TGIF

When I was a little, I used to live for Fridays.  I loved NBC's lineup of TGIF.  Step by Step and Boy Meets World, and whatever else used to come by.  I'd sit down on the couch and decompress while watching hours of television, and probably stuffing popcorn in my face too. 

This Friday, I feel like I need a day like that.  My week has been crazy busy with lots of after-work activities.  Number Two and Darling Daughter started swimming lessons this week.  I had out of the house activities on Wednesday and Thursday nights: a dinner and then a baby shower.  And the whole work week has been a little chaotic as I settle back into my regular routine, since I finished up training another employee last week.  And this week, one of my co-workers who actually babysits for us has been struggling, because her father was hospitalized and in critical condition.  I've been worrying about her and thinking about her, and it's one of those times I wish I believed in something so I could pray for her and her father. 

I sometimes do pray, but I don't know who the prayers are offered up to, just to add my thoughts to the collective prayer.  And there is no question collective prayer works.  There have been studies on it, and people who are prayed for have a better outcome than people who aren't. 

I came home last night from the baby shower, after a long day, and my boys were on the couch.  Number One was reading the Bible to Number Two.

He came up and said, "Mommy--do you have a magnifying glass, because the words in this Bible are so small?" 

I laughed and said, "No, but you have good eyes!" 

I walked into the bathroom and Hubby followed me to ask me about my day.  I made a passing comment, "The boys are going to be so religious."

"So.  That could be a good thing, Lauren," Hubby said. 

I nodded, "Yes.  Maybe it'll give them some purpose.  Help them from being sad."

Sometimes, I feel like it would be so easy to be religious and just to BELIEVE.  I remember the wonder and joy as a child of believing in Santa Claus.  I remember going to church and BELIEVING Jesus could walk on water.  I'd love to have that belief re-instilled in me, to put aside all doubt, but my thinking mind won't let me.  My thinking mind questions why religions have to create hate, judgment and wars. My thinking mind likes the beliefs of love, society, togetherness, doing good to others, not judging others, and allowing everyone to have the same rights: happiness, marriage, children, enough food in their bellies, enough clean water to drink; without discrimination.  Human nature is to discriminate though, and I guess no matter what inequalities will never cease to exist.  We will play out the same wars over and over again, each time with new actors. 

But believing in someone who can save, and believing in someone who can take your prayers and heal, that has to be worth it to a lot of people. Having a guiding voice in your head who acts like a father figure and  you which path you should take: maybe this is the joy a lot of people receive from religion.  To me, because my brain won't stop, it's just another thing I question. 

And don't worry.  Number One is definitely being exposed to all sorts of religions.  The other day he offered up a prayer to Zeus, because he wanted the rain to stop.  That kid is currently obsessed with the Greek Gods.  Thanks Percy Jackson!

How's that for TGIF? A little too deep, I think.  Now I think I'll read a little chick lit before my day begins, and tonight I'll sit on the couch with some popcorn and a beer and catch up a little bit on House of Cards. 

Christmas Time Makes Them Crazy, Fa, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La!

December 13, 2011 

Parenting is hard.  Parenting around Christmas time is nearly impossible.  The kids simply go nuts.  A lot of people have tricks up their sleeves, like "The Elf on the Shelf."  I could tell you in my house that might last about five minutes, before one child, maybe one specific child, would touch him and the magic would be gone. 

Yesterday it was time to decorate our beautiful, $30, Costco Christmas tree.  (Sidenote: If you're still looking for Christmas trees, then this is definitely the way to go!  Best Christmas tree ever!)  Son#1 was super excited.  Literally, bouncing off the walls, as he is prone to do at least five times a week!  Son#2 maintained his uber calm state, in direct contrast to his older brother.  Darling Daughter was strapped into her chair where she couldn't do any damage, or eat any of the packing popcorn that had been thrown precariously from the boxes by the boys. 

Decorating the Christmas Tree would not have been bad, if some Cybor-Galactic Borg from Planet Crazy had not abducted Son#1 and replaced him with this kid:

Yeah, the look on his face is exactly how he was acting.  Notice the calm happiness of Son#2.  Notice Dad playing defense with Darling Daughter, holding her, so she doesn't pluck the, "so carefully placed," ornaments directly off the tree. 

Who knew what was going on with Son#1 that day?  He was literally bouncing around the room, throwing ornaments at the tree, without even trying to securely attach them.  We had several ornament fatalities, such as the head from the mouse ornament and the wheel on one of the cars.  May they rest in pieces.  Who knows why Santa spends so much care picking these ornaments out for these special children when this is how they get treated?

After the ill-fated Christmas tree decorating and a few threats of bedtime, it was time for the boys to go into the bath.  I poured the bubbles in, and I sat by the side of the tub watching them.  At this point, I realized that I am not equipped to handle questions about Jesus and Christmas. 

The conversation went something like this:

"Mommy, how many days until Christmas and presents," Son#2 asked.

"Um, 13 days.  But, you know the real reason we celebrate Christmas is because of baby Jesus."

"Was baby Jesus five when he was born?" Son#1 asked.

"No.  He was a baby.  He is the Son of God."

"Why was he born?" Son#1 asked, always the inquisitive one.

"To take away the sins of man."

Confused look.  "How old is Jesus, Mommy?" Son#1, again.

"Well, he died a long time ago."

"How did he die?" again, the Inquisitive One.

"Well Pontius Pilate.he was crucified."

"What does that mean?" Son#1.

"They put him on a cross."

"What is a cross?" Son#1 asked.

Then, I'm sitting by the tub making my fingers into a cross.  Son#1 nods his head like he understands.

"You mean they drew a cross, and put him on it?" Son#1.

Big sigh from me.  This conversation is going nowhere pretty.  "No, he was crucified."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the bad people nailed him to the cross, and he died."

"How did he die?"

"From being nailed to the cross.Ok, who needs to be washed?"

Sometimes the best way out of a conversation with a curious seven year old is just to change the subject.