten to whom you are conversing) that doesn't make a grown woman appear, um, sexy. (another word that begins with "S" is actually more apropos, but I'll try to be genteel.) And I can get a good ol' shiny red Washington State apple as a prop. My question now is, is their an inner slut -- ooops, sexy person -- inside all of us chicks, supposedly? Am I missing some kind of boat here? And if I am, I'll happily wave goodbye as it sails on. Men's imaginations are good enough. They don't need this kind of help.
We're cross-pollinating the fairy tale pool here. I hope Disney doesn't mind! (HAHAHAHA -- because he followed the original stories so faithfully...) Hans Christian Anderson, the Bros. Grimm and whoever else has been wronged at the hands of Walt, this one's for you.
I just hope I don't freak out Lizzy too much.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
minutae
Yesterday, I arrived home to a freshly vacuumed house, a newly installed bathroom ceiling fan (which took five hours and entailed a trip to the attic to remove 30-year-old headless nails), empty garbage cans and a hot meatloaf dinner. It's nice to have an occasional house-spouse! Nice to eat dinner before 7:45.
We're trying to get going earlier in the morning these days, particularly since Matt's boss basically said his theoretical promotion next spring hinges on it. Matt says this morning, "This may sound dumb, but I hope that maybe after the time change, I'll have an easier time getting going." I laughed at him. I'm not sure he appreciated it.
I made it into the office at 9:15 today! Nice. (it's usually more like 9:45) Though, it was a hard morning to leave Lizzy at the day care. It's never easy, but some days I feel so much guilt and sadness about kissing that little face goodbye. I wish I could be with her all day... She was just so sweet and chubby-cheeked and clingy. She didn’t cry when I left -- her usual form of protest -- but she lay down on the floor, face-down. It was SO sad. Before that, she looked up at me and simply said, “Don’t go.”
We're trying to get going earlier in the morning these days, particularly since Matt's boss basically said his theoretical promotion next spring hinges on it. Matt says this morning, "This may sound dumb, but I hope that maybe after the time change, I'll have an easier time getting going." I laughed at him. I'm not sure he appreciated it.
I made it into the office at 9:15 today! Nice. (it's usually more like 9:45) Though, it was a hard morning to leave Lizzy at the day care. It's never easy, but some days I feel so much guilt and sadness about kissing that little face goodbye. I wish I could be with her all day... She was just so sweet and chubby-cheeked and clingy. She didn’t cry when I left -- her usual form of protest -- but she lay down on the floor, face-down. It was SO sad. Before that, she looked up at me and simply said, “Don’t go.”
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
weekday update
If any of you prayed about the roof situation, thanks. Our first estimate was that it would cost less than a thousand dollars to repair the hole (one guy said he could see into the attic from his perch atop the roof -- oops), AND remove the solar panels. Sweeeeet. Nothing like your daughter's room becoming a swimming pool to spur you to happily throw cash at repairmen. But, much like Ross said at church on Sunday, I had just about that much, plus a few hundred to get the air vents cleaned out, coming from my annual bonus. So, as always, God is faithful and good!
I don't think I've fully mentioned the strange disappearance of our occasional plumber/handy guy, Rodney. Well, he got us all excited about putting a fancy overhang thingie on the front of our house, over the door, then bought the supplies and put up a couple pieces of plywood and some 2-by-4s, then disappeared. And I mean, for months. We heard nothing. We called and left messages until we felt we were being pests. Then we gave him up for lost.
Matt tried calling him again yesterday, for whatever reason. And HE CALLED BACK. Matt asked him where the heck he had been -- broke his hip, had to take care of some family business in New Orleans, where apparently they have had no cell phone service for months (editorial sarcasm -- I don't think he said that), etc. Matt said, "Well, we have a question. We appear to have a hole in our roof..." Rodney breaks in with, "I KNOW it ain't the roof I built!" Matt's thinking, since when does two pieces of plywood constitute a roof... I will grant, however, that it has been less leaky than our ACTUAL roof this month.
In other non-news, I drove Lizzy into town today and Matt stayed home to greet roof estimator guys. This is slightly tricky because Lizzy needs a fair degree of amusement and attention on our little commutes. First, we couldn't get the CD player working. (trust me -- this would have been a very serious problem, but it must've just needed to warm up.) Then, she kept wanting to show me things she was doing with her toys. Once, I turned around for a second juuust as traffic was braking... And just about squished the angel whose extended arms must have been keeping me from rear-ending the person in front of me. I'll look for my skid marks tomorrow. (just after exit 60, if you're heading east on Hwy. 66.) After calming down a bit, I explain to her in that serious Mommy tone that if only Mommy or Daddy is present, and driving, we cannot turn around to look at you, Lizzy. I'm sorry, but it's so that we all stay safe. I make sure she says she understands. Lizzy waits a beat or two, then says, "Mommy, look at THIS!" Aiieeeee. Kids.
Oh, yeah -- Lizzy insisted on the "Larry Bob gloves song" this morning. We have amassed five or six Veggie Tales CDs, and a couple of Sesame Street ones. She has Winnie the Pooh songs coming for her birthday. If I can get hold of the Disney Princesses, I guess that would be the logical next step. So, we have to rack our brains, running all songs from all Veggie Tales CDs through the child filter in our heads, to assess which song she desires. I said, "Can you sing it, honey? How does it go?" She sang a couple of lines, and I realized it was a song that mentions LOVE a lot. It's cute to watch her singing away phonetically to the words, but my enthusiasm for all these neat Christian songs she's learning wanes a bit when I realize that "gloves" and "love" are synonymous in this instance.
I don't think I've fully mentioned the strange disappearance of our occasional plumber/handy guy, Rodney. Well, he got us all excited about putting a fancy overhang thingie on the front of our house, over the door, then bought the supplies and put up a couple pieces of plywood and some 2-by-4s, then disappeared. And I mean, for months. We heard nothing. We called and left messages until we felt we were being pests. Then we gave him up for lost.
Matt tried calling him again yesterday, for whatever reason. And HE CALLED BACK. Matt asked him where the heck he had been -- broke his hip, had to take care of some family business in New Orleans, where apparently they have had no cell phone service for months (editorial sarcasm -- I don't think he said that), etc. Matt said, "Well, we have a question. We appear to have a hole in our roof..." Rodney breaks in with, "I KNOW it ain't the roof I built!" Matt's thinking, since when does two pieces of plywood constitute a roof... I will grant, however, that it has been less leaky than our ACTUAL roof this month.
In other non-news, I drove Lizzy into town today and Matt stayed home to greet roof estimator guys. This is slightly tricky because Lizzy needs a fair degree of amusement and attention on our little commutes. First, we couldn't get the CD player working. (trust me -- this would have been a very serious problem, but it must've just needed to warm up.) Then, she kept wanting to show me things she was doing with her toys. Once, I turned around for a second juuust as traffic was braking... And just about squished the angel whose extended arms must have been keeping me from rear-ending the person in front of me. I'll look for my skid marks tomorrow. (just after exit 60, if you're heading east on Hwy. 66.) After calming down a bit, I explain to her in that serious Mommy tone that if only Mommy or Daddy is present, and driving, we cannot turn around to look at you, Lizzy. I'm sorry, but it's so that we all stay safe. I make sure she says she understands. Lizzy waits a beat or two, then says, "Mommy, look at THIS!" Aiieeeee. Kids.
Oh, yeah -- Lizzy insisted on the "Larry Bob gloves song" this morning. We have amassed five or six Veggie Tales CDs, and a couple of Sesame Street ones. She has Winnie the Pooh songs coming for her birthday. If I can get hold of the Disney Princesses, I guess that would be the logical next step. So, we have to rack our brains, running all songs from all Veggie Tales CDs through the child filter in our heads, to assess which song she desires. I said, "Can you sing it, honey? How does it go?" She sang a couple of lines, and I realized it was a song that mentions LOVE a lot. It's cute to watch her singing away phonetically to the words, but my enthusiasm for all these neat Christian songs she's learning wanes a bit when I realize that "gloves" and "love" are synonymous in this instance.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
question of faith
I'm just full o' the bloggin' today, aren't I!
(yeah, I hear you -- "full of something, anyway." HAR.)
Matt and I were driving along the other day. He loves to come out of nowhere with these questions.
"So, if Adam and Eve were the first people... And they had kids..." Yep, I know where this one's going.
"There were other tribes of people."
"But, from where?"
"I don't really know. The Bible doesn't say."
"So ... you've been a Christian for 34 years." (well, not exactly. But, okay.) "And you've never thought about this?" (yes, I have.) But, it doesn't BOTHER you not to have an answer?"
and, the zinger -- "See, if Christians had answers to these questions, I could take it all seriously. This -- this is why I'm not a Christian."
I pointed out that there's a large faith element to being a Christian. God doesn't guarantee us all the answers.
But the truth is, I don't much care. Oh, I care deeply about what Matt thinks, and about trying to get him his answers. And, before you offer your C.S. Lewis books, he's received at least three copies already. He's not a reader. (not looking TOO hard for these answers, you see. Apparently it's up to me to read the books and pass along the wisdom.) But I don't really care if I have unanswered questions. I don't need to know everything. I'm not sure if that's a mental weakness, or a spiritual strength. Or just laziness on my part?
I've been rolling this around my head the past couple days. I have some silly, rather cliched arguments, but nothing great. Anyone learn anything cool in seminary that they'd like to pass along?
(yeah, I hear you -- "full of something, anyway." HAR.)
Matt and I were driving along the other day. He loves to come out of nowhere with these questions.
"So, if Adam and Eve were the first people... And they had kids..." Yep, I know where this one's going.
"There were other tribes of people."
"But, from where?"
"I don't really know. The Bible doesn't say."
"So ... you've been a Christian for 34 years." (well, not exactly. But, okay.) "And you've never thought about this?" (yes, I have.) But, it doesn't BOTHER you not to have an answer?"
and, the zinger -- "See, if Christians had answers to these questions, I could take it all seriously. This -- this is why I'm not a Christian."
I pointed out that there's a large faith element to being a Christian. God doesn't guarantee us all the answers.
But the truth is, I don't much care. Oh, I care deeply about what Matt thinks, and about trying to get him his answers. And, before you offer your C.S. Lewis books, he's received at least three copies already. He's not a reader. (not looking TOO hard for these answers, you see. Apparently it's up to me to read the books and pass along the wisdom.) But I don't really care if I have unanswered questions. I don't need to know everything. I'm not sure if that's a mental weakness, or a spiritual strength. Or just laziness on my part?
I've been rolling this around my head the past couple days. I have some silly, rather cliched arguments, but nothing great. Anyone learn anything cool in seminary that they'd like to pass along?
edited to add
Two more thoughts on my last post:
I need to say how grateful I am that the remnants of a hurricane merely pointed out a leak problem that I already had, but didn't destroy my home or render me adrift on the charity of others in another state, for instance. God bless and protect and help those still in that situation, or even much milder, but still dire, straits.
And, I just realized the irony (?), well, humor of some kind of the post about fretting about a hole in my roof and the preceding entry about sharing the home with others and not worrying. Heh heh.
I need to say how grateful I am that the remnants of a hurricane merely pointed out a leak problem that I already had, but didn't destroy my home or render me adrift on the charity of others in another state, for instance. God bless and protect and help those still in that situation, or even much milder, but still dire, straits.
And, I just realized the irony (?), well, humor of some kind of the post about fretting about a hole in my roof and the preceding entry about sharing the home with others and not worrying. Heh heh.
hole in the bucket
WARNING: Suggestions of lowbrow, 2-year-old humor ahead. Which aren't the point of the story, anyway.
Last night, I'm lying in bed with Lizzy at about 10:15, trying to talk her into going to sleep so I can, when she says, "Who's got gas?" I said, "Not me! Is it Lizzy?" and she said, "No!" Then I realize that, actually, I DO hear a strange noise... But it's more of a, oh NO!, dripping. Rather constant. I get up and check out the window area, where I (or someone) mistakenly left the top part of the window open a couple days ago. The window's closed. So the water that's dripping across the top of the window shade and down must be from the ...
roof.
We had an incident two weekends ago when Rita or whomever it was blew through. Chicks, man! They're nothin' but trouble! But we thought, well, rain THAT hard for THAT long is bound to find a way into your home. (we've turned into simultaneously the most optimistic, and the most fearful, people since owning a home. I hate owning stuff. Seriously; no joke there.) So we blew off the fact that there's now a brown stain the size of a fuzzy caterpillar on steroids on Lizzy's ceiling.
Last night showed that we have a serious problem. So Matt and I, at about 10:30, were flying about, trying to find a piece of easily moved furniture that would be tall enough and sturdy enough for us to stand on and get a good look at what's going on in the attic. Sure enough, those blasted solar panels that someone probably put on in 1976 or so are leaking around the posts. We think. The panels aren't in use, and probably haven't been for years and years; we've been scared off by rumors of how much they cost to remove. Not exactly a priority, until now.
I was glad to see all the rain last night, because Lizzy's pumpkin patch field trip is canceled and I no longer have to a) go on it, and feel guilty about missing work while I'm supposed to be 'in charge' while my boss is away for a couple days, or b) go to work and feel guilty that I'm missing one of Lizzy's field trips.
So now I'm in the office, spending work time, er, blogging, but also calling roofers. Dangit.
Last night, I'm lying in bed with Lizzy at about 10:15, trying to talk her into going to sleep so I can, when she says, "Who's got gas?" I said, "Not me! Is it Lizzy?" and she said, "No!" Then I realize that, actually, I DO hear a strange noise... But it's more of a, oh NO!, dripping. Rather constant. I get up and check out the window area, where I (or someone) mistakenly left the top part of the window open a couple days ago. The window's closed. So the water that's dripping across the top of the window shade and down must be from the ...
roof.
We had an incident two weekends ago when Rita or whomever it was blew through. Chicks, man! They're nothin' but trouble! But we thought, well, rain THAT hard for THAT long is bound to find a way into your home. (we've turned into simultaneously the most optimistic, and the most fearful, people since owning a home. I hate owning stuff. Seriously; no joke there.) So we blew off the fact that there's now a brown stain the size of a fuzzy caterpillar on steroids on Lizzy's ceiling.
Last night showed that we have a serious problem. So Matt and I, at about 10:30, were flying about, trying to find a piece of easily moved furniture that would be tall enough and sturdy enough for us to stand on and get a good look at what's going on in the attic. Sure enough, those blasted solar panels that someone probably put on in 1976 or so are leaking around the posts. We think. The panels aren't in use, and probably haven't been for years and years; we've been scared off by rumors of how much they cost to remove. Not exactly a priority, until now.
I was glad to see all the rain last night, because Lizzy's pumpkin patch field trip is canceled and I no longer have to a) go on it, and feel guilty about missing work while I'm supposed to be 'in charge' while my boss is away for a couple days, or b) go to work and feel guilty that I'm missing one of Lizzy's field trips.
So now I'm in the office, spending work time, er, blogging, but also calling roofers. Dangit.
Monday, October 24, 2005
what does this say about me?
Ahem. Lizzy will NOT officially be Cinderella for Christmas. I imagine she will, as usual, be Lizzy for Christmas.
Make that Halloween.
Ahem.
(I leave the post below untouched for your amusement, however.)
Make that Halloween.
Ahem.
(I leave the post below untouched for your amusement, however.)
every little girl is a princess
It's official -- after a bit of indecision, Lizzy will be Cinderella for Christmas.
What, you say? You thought she was ALWAYS going to be Cinderella? Well, that was before she started watching Dumbo, and wanted to be "a clown like Dumbo." Except, when shown several clown costumes, they didn't suit her fancy. (I would've given much to see her with a little red nose and curly rainbow wig. Ah, well.) So we found ourselves in the odd position of talking her back into being Cinderella, because, well, though the outfit and its many accessories is/are expensive, it's easier than the uncertainty of having NOTHING TO WEAR for Boo at the Zoo! And, of course, Halloween! And Mommy needs those cute photos for the albums and for the relatives.
I'm not sure if she likes the outfit. She acted all coy and weird when we put it on -- kinda shy. But she looked FANTASTIC. It's a bit scary to see your 2-year-old in what amounts to a prom dress. Oddly, Disney sells long white child-sized gloves for the Belle costume, but not the Cinderella costume. So we stole them from the Belle area. They really make the Cindy costume, I must say.
I'm fully prepared for her to be one of 65 thousand Cinderellas in the greater D.C. area. She's not at the "I want to be original and different" stage, it would seem.
Now for the annual struggle of how to keep the child warm without completely covering the outfit you just spent a half-day's wages on... How many starving children could've eaten for what we spent on this thing. I'd rather not know.
What, you say? You thought she was ALWAYS going to be Cinderella? Well, that was before she started watching Dumbo, and wanted to be "a clown like Dumbo." Except, when shown several clown costumes, they didn't suit her fancy. (I would've given much to see her with a little red nose and curly rainbow wig. Ah, well.) So we found ourselves in the odd position of talking her back into being Cinderella, because, well, though the outfit and its many accessories is/are expensive, it's easier than the uncertainty of having NOTHING TO WEAR for Boo at the Zoo! And, of course, Halloween! And Mommy needs those cute photos for the albums and for the relatives.
I'm not sure if she likes the outfit. She acted all coy and weird when we put it on -- kinda shy. But she looked FANTASTIC. It's a bit scary to see your 2-year-old in what amounts to a prom dress. Oddly, Disney sells long white child-sized gloves for the Belle costume, but not the Cinderella costume. So we stole them from the Belle area. They really make the Cindy costume, I must say.
I'm fully prepared for her to be one of 65 thousand Cinderellas in the greater D.C. area. She's not at the "I want to be original and different" stage, it would seem.
Now for the annual struggle of how to keep the child warm without completely covering the outfit you just spent a half-day's wages on... How many starving children could've eaten for what we spent on this thing. I'd rather not know.
pride, or something like it
On our way home last Friday, Matt and I were, or at least I was, feeling especially giddy about it being the weekend. I think it's because the previous weekend felt a little nuttier than usual, so I was looking forward to a bit of relaxing and house-straightening.
We got off the metro at Rosslyn, as usual, and were headed into the building there (at the Tivoli entrance, if you know what I'm talking about) to get our car out of the garage. You know how sometimes, when you're opening a door and walking through it, the 'personal space' issue gets a bit tricky? (I do believe perhaps only my D.C.-area friends will know what the heck I'm talking about.) Especially these particular doors. You open one, or it's still swinging closed, and you start to step through it, and someone on the other side was about to step through it, too ... anyway, really no big deal. Unless you're totally having a bad day, or just a complete bunghole in the first place, I guess. Because I assure you that Matt and I are not rude people when it comes to respecting others' space in social situations. This particular lady we ran into that day (not literally) was one or both of those things that I described, and when Matt stepped up to the door (one of four at that spot) and walked through it, instead of holding it for her, I guess, she turned around and said, "F**khead!" We were rather shocked, and unsure that we'd heard her correctly. Matt turned around and said, "Uh, What?!" She paused for a beat, then repeated herself, rather emphatically. I grabbed his arm and hauled him away, lest he come up with a suitably sarcastic, not foul but accurately evil response (which he is capable of -- and, let's just say this woman was not without her physical flaws), and we blew off steam by making up comments and saying them to each other instead of to her. Barely a half-step better than an actual altercation, I realize. I found myself shaking my head and wondering what it is that GETS to people sometimes. I mean, we're all human, for pity's sake! Can you be a LITTLE kind? Just slightly? When you're in a public place and someone does something that really wasn't a big deal AT ALL?? Matt ventured that she must be having a very bad day. He was feeling a bit more charitable than I was at that point.
We went on our merry way, picked up Lizzy, went home. Matt made us dinner, then went out with his friends (pre-planned. I'm big into the pre-planning, now that I have a kid and a pre-plan means that SHE is what I do all night if Matt does something else). Lizzy and I played, she went to bed, I caught up on some taped TV shows, and didn't hit the hay until about 1:30 a.m. (really late for me these days.)
About two minutes later, I hear a car drive up and male voices outside. Some door slamming. MY car doors.
A bit of background: Matt asked me earlier that evening "if it would be cool if his brother came over and crashed that night." In all honesty, I'm not a big fan. But Matt grew up, and still somewhat resides in, this culture among his good friends that mi casa es su casa, and it's totally normal to have someone, or someones, sprawled across your furniture the next morning, possibly with the tv on still from the night before. Me, not so much. The mind attempts, at times, to imagine 1) my father having friends come over and 'crash' on our couch in my childhood, and 2) my mother's probable response to that. It Just Didn't Happen That Way in our household. In fact, if pressed to name a good close friend of my dad's, I really can't. It was kinda my mom and my dad, and then us kids.
So it's the classic, "This is the way the normal world does things, and you're just out of whack, so loosen up/get with the program" mentality on both sides, where Matt and I are concerned. He grew up in the wacky, out of control household(s) -- product of divorce -- and I grew up in the small-town, apple pie, rebelling meant I belched at the dinner table or passive-aggressively 'forgot' to help clean up that night.
On with the story. So it turns out that Matt has brought over his brother Nick, and one of his best friends, Shane, who might as well be their relative, really. And, you know, both are okay fellows. Both are rather heavy smokers, though, which irks me where Lizzy is concerned (okay, maybe I AM uptight). And, as you all probably remember, we just got a new couch. Which I did not put in one penny to buy. And which has a pull-out bed feature. But is that ever utilized? What, when it's so easy just to fall asleep on the couch itself? Thus sealing its fate to be as worthless and middle-sinky as the couch we just threw out? HA.
So they go in the kitchen and start ho-ho-hoing and rifling through the fridge or whatever. I was SO MAD. Why? I honestly cannot say. The best (and worst) I can come up with was a giant wave of entitlement. This is My House. How Dare Matt bring people into My House. It was Barely Okay for his brother to "crash" there. But TWO people? Two half-drunk, smoky-stinky people!! NO. So I went downstairs -- again, at nearly 2 a.m. -- and told him it would be the Last Time, in loud tones (but not too loud -- sleeping tot upstairs). Matt was unimpressed with this public display, and came upstairs to tell me so. So he stood there in the bedroom, as I was trying to tell him to go away, nothing good would come of this conversation while I was so hot under the nightgown collar, and let me sleep. Go play with his friends, I believe I said. Go wallow on the couch. Go have a smoke (outside). But Matt was not content to let sleeping girls lie. He told me that I was being unreasonable, unfair to his friends, and disrespectful to him. Which was all true. I told him his friends were losers, and that they needed to not come over in this way.
And then, when he finally did go back downstairs, I lay there, awake and steaming, thinking about what Jesus would've done. Remembering something I'd read that day, or maybe the morning before, in Oswald Chambers' "My Utmost For His Highest" -- it's relatively easy to step up and big the big person, to be holy and helpful, in the big, public moments. It's much harder, and much more telling, in the 24/7, daily grind. In your own home. With people you maybe don't like so much.
And, you know, that whole sharing your blessings thing. That whole, living openly and holding things with open hands. SHARING. LOVING. Extending GRACE. Letting people maybe put their shoes up on your brand new couch (which they probably didn't do anyway), because it's a couch. And they're people. People who, for all I know, know one Christian -- ME. And which is more important -- couches, or people?
I managed to sneak out the door early the next morning (pre-planned -- I went scrapbooking) without having to look anyone in the eye.
I've been praying ever since, each morning, that God gives me enough love and grace each day to treat people with kindness. I have extended a definite lack of kindness and grace recently. Sunday's service really hit the spot, too. More on the Sermon on the Mount -- living with open hands. Not worrying. Not hoarding. Not valuing things that aren't eternal.
Oh, and not being judgmental... I loved what Mike said about how, in a world that lacked judgment, the People magazines and the Cosmopolitans would lay in a heap near the cash register, gathering dust. Ah, for that day. If we didn't CARE how skinny or fat Lindsay Lohan was, she wouldn't feel she needed to lose weight. And then lose too much. And then get lambasted for that. And then decide to gain it back... Okay, I do work in the features dept., so give me a bit of a break for knowing all this.
People are eternal. Stuff, isn't. Someday, I want to remember this, all day (and all night) long.
We got off the metro at Rosslyn, as usual, and were headed into the building there (at the Tivoli entrance, if you know what I'm talking about) to get our car out of the garage. You know how sometimes, when you're opening a door and walking through it, the 'personal space' issue gets a bit tricky? (I do believe perhaps only my D.C.-area friends will know what the heck I'm talking about.) Especially these particular doors. You open one, or it's still swinging closed, and you start to step through it, and someone on the other side was about to step through it, too ... anyway, really no big deal. Unless you're totally having a bad day, or just a complete bunghole in the first place, I guess. Because I assure you that Matt and I are not rude people when it comes to respecting others' space in social situations. This particular lady we ran into that day (not literally) was one or both of those things that I described, and when Matt stepped up to the door (one of four at that spot) and walked through it, instead of holding it for her, I guess, she turned around and said, "F**khead!" We were rather shocked, and unsure that we'd heard her correctly. Matt turned around and said, "Uh, What?!" She paused for a beat, then repeated herself, rather emphatically. I grabbed his arm and hauled him away, lest he come up with a suitably sarcastic, not foul but accurately evil response (which he is capable of -- and, let's just say this woman was not without her physical flaws), and we blew off steam by making up comments and saying them to each other instead of to her. Barely a half-step better than an actual altercation, I realize. I found myself shaking my head and wondering what it is that GETS to people sometimes. I mean, we're all human, for pity's sake! Can you be a LITTLE kind? Just slightly? When you're in a public place and someone does something that really wasn't a big deal AT ALL?? Matt ventured that she must be having a very bad day. He was feeling a bit more charitable than I was at that point.
We went on our merry way, picked up Lizzy, went home. Matt made us dinner, then went out with his friends (pre-planned. I'm big into the pre-planning, now that I have a kid and a pre-plan means that SHE is what I do all night if Matt does something else). Lizzy and I played, she went to bed, I caught up on some taped TV shows, and didn't hit the hay until about 1:30 a.m. (really late for me these days.)
About two minutes later, I hear a car drive up and male voices outside. Some door slamming. MY car doors.
A bit of background: Matt asked me earlier that evening "if it would be cool if his brother came over and crashed that night." In all honesty, I'm not a big fan. But Matt grew up, and still somewhat resides in, this culture among his good friends that mi casa es su casa, and it's totally normal to have someone, or someones, sprawled across your furniture the next morning, possibly with the tv on still from the night before. Me, not so much. The mind attempts, at times, to imagine 1) my father having friends come over and 'crash' on our couch in my childhood, and 2) my mother's probable response to that. It Just Didn't Happen That Way in our household. In fact, if pressed to name a good close friend of my dad's, I really can't. It was kinda my mom and my dad, and then us kids.
So it's the classic, "This is the way the normal world does things, and you're just out of whack, so loosen up/get with the program" mentality on both sides, where Matt and I are concerned. He grew up in the wacky, out of control household(s) -- product of divorce -- and I grew up in the small-town, apple pie, rebelling meant I belched at the dinner table or passive-aggressively 'forgot' to help clean up that night.
On with the story. So it turns out that Matt has brought over his brother Nick, and one of his best friends, Shane, who might as well be their relative, really. And, you know, both are okay fellows. Both are rather heavy smokers, though, which irks me where Lizzy is concerned (okay, maybe I AM uptight). And, as you all probably remember, we just got a new couch. Which I did not put in one penny to buy. And which has a pull-out bed feature. But is that ever utilized? What, when it's so easy just to fall asleep on the couch itself? Thus sealing its fate to be as worthless and middle-sinky as the couch we just threw out? HA.
So they go in the kitchen and start ho-ho-hoing and rifling through the fridge or whatever. I was SO MAD. Why? I honestly cannot say. The best (and worst) I can come up with was a giant wave of entitlement. This is My House. How Dare Matt bring people into My House. It was Barely Okay for his brother to "crash" there. But TWO people? Two half-drunk, smoky-stinky people!! NO. So I went downstairs -- again, at nearly 2 a.m. -- and told him it would be the Last Time, in loud tones (but not too loud -- sleeping tot upstairs). Matt was unimpressed with this public display, and came upstairs to tell me so. So he stood there in the bedroom, as I was trying to tell him to go away, nothing good would come of this conversation while I was so hot under the nightgown collar, and let me sleep. Go play with his friends, I believe I said. Go wallow on the couch. Go have a smoke (outside). But Matt was not content to let sleeping girls lie. He told me that I was being unreasonable, unfair to his friends, and disrespectful to him. Which was all true. I told him his friends were losers, and that they needed to not come over in this way.
And then, when he finally did go back downstairs, I lay there, awake and steaming, thinking about what Jesus would've done. Remembering something I'd read that day, or maybe the morning before, in Oswald Chambers' "My Utmost For His Highest" -- it's relatively easy to step up and big the big person, to be holy and helpful, in the big, public moments. It's much harder, and much more telling, in the 24/7, daily grind. In your own home. With people you maybe don't like so much.
And, you know, that whole sharing your blessings thing. That whole, living openly and holding things with open hands. SHARING. LOVING. Extending GRACE. Letting people maybe put their shoes up on your brand new couch (which they probably didn't do anyway), because it's a couch. And they're people. People who, for all I know, know one Christian -- ME. And which is more important -- couches, or people?
I managed to sneak out the door early the next morning (pre-planned -- I went scrapbooking) without having to look anyone in the eye.
I've been praying ever since, each morning, that God gives me enough love and grace each day to treat people with kindness. I have extended a definite lack of kindness and grace recently. Sunday's service really hit the spot, too. More on the Sermon on the Mount -- living with open hands. Not worrying. Not hoarding. Not valuing things that aren't eternal.
Oh, and not being judgmental... I loved what Mike said about how, in a world that lacked judgment, the People magazines and the Cosmopolitans would lay in a heap near the cash register, gathering dust. Ah, for that day. If we didn't CARE how skinny or fat Lindsay Lohan was, she wouldn't feel she needed to lose weight. And then lose too much. And then get lambasted for that. And then decide to gain it back... Okay, I do work in the features dept., so give me a bit of a break for knowing all this.
People are eternal. Stuff, isn't. Someday, I want to remember this, all day (and all night) long.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
yawn
A few pet peeves:
* People who call you (the wrong number) and who don't even say, oh, sorry! when you answer and say, "What?" to their, "Is so-and-so there?" They merely hang up. Could I rate an acknowledgment, please, since you bothered me on MY PHONE?
* This is a lifelong one: People who, in essence, tell me to look happier. Especially those who use the word "smile!" or some form of sarcasm. Let's see, lady. I just sat through two totally boring, useless meetings, and I have a ton of work to do. No, I could NOT be expected to look happier. Sorry about that. No, actually, I'm NOT sorry about that. (This is the same lady, by the way, who twice screwed up my paycheck recently, and who loves to bounce through the newsroom on Friday afternoons saying, "It's almost the weekend! Aren't you glad it's the weekend?" when probably 90 percent or more of the newsroom works a alternate schedule -- not Monday through Friday. She's all tact.)
* Being tired at work. I think this is due to having company last weekend. Which I was happy to have. Except when they kept me up to almost midnight each night talking...
I liken having a small child to having once had lots of money in the bank, but I drained my account for most of a year a few years back, and have been doing okay living paycheck to paycheck ever since. However, if I have a sudden need, I am in (sleep) debt until I can repay it. Which is frequently never. Also to blame for tiredness: My child, who not only won't go to sleep before 10 p.m. recently, but who also refused to take a nap at day care yesterday. Our take-home note said, "Lizzy did not take a nap AT ALL," with the last two words underlined twice. Whoops.
I quizzed Lizzy about this. "Your teacher said you didn't take a nap today. Were you not tired?" "No," (very solemnly). "Don't you like to sleep?" (I know this answer all too well.) "I don't like to sleep, but I really really like to wake up!" she says cheerily. Ooookay. The logic of an almost-3-year-old.
On a positive note. We got Lizzy's school photos back yesterday. Dang, I wish I had a scanner.
* People who call you (the wrong number) and who don't even say, oh, sorry! when you answer and say, "What?" to their, "Is so-and-so there?" They merely hang up. Could I rate an acknowledgment, please, since you bothered me on MY PHONE?
* This is a lifelong one: People who, in essence, tell me to look happier. Especially those who use the word "smile!" or some form of sarcasm. Let's see, lady. I just sat through two totally boring, useless meetings, and I have a ton of work to do. No, I could NOT be expected to look happier. Sorry about that. No, actually, I'm NOT sorry about that. (This is the same lady, by the way, who twice screwed up my paycheck recently, and who loves to bounce through the newsroom on Friday afternoons saying, "It's almost the weekend! Aren't you glad it's the weekend?" when probably 90 percent or more of the newsroom works a alternate schedule -- not Monday through Friday. She's all tact.)
* Being tired at work. I think this is due to having company last weekend. Which I was happy to have. Except when they kept me up to almost midnight each night talking...
I liken having a small child to having once had lots of money in the bank, but I drained my account for most of a year a few years back, and have been doing okay living paycheck to paycheck ever since. However, if I have a sudden need, I am in (sleep) debt until I can repay it. Which is frequently never. Also to blame for tiredness: My child, who not only won't go to sleep before 10 p.m. recently, but who also refused to take a nap at day care yesterday. Our take-home note said, "Lizzy did not take a nap AT ALL," with the last two words underlined twice. Whoops.
I quizzed Lizzy about this. "Your teacher said you didn't take a nap today. Were you not tired?" "No," (very solemnly). "Don't you like to sleep?" (I know this answer all too well.) "I don't like to sleep, but I really really like to wake up!" she says cheerily. Ooookay. The logic of an almost-3-year-old.
On a positive note. We got Lizzy's school photos back yesterday. Dang, I wish I had a scanner.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
week, weak
Hola -- sorry about the radio silence. I've simulaneously been too busy and yet feeling like there's not much to say that's interesting. It must be because I've just been feeling slightly negative lately. Not enough prayer, no doubt. Why do I KNOW this, yet not DO anything about it... Yet I even feel vaguely guilty about that, like I'm using God as some sort of feel-good service. Getting my head in order -- a therapy session. Just put it on my bill, God! Oh, wait. You already paid it all. Well... in THAT case...
I used to hop here and there and have time and energy enough for it, but these days, if I have two or three commitments in a day, I feel rather edgy. This weekend was a little slammed, and slammed with good things, but truth be told, I'd much rather be helping great good friends move their stuff across town in the rain than have a half-dozen social engagements. Arghh.
We had a fun church "women's retreat" that pretty much consisted of us sitting around until 1:30 or 2 a.m. and eating bad food and stuff. I wished Matt and I hadn't had plans the next day so I could sort of savor it, instead of worrying about rushing off. But our host has said we need to do another one, so I can hope for that. Such sweet, talented, funny ladies I am privileged to know. It was neat to see people come from so many different directions, in terms of background and personality, and find a very comfortable common place. Dear Erin, the only woman there without kids, weathered the kid talk very nicely. I'm sure I would have wanted to flee long before, if it were me.
The next day, Matt and Lizzy and I sort of just barely decided to drag our carcasses off to the Long Branch balloon festival. One of the few times I'm glad I live in Manassas! It wasn't far at all. Shocking, really, how few miles you need to go, west on Hwy. 66, before things start feeling really darned bucolic. And SO scenic. If I had actually developed the photos I took there, I would post them. Another day. We weren't there long, and the balloons didn't take off -- again! -- because there was way too much wind, but we had a good time anyway. Lizzy had a blast on the merry-go-round. Went on it about eight or 10 times. She's growing up so fast. She had a blast jumping around on a hay bale maze play area they'd set up for the kids. I got one of those incredibly lucky great shots of her in midair -- must post later.
Oh, unassociated Lizzy tale -- for no good reason (I should know better! Just because I'm feeling broody, I guess. Maybe it was the two or three questions about when I'm having another baby, asked rather insistently by the day care ladies, one day last week), I was talking to Lizzy one night before bed about babies, and how lots of her little friends at the day care have little brothers or sisters, and whether she would like one. Yes, she would! She would share her toys, and help give the baby his paci (the height of child care, in Lizzy's eyes) and hold him/her on Lizzy's lap. So that was all cute and stuff. The next morning, the first thing she says, half-asleep and with tones of distress, is, "Where's our baby?" It's funny how awful I feel when I'm unable to fulfill even the zaniest, most impractical request. Boy, it's hard not to spoil her. I don't do a very good job of resisting, I'm afraid.
What's next. Oh, we flew home and started cleaning furiously for my aunt and uncle's arrival. Fortunately, they arrived about an hour and a half late (about 9:30), so the house really sparkled. I think that was the root of my stress the whole weekend was the sense that I would be unable to clean my house to my satisfaction before they showed up. That I couldn't even stay up late Friday to accomplish this! (since I was elsewhere at a sleepover.) O Mother, what have you done to me -- in my youth, I always rolled my eyes at my mom's insistence that the whole house (which seemed clean to me in the first place) be extra spiffed up for company. And now *gasp!* I AM HER. not that, er, that would ever be a bad thing.
So my aunt and uncle came to church with me Sunday, which was fun. I don't really know what they thought of it -- we were examining salt and light, as described in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. As usual, we were nearly a half-hour late, which I HATE. I get little enough time with the lovely people whose church I attend. Very frustrating. However, with four adults and one 2-year-old... yeah, well, it happened. We had pumpkin curry and coffee cake, with and without the salt. And a very talented, artsy lady in our church did a painting throughout the service to illustrate how different lights can bring out different elements. One of the wackier services we've had. And very cool.
Sunday afternoon, we went to Old Town Alexandria, and I left out my usual story in which I point out the steps (across from the town hall) where I first heard my mother utter a serious cuss word. (Sorry, Mom! You're an indelible part of the tour.) I didn't think her sister would be very charmed by the tale. I have SOME tact, after all... Just not much. So we bummed around there. I didn't buy anything in the Christmas store because I wanted it all. Whoa! TWO moments of restraint in ONE DAY. Then we spent most of Sunday evening monkeying around with the stupid internet installment because I'm tired of nagging Matt to do it, and my uncle was happy to help. And by "help," I mean, "do all the thinking but defer to me on the actual clicking because he is the world's nicest and most patient man." And we sort of got it working -- I think.
I took Monday off and we tooled around "my" area of D.C. -- near where I work, anyway. The tio y tia wanted to see the Holocaust Museum (AGAIN -- shudder), go up the Washington Monument, and tour the White House. As you might guess, that last one didn't happen, but we managed the first two. And saw the WWII memorial at about 5 p.m. -- a seriously bad idea, unless retina sunburn is something to which you aspire.
I could go off here about my thoughts about the Holocaust, etc. -- oh, why not.
See, I've been through the Holocaust Museum. With my parents, incidentally. And I lived in Germany for a year and a half. When my parents came to visit, we went to Dachau, seriously casting a pall on the rest of the day. My parents and I went to Israel for a couple of weeks in, what, 2001? I think. Right after the kerfuffle with Sharon on the Temple Mount. We actually declined to see the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem -- were embarrrassed to explain this to our Jewish guide, but -- and here's my point -- when is enough, enough? I have processed and experienced and wept and grieved for this situation. It defies words, the hatred and lack of -- humanity it would take to order, or carry out, these acts. But when can we as individuals vow to do our parts to not let this sort of atrocity happen again, and allow ourselves to move on from that point? I guess when we feel strongly enough to rant about it on our blogs. I did catch some points that hadn't really stuck before -- details about how Hitler came to power, how very much of the world the Nazis actually controlled at their height, stuff like that. And, I suppose, as we grow and change, different elements of the story will hit us in different ways. For example, the window that dealt with the elimination of handicapped and mentally retarded children (incidentally, read this) got me the most this time around. I hadn't remembered that part. And now that I'm a mom, I think about stuff like the women in one story who were breastfeeding their infants on the cattle car on the way to Treblinka or Auchwitz who had no water for two or three days, and who were constantly calling for water. It's small stuff -- stuff I can relate to, like how dang thirsty and hungry a nursing mother is -- and the cruelty of those who don't see these people as human, or valuable -- that hits me at the core. Perhaps it's time to research and be indignant about a new atrocity.
So my uncle wanted to do another 3 1/2-hour-tour through the museum, and after that cheeriness, we went up the Washington Monument (had timed tickets) and then we had lunch at about 3:30. Yipe! The Monument was kind of a letdown for the simple reason that the windows were so danged small. I guess, since I've never noticed them from the ground, I should have expected that. I got a photo of the red lights that blink to warn planes away from the inside to show my parents -- one of them (mom?) says it reminds her of the Evil Eye of Sauron. They're actually kinda small themselves. One fun Monument fact -- no mortar was used to hold the bricks together. Purely gravity pulling at their sheer weight. (used on the outside to keep out moisture) Knowing that sure makes you want to shoot up that 500-foot elevator in what felt like fairly high winds. Or not.
This is getting ridiculously long, so I'll wrap up. An entertaining visit. The best moment was when my aunt and uncle were concerned that Matt might be an alcoholic because of the various bottles of booze on the counter. (one of rum, one of tequila and one we haven't opened that friends brought us back from Costa Rica -- oops, sorry Mike and Stacy, we'll get to it!) I neglected to point out that Matt has used the rum once or twice in about four months, and I'm the only one who has the tequila... Heh. Fortunately, this occurred at about quarter to midnight, and my sole focus at that point was in ending the conversation so that I might get a few hours of sleep. Thank the Lord that Lizzy didn't wake up in the middle of the night. She's so weird. The colder it is, the better she sleeps, I think.
Have a great week, everybody. It sure is pretty out there.
I used to hop here and there and have time and energy enough for it, but these days, if I have two or three commitments in a day, I feel rather edgy. This weekend was a little slammed, and slammed with good things, but truth be told, I'd much rather be helping great good friends move their stuff across town in the rain than have a half-dozen social engagements. Arghh.
We had a fun church "women's retreat" that pretty much consisted of us sitting around until 1:30 or 2 a.m. and eating bad food and stuff. I wished Matt and I hadn't had plans the next day so I could sort of savor it, instead of worrying about rushing off. But our host has said we need to do another one, so I can hope for that. Such sweet, talented, funny ladies I am privileged to know. It was neat to see people come from so many different directions, in terms of background and personality, and find a very comfortable common place. Dear Erin, the only woman there without kids, weathered the kid talk very nicely. I'm sure I would have wanted to flee long before, if it were me.
The next day, Matt and Lizzy and I sort of just barely decided to drag our carcasses off to the Long Branch balloon festival. One of the few times I'm glad I live in Manassas! It wasn't far at all. Shocking, really, how few miles you need to go, west on Hwy. 66, before things start feeling really darned bucolic. And SO scenic. If I had actually developed the photos I took there, I would post them. Another day. We weren't there long, and the balloons didn't take off -- again! -- because there was way too much wind, but we had a good time anyway. Lizzy had a blast on the merry-go-round. Went on it about eight or 10 times. She's growing up so fast. She had a blast jumping around on a hay bale maze play area they'd set up for the kids. I got one of those incredibly lucky great shots of her in midair -- must post later.
Oh, unassociated Lizzy tale -- for no good reason (I should know better! Just because I'm feeling broody, I guess. Maybe it was the two or three questions about when I'm having another baby, asked rather insistently by the day care ladies, one day last week), I was talking to Lizzy one night before bed about babies, and how lots of her little friends at the day care have little brothers or sisters, and whether she would like one. Yes, she would! She would share her toys, and help give the baby his paci (the height of child care, in Lizzy's eyes) and hold him/her on Lizzy's lap. So that was all cute and stuff. The next morning, the first thing she says, half-asleep and with tones of distress, is, "Where's our baby?" It's funny how awful I feel when I'm unable to fulfill even the zaniest, most impractical request. Boy, it's hard not to spoil her. I don't do a very good job of resisting, I'm afraid.
What's next. Oh, we flew home and started cleaning furiously for my aunt and uncle's arrival. Fortunately, they arrived about an hour and a half late (about 9:30), so the house really sparkled. I think that was the root of my stress the whole weekend was the sense that I would be unable to clean my house to my satisfaction before they showed up. That I couldn't even stay up late Friday to accomplish this! (since I was elsewhere at a sleepover.) O Mother, what have you done to me -- in my youth, I always rolled my eyes at my mom's insistence that the whole house (which seemed clean to me in the first place) be extra spiffed up for company. And now *gasp!* I AM HER. not that, er, that would ever be a bad thing.
So my aunt and uncle came to church with me Sunday, which was fun. I don't really know what they thought of it -- we were examining salt and light, as described in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. As usual, we were nearly a half-hour late, which I HATE. I get little enough time with the lovely people whose church I attend. Very frustrating. However, with four adults and one 2-year-old... yeah, well, it happened. We had pumpkin curry and coffee cake, with and without the salt. And a very talented, artsy lady in our church did a painting throughout the service to illustrate how different lights can bring out different elements. One of the wackier services we've had. And very cool.
Sunday afternoon, we went to Old Town Alexandria, and I left out my usual story in which I point out the steps (across from the town hall) where I first heard my mother utter a serious cuss word. (Sorry, Mom! You're an indelible part of the tour.) I didn't think her sister would be very charmed by the tale. I have SOME tact, after all... Just not much. So we bummed around there. I didn't buy anything in the Christmas store because I wanted it all. Whoa! TWO moments of restraint in ONE DAY. Then we spent most of Sunday evening monkeying around with the stupid internet installment because I'm tired of nagging Matt to do it, and my uncle was happy to help. And by "help," I mean, "do all the thinking but defer to me on the actual clicking because he is the world's nicest and most patient man." And we sort of got it working -- I think.
I took Monday off and we tooled around "my" area of D.C. -- near where I work, anyway. The tio y tia wanted to see the Holocaust Museum (AGAIN -- shudder), go up the Washington Monument, and tour the White House. As you might guess, that last one didn't happen, but we managed the first two. And saw the WWII memorial at about 5 p.m. -- a seriously bad idea, unless retina sunburn is something to which you aspire.
I could go off here about my thoughts about the Holocaust, etc. -- oh, why not.
See, I've been through the Holocaust Museum. With my parents, incidentally. And I lived in Germany for a year and a half. When my parents came to visit, we went to Dachau, seriously casting a pall on the rest of the day. My parents and I went to Israel for a couple of weeks in, what, 2001? I think. Right after the kerfuffle with Sharon on the Temple Mount. We actually declined to see the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem -- were embarrrassed to explain this to our Jewish guide, but -- and here's my point -- when is enough, enough? I have processed and experienced and wept and grieved for this situation. It defies words, the hatred and lack of -- humanity it would take to order, or carry out, these acts. But when can we as individuals vow to do our parts to not let this sort of atrocity happen again, and allow ourselves to move on from that point? I guess when we feel strongly enough to rant about it on our blogs. I did catch some points that hadn't really stuck before -- details about how Hitler came to power, how very much of the world the Nazis actually controlled at their height, stuff like that. And, I suppose, as we grow and change, different elements of the story will hit us in different ways. For example, the window that dealt with the elimination of handicapped and mentally retarded children (incidentally, read this) got me the most this time around. I hadn't remembered that part. And now that I'm a mom, I think about stuff like the women in one story who were breastfeeding their infants on the cattle car on the way to Treblinka or Auchwitz who had no water for two or three days, and who were constantly calling for water. It's small stuff -- stuff I can relate to, like how dang thirsty and hungry a nursing mother is -- and the cruelty of those who don't see these people as human, or valuable -- that hits me at the core. Perhaps it's time to research and be indignant about a new atrocity.
So my uncle wanted to do another 3 1/2-hour-tour through the museum, and after that cheeriness, we went up the Washington Monument (had timed tickets) and then we had lunch at about 3:30. Yipe! The Monument was kind of a letdown for the simple reason that the windows were so danged small. I guess, since I've never noticed them from the ground, I should have expected that. I got a photo of the red lights that blink to warn planes away from the inside to show my parents -- one of them (mom?) says it reminds her of the Evil Eye of Sauron. They're actually kinda small themselves. One fun Monument fact -- no mortar was used to hold the bricks together. Purely gravity pulling at their sheer weight. (used on the outside to keep out moisture) Knowing that sure makes you want to shoot up that 500-foot elevator in what felt like fairly high winds. Or not.
This is getting ridiculously long, so I'll wrap up. An entertaining visit. The best moment was when my aunt and uncle were concerned that Matt might be an alcoholic because of the various bottles of booze on the counter. (one of rum, one of tequila and one we haven't opened that friends brought us back from Costa Rica -- oops, sorry Mike and Stacy, we'll get to it!) I neglected to point out that Matt has used the rum once or twice in about four months, and I'm the only one who has the tequila... Heh. Fortunately, this occurred at about quarter to midnight, and my sole focus at that point was in ending the conversation so that I might get a few hours of sleep. Thank the Lord that Lizzy didn't wake up in the middle of the night. She's so weird. The colder it is, the better she sleeps, I think.
Have a great week, everybody. It sure is pretty out there.
Monday, October 10, 2005
kingdom of heaven
I warn you now, file this one under "angsty".
On Sunday, we did indeed discuss -- or really, hear about -- the Kingdom of God, when a dear friend of mine came to visit our church to recite, from memory, the Sermon on the Mount. Good going, Steve-o! I've heard him do it before, a few years ago, after he first memorized it. It was more a recitation then. He really got going with the inflections and little actor-y additions that made it so much more interesting this time around. It had me wondering not only, "What was Jesus saying?" but, "How did he say it?" Sometimes, the way something is delivered makes all the difference. Was Jesus ever sarcastic? I don't have an example at hand, but it seems like at times he was. He was a pretty sharp dude. He knew what was up. Nothing was hidden from him. I love that. Sometimes I feel like lots of folks (who don't know him very well) think that God is a big dummy. I don't mean that to sound smug -- I don't have any kind of inside track -- but it just cracks me up sometimes when people say things that paint an entirely different picture of the God I know.
(but not Steve -- he did a great job. Just in case there's confusion there.)
Anyway. I knew Steve would be presenting, and that was cool. What I did not know was that he would bring an entourage -- several more dear friends from across town, whom I almost never get to see any more. What with Mike and Stacy, Steve, Gospel Matt and Amy there, it was almost like ... heaven. ;) It was almost like being in our old church again, especially since this was the first Sunday I've attended the present church when we've had music worship. The conventional kind, that is -- singing, guitars and drums and pianos and a lead singer doing their thing in the background. It was really touching. Amy and I both cried. Cried for our old church, which is no more... and maybe cried a bit out of gratitude for the friendships that were forged there. I don't know that I'll ever have the chance to be that close with people outside of my immediate family ever again. It's a season that has mostly gone. And I'm sad, so sad, for that. But so grateful that it happened -- I think a lot of people go through life without much interrelational intimacy at all. For various reasons. I think the kingdom of heaven is like people who love each other, whether in their hearts or maybe sometimes just in their actions, and who rejoice and mourn and offend and forgive and tease and support and just DO LIFE together.
re: the old church -- the funny thing is, it was just what I needed when it was there, and when my life changed drastically, it did, too. And now that I could use a nice, real community again -- one with people who, in their own unique, beautiful ways are pursuing Christ, and one with families! and kids!! in it, no less -- one has come into my life. Or I've come into it. God keeps putting AMAZING people into my life. I was crying Sunday out of joy and gratitude for that, but out of frustration because when I see them sometimes, most of the time, I want to grab onto them and quite possibly strangle and threaten to drown them with the desperation with which I want to commune with them. But I don't want to scare them.
A dear, dear friend in this new community said something recently which I have hesitated to process here for fear she regrets saying it. I'm glad she did, because I didn't realize it before. She said sometimes (paraphrasing -- this was awhile ago) I seem reluctant to hug. Or stoic. Or something. I don't really remember. I think the upshot was that the other party isn't always clear if a hug is okay. Now you know why, at times, I am reluctant to hug -- I don't want to drown you with my need for community and connection. With my, gosh darn it, love for what special people you all are.
So I was very excited to hear that a "women's retreat" of sorts is in the works for this coming Friday night. So all of us unique, beautiful, broken women can get together and eat, drink, laugh, cry or whatever the heck we feel like. I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better, ladies. :)
On Sunday, we did indeed discuss -- or really, hear about -- the Kingdom of God, when a dear friend of mine came to visit our church to recite, from memory, the Sermon on the Mount. Good going, Steve-o! I've heard him do it before, a few years ago, after he first memorized it. It was more a recitation then. He really got going with the inflections and little actor-y additions that made it so much more interesting this time around. It had me wondering not only, "What was Jesus saying?" but, "How did he say it?" Sometimes, the way something is delivered makes all the difference. Was Jesus ever sarcastic? I don't have an example at hand, but it seems like at times he was. He was a pretty sharp dude. He knew what was up. Nothing was hidden from him. I love that. Sometimes I feel like lots of folks (who don't know him very well) think that God is a big dummy. I don't mean that to sound smug -- I don't have any kind of inside track -- but it just cracks me up sometimes when people say things that paint an entirely different picture of the God I know.
(but not Steve -- he did a great job. Just in case there's confusion there.)
Anyway. I knew Steve would be presenting, and that was cool. What I did not know was that he would bring an entourage -- several more dear friends from across town, whom I almost never get to see any more. What with Mike and Stacy, Steve, Gospel Matt and Amy there, it was almost like ... heaven. ;) It was almost like being in our old church again, especially since this was the first Sunday I've attended the present church when we've had music worship. The conventional kind, that is -- singing, guitars and drums and pianos and a lead singer doing their thing in the background. It was really touching. Amy and I both cried. Cried for our old church, which is no more... and maybe cried a bit out of gratitude for the friendships that were forged there. I don't know that I'll ever have the chance to be that close with people outside of my immediate family ever again. It's a season that has mostly gone. And I'm sad, so sad, for that. But so grateful that it happened -- I think a lot of people go through life without much interrelational intimacy at all. For various reasons. I think the kingdom of heaven is like people who love each other, whether in their hearts or maybe sometimes just in their actions, and who rejoice and mourn and offend and forgive and tease and support and just DO LIFE together.
re: the old church -- the funny thing is, it was just what I needed when it was there, and when my life changed drastically, it did, too. And now that I could use a nice, real community again -- one with people who, in their own unique, beautiful ways are pursuing Christ, and one with families! and kids!! in it, no less -- one has come into my life. Or I've come into it. God keeps putting AMAZING people into my life. I was crying Sunday out of joy and gratitude for that, but out of frustration because when I see them sometimes, most of the time, I want to grab onto them and quite possibly strangle and threaten to drown them with the desperation with which I want to commune with them. But I don't want to scare them.
A dear, dear friend in this new community said something recently which I have hesitated to process here for fear she regrets saying it. I'm glad she did, because I didn't realize it before. She said sometimes (paraphrasing -- this was awhile ago) I seem reluctant to hug. Or stoic. Or something. I don't really remember. I think the upshot was that the other party isn't always clear if a hug is okay. Now you know why, at times, I am reluctant to hug -- I don't want to drown you with my need for community and connection. With my, gosh darn it, love for what special people you all are.
So I was very excited to hear that a "women's retreat" of sorts is in the works for this coming Friday night. So all of us unique, beautiful, broken women can get together and eat, drink, laugh, cry or whatever the heck we feel like. I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better, ladies. :)
Friday, October 07, 2005
random photo friday
I'm gonna get busted one of these days for using photos I don't have permission to use. (will you visit me in jail?) But in the meantime:
You can find your own humor here, of course. The monkey's hairdo, the fact that there's a monkey at all, the kid's expression, etc. We might have to hire this little guy when we FINALLY (ever?) get around to breaking Lizzy of her relentless paci habit once and for all. Her devotion is what makes this funny for me.
Have a great weekend, y'all. I hope to see some of you tomorrow to help the Stavlunds migrate east for the winter! Check ya then.
You can find your own humor here, of course. The monkey's hairdo, the fact that there's a monkey at all, the kid's expression, etc. We might have to hire this little guy when we FINALLY (ever?) get around to breaking Lizzy of her relentless paci habit once and for all. Her devotion is what makes this funny for me.
Have a great weekend, y'all. I hope to see some of you tomorrow to help the Stavlunds migrate east for the winter! Check ya then.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
mostly pointless quiz Tuesday
This quiz is in honor of Brickdude, because he addressed dorkiness in his last blog entry, and because he previously mocked those who posted quizzes on their site. Heh.
Addressing the age-old question of "what's the difference between nerd, dork and geek, and which one are you?" Because it's a hard truth that everyone should know about themselves.
If you're curious, I'm Pure Nerd. Oh, great. Which, I think, means I like to learn, but I'm not a total social misfit, and I'm definitely not into technology and such. Though I kinda wish I were -- handy knowledge. I guess my affinity for Star Trek didn't boost me into geekdom. (I don't speak Klingon, Elvish or Esperanto. Something to work on.)
According to this quiz, here are the differences, for your edification:
A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
Addressing the age-old question of "what's the difference between nerd, dork and geek, and which one are you?" Because it's a hard truth that everyone should know about themselves.
If you're curious, I'm Pure Nerd. Oh, great. Which, I think, means I like to learn, but I'm not a total social misfit, and I'm definitely not into technology and such. Though I kinda wish I were -- handy knowledge. I guess my affinity for Star Trek didn't boost me into geekdom. (I don't speak Klingon, Elvish or Esperanto. Something to work on.)
According to this quiz, here are the differences, for your edification:
A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
then again, maybe Cinderella's not so bad
FYI, for those who don't know -- I don't read Potter. But I do see the movies. I know a lot of you really like Potterdom. And I am not against it. I reserve judgment until I actually read the books for myself. Just trying to stir things up a little. Comments totally, totally welcome.
If anyone doubts this report, by the way, cruise through the kids' and teen sections of any bookstore these days. Chicken soup for the young witch's soul, etc.
This last paragraph is my especial favorite.
NEW YORK (Wireless Flash) -- College can be a magical time in life, and the best way to ensure academic success may be if the student practices witchcraft.
That's the spellbinding news from Jason Louv, author of "Generation Hex" (Disinformation), a book that discusses the growing number of teenage witches introduced into the "craft" by "Harry Potter" novels.
Louv says magic is a discipline like martial arts and says teens who practice it learn to focus on a task until it's complete -- a skill that pays off big in college.
Kid magicians are also more likely to appreciate history, literature and science.
At first, most teenage witches try superficial spells like making a teacher give them an "A" they don't deserve or tricking someone into going out with them, but Louv promises, "after a while, the kids will ask themselves what they really want out of it."
But while there are numerous benefits to having your teen be a witch, Louv warns parents not to push it on them because kids never do anything their parents ask. In his words, "You have to let them discover it themselves."
If anyone doubts this report, by the way, cruise through the kids' and teen sections of any bookstore these days. Chicken soup for the young witch's soul, etc.
This last paragraph is my especial favorite.
NEW YORK (Wireless Flash) -- College can be a magical time in life, and the best way to ensure academic success may be if the student practices witchcraft.
That's the spellbinding news from Jason Louv, author of "Generation Hex" (Disinformation), a book that discusses the growing number of teenage witches introduced into the "craft" by "Harry Potter" novels.
Louv says magic is a discipline like martial arts and says teens who practice it learn to focus on a task until it's complete -- a skill that pays off big in college.
Kid magicians are also more likely to appreciate history, literature and science.
At first, most teenage witches try superficial spells like making a teacher give them an "A" they don't deserve or tricking someone into going out with them, but Louv promises, "after a while, the kids will ask themselves what they really want out of it."
But while there are numerous benefits to having your teen be a witch, Louv warns parents not to push it on them because kids never do anything their parents ask. In his words, "You have to let them discover it themselves."
Monday, October 03, 2005
on being nice
I've been thinking this over a bit since we discussed -- or had a pre-emptory discussion of -- the Sermon on the Mount yesterday.
We were first asked to throw out traits that the successful people in this world seemed to have. Then we were asked what traits the Sermon on the Mount held in high esteem. One person pointed out, quite rightly I think, that they're not necessarily mutually exclusive.
I simply said that being "nice" was a trait we should have, if we're in line with what Jesus was talking about. And while I don't purport to have that all straight, I guess I would like to elaborate a little.
As I might have mentioned, "Nice" has been a key term around our household, oh, since Lizzy could understand language (a year and a half or so?). It's the lingo at her day care. Because, of course, we can't say the kids are "bad" or "good." I assume that would be deemed damaging to their ego. So, if they smack some kid upside the head, or bite them in the back, or steal their toy, they have been "not nice."
"Nice" is how I feel I am after I have spent time in God's presence. Now that I'm a mom, I have startlingly little time there. Or, to be more honest, I TAKE startlingly little time there. It's just easier, in a "there's so much to do" sense, to let it slip. But anyway, when I do get around to it -- to spending a bit of time with my creator -- I feel such a peace and okay-ness with the world. Well, not with the world -- which sucks, frankly, for the most part -- but with my place in it. I have the certainty, also, that it will all be all right. No matter what, it will all be all right. A peace that passes understanding. And the little things just don't matter so much. Someone wants into my lane when I'm driving? Come on over. Plenty of room. Someone steps on my foot on the metro? Actually, this one never bothers me any more. After being smacked in the face (accidentally or on purpose), or having one's hair pulled mercilessly, or any number of more invasive (I'll spare you) injuries inflicted by one's infant/toddler, who gives a rip about a little inadvertent foot-stomp. I just seem to love the world -- people, that is -- a little more. Feel grateful for being alive. For what I have, which is a lot.
But my point in all this is, what happened this morning. And what has happened more often than I'm comfortable with lately. My hyper little angel, who is so often the source of, or the reason for, immense joy, can be quite the stinker at the day care. I understand that she doesn't really want to go. I do believe that she has a lot of fun while she's there, and she certainly learns a lot. As far as I'm concerned, I wish I could have her at home. And maybe that will be possible for the next kid, whenever he/she comes along. And maybe, I'm being overly romantic about how great it would be to be home with her/him/them. Maybe I really WOULD go insane. But, when we get to day care some days, Lizzy pulls a really sour face and glares at the other kids. There are a couple of really sweet girls who come up and try to greet us sometimes. (actually, I know one's mother, and she tells me what a stinker she can be at home. So it makes me feel a tiny modicum better... But she always looks sweet when I see her.) But Lizzy says, "I don't WANT to say hi!" Really, how hard is it to say hi? To smile and pretend to be polite? I know, I know. I'm talking about a 2-year-old. I just wish she'd try. She'd understand that it doesn't take much effort, and it might make someone else feel really good.
Then again, I don't want to project all my people-pleasing issues on her quite yet. Plenty of time for that.
I just want to be a nice person. As someone pointed out on Sunday, we don't earn our way to heaven in ANY way. Certainly not by being nice. I know that. But, I think it DOES please God when we try. Try not to get to heaven, but try to help his other creatures feel a little better. Be a bit of salve to them, instead of a red hot poker in their eye. And, no, I'm not gonna be some freak who smiles at people on the metro. But maybe some days I can be the one who doesn't snap back at someone who snaps at me first. Or, worse yet, be the first one.
But that's still sort of pretending to love people, instead of actually loving them. I'm just beginning to even try to figure that one out.
We were first asked to throw out traits that the successful people in this world seemed to have. Then we were asked what traits the Sermon on the Mount held in high esteem. One person pointed out, quite rightly I think, that they're not necessarily mutually exclusive.
I simply said that being "nice" was a trait we should have, if we're in line with what Jesus was talking about. And while I don't purport to have that all straight, I guess I would like to elaborate a little.
As I might have mentioned, "Nice" has been a key term around our household, oh, since Lizzy could understand language (a year and a half or so?). It's the lingo at her day care. Because, of course, we can't say the kids are "bad" or "good." I assume that would be deemed damaging to their ego. So, if they smack some kid upside the head, or bite them in the back, or steal their toy, they have been "not nice."
"Nice" is how I feel I am after I have spent time in God's presence. Now that I'm a mom, I have startlingly little time there. Or, to be more honest, I TAKE startlingly little time there. It's just easier, in a "there's so much to do" sense, to let it slip. But anyway, when I do get around to it -- to spending a bit of time with my creator -- I feel such a peace and okay-ness with the world. Well, not with the world -- which sucks, frankly, for the most part -- but with my place in it. I have the certainty, also, that it will all be all right. No matter what, it will all be all right. A peace that passes understanding. And the little things just don't matter so much. Someone wants into my lane when I'm driving? Come on over. Plenty of room. Someone steps on my foot on the metro? Actually, this one never bothers me any more. After being smacked in the face (accidentally or on purpose), or having one's hair pulled mercilessly, or any number of more invasive (I'll spare you) injuries inflicted by one's infant/toddler, who gives a rip about a little inadvertent foot-stomp. I just seem to love the world -- people, that is -- a little more. Feel grateful for being alive. For what I have, which is a lot.
But my point in all this is, what happened this morning. And what has happened more often than I'm comfortable with lately. My hyper little angel, who is so often the source of, or the reason for, immense joy, can be quite the stinker at the day care. I understand that she doesn't really want to go. I do believe that she has a lot of fun while she's there, and she certainly learns a lot. As far as I'm concerned, I wish I could have her at home. And maybe that will be possible for the next kid, whenever he/she comes along. And maybe, I'm being overly romantic about how great it would be to be home with her/him/them. Maybe I really WOULD go insane. But, when we get to day care some days, Lizzy pulls a really sour face and glares at the other kids. There are a couple of really sweet girls who come up and try to greet us sometimes. (actually, I know one's mother, and she tells me what a stinker she can be at home. So it makes me feel a tiny modicum better... But she always looks sweet when I see her.) But Lizzy says, "I don't WANT to say hi!" Really, how hard is it to say hi? To smile and pretend to be polite? I know, I know. I'm talking about a 2-year-old. I just wish she'd try. She'd understand that it doesn't take much effort, and it might make someone else feel really good.
Then again, I don't want to project all my people-pleasing issues on her quite yet. Plenty of time for that.
I just want to be a nice person. As someone pointed out on Sunday, we don't earn our way to heaven in ANY way. Certainly not by being nice. I know that. But, I think it DOES please God when we try. Try not to get to heaven, but try to help his other creatures feel a little better. Be a bit of salve to them, instead of a red hot poker in their eye. And, no, I'm not gonna be some freak who smiles at people on the metro. But maybe some days I can be the one who doesn't snap back at someone who snaps at me first. Or, worse yet, be the first one.
But that's still sort of pretending to love people, instead of actually loving them. I'm just beginning to even try to figure that one out.
What a mother-in-law is good for
No, seriously!
Lizzy's day care is having its, oh, fifth or sixth fundraiser of the year. But this one purports to be the biggie -- selling Claire's Gourmet goodies. And, no, I won't be hitting anyone up to buy any... I have nothing but respect for those with the entrepreneurial spirit, but I have zip. zilch. zero. of it myself. I think it's that I just don't want to bother people. I don't want to mine my friendships for extra cash for the day care, which gets plenty of my cash already. (though, if your child or organization is selling something -- don't be afraid to ask me if I want any! Just want to make that clear.)
However, part of me feels somewhat responsible to pull my end of the rope. After all, my child gets to reap the benefits of the brightly colored throw rugs or new playground equipment or whatever is deemed dire this year. So, to bail me out -- here's to the (virtual) mother-in-law, who has taken the Claire's Gourmet packet over to her office and is shopping it around like crazy. Hooray! A tip of the metaphorical hat to you, Connie. Thanks. (not that I will ever, EVER let her get wind of this site. Heh heh.)
Lizzy's day care is having its, oh, fifth or sixth fundraiser of the year. But this one purports to be the biggie -- selling Claire's Gourmet goodies. And, no, I won't be hitting anyone up to buy any... I have nothing but respect for those with the entrepreneurial spirit, but I have zip. zilch. zero. of it myself. I think it's that I just don't want to bother people. I don't want to mine my friendships for extra cash for the day care, which gets plenty of my cash already. (though, if your child or organization is selling something -- don't be afraid to ask me if I want any! Just want to make that clear.)
However, part of me feels somewhat responsible to pull my end of the rope. After all, my child gets to reap the benefits of the brightly colored throw rugs or new playground equipment or whatever is deemed dire this year. So, to bail me out -- here's to the (virtual) mother-in-law, who has taken the Claire's Gourmet packet over to her office and is shopping it around like crazy. Hooray! A tip of the metaphorical hat to you, Connie. Thanks. (not that I will ever, EVER let her get wind of this site. Heh heh.)
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