Maybe a Peep?
I bawled in church today. Not because it's Easter and not because of the message.
It's these words, and the act of trying to sing them with a group of people:
~
How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross
My guilt upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no powr's, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
~
It's especially those italicized verses that make my throat tight and hurty. The fact that my husband drives straight home, gets out his guitar and figures out the chords is pretty awesome, too. This year, I have that wonderful Christmassy feeling at Easter instead. It's probably better that way, really.
It's not that we prepared especially. We certainly don't have an Easter tree, and my mom had to buy all the egg decoratin' gear for Toby to have any memory of this year's holiday at all. We did stop at WalMart this morning and snag the very last bag of malted eggs in the whole state, apparently. We didn't even do lent despite my fascination with it. I guess you could say it's a pretty distant fascination, sort of like the way I feel about people who run ultra marathons or play in the Met Opera orchestra.
It's just that I feel the recent clouds- adoption failure, new baby haze, heinous church shopping, the various infections and medical mysteries the boys suddenly seem bent on collecting- have disipated. They're there, but it just feels like life and not so much like the other.
Yesterday I watched a community come together and celebrate a violist who was killed the year I moved here. I play some of her gigs, I have the priveledge of carpooling with some of her good friends. Preparing for the concert was a heavy responsibility and I found myself cherishing all the goofy things in my hectic and lovely life. It turned out to be fun, and fulfilling and I think she must have been quite something considering all the funny stories people were remembering. Sassy. I like that word even more now.
I love Easter. God bless you, internet.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Inconspicuous Jesus
Okay, don't get mad. That title comes from a morning spent googling infant diseases and constantly coming up with references to a condition involving boy-parts. I'm not blaspheming, it's just running through my incredibly pious head. Hey, look, a picture of baby Jesus with, like, 16-pack abs! It frightened me at a Catholic church gig last month so I knew I had to show it to you immediately.
We're up against another non-negotiable problem with the church we thought we finally liked. The worship dude had a full sleeve and often pronounced things like that guy from the Decemberists, which tells me he's got to have at least some redeeming qualities. So that wasn't the problem. It was a boring theological thingamaBLEH that the pastor said in the middle of his sermon. J and I exchanged glances, zipped up our matching christian-fish-eating-darwin bible covers and backed out while hissing and speaking in tongues. Not really. We haven't sprung for the covers yet.
So I guess instead of finding a church we'll just have to start our own sect. To belong, you must like 79.4% of the following:
Mexican food (margaritas required)
Lawyers
24 or CSI
Violas above all those inferior instruments (that's a gimme- how could you not, you heathen? Also, if you say, "Isn't that kinda like a violin?" we will betray you for 30 pieces of silver.)
This American Life
Irony and/or Sarcasm
I feel like I'm forgetting something...
We're busy lately.
Mostly we are coated in play-doh, ketchup, finger paint or receipts from the pediatrician. It's a look.
Here we have Toby channeling Robert Smith. He's gifted, I tell you.
Here we have Toby channeling Robert Smith. He's gifted, I tell you.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Nipper
Isaac fell asleep on my chest on the couch yesterday. Neither of my kids has ever done that so far. Actually, except in the first few weeks I've never even seen either of them drift off since they do that in the privacy of their wee little beds.
I guess this was one of those new mom moments I somehow missed over the last three years. It's kinda nice to be able to say, without a doubt, that this is no parenting hormone gush. The sweet treebark smell of his hair, the warmth and weight of his chest, the light quick snore and smushy cheek undo me.
I hope he does it again soon.
I guess this was one of those new mom moments I somehow missed over the last three years. It's kinda nice to be able to say, without a doubt, that this is no parenting hormone gush. The sweet treebark smell of his hair, the warmth and weight of his chest, the light quick snore and smushy cheek undo me.
I hope he does it again soon.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Potty Tower*
Toby still shows no interest in toilet training. He's 37 months (3 human years) old.
Today I could tell he was in process and offered to take him to the toilet. Mom and dad were visiting so he declined on the grounds that he "Wanna play." I pressed a bit, telling him all sorts of people like Grandpa and Daddy do that on the toilet so they don't have to lay down in the middle of everything and have a diaper change.
He looked at me with this one very piercing look he has, not angry but startlingly focused and quietly but firmly said, "I know that they do," in a tone that informed me in no uncertain terms that our conversation was over.
If he's going to sound like an older man it would be nice if he picked up just one or two of their habits.
*He calls the Potty Power video we got from the library "Potty Tower".
Today I could tell he was in process and offered to take him to the toilet. Mom and dad were visiting so he declined on the grounds that he "Wanna play." I pressed a bit, telling him all sorts of people like Grandpa and Daddy do that on the toilet so they don't have to lay down in the middle of everything and have a diaper change.
He looked at me with this one very piercing look he has, not angry but startlingly focused and quietly but firmly said, "I know that they do," in a tone that informed me in no uncertain terms that our conversation was over.
If he's going to sound like an older man it would be nice if he picked up just one or two of their habits.
*He calls the Potty Power video we got from the library "Potty Tower".
Friday, February 27, 2009
Externally processing churchy things...
I still feel really out of my zone in Portland despite our living here for three years now.
I've been thinking about why I still feel like a stranger, and I think it has a lot to do with my misperception of church. When Jonathan and I met we were part of an amazing place, with a mix of ages and other socio-economic junk. The way they did the worship music built a community unto itself- anybody could play but you had to attend a regular Wednesday night rehearsal every week. If you weren't playing that week you'd study music or theology or sit around and eat donuts, but you were, forgive the Christianese, plugged in. At the time I just assumed other churches tried to do something similar.
As if.
We went to a church here called Imago Dei for two years before we started shopping again. Toby was dedicated there. Imago is famous for being post-modern, edgy, young: Don Miller's church. We loved the pastor, we loved the idea that creativity honors and expresses our creator, loved exchanging ideas for new tattoos, we even met a handfull (okay, three) friendly people there. I just ended up feeling completely unwelcome. I tried the membership class twice. Both times somebody asked "Why would God allow evil in our lives if he's supposed to be good". The first time the question came from an emotionally disturbed girl (a girl like the girl in The Breakfast Club but without the kissing and the emergence from weirdness). The teacher/pastor person basically said We Don't Have Time for That Kind of Question. I thought, well, maybe he's new to this and just wasn't ready to go there. He was following a hand out. But when it happened again, this time from somebody who had spoken to the church several times on Sunday and was on payroll there, I had had enough.
When I walk down the halls of a church, I guess I would hope to see some people planted there. They don't have to wear a tie and shake my hand. They don't even have to say anything, maybe smile sometimes, but if I have a question or want a program or need some prayer it would be nice to not feel as though I'm messing up their clique. And if it's a staff member then my feeling is they are OBLIGATED to be nice, because it's not their church.
At Imago I served on worship, I tried the classes (including one whose teacher later said he had questions about Jesus' divinity), I tried a house church, I served in the kid check-in, and I almost served as the Women's Coordinator. I told them I couldn't do that last one because my husband's job was changing, we might have to move, we might be adopting and I was pregnant with my second kid. They said okay, we'll find somebody else and never asked me about any one of those things again. Is that community? We've gone back from time to time because there are a few people we love, but the last two times people walked past me whose homes I've been in without so much as a Good Morning.
I wasn't raised in a church, but I have come to believe it's really important for me now to be part of one. I need mentors and inspirors and I need to serve. It baffles me that God would make it so flipping hard to figure out where I should be doing that. Lots of things He does confuse me, I have tons of questions and I can't understand why it would be hard to find the answers. I've spent a lot of the last year doing my own (lazy) kind of wrestling with God, which really amounted to me not asking him out to coffee or hiring Him for any gigs for a while. He still showed me some stuff, but I figured if He was going to be all distant then two could play that game.
For about a month we've been going to a new place. The pastor is completely amazing. He includes a heaping pile of verses every time, he's memorable and humble and funny. He reminds me of our Madison pastor- a man who looked and sort of spoke like an accountant but gave sermons I remember to this day. The church seems pretty bare-bones as far as I can tell, but it's got all the essentials.
I've changed my requirements for a church. If I don't make a bunch of bff's there, I'll be a little disappointed but not shocked. If we find a way to get directly involved, great. If not, then I'm going to buckle down and focus on the teaching. Which brings me to the biggest shift in my thinking: I am the only one responsible for my knowledge of God. No church or school or study will fix the problem if I don't just do it, no matter how many verses they cover. It's like practicing. Or running. Or any of a million SHOULDs I love/dread every day.
I'm trying to thicken my skin, to look for my family where God puts it. I'm hoping this makes me feel more at home.
I've been thinking about why I still feel like a stranger, and I think it has a lot to do with my misperception of church. When Jonathan and I met we were part of an amazing place, with a mix of ages and other socio-economic junk. The way they did the worship music built a community unto itself- anybody could play but you had to attend a regular Wednesday night rehearsal every week. If you weren't playing that week you'd study music or theology or sit around and eat donuts, but you were, forgive the Christianese, plugged in. At the time I just assumed other churches tried to do something similar.
As if.
We went to a church here called Imago Dei for two years before we started shopping again. Toby was dedicated there. Imago is famous for being post-modern, edgy, young: Don Miller's church. We loved the pastor, we loved the idea that creativity honors and expresses our creator, loved exchanging ideas for new tattoos, we even met a handfull (okay, three) friendly people there. I just ended up feeling completely unwelcome. I tried the membership class twice. Both times somebody asked "Why would God allow evil in our lives if he's supposed to be good". The first time the question came from an emotionally disturbed girl (a girl like the girl in The Breakfast Club but without the kissing and the emergence from weirdness). The teacher/pastor person basically said We Don't Have Time for That Kind of Question. I thought, well, maybe he's new to this and just wasn't ready to go there. He was following a hand out. But when it happened again, this time from somebody who had spoken to the church several times on Sunday and was on payroll there, I had had enough.
When I walk down the halls of a church, I guess I would hope to see some people planted there. They don't have to wear a tie and shake my hand. They don't even have to say anything, maybe smile sometimes, but if I have a question or want a program or need some prayer it would be nice to not feel as though I'm messing up their clique. And if it's a staff member then my feeling is they are OBLIGATED to be nice, because it's not their church.
At Imago I served on worship, I tried the classes (including one whose teacher later said he had questions about Jesus' divinity), I tried a house church, I served in the kid check-in, and I almost served as the Women's Coordinator. I told them I couldn't do that last one because my husband's job was changing, we might have to move, we might be adopting and I was pregnant with my second kid. They said okay, we'll find somebody else and never asked me about any one of those things again. Is that community? We've gone back from time to time because there are a few people we love, but the last two times people walked past me whose homes I've been in without so much as a Good Morning.
I wasn't raised in a church, but I have come to believe it's really important for me now to be part of one. I need mentors and inspirors and I need to serve. It baffles me that God would make it so flipping hard to figure out where I should be doing that. Lots of things He does confuse me, I have tons of questions and I can't understand why it would be hard to find the answers. I've spent a lot of the last year doing my own (lazy) kind of wrestling with God, which really amounted to me not asking him out to coffee or hiring Him for any gigs for a while. He still showed me some stuff, but I figured if He was going to be all distant then two could play that game.
For about a month we've been going to a new place. The pastor is completely amazing. He includes a heaping pile of verses every time, he's memorable and humble and funny. He reminds me of our Madison pastor- a man who looked and sort of spoke like an accountant but gave sermons I remember to this day. The church seems pretty bare-bones as far as I can tell, but it's got all the essentials.
I've changed my requirements for a church. If I don't make a bunch of bff's there, I'll be a little disappointed but not shocked. If we find a way to get directly involved, great. If not, then I'm going to buckle down and focus on the teaching. Which brings me to the biggest shift in my thinking: I am the only one responsible for my knowledge of God. No church or school or study will fix the problem if I don't just do it, no matter how many verses they cover. It's like practicing. Or running. Or any of a million SHOULDs I love/dread every day.
I'm trying to thicken my skin, to look for my family where God puts it. I'm hoping this makes me feel more at home.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
If my head spins off...
... just give it a shove over this way, will you?
We are in the thick of Grandparent visit decompression. Toby misses the attention but doesn't know that's what is wrong, so he tries whining and being naughty to see if that helps. I imagine it does at times.
Poor little man. He's at that stage where if I said in a stern voice, "Toby, you have to eat that ice cream and then skip your nap so we can watch videos until your brains flow out your ears." He'd say, "Noooooo! I want candy canes!"
I don't have enough punctuation to show you the octaves that boy is reaching.
Pass the margaritas (and thank you, Grandparents who left the bottle here)!
And while I'm at it, can I just talk about nipples for a sec? I am seriously considering feeding Isaac from bottles for the rest of my sentence (March 24, March 24, March 24...) because he is TEEEETHING. He's miserable, I'm jumpy and miserable, it's not pretty.
That is all. (Pray for all of our sensitive bits, will you?)
We are in the thick of Grandparent visit decompression. Toby misses the attention but doesn't know that's what is wrong, so he tries whining and being naughty to see if that helps. I imagine it does at times.
Poor little man. He's at that stage where if I said in a stern voice, "Toby, you have to eat that ice cream and then skip your nap so we can watch videos until your brains flow out your ears." He'd say, "Noooooo! I want candy canes!"
I don't have enough punctuation to show you the octaves that boy is reaching.
Pass the margaritas (and thank you, Grandparents who left the bottle here)!
And while I'm at it, can I just talk about nipples for a sec? I am seriously considering feeding Isaac from bottles for the rest of my sentence (March 24, March 24, March 24...) because he is TEEEETHING. He's miserable, I'm jumpy and miserable, it's not pretty.
That is all. (Pray for all of our sensitive bits, will you?)
Monday, February 09, 2009
Fallen & pushed are not the same thing.
Sometimes people scare me. There was this one mom at the pizza-play place we took Toby for his birthday who must have fully committed herself to raising brats. Her kids were those kids. You know.
And when my mom kindly asked one of them to stop jumping on our kid seeing as he is 5 years younger and was starting to cry, he went and told on her to his own mother, sitting 50 feet away with her back turned. Brilliant mom then marches over and reprimands my mother for doing her job.
No big deal, right? You've heard worse.
It just makes it hard to let your kids out into the world, like, ever. The irony is that I think of myself as pretty permissive; I get a kick out of hanging back and watching the kids discover things and work their way out of stuff. But to do that I have to assume that the majority of the people around me understand and agree to uphold the rules of common courtesy and that is not true. It reminds me that there is evil around and it's going to get all over us. (See how fun I would be at your next cocktail party?)
And when my mom kindly asked one of them to stop jumping on our kid seeing as he is 5 years younger and was starting to cry, he went and told on her to his own mother, sitting 50 feet away with her back turned. Brilliant mom then marches over and reprimands my mother for doing her job.
No big deal, right? You've heard worse.
It just makes it hard to let your kids out into the world, like, ever. The irony is that I think of myself as pretty permissive; I get a kick out of hanging back and watching the kids discover things and work their way out of stuff. But to do that I have to assume that the majority of the people around me understand and agree to uphold the rules of common courtesy and that is not true. It reminds me that there is evil around and it's going to get all over us. (See how fun I would be at your next cocktail party?)
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Meme me (times 20)
This is recycling at its best. Here is a list of 20 things about me.
1. I have lots of beliefs & behaviors that people assume stem from some ideological decision. Decision? Rarely. They’re just my collection of wack-a-doo preferences even though they put me in a fairly predictable box. A box in which you might expect to see me sporting Secty-hair with an ankle-length dress and tennis shoes (shudder) and holing up on a compound in Alaska with some of our closest relations…
2. I’m a vegetarian. But my Papa was a trapper in Montana and my parents raise beef. I would LOVE to go elk hunting sometime, especially with my dad. I’ll kill it, dress it, pack it out and cook it… for you! I just don’t like the texture, smell or taste of meat. (You people EAT chicken? Have you touched it raw?) When I was 13 I thought I would try being a vegetarian while standing in line for a junior high cafeteria lunch. It smelled nasty, and I figured if I couldn’t kill it I shouldn’t eat it. That’s changed a bit, a la Xena the elk huntress, but I still haven’t eaten any for years and don’t see a need to. My inlaws and Papa like to tease me about it, but they’ve been very accommodating.
3. After the elk hunting revelation it’s probably no surprise that I’m a gun rights advocate. Whoa Nelly! In my circle of friends, profession and city that makes me a freak in four languages. This past weekend on the way to a lovely chamber music gig I picked Jonathan up from a gun show where he had purchased “the least PC thing there”. Think, “say hello to my leetle friend” and you’ll be on the right track. He also teaches a concealed-carry class. Sexy.
4. I have yet to discover a children’s show worth watching. I cannot stand modern Sesame Street. We do watch Veggie Tales (just see if you can get the monkey song out of your head) but the Pirates movie was a disappointing Disney sell-out. Speaking of selling out, as I type a truly insipid episode of Bob the Builder is playing for Toby. So I’m the worst possible kind of snob- one willing to sully her brain stem and make her children stupider for the sake of convenience and pure adoration.
5. I wish I had more shoes.
6. I still daydream about a Fetique bow I tried at a dealer showcase in Aspen in 2000. It cost more than our Jeep, even back then. For a long time I had a French bow that was worth more than my old viola, but a little less than a new Jeep. I kind of hated that bow’s guts and still wonder why I lost my mind and had to live with it for so long. Lots of non-string players are shocked that the stick makes enough of a difference to justify really shelling out for one. Bows are amazing, just look at them all curvy and lithe.
7. I’m allergic to stone fruits and tree nuts. That includes avocado, apricots, apples and my favorite food ever, cherries. I was perfectly fine eating all of these (though my mouth would get a little itchy) until I turned 19. Now they try to kill me. Between that and the vegetarianism, I cook an awful lot of stuff for my family that I won’t eat and I’m not very fun for the host of a dinner party. Though I will eat lettuce, cranberry sauce & rolls and call it a feast at Thanksgiving, so at least I’m not that kind of picky. (Mmmmmm, cranberries…)
8. I am going to talk about brrrrreastfeeding (roll that r, people). I seriously had never really given it a second thought before I had kids. Did people really do this before? With the hanging bits out in midair and futzing with strangely S&M looking boob-gear and public gnawings? Life is weird. Humans!
Anyway, because of all the stupid allergies, we (by which I mean me and the ladies) breastfeed our spawn for a whole year before they get any solid food. Toby didn’t seem to mind. Isaac, however, is beside himself at 10 months of age. He eats lint and will sprint-crawl if he sees a scrap of paper. When he sees us eating he smacks his lips and all but points repeatedly to his gaping pie-hole. He trolls around Toby’s chair at mealtime like a DHS-bound Lassie and sneaks chews on the leather handles of the antique trunk in our living room. So I suppose he won’t end up with allergies but he will contract Anthrax and have strange fetishes. Sigh.
9. I love crosswords and am really annoyed that Verizon doesn’t have a NY Times app for me to buy. Lewzers.
10. I’m frugal but not cheap.
11. I love doing laundry and dishes. Seriously. When they’re done, they’re done. Clean or dirty, no in-between. So unlike practicing the viola.
12. I didn’t vote for Obama, but I still respect his office and have hopes for his time there. I believe strongly that the government is a picture of inefficiency and should be used sparingly. If that makes me conservative, fine, but I have yet to meet a political party with which I identify.
What is with people being a-holes on either side? Why was Palin such a lightning rod for anti-mother, anti-special needs anti-family ugliness? It's fine to disagree with somebody but what's up with the personal attacks? What did people really know about her? That she was on the wrong side. A colleague said of her big family, “what CENtury are we in, anyway?” and it bit me. Because if you don’t have a nanny and two kids max you are a backwards idiot? I saw a bit of anti-Obama propaganda the other day and it also made my blood boil. He is the president, and that deserves some respect. Can’t you see me shaking my cane?
13. I like peonies best.
14. My mom is a welder and my dad regularly wins his age group at marathons. I hope when I grow up I’m like them. I’ve started running 1,972,358 times. J and I have done two 10k’s and a triathlon, but the last great endeavor was 2 years ago. We have a treadmill in the garage and as soon as I am getting more than 3 hours of sleep in a row I plan to hang out with that sucker every morning.
15. Noisy places undo me, and I get wander-y.
16. Jonathan is muuuuuch more sentimental. Not in a pack-rat kind of way, but in a touchy-feely, tearing-up, giving-a-crap kind of way. He is excellent at remembering that I mentioned I wanted a gizmo three months ago when it’s time to get me a gift. I am terrible at dates of any sort and have to count on my fingers how many anniversaries we’ve had. One year I nagged him five times a day all week to tell me what he wanted on his birthday. And then the day of? I forgot until evening and was cross with him in the afternoon. When we were dating I once forgot it entirely, completely. AND, AND!, the date is part of his email address. I deserve harsh punishment.
17. I hate the color yellow. When I was sick as a kid, I told my mom I felt yellow.
18. I am secretly horrified in a nauseated way of escalators and automatons. My nightmare is a busy shopping mall with Kenny-G Muzak, a bell ringer, a big Christmas-deer-robot display and banks of escalators with no stairs in sight. And it smells faintly of sausage. So basically, Clackamas Town Center.
19. I am an evangelical Christian. But wait! I think the way the Church has dealt with the following topics has been pretty much Evil: homosexuality, abortion, art, evolution.
That being said, I can’t just leave that hanging and am going to address abortion: I am not pro-Choice because I have seen empirical evidence that a fetus is a life and because babies are now surviving from as little as 25-26 weeks. There is no question that there are situations in which it is terrible for the woman to have to carry a fetus to term, and I’m not talking about medically terrible. But how can we say that it is okay for us to encourage that choice? And how about those first weeks? After conception there is no watershed developmental moment- it is all one big fast (very very fast) cascade from there. So while you are wondering about where the line is, couldn’t we just assume in favor of the fetus in MOST cases? I am not sure I’m for outlawing abortion, but I am definitely in favor of early ultrasounds and full information for those not at medical risk who are considering one. If more information is dangerous to a viewpoint, that viewpoint is likely biased for extenuating reasons and therefore is flawed.
But I will not think poorly of you for disagreeing.
Also, evolution and creation are not mutually exclusive. Both are still mysteries of which their own proponents admit we only know a weensy bit. If you you have spent time with a toddler lately you’ll agree that dangerously nutty stage makes no evolutionary sense whatsoever.
20. Well. If you are still reading, you must be my mother. How’s our wing of the compound coming?
1. I have lots of beliefs & behaviors that people assume stem from some ideological decision. Decision? Rarely. They’re just my collection of wack-a-doo preferences even though they put me in a fairly predictable box. A box in which you might expect to see me sporting Secty-hair with an ankle-length dress and tennis shoes (shudder) and holing up on a compound in Alaska with some of our closest relations…
2. I’m a vegetarian. But my Papa was a trapper in Montana and my parents raise beef. I would LOVE to go elk hunting sometime, especially with my dad. I’ll kill it, dress it, pack it out and cook it… for you! I just don’t like the texture, smell or taste of meat. (You people EAT chicken? Have you touched it raw?) When I was 13 I thought I would try being a vegetarian while standing in line for a junior high cafeteria lunch. It smelled nasty, and I figured if I couldn’t kill it I shouldn’t eat it. That’s changed a bit, a la Xena the elk huntress, but I still haven’t eaten any for years and don’t see a need to. My inlaws and Papa like to tease me about it, but they’ve been very accommodating.
3. After the elk hunting revelation it’s probably no surprise that I’m a gun rights advocate. Whoa Nelly! In my circle of friends, profession and city that makes me a freak in four languages. This past weekend on the way to a lovely chamber music gig I picked Jonathan up from a gun show where he had purchased “the least PC thing there”. Think, “say hello to my leetle friend” and you’ll be on the right track. He also teaches a concealed-carry class. Sexy.
4. I have yet to discover a children’s show worth watching. I cannot stand modern Sesame Street. We do watch Veggie Tales (just see if you can get the monkey song out of your head) but the Pirates movie was a disappointing Disney sell-out. Speaking of selling out, as I type a truly insipid episode of Bob the Builder is playing for Toby. So I’m the worst possible kind of snob- one willing to sully her brain stem and make her children stupider for the sake of convenience and pure adoration.
5. I wish I had more shoes.
6. I still daydream about a Fetique bow I tried at a dealer showcase in Aspen in 2000. It cost more than our Jeep, even back then. For a long time I had a French bow that was worth more than my old viola, but a little less than a new Jeep. I kind of hated that bow’s guts and still wonder why I lost my mind and had to live with it for so long. Lots of non-string players are shocked that the stick makes enough of a difference to justify really shelling out for one. Bows are amazing, just look at them all curvy and lithe.
7. I’m allergic to stone fruits and tree nuts. That includes avocado, apricots, apples and my favorite food ever, cherries. I was perfectly fine eating all of these (though my mouth would get a little itchy) until I turned 19. Now they try to kill me. Between that and the vegetarianism, I cook an awful lot of stuff for my family that I won’t eat and I’m not very fun for the host of a dinner party. Though I will eat lettuce, cranberry sauce & rolls and call it a feast at Thanksgiving, so at least I’m not that kind of picky. (Mmmmmm, cranberries…)
8. I am going to talk about brrrrreastfeeding (roll that r, people). I seriously had never really given it a second thought before I had kids. Did people really do this before? With the hanging bits out in midair and futzing with strangely S&M looking boob-gear and public gnawings? Life is weird. Humans!
Anyway, because of all the stupid allergies, we (by which I mean me and the ladies) breastfeed our spawn for a whole year before they get any solid food. Toby didn’t seem to mind. Isaac, however, is beside himself at 10 months of age. He eats lint and will sprint-crawl if he sees a scrap of paper. When he sees us eating he smacks his lips and all but points repeatedly to his gaping pie-hole. He trolls around Toby’s chair at mealtime like a DHS-bound Lassie and sneaks chews on the leather handles of the antique trunk in our living room. So I suppose he won’t end up with allergies but he will contract Anthrax and have strange fetishes. Sigh.
9. I love crosswords and am really annoyed that Verizon doesn’t have a NY Times app for me to buy. Lewzers.
10. I’m frugal but not cheap.
11. I love doing laundry and dishes. Seriously. When they’re done, they’re done. Clean or dirty, no in-between. So unlike practicing the viola.
12. I didn’t vote for Obama, but I still respect his office and have hopes for his time there. I believe strongly that the government is a picture of inefficiency and should be used sparingly. If that makes me conservative, fine, but I have yet to meet a political party with which I identify.
What is with people being a-holes on either side? Why was Palin such a lightning rod for anti-mother, anti-special needs anti-family ugliness? It's fine to disagree with somebody but what's up with the personal attacks? What did people really know about her? That she was on the wrong side. A colleague said of her big family, “what CENtury are we in, anyway?” and it bit me. Because if you don’t have a nanny and two kids max you are a backwards idiot? I saw a bit of anti-Obama propaganda the other day and it also made my blood boil. He is the president, and that deserves some respect. Can’t you see me shaking my cane?
13. I like peonies best.
14. My mom is a welder and my dad regularly wins his age group at marathons. I hope when I grow up I’m like them. I’ve started running 1,972,358 times. J and I have done two 10k’s and a triathlon, but the last great endeavor was 2 years ago. We have a treadmill in the garage and as soon as I am getting more than 3 hours of sleep in a row I plan to hang out with that sucker every morning.
15. Noisy places undo me, and I get wander-y.
16. Jonathan is muuuuuch more sentimental. Not in a pack-rat kind of way, but in a touchy-feely, tearing-up, giving-a-crap kind of way. He is excellent at remembering that I mentioned I wanted a gizmo three months ago when it’s time to get me a gift. I am terrible at dates of any sort and have to count on my fingers how many anniversaries we’ve had. One year I nagged him five times a day all week to tell me what he wanted on his birthday. And then the day of? I forgot until evening and was cross with him in the afternoon. When we were dating I once forgot it entirely, completely. AND, AND!, the date is part of his email address. I deserve harsh punishment.
17. I hate the color yellow. When I was sick as a kid, I told my mom I felt yellow.
18. I am secretly horrified in a nauseated way of escalators and automatons. My nightmare is a busy shopping mall with Kenny-G Muzak, a bell ringer, a big Christmas-deer-robot display and banks of escalators with no stairs in sight. And it smells faintly of sausage. So basically, Clackamas Town Center.
19. I am an evangelical Christian. But wait! I think the way the Church has dealt with the following topics has been pretty much Evil: homosexuality, abortion, art, evolution.
That being said, I can’t just leave that hanging and am going to address abortion: I am not pro-Choice because I have seen empirical evidence that a fetus is a life and because babies are now surviving from as little as 25-26 weeks. There is no question that there are situations in which it is terrible for the woman to have to carry a fetus to term, and I’m not talking about medically terrible. But how can we say that it is okay for us to encourage that choice? And how about those first weeks? After conception there is no watershed developmental moment- it is all one big fast (very very fast) cascade from there. So while you are wondering about where the line is, couldn’t we just assume in favor of the fetus in MOST cases? I am not sure I’m for outlawing abortion, but I am definitely in favor of early ultrasounds and full information for those not at medical risk who are considering one. If more information is dangerous to a viewpoint, that viewpoint is likely biased for extenuating reasons and therefore is flawed.
But I will not think poorly of you for disagreeing.
Also, evolution and creation are not mutually exclusive. Both are still mysteries of which their own proponents admit we only know a weensy bit. If you you have spent time with a toddler lately you’ll agree that dangerously nutty stage makes no evolutionary sense whatsoever.
20. Well. If you are still reading, you must be my mother. How’s our wing of the compound coming?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Aiiiiiiiiisaac
I'm not sure why he does it.
The thing about parenting a nine-month old is that you can't take their word for anything at all. They could look perfectly fine and be hiding some horrible disease. I watch House. I've seen how a little tic here or an out of place cry there could be hiding an allergy to air or somesuch.
So when he wakes up at 11:15, 3:30, 6 and 8... well, it's confusing. He used to sleep. I remember the days, sweet and carefree and smelling faintly of milk and honey. (Not that he can eat either yet.)
It makes me sleepy and incoherent. And irritable. And prone to not blogging.
The thing about parenting a nine-month old is that you can't take their word for anything at all. They could look perfectly fine and be hiding some horrible disease. I watch House. I've seen how a little tic here or an out of place cry there could be hiding an allergy to air or somesuch.
So when he wakes up at 11:15, 3:30, 6 and 8... well, it's confusing. He used to sleep. I remember the days, sweet and carefree and smelling faintly of milk and honey. (Not that he can eat either yet.)
It makes me sleepy and incoherent. And irritable. And prone to not blogging.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I'm not dead yet...
This is the price I pay for saying we don't really get sick very often. I've been sick for an entire month, and now know the intimate disgust that is a sinus infection. With a bronchitis bonus! I finally went and got some druuuuugs and I'm much better now.
The first day we were all feeling better (Isaac's got it, too) we decided to drive downtown since it was Toby's third birthday and ride the train. And Toby threw up all over the car, bless his little heart. Ironically I was telling J on the way in that I needed to ask the pediatrician what it means when he complains that his tummy hurts. I'm pretty clear on that now.
So that's where I've been. Look what my awesome Montana parents sent:
http://www.rhchurch.org/pages/cardboard-testimonies/
It helped me further clean out my works by giving me a good bawl, and I am not prone to that kind of thing.
The first day we were all feeling better (Isaac's got it, too) we decided to drive downtown since it was Toby's third birthday and ride the train. And Toby threw up all over the car, bless his little heart. Ironically I was telling J on the way in that I needed to ask the pediatrician what it means when he complains that his tummy hurts. I'm pretty clear on that now.
So that's where I've been. Look what my awesome Montana parents sent:
http://www.rhchurch.org/pages/cardboard-testimonies/
It helped me further clean out my works by giving me a good bawl, and I am not prone to that kind of thing.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Mmmm, bread.
Funny how the most joyous, prettiest time of year sort of rubs my nose in the fact that I have a lot of work to do on savoring the truly important.
Sometimes I just stuff myself with bread instead.
So, I'm heading off to enjoy my people.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Snow week
I can be totally smug and annoying about having grown up in Fairbanks.
You have to give me some credit for living up there through high school though, right? At the time we kids jumped at the chance to possibly sacrifice our extremities in order to wear penny loafers sockless at -60, just as God intended. Nobody complained much. Even the adults carried on as though we were living someplace habitable, allowing the formation of a football team for about 2 games before the field was flooded for its real purpose as an outdoor hockey rink. It was them, not us, who announced an Aloha Day each year in January. Don't tell me they couldn't see that prank fire alarm pull coming. Must be they secretly enjoyed seeing the cheerleaders lined up outside at -40 with nothing but their coolness to keep their flip-flopping hula-beskirted butts warm.
As I was saying, I can be insufferable about the winter weakness of Portlanders. Who can blame me when they close school for an entire week for four inches of snow received on Sunday? And the news weather men? Well, I myself have never actually seen the producer stuffing their pockets with promotion dough whenever they declare a "snow EVENT", but I'm pretty sure I can see the dollar signs reflected in their petulant eyes.
This week, though. This week those ninnies were right.
It snowed a bunch and it stuck. Both snow events (I'm picking up the lingo as best I can) are rare here. Then it sat still and developed an ice crust and then this stuff fell from the sky that called itself rain, but it was 24 degrees out so it just mated with the ice crust and multiplied. That was fun, big crunchy steps made instant jagged daggers Toby kept calling strawberry pizza as he shoveled it into his mouth. Whattaya know, weirdo genes do make more weirdos.
So up to this point I was traipsing around town, making up reasons to drive around and ridicule others. The malls were practically empty, which is my favorite flavor. But then it snowed again. And again. And now we have, like, over a foot of snow with a hard layer in the middle and I am going to have to call Uncle! and say, yes, Portland, this has indeed been the Winter Snow Event 2009.
You have to give me some credit for living up there through high school though, right? At the time we kids jumped at the chance to possibly sacrifice our extremities in order to wear penny loafers sockless at -60, just as God intended. Nobody complained much. Even the adults carried on as though we were living someplace habitable, allowing the formation of a football team for about 2 games before the field was flooded for its real purpose as an outdoor hockey rink. It was them, not us, who announced an Aloha Day each year in January. Don't tell me they couldn't see that prank fire alarm pull coming. Must be they secretly enjoyed seeing the cheerleaders lined up outside at -40 with nothing but their coolness to keep their flip-flopping hula-beskirted butts warm.
As I was saying, I can be insufferable about the winter weakness of Portlanders. Who can blame me when they close school for an entire week for four inches of snow received on Sunday? And the news weather men? Well, I myself have never actually seen the producer stuffing their pockets with promotion dough whenever they declare a "snow EVENT", but I'm pretty sure I can see the dollar signs reflected in their petulant eyes.
This week, though. This week those ninnies were right.
It snowed a bunch and it stuck. Both snow events (I'm picking up the lingo as best I can) are rare here. Then it sat still and developed an ice crust and then this stuff fell from the sky that called itself rain, but it was 24 degrees out so it just mated with the ice crust and multiplied. That was fun, big crunchy steps made instant jagged daggers Toby kept calling strawberry pizza as he shoveled it into his mouth. Whattaya know, weirdo genes do make more weirdos.
So up to this point I was traipsing around town, making up reasons to drive around and ridicule others. The malls were practically empty, which is my favorite flavor. But then it snowed again. And again. And now we have, like, over a foot of snow with a hard layer in the middle and I am going to have to call Uncle! and say, yes, Portland, this has indeed been the Winter Snow Event 2009.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Toby's Year-end Round-up
It's very odd, this sensation of being totally smitten and completely frustrated with somebody at the exact same moment.
He's so amazing, and funny. He'll repeat anything you say and we do like to use that for all it's worth, a la this (slight language warning).
He's also contrary right down to his marrow. Yesterday I told him out of the blue, "Sorry buddy, no more hugs today," and you and guess who got a big fat awesome running toddler cuddle pronto.
Today we had an eye appointment. Turns out they upped the scrip again, and if that doesn't fix the problem then it's surgery time. And you know what really bothered me most about this whole morning? The two tantrums and unmeasurable decibels of whining that went on in front of two opthamologists, one tech and two nurses. Is it wrong to be embarrassed by a toddler? Does it matter whether it's right or not? Can I send him to military school only on select days?
I think parenting makes you let go. Of ideas of yourself, of images of yourself as a parent, of your selfishness and self-centeredness and of your time and money. Maybe the difficulty with Toby lately lies in me.
Or maybe he's just incredibly clever and wants to find every last one of my buttons. He likes buttons. I hope I don't show him my frustration too often, and I'm pretty sure it's because he's generally mellow that his less-fine moments undo me so quickly. Man, am I happy to know about the concept of grace because I need a buttload right now.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
My Budget Plan for 2009
Here's a quote I put on the back of a photo in our Christmas cards, and I am sticking an extra one in my wallet to remind me not to spend all my money on junk because then when I pull it out for some cute turtle I'll be sad to realize I've only got lint*.
Toby is eating snow and Isaac is wishing he could. I am just thinking, Man, I wish we could figure out a way to get J in this picture without digging out the tripod.
*Anybody else old enough to remember that educational cartoon, yo?
"The very nature of Joy makes
nonsense of our common distinction
between having and wanting."
~C. S. Lewis
Toby is eating snow and Isaac is wishing he could. I am just thinking, Man, I wish we could figure out a way to get J in this picture without digging out the tripod.
*Anybody else old enough to remember that educational cartoon, yo?
Monday, December 15, 2008
Isaac's Year-end Round-up
Isaac has been teething. He's had two big teeth on the bottom, perfect for all his lucrative exploited child modeling contracts. Now, he appears to be adding on in the upper story. Poor dude attempted to eat our entire couch the other day.
I think he's more adventurous than Toby was. He gets himself into the strangest trouble. A few months back we broke a wine glass and even with both of us cleaning it up I almost lost my mind the next day when I looked up to see him start to gum a largish shard. Somehow no blood was shed.
Tonight he made his distress sound (kind of like a dust-buster's whine) when he got himself stuck under the train table. As he ramped up into the "no, really, I'm in pain" octave, I sprinted over and pulled out the drawer to extract him. Turns out he was sort of half stuck in that drawer, so when I pulled it forward his head smacked right into the table's edge. Some rescue, sigh. Parent of the year moment, right there.
Lucky for me he's an easy boss. Lucky for him he figured out how to sleep twelve (12!) hours just after Thanksgiving and has not backslid at all. We were this close to shipping him off to a nunnery.
Actually, at my last recital I played this incredible piece written for voice by Samuel Barber and the text was all based on a vision of St. Ita about Mary's nursing Jesus. Talking about breastfeeding the creator of the universe seems kinda creepy or maybe kinda Hindu, but the text is pretty cool. I know the words don't exactly come through the viola so much, but I do look at it and I usually read a bit of it when I'm performing.
My fav line: Infant Jesus at my breast, Nothing in this world is true.
There's a version on Youtube of everything these days, ain't there?
I am feeling very sentimental at night when Isaac's getting settled for bed. I guess I will miss this season... he makes little hummy sounds until I sing him something. He also giggles if I lift his feet & drop them, and bats away my hand if I play with his ears. They're hard to leave alone, who could blame me?
I think he's more adventurous than Toby was. He gets himself into the strangest trouble. A few months back we broke a wine glass and even with both of us cleaning it up I almost lost my mind the next day when I looked up to see him start to gum a largish shard. Somehow no blood was shed.
Tonight he made his distress sound (kind of like a dust-buster's whine) when he got himself stuck under the train table. As he ramped up into the "no, really, I'm in pain" octave, I sprinted over and pulled out the drawer to extract him. Turns out he was sort of half stuck in that drawer, so when I pulled it forward his head smacked right into the table's edge. Some rescue, sigh. Parent of the year moment, right there.
Lucky for me he's an easy boss. Lucky for him he figured out how to sleep twelve (12!) hours just after Thanksgiving and has not backslid at all. We were this close to shipping him off to a nunnery.
Actually, at my last recital I played this incredible piece written for voice by Samuel Barber and the text was all based on a vision of St. Ita about Mary's nursing Jesus. Talking about breastfeeding the creator of the universe seems kinda creepy or maybe kinda Hindu, but the text is pretty cool. I know the words don't exactly come through the viola so much, but I do look at it and I usually read a bit of it when I'm performing.
My fav line: Infant Jesus at my breast, Nothing in this world is true.
There's a version on Youtube of everything these days, ain't there?
I am feeling very sentimental at night when Isaac's getting settled for bed. I guess I will miss this season... he makes little hummy sounds until I sing him something. He also giggles if I lift his feet & drop them, and bats away my hand if I play with his ears. They're hard to leave alone, who could blame me?
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