Claire took the ACT test on Saturday, which taught me a few of things. One, she's way smarter than I was at the age of 12, two, as old as she's been looking to me lately when you put her in a line of 16-18 year olds she suddenly looks like a baby, and three, a long line of teenagers smells bad. Really, I wanted to get the Febreeze out of my car and spray them all. I was proud that Claire smelled like the Bath & Bodyworks lotion that I'd put in her stocking her for Christmas. I looked around at the greasy, slack-jawed teenagers and thought, "Not only is my kid smarter than all of you, but she smells like flower, while the rest of you would make a dog faint."
I feel that I should explain that I'm not one of those moms who thinks my kid is better than everyone else's. I just think she's better than all teenagers. This will change in five months when she turns thirteen, when suddenly no amount of Bath & Body Works Paris Amour will shield the smell of hormone-filled sweat. In a few months she will walk into the kitchen, and our dog with take a deep breath and faint, and that's just the way the world works.
The other two have a few years left before they become hormone-ridden stinkbags. They certainly have their own quirks, which I am curious to watch unfold with age. Christopher (a smart kid who expresses himself...uniquely) said about our new clear, glass plates, "This is good, Mom."
He held up the plate before he put a Hot Pocket on it.
"Yes, it's always good to use a plate when you're microwaving something that will leak cheese," I said.
"No, I mean the plate," he told me.
"The plate's good?"
"Yeah. It's clear. You can trust a clear plate."
My eyebrows went up. "Can you? How come?"
Michelle, who was sitting at the table listening to the conversation, said, "Because you can tell that it's clean."
"Yeah," Christopher agreed.
"So that makes it trustworthy?" I asked. "This is a plate that you can rely on? You can trust it to show up on time and be true to it's word?"
Christopher frowned at me. "No. That's just weird."
So apparently, there's a limit to this trust. But it's important to Michelle, Claire and Christopher who care about cleanliness. For broads like me and Emma, "clean" is open to interpretation. One spot on a plate does not necessarily make the plate dirty. A few crumbs on a plate that you're going to make a turkey sandwich on? That's not really dirty. Just dust it off. A spot of mustard on a plate that you're making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on? Well, it needs to be wiped off, sure, but is the plate DIRTY? Not really. And how old is the mustard in question? Is it so old that it's hardened? Because if so, then it won't rub off on the pb&j and you can re-use it.
Emma is like I was at her age, and still kind of am. Her room is littered with dirty clothes, scraps of writing, scraps of drawings, cups and (once) a tortilla. Claire stepped on the latter and was horrified.
"MOM!" she cried from the bedroom. "There's a tortilla on the floor with a BITE taken out of it and I stepped on it!"
She said this last part "I stepped on it" as if she'd stepped on lizard guts. Really, I think she was just affronted by the idea of it - that her sister would take one bite out of a tortilla and drop it on the floor like an animal. To make matters worse, the girls share a room now and so Emma not only messed up her own room, she befouled CLAIRE'S. And Claire does not understand how Emma could allow a tortilla to happen on their floor.
But me - I understood. I imagined myself walking into my bedroom, and taking a bite out of a tortilla and then spotting a copy of Yoga Journal on the floor. "That's where that is!" I'd say and sit down to finish reading the article on how to meditate by breathing through my eyelids, and I'd set my tortilla down on the floor next to me, which I would be comfortable with because the floor is relatively "clean." While I'm reading my phone would ring in the next room and I'd fling the magazine across the room to another spot on the floor and rush to answer the phone, which would also be buried underneath several things. A day would go by and I'd walk into the room and spot the tortilla on the floor, and I'd think, "I guess that isn't good anymore. It's probably hard. I'll throw it away later, I think I hear the phone ringing." I would walk past the tortilla every day until it would just become part of the floor and I wouldn't notice it anymore.
I'm not justifying it, I'm just telling you how these things happen. Chaotic messiness is created one ADD-fueled mishap at a time. The phone rings and you fling your magazine across the room, and forget your snack on the floor. And so it begins.
And yes, twenty years ago I would have been the smelliest teenager in that line.
ps- Claire took the ACT early because she scored high in the English section of her Leap test, and she's trying out for the Duke TIPS program. Wish her luck!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Closing the childhood home
This afternoon I close on my house. I finished cleaning it on Sunday, and cried for a while because (for the first time in a long time) I remembered good things about it. Waking up way too early on Chrsitmas mornings, my dad's 4oth birthday party, playing Badmitton in the backyard with my sister April, the pet semetary where Nissa, Mittens, Dribble, Delilah, and Sky are buried, asking my sister Stephanie if I could sleep in her room because I was scared to sleep alone, the mornings I woke up to pancakes, mowing the lawn when my estranged Aunt Beth showed up walking across the yard, sitting on the blue shag carpet of my bedroom floor and writing story after story after story. In the sixth grade I walked down the hall when my dad got home from work and I told him I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. He smiled and said he was glad, and to remember that writing was hard work but that I could do it. I remember that he held a briefcase for a job he hated. I remember the exact spot in the hallway where I stood when I told him that, and where he stood when he smiled at me. I could mark x's on the floor.
After I finished cleaning I stood in the hallway, near the front door, and told the place goodbye. My voice echoed even though I said it quietly, because, you know, I was talking to a house and I felt a little silly. As I heard my good bye carry through the house I realized that it was empty for the first time in 26 years. I'd been living in it when I bought it from my parents. Then I stopped feeling silly about talking to an empty house, and went on to assure it that a good family was moving in and that they would take care of it. Then I thanked it for sheltering so many people that I love for such a long time.
And then I went to my new home.
After I finished cleaning I stood in the hallway, near the front door, and told the place goodbye. My voice echoed even though I said it quietly, because, you know, I was talking to a house and I felt a little silly. As I heard my good bye carry through the house I realized that it was empty for the first time in 26 years. I'd been living in it when I bought it from my parents. Then I stopped feeling silly about talking to an empty house, and went on to assure it that a good family was moving in and that they would take care of it. Then I thanked it for sheltering so many people that I love for such a long time.
And then I went to my new home.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Don't Bother Him With Names
Within his first week of school, Christopher's gotten a girlfriend but he doesn't know her name.
"It's 'A' something, I think" he told me.
"'A something?'" I asked. "You asked her to be your girlfriend today and you don't know what her name is?"
"No, I SAID I think it starts with an 'A,'" he reminded me, frustrated with my inability to recognize his efforts in the relationship.
"Honey, if you're gonna have a girlfriend you need to know her name. It's part of the deal."
"Ok, tomorrow I'll ask her."
I would have told him that it would be best not to say something like, "Hey girl I like, what's your name?" But they're in the 2nd grade, and communication seems to be a lot less complicated on this level.
Take, for example, how he asked her in the first place. A-something had asked him to be her friend on the first day of school, and Christopher said they had fun together. Then they played the next day too. He thought she was cute and wondered if she liked him, so on the third day he asked her about it. This was how it went according to Christopher:
Christopher: Hey, I was wondering if you have a crush on me.
A-something: No.
Christopher: Oh. You wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend anyway?
A-something: Ok.
And viola! Love!
Yesterday I asked him if he'd found out her name yet, and says that she told him but he forgot again. I wonder if she's noticed this. Does he just call her "girlfriend?" Or "you?" I would not put this past my son. If I ever meet her I'll tell her that I understand the frustation. Sometimes he forgets my name is "Mom." I'm just "M-something."
His sisters, whose names I have forgotten because this complex is heriditary, were appauled that he has a girlfriend in the second grade, and they, at 4th and 7th grades, do not have boyfriends.
"It's not fair," C-something said. "How come he has somebody and I don't?"
"Me too!" Something-that-ends-with-an-a agreed. "And it's only the frist week of school."
"Well, he asked her," I told them. "Have you guys asked anybody?"
"No," they sulked, hanging their poor, nameless heads.
"I don't think any of you are old enough to be having girlfriends and boyfriends anyway. There's certainly no rush."
"Christopher's DEFINITELY not old enough!" one of them declared.
"Yeah, but it's not like they're kissing or anything. They're just playing together...Christopher, you're NOT kissing, right?" I asked.
Christopher recoiled. "No!"
"Ok, well, good. See? They're just playing."
So for now, I guess, it's ok if he doesn't know who she is. When he proposes, though, it better not go something like this:
Christopher:"Would you be my wife?"
Girl: "Yes!"
Christopher: "Great! Then we'll be Mr. & Mrs. Christopher!"
Girl: "But my name is-"
Christopher: "The same as mine!"
Girl: "But I've been trying to tell you for years-"
Chrsitopher (whistfully): "The same as mine."
"It's 'A' something, I think" he told me.
"'A something?'" I asked. "You asked her to be your girlfriend today and you don't know what her name is?"
"No, I SAID I think it starts with an 'A,'" he reminded me, frustrated with my inability to recognize his efforts in the relationship.
"Honey, if you're gonna have a girlfriend you need to know her name. It's part of the deal."
"Ok, tomorrow I'll ask her."
I would have told him that it would be best not to say something like, "Hey girl I like, what's your name?" But they're in the 2nd grade, and communication seems to be a lot less complicated on this level.
Take, for example, how he asked her in the first place. A-something had asked him to be her friend on the first day of school, and Christopher said they had fun together. Then they played the next day too. He thought she was cute and wondered if she liked him, so on the third day he asked her about it. This was how it went according to Christopher:
Christopher: Hey, I was wondering if you have a crush on me.
A-something: No.
Christopher: Oh. You wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend anyway?
A-something: Ok.
And viola! Love!
Yesterday I asked him if he'd found out her name yet, and says that she told him but he forgot again. I wonder if she's noticed this. Does he just call her "girlfriend?" Or "you?" I would not put this past my son. If I ever meet her I'll tell her that I understand the frustation. Sometimes he forgets my name is "Mom." I'm just "M-something."
His sisters, whose names I have forgotten because this complex is heriditary, were appauled that he has a girlfriend in the second grade, and they, at 4th and 7th grades, do not have boyfriends.
"It's not fair," C-something said. "How come he has somebody and I don't?"
"Me too!" Something-that-ends-with-an-a agreed. "And it's only the frist week of school."
"Well, he asked her," I told them. "Have you guys asked anybody?"
"No," they sulked, hanging their poor, nameless heads.
"I don't think any of you are old enough to be having girlfriends and boyfriends anyway. There's certainly no rush."
"Christopher's DEFINITELY not old enough!" one of them declared.
"Yeah, but it's not like they're kissing or anything. They're just playing together...Christopher, you're NOT kissing, right?" I asked.
Christopher recoiled. "No!"
"Ok, well, good. See? They're just playing."
So for now, I guess, it's ok if he doesn't know who she is. When he proposes, though, it better not go something like this:
Christopher:"Would you be my wife?"
Girl: "Yes!"
Christopher: "Great! Then we'll be Mr. & Mrs. Christopher!"
Girl: "But my name is-"
Christopher: "The same as mine!"
Girl: "But I've been trying to tell you for years-"
Chrsitopher (whistfully): "The same as mine."
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Fast update of worriedness
It looks like a U-Haul sneezed all over my new house. There are boxes, children and animals everywhere. The bus driver at Emma's new school dropped her off far from the house and she got lost. She eventually made it home. I don't have word on the other two yet, on how their first day of school went. Michelle has been wonderful with them today. I want to quit my job and just stay home with all of them. There's too much to be done with their new schools, getting them settled, getting the house together.
It's the next day. All three kids made it home. The animals are all contained within the house. My girlfriend, who is not accustomed to living with children, is fatally exhausted and possibly died in her sleep last night, but I don't know because I had to leave early this morning to get to work. The kids are back at school today. Their new schools. I'm pretty sure that they will all hate me for this change that I have forced upon them and will become serial killers.
That's all for now.
It's the next day. All three kids made it home. The animals are all contained within the house. My girlfriend, who is not accustomed to living with children, is fatally exhausted and possibly died in her sleep last night, but I don't know because I had to leave early this morning to get to work. The kids are back at school today. Their new schools. I'm pretty sure that they will all hate me for this change that I have forced upon them and will become serial killers.
That's all for now.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Adjusting takes more than good cheese
Last night, though the beds haven't been moved in yet, the kids and I spent our first the night in the new house. We camped out on the living room floor, and watched "Shrek" on Michelle's portable TV. Then when that was over, and it was 10 at night but we were too excited too sleep, we watched "Up," the only other movie we had available. It was oddly appropriate, at least it was for me, because I have mixed feelings about letting my old house go, and "Up" is a movie about an old man who eventually lets his old house go. Weird.
In fact, I'm having a hard time writing this post because of all of the mixed feelings. Writing about a move that involves so many mixed emotions is similar to writing about alcohol when I've had too many mixed drinks. It's disorienting.
And how are the kids? They're disoriented too. Even Lily is thrown off. I brought her over there with us the other night and she ran circles in the empty living room until she exhausted herself and curled up on Claire's lap. Then, well rested, she got up and did the same thing again. She only relaxed when she ate a piece of Swiss cheese that fell off of my sandwich. Dogs are strange people. For more information on dogs adjusting to moves, read this bit of genius:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html
Unfortunately for the rest of us, eating cheese off the floor doesn't solve everything. It's going to take time. At some point, one of the girls teared up, thinking about the old house, and Christopher mentioned a friend that he's afraid he'll never see again. I thought of the Planetarium. Luling might not have much, but it's got a great planetarium and I've been taking my kids there since they were toddlers. We've seen so many specials on the stars that are visible through different seasons, that we've memorized some of their names. The kids know how to find the star Arcturus by making an arc from the handle of the Big Dipper, and then "spiking to Spica." We'd find them in our backyard on clear nights.
Then I remembered that our new neighborhood had a sky too! So I proposed that we go outside and take a look at it. We stepped into our new driveway to check out how many stars we could see. There's less light pollution there, and it was a clear so we could see clusters of stars. Claire pointed to Venus, shining brighter than the moon.
"That's a planet," she told me.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"It's not twinkling, and it's where Venus should be."
"Oh...maybe it's Venus then."
"Venus lives here too!" Emma exclaimed.
"Hooray!" I said. "All of the stars and planets from Luling also live here!"
"Hooway!" yelled Christopher, who still does not pronounce "r"s.
"They live everywhere, Mom." Claire said, flatly.
"Well, yes, but isn't it nice to know for sure?"
She supposed it was. And knowing so did make us feel better. Then we got too cold and went back inside to watch "Up."
There have been times that I've wanted to lift up my house in Luling and just move it closer to people I love. Or maybe drop it smack down in the middle of New Orleans so I could be close to the artistic hubbub of things, without having to change houses. That was before my divorce. Now selling the house is part of my divorce grieving cycle, if there is such a thing. I'm renting a new house that I haven't inherited or struggled to fix, a place that I'm not going to look around and see ghosts of people I've lost. Of course that doesn't mean that I won't suffer AT ALL at my new place. I'm sure the suffering will continue, and all of the cheese on all of the floors of the world won't make up for it. But it's different somehow, and I can't exactly explain why. I just know that it has to do with the divorce.
The house is going to a good family, a guy, his wife, and 2 year old daughter. They want to fix it up and everything, and I'm eager to see what he does with it. We'll be seeing it from time to time because I've vowed to take the kids to visit their friends on the street. My sister lives close, so we'll have a good excuse. Besides, we need to get to the planetarium occasionally. There are more stars to see in Mandeville, but we know their names because we learned about them in a dark room in a Luling library.
In fact, I'm having a hard time writing this post because of all of the mixed feelings. Writing about a move that involves so many mixed emotions is similar to writing about alcohol when I've had too many mixed drinks. It's disorienting.
And how are the kids? They're disoriented too. Even Lily is thrown off. I brought her over there with us the other night and she ran circles in the empty living room until she exhausted herself and curled up on Claire's lap. Then, well rested, she got up and did the same thing again. She only relaxed when she ate a piece of Swiss cheese that fell off of my sandwich. Dogs are strange people. For more information on dogs adjusting to moves, read this bit of genius:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html
Unfortunately for the rest of us, eating cheese off the floor doesn't solve everything. It's going to take time. At some point, one of the girls teared up, thinking about the old house, and Christopher mentioned a friend that he's afraid he'll never see again. I thought of the Planetarium. Luling might not have much, but it's got a great planetarium and I've been taking my kids there since they were toddlers. We've seen so many specials on the stars that are visible through different seasons, that we've memorized some of their names. The kids know how to find the star Arcturus by making an arc from the handle of the Big Dipper, and then "spiking to Spica." We'd find them in our backyard on clear nights.
Then I remembered that our new neighborhood had a sky too! So I proposed that we go outside and take a look at it. We stepped into our new driveway to check out how many stars we could see. There's less light pollution there, and it was a clear so we could see clusters of stars. Claire pointed to Venus, shining brighter than the moon.
"That's a planet," she told me.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"It's not twinkling, and it's where Venus should be."
"Oh...maybe it's Venus then."
"Venus lives here too!" Emma exclaimed.
"Hooray!" I said. "All of the stars and planets from Luling also live here!"
"Hooway!" yelled Christopher, who still does not pronounce "r"s.
"They live everywhere, Mom." Claire said, flatly.
"Well, yes, but isn't it nice to know for sure?"
She supposed it was. And knowing so did make us feel better. Then we got too cold and went back inside to watch "Up."
There have been times that I've wanted to lift up my house in Luling and just move it closer to people I love. Or maybe drop it smack down in the middle of New Orleans so I could be close to the artistic hubbub of things, without having to change houses. That was before my divorce. Now selling the house is part of my divorce grieving cycle, if there is such a thing. I'm renting a new house that I haven't inherited or struggled to fix, a place that I'm not going to look around and see ghosts of people I've lost. Of course that doesn't mean that I won't suffer AT ALL at my new place. I'm sure the suffering will continue, and all of the cheese on all of the floors of the world won't make up for it. But it's different somehow, and I can't exactly explain why. I just know that it has to do with the divorce.
The house is going to a good family, a guy, his wife, and 2 year old daughter. They want to fix it up and everything, and I'm eager to see what he does with it. We'll be seeing it from time to time because I've vowed to take the kids to visit their friends on the street. My sister lives close, so we'll have a good excuse. Besides, we need to get to the planetarium occasionally. There are more stars to see in Mandeville, but we know their names because we learned about them in a dark room in a Luling library.
Friday, December 23, 2011
A week to move + Christmas!
Creature Feature House is moving to a new house!...or a townhouse, or an apartment. I don't exactly know yet, I just started looking. But! There is a closing date for my present creature house for next week. The kids and I are filled with excitement and anxiety, which makes us wonderfully nauseated and none of us can wait until it's over :)
What else? I've been eating too much. Yes, I know, tis the season and all of that, but I'm not so much eating like a person who's letting herself go at Christmas but more like a person who's just letting herself go. I told my friends last night that after the move I'm going to start really paying attention to what I eat and exercise regularly again. Ok! Dieting, I'm talking about dieting! Dieting is such a trendy word. But! But! But! It's true. I'm too young to give up! (sob, gasp, whimper, munch on cookie) I can't give up the fight!
"I give up," one of my friends said to me last night. "I'm not even trying anymore."
"No!" I cried. "We can not accept defeat!"
"I'm not accepting defeat," he said, smiling. "I'm just not fighting, so I can't lose."
What's going on besides accepting my unacceptable weight and the defeatest attitude of my friends? The kids are out of school for Christmas break. Yesterday they gave their teachers gifts, and I was relieved that I'd managed to convince Christopher that he couldn't give his teacher an Angry Birds chew toy.
"But it's cute!" he protested, squeaking the red, scowling rubber bird.
"You don't even know if she likes Angry Birds," I said.
"Well...I know she downloaded it so her kids could play it."
"But that doesn't mean SHE likes it," I argued.
""She WILL like it!"
"It's a dog toy!"
"No, it's not!"
"Christopher, it says 'dog chew toy' on the tag!"
"...Oh. Well, let's get her Pokemon cards."
I kept telling him that the point of gift-giving is to give someone what THEY want and not necessarily what he wants. "Do you think a grown woman would want Pokeman cards?" I asked and he gave me this confused look as if to say, "What human being would NOT want that?" In the end, we settled on a tin of red hots because he remembered that she likes spicy things. Emma got her teacher a mug and Claire got hers a candle. I guess I could have turned things on them and said, "Why can't you be more original like your brother??" But they wouldn't have known I was joking. They would have cried and I would have ruined Christmas for all enternity. The story would be told year after year, over rounds of eggnog, "You remember that Christmas when Mom said we weren't good enough?"
The other daughter's face will blacken. "How can I forget. I thought about getting her something nice this year but then I remembered all that, and I just wrapped up a bunch of barbed wire."
"I made her nails-and-saw-dust preserves. How's THAT for originality Mom!"
Obviously, I have some worry about how my desicions and the things I say are going to affect the emotional development of my children. Will my ridiculous sense of humor warp them somehow? Will this move be a good thing for them? I think so. About the move, I mean, not my warped humor. I actually think the humor thing is good for them, though it does embarass Claire lately. I get the "Do you HAVE to act like that?" look a lot. And I say, "Yes. Yes, I do." I don't know how this move will affect them in the long run, but worrying hasn't done any good.
I will keep you all posted. For the next two days I'm just going to try to give us all a nice Christmas. Lots of snuggling up with blankets and playing games or watching movies. And no diet just yet.
What else? I've been eating too much. Yes, I know, tis the season and all of that, but I'm not so much eating like a person who's letting herself go at Christmas but more like a person who's just letting herself go. I told my friends last night that after the move I'm going to start really paying attention to what I eat and exercise regularly again. Ok! Dieting, I'm talking about dieting! Dieting is such a trendy word. But! But! But! It's true. I'm too young to give up! (sob, gasp, whimper, munch on cookie) I can't give up the fight!
"I give up," one of my friends said to me last night. "I'm not even trying anymore."
"No!" I cried. "We can not accept defeat!"
"I'm not accepting defeat," he said, smiling. "I'm just not fighting, so I can't lose."
What's going on besides accepting my unacceptable weight and the defeatest attitude of my friends? The kids are out of school for Christmas break. Yesterday they gave their teachers gifts, and I was relieved that I'd managed to convince Christopher that he couldn't give his teacher an Angry Birds chew toy.
"But it's cute!" he protested, squeaking the red, scowling rubber bird.
"You don't even know if she likes Angry Birds," I said.
"Well...I know she downloaded it so her kids could play it."
"But that doesn't mean SHE likes it," I argued.
""She WILL like it!"
"It's a dog toy!"
"No, it's not!"
"Christopher, it says 'dog chew toy' on the tag!"
"...Oh. Well, let's get her Pokemon cards."
I kept telling him that the point of gift-giving is to give someone what THEY want and not necessarily what he wants. "Do you think a grown woman would want Pokeman cards?" I asked and he gave me this confused look as if to say, "What human being would NOT want that?" In the end, we settled on a tin of red hots because he remembered that she likes spicy things. Emma got her teacher a mug and Claire got hers a candle. I guess I could have turned things on them and said, "Why can't you be more original like your brother??" But they wouldn't have known I was joking. They would have cried and I would have ruined Christmas for all enternity. The story would be told year after year, over rounds of eggnog, "You remember that Christmas when Mom said we weren't good enough?"
The other daughter's face will blacken. "How can I forget. I thought about getting her something nice this year but then I remembered all that, and I just wrapped up a bunch of barbed wire."
"I made her nails-and-saw-dust preserves. How's THAT for originality Mom!"
Obviously, I have some worry about how my desicions and the things I say are going to affect the emotional development of my children. Will my ridiculous sense of humor warp them somehow? Will this move be a good thing for them? I think so. About the move, I mean, not my warped humor. I actually think the humor thing is good for them, though it does embarass Claire lately. I get the "Do you HAVE to act like that?" look a lot. And I say, "Yes. Yes, I do." I don't know how this move will affect them in the long run, but worrying hasn't done any good.
I will keep you all posted. For the next two days I'm just going to try to give us all a nice Christmas. Lots of snuggling up with blankets and playing games or watching movies. And no diet just yet.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Honesty is the Best Chaosity
On Sunday Emma wanted to go to church so I let her. But it wasn't as simple as it sounds.
A couple of months ago, after years of on and off church-going, I finally came out to the kids.
"Guys," I said, as we were gathered around the kitchen table. The kitchen table is where we disclose most things to each other, even if we're not eating. In fact, for digestive purposes, and the speaker's safety, it's best. For instance, if I'd confided in them at dinner that night, they might have spit forkfuls of potatoes at me when I said, "I don't believe in organized religion."
But since they weren't eating, they just opened their eyes wide and looked confused.
"What do you mean?" Claire said. "Does that mean you don't believe in God?"
"No, that's not what that means."
"Does that mean you're not Chrsitian?" Emma asked.
"Well, I don't know. But I know for sure that I believe in loving God, and loving others as you love yourself."
"What does THAT mean?" Christopher asked.
"Well-"
"So we're not going to church?" Emma asked.
"Are we not having Christmas???" Claire hollered.
The others gasped.
"Of course we'll still have Christmas," I assured them.
"Because Christmas is about love," Emma told me. "And you said you believe in love, right Momma?"
"Of course I believe in love. I just don't believe that I need to be part of a church to love God."
"But that's where God is," Emma said.
"God's everywhere, honey. Look, I've just never been part of a religion where I totally agree with what they say. Some things, I don't agree with at all, and I don't want to be hipocritical. I love God, I love others, and I love myself. That's it. That's as honestly as I can live and I want to teach you guys that. I don't want to teach you a bunch of stuff that I don't believe just for the sake of being part of a religion."
"So, just to make sure, we're still having Christmas, right?" Claire asked.
The conversation went on like this. I was trying to talk to them from these basic principles that I've decided to maintain throughout my parenting: never underestimate a child's intelligence, teach them honesty by being honest about who I am, and always be honest without being cruel. These things, noble as they sound, don't make things easy. It wasn't easy for them to accept that I have a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend, even though they've known what homosexuality is since they were little. And it wasn't easy for them to hear what my past wishy-washy commitment to church had already led them to suspect - I don't believe in it.
But after we talked a while, Christopher and Claire seemed comfortable. They said they didn't like church anyway. I told them that that wasn't my point. It's not that I don't want to go because it's boring. I don't want to go because I don't believe in the Bible, which all Christian religions are based on and I feel like a hipocrit standing there in a pew.
We haven't been to church in a few months. But this past Sunday Emma woke me up, and told me she wanted to go back.
"Momma?" she said, settling on the side of my bed. "Momma, you awake?"
(Snort, grunt) "Huh?" I asked, peering at her through half shut eyes eyes.
She grinned in my face. "Mom! You're awake!"
"Mmm," I groaned, closing my eyes again.
"Here, I brought you some coffee," she went to my dresser and carefully lifted a full mug with both hands. She stepped gingerly across the room, and I sat up realizing what she was doing, and that coffee (coffee that I might drink) might spill. Coffee and the prospect of drinking it is what gets me up in the morning. The girl knows this.
"Momma," she said, passing over the cup. "I want to go with Dicey to church."
Dicey is what they called my youngest sister Stephanie, who is a devoted Christian. My oldest came up with the nickname when she was a toddler, which we've never understood because it sounds nothing like "Aunt Stephanie" but we went along with it anyway.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," she moaned, and I thought that might be the end of it. But then she went on. "Because when I go there I feel all good inside. They're all happy to see me and they talk about love and it feels good. And I get to see families and daddies, and the daddies are so nice."
I try not to wince when she says stuff like that. I don't know if I did. It was so early that I was barely keeping up with the conversation. I sipped the coffee. She had made it just the way I like it - extra milk, no sugar.
"Please, Momma," she said.
"All those things you said about feeling good inside and feeling loved - those are the things that people are supposed to feel at church."
"Yeah! I want to go!"
"I know. And you like seeing the daddies there?"
She lowered her eyes. "Yes."
She hasn't been getting along with her own dad lately.
I nodded. "Just promise me that you'll remember that you like church because you love God and you love people. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that. It can be simply about love."
She beamed. "I will."
Lucikily I saw the hug coming and I put the coffee down. She hugged me tight and told me she loved me.
This is something she wants and needs to experience. I've told Emma my truth. This is hers.
But she's 10, and she's impressionable, and I'm supposed to guide her until she's old enough to make her own decision about things. This is also a truth. And this is a church that supports banning things like Halloween and Harry Potter books. And according to them I'm going to burn in hell. And she's looking at me and saying, "Please, Momma, this makes me happy and feel loved."
So how do I feel about all of this? What do I think? What am I going to tell her, and am I going to be wishy washy AGAIN and say "On second thought, honey, I don't think that church is a good idea. Yes, I know it makes you happy but I know what's best for you and letting you go some place where you feel loved, but I also think you'll be brainwashed and that is not something I'm comfortable with?"
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuckity fuck. And that is also a truth.
A couple of months ago, after years of on and off church-going, I finally came out to the kids.
"Guys," I said, as we were gathered around the kitchen table. The kitchen table is where we disclose most things to each other, even if we're not eating. In fact, for digestive purposes, and the speaker's safety, it's best. For instance, if I'd confided in them at dinner that night, they might have spit forkfuls of potatoes at me when I said, "I don't believe in organized religion."
But since they weren't eating, they just opened their eyes wide and looked confused.
"What do you mean?" Claire said. "Does that mean you don't believe in God?"
"No, that's not what that means."
"Does that mean you're not Chrsitian?" Emma asked.
"Well, I don't know. But I know for sure that I believe in loving God, and loving others as you love yourself."
"What does THAT mean?" Christopher asked.
"Well-"
"So we're not going to church?" Emma asked.
"Are we not having Christmas???" Claire hollered.
The others gasped.
"Of course we'll still have Christmas," I assured them.
"Because Christmas is about love," Emma told me. "And you said you believe in love, right Momma?"
"Of course I believe in love. I just don't believe that I need to be part of a church to love God."
"But that's where God is," Emma said.
"God's everywhere, honey. Look, I've just never been part of a religion where I totally agree with what they say. Some things, I don't agree with at all, and I don't want to be hipocritical. I love God, I love others, and I love myself. That's it. That's as honestly as I can live and I want to teach you guys that. I don't want to teach you a bunch of stuff that I don't believe just for the sake of being part of a religion."
"So, just to make sure, we're still having Christmas, right?" Claire asked.
The conversation went on like this. I was trying to talk to them from these basic principles that I've decided to maintain throughout my parenting: never underestimate a child's intelligence, teach them honesty by being honest about who I am, and always be honest without being cruel. These things, noble as they sound, don't make things easy. It wasn't easy for them to accept that I have a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend, even though they've known what homosexuality is since they were little. And it wasn't easy for them to hear what my past wishy-washy commitment to church had already led them to suspect - I don't believe in it.
But after we talked a while, Christopher and Claire seemed comfortable. They said they didn't like church anyway. I told them that that wasn't my point. It's not that I don't want to go because it's boring. I don't want to go because I don't believe in the Bible, which all Christian religions are based on and I feel like a hipocrit standing there in a pew.
We haven't been to church in a few months. But this past Sunday Emma woke me up, and told me she wanted to go back.
"Momma?" she said, settling on the side of my bed. "Momma, you awake?"
(Snort, grunt) "Huh?" I asked, peering at her through half shut eyes eyes.
She grinned in my face. "Mom! You're awake!"
"Mmm," I groaned, closing my eyes again.
"Here, I brought you some coffee," she went to my dresser and carefully lifted a full mug with both hands. She stepped gingerly across the room, and I sat up realizing what she was doing, and that coffee (coffee that I might drink) might spill. Coffee and the prospect of drinking it is what gets me up in the morning. The girl knows this.
"Momma," she said, passing over the cup. "I want to go with Dicey to church."
Dicey is what they called my youngest sister Stephanie, who is a devoted Christian. My oldest came up with the nickname when she was a toddler, which we've never understood because it sounds nothing like "Aunt Stephanie" but we went along with it anyway.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," she moaned, and I thought that might be the end of it. But then she went on. "Because when I go there I feel all good inside. They're all happy to see me and they talk about love and it feels good. And I get to see families and daddies, and the daddies are so nice."
I try not to wince when she says stuff like that. I don't know if I did. It was so early that I was barely keeping up with the conversation. I sipped the coffee. She had made it just the way I like it - extra milk, no sugar.
"Please, Momma," she said.
"All those things you said about feeling good inside and feeling loved - those are the things that people are supposed to feel at church."
"Yeah! I want to go!"
"I know. And you like seeing the daddies there?"
She lowered her eyes. "Yes."
She hasn't been getting along with her own dad lately.
I nodded. "Just promise me that you'll remember that you like church because you love God and you love people. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that. It can be simply about love."
She beamed. "I will."
Lucikily I saw the hug coming and I put the coffee down. She hugged me tight and told me she loved me.
This is something she wants and needs to experience. I've told Emma my truth. This is hers.
But she's 10, and she's impressionable, and I'm supposed to guide her until she's old enough to make her own decision about things. This is also a truth. And this is a church that supports banning things like Halloween and Harry Potter books. And according to them I'm going to burn in hell. And she's looking at me and saying, "Please, Momma, this makes me happy and feel loved."
So how do I feel about all of this? What do I think? What am I going to tell her, and am I going to be wishy washy AGAIN and say "On second thought, honey, I don't think that church is a good idea. Yes, I know it makes you happy but I know what's best for you and letting you go some place where you feel loved, but I also think you'll be brainwashed and that is not something I'm comfortable with?"
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuckity fuck. And that is also a truth.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)