A Simple Argument

The other night at bedtime, we heard our children arguing in their room.  Things got quiet for a minute and then the door open about both children padded out.  Since it was my turn to deal with them, I came up to shoo them back to bed, but they surprised me.  Instead of their usual argument about who was being too loud or some mundane thing like that, my four-year old daughter quickly announced, "He says God's not real, but I know he is, right Mommy?"  My three-year-old boy shouted, "He's not real. He's dead."  This is the same kid who has no doubt about Santa or the Easter Bunny.  

Wow.  I was stunned and tried to think quickly for the right way to handle this.  If I were a more faithful person myself, I would have answered "yes", but since I have my own struggles with doubt and am still looking for signs, an unqualified yes would have felt like a lie.  But I couldn't add doubt to my daughter's certainty.  

I tried to explain how hard it is to know for sure, that we are all searching for the answer to this question.  To answer his claims that God was dead, I explained about our belief in Jesus' resurrection and the gates of heaven.  I told him that our feelings inside will let us know about God and that some people, like his sister, have an easier time accepting God and that we should all be so fortunate.

I did my best to tailor my answer to the preschool audience and can only hope that my answer will satisfy until they are old enough to understand some of the more complicated tenants of Christianity (or another religion that they choose.) 

And I hope that they leave the big questions alone for a while.  

When I grow up, I want to be an uncle with a beard

Growing up, I had some prejudices about the farmers in my rural hometown. Not that I didn't like them or was mean to them, but just that I had my notions about them. On my charitable days, I thought of them as quaint. On other days, it was worse.

Now, I'm married to a man from a farming family. From my in-laws, I've learned to respect the people working the land. I've learned more about the many hats that they have to wear just to have a productive day. Tractors have to be repaired. Fences have to be repaired. Solutions have to be jerry-rigged just to get the task done. With stores a good distance away, a trip to pick something up could mean half the day. Farmers just make it work with what they have on hand.

With our son, T, I'm now seeing the beginnings of a farmer. He always has to keep on task. He has his own workshop complete with tools. His favorite place on the planet is his uncles' farm where he gets to drive forklifts and bulldozers and tractors. The only thing T aspires to be is his "farming uncle with the beard." I'm certain that raising a future farmer is my just desserts for all the times I didn't think so charitably of those farmers in my hometown.

Black Friday

My hubby and I will likely have to drop our nascent Black Friday shopping trip this year, but that's okay. For those of you still on the lookout for the best deal, take a look at this helpful article.



And while you're out there, pick up two of the best deals for me.

Momma Rage

From my previous post, it's clear that I am a fan of The Consumerist. It's pure angst-y entertainment and this one is my favorite thus far. The comments are just gems. Usually the comments seem heavy from the youngish-men-with-disposible-income segment, who write things like, "Why in the world would anyone worry about BPA in baby bottles. I was fine." or "TSA should make the families stand in a family only line and taz them if even look at our business class security line" and that type stuff. Not that those are real quotes, but close enough.
But this one on the Motrin baby-wearing ad fiasco has lots of gems from women who seem like me.

Just to recap the issue. Motrin created this ad:



Which is really offensive to moms who chose to wear their babies (you know, those women who range from Earthy nursing their child at all times moms to those who just really need to get something done. Pretty much all moms.) The main point of the ad is that since wearing a baby is fashionable and painful, take a motrin. Though the joke of it is that moms who wear their babies don't even have time to know what is fashionable is, much less pursue it with a drooly infant strapped to their abdomen. Motrin calls you silly and then wants you to buy their product.

So anyhoo, read the comments for some other great laughs.

Newest Internet Addictions--

The cool thing about the Internet is all the great information you can find, but it is amazing how much time gets sucked down the tube while searching for it.

When I sit down at the computer and start to write, or design, or what have you, the first thing I must do is check my email--just briefly, of course. Twenty minutes later, I have to check up on the latest headlines on Yahoo or CNN. Then if I still feel like procrastinating, I buzz on over to social networking sites, like Facebook and Goodreads. After I'm satisfied that I'm up on all my friend's current witticisms and newest photos of people I mostly don't know, I'll fire up my project. While it's loading (my computer is very slow), I have a few moments to take a quick look to see which corporation is up to no good at The Consumerist. Then I can start working.

But sometimes inspiration just doesn't turn on just like that, so I'll spin over to Fark or Digg or Buzzfeed or one of those delicious goodies full of quirky stories

And I wonder why I can never get anything done!

Where did Mommy go?

Sometime this summer the kids decided not to call me "mommy" anymore. Now they call me "mom."

For all the difficulty I had getting used to "mommy" a few years ago, "mom" is even worse. The role is the same, but the tone is all different. When your baby starts calling you "mommy", it is sweet and such a feat. All those random syllables have suddenly coalesced into a word--a real recognizable English word. What an amazing word! Full of wonder and awe. Mommies can do anything. They can reach the high shelf and make the swing go higher than the birds.

Mommies know everything, but they also have to do everything. Babies never doubt that Mommy will can and will care of everything. The word brims with love and dependence.

"Mom" is such a different feeling--full of guilt and failings and accusations. While Mommies are perfect, Moms can have faults, some of which seem to open like chasms overnight. Suddenly, mom is embarrassing with the way that she dresses in her out-of-style jeans. She insists on using words, like "cool" and "awesome", that haven't been current since last month, and she greets her friends in the middle of the grocery store when her child is not dressed for public. Hair styles are no longer cool. The car is not good enough. Moms just don't get what all the kids are doing and that things are like they used to be.

The worst part of the word is how it can be drawn out almost into three syllables, "M-o--om" which denotes particular disgust with Mom's lack of understanding of how toast should be buttered or clothes should be folded. My kids are only 3 and 4, but the already have this down. Just in time for the youngest to learn "Mama."

I admit it

I'm really not a very good housekeeper. I try and try, but somehow, the house only stays clean for a few hours at a time. Even when I do my best to keep on top of it all, it seems to

I have to give my hubby credit though, for his greatness. When I get frustrated, he just reminds me that we live here, and my goal of having a picture perfect house every moment of the day is not terribly realistic. Maybe it wouldn't sting so much, if I didn't miss the mark by quite such a large margin of messiness. We're not talking an few toys scattered about--it's a disaster zone.

I've asked a few of my friends who keep extremely neat homes what their secret is and their answers surprised me. "Clutter drives them nuts." they both said (and they don't even know each other.) I have to say that this answer was not especially helpful. I was expecting something more constructive, like "I enforce chain gang labor with my children. Only when the entire house is clean can they remove the leg irons." Clutter drives me nuts too, but it still seems to happen and it brings along friends, Piles and Dirt.

When I complained to my friend Becky about my cleaning problem, she helpfully said that maybe I should get rid of something. Apparently, compulsively neat people do not understand the true problem is more than extra long underwear.

The way I see it, my problem is not that I can't part with stuff. I don't really have an emotional attachment to my physical property. You won't find me on Oprah bawling my eyes out, while strangers gasp at footage of my overstuffed house. When I go through a box of old stuff, I can generally recognize it for its uselessness and send it on its way. Sure, I do have more than I need, but I also rid myself of fairly regularly.

So if I don't have too much stuff, then my problem seems to either be laziness or poor organization. I hate to claim laziness, because it seems so cruel. I'm not sitting around all day popping York Peppermint Patties into my mouth and washing it down with a Big Gulp. Okay, maybe on some days, I do, but not everyday. Most days, I spend a large amount of time moving things around my house (i.e. cleaning) and taking care of my kids. There's also portions of time allotted for writing, exercise, doing web sites, doing graphic design and other such fun projects. So even though I may not be using every available minute for household cleanliness, I'm not constantly focusing my energy on the butt rut on the couch.

Poor organization is the likely cause of my disarray. Both in scheduling and in storage. I admit it, I'm not very well organized. Since I don't always have a plan of attack for each day, many a day goes by not lived to the fullest. I'm sure I could pack more efficiency into each 24 hours and that way my house could be clean and I could still do all the same things that I'm doing now. I could cut out any unscheduled time from my day, but just the thought of that wears me out. Maybe I should just learn to live with what I've got.