Tattoos and Drool

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It could be worse

In other Expenses We Totally Can’t Afford or Control news, one of our cats is sick. I don’t know WHY he’s sick or what to do to make him better, because although I thought that by throwing away over two hundred bucks at the vet for antibiotics and bloodwork and an x-ray and whatever else, we might get an answer – apparently that isn’t the case. Nope. Looks like you can do that and still be at square one, which involves the cat hiding out under the couch and leaving regurgitated stomach bile in random spots around the house.

It’s been fun, can’t you tell?

And of course, leave it to my kids to put things into perspective. I asked each boy what he was thankful for, expecting the typical Mommy Daddy Grandma House answer.

Wrong.

Sawyer is thankful for “quesadillas, balloons and dandelions that float in the air.” While Beckett’s list wasn’t quite as whimsical or profound (eating food, crackers, burgers and dinner), it too left me refreshed and a little less gloom and doom.

Like, really, how can you be depressed when there is a plant right outside in your front yard that, with a simple breath, sends dozens of tiny magical puffs of awesomeness floating into the sky? You can’t, mom. Now make yourself a dang caysa-dilla and get happy.

So. My thankful list this week? Cheap mailboxes at Menards. Cool neighbors. No cavities. An extra third bathroom to contain a pukey cat. Burger King’s cupcake shake (you sweet, sinful thing, you).

And also, indoor cats that don’t eat a mouse and then hurl it back up, whole, on my basement floor. (Sorry about that, Mom.)

Yeah, it could be worse.

Questioning everything, Part 2

Guys, thank you for the supportive and understanding comments on my last post. I laid in bed awake last night wondering if I should run downstairs and make the post private because I wasn’t sure what type of reaction to expect. But my readers are apparently made of WIN and AWESOME and now I am so glad I left it up.

After testing the waters with that post, so to speak, I have another thought-provoking question. For those of you who aren’t sure where you stand in the religious spectrum, how do you handle holidays like Christmas and Easter?

We have always done them with the boys without question – but I always feel guilty doing so. We haven’t ever explained to them the religious connotations and that feels kind of wrong to me, I guess. I have always hated how commercialized all the holidays are now so I guess I need to find a happy medium between making Christmas all about Jesus and all about Santa.

And I guess I should probably mention, we don’t really “do” Santa either. My kids know who Santa is but never will I give them any gifts on Christmas morning with Santa’s name on the tag. It’s a mixture of not wanting to lie to them and not wanting a fictitious fat dude getting credit for the hard work Mommy did. Mostly the latter.

So if we don’t do Jesus and don’t do Santa, what do we do? I can’t let myself be Evil Mom McSuckypants and not do Christmas at all. Logically I would say that we explain to them the history of Christmas, why it’s important to Christians, and also the history of Santa Claus. Is that acceptable? Or am I really not worthy of celebrating Christmas or Easter if I’m going to hell not a practicing Christian?

It’s been easy so far because my kids are too young to really understand any of it just yet. The time will come though when Sawyer will come home from preschool with a million and one questions about why there’s a donkey and a giant star and a baby in a manger and I need to be ready with all the answers.

So. What do you do?

I hope I don’t regret this

Sometimes I feel like I’m keeping a giant secret.

I don’t talk about religion much. Correction: I try to avoid talking about religion with every fiber of my being. I’ve perfected the art of just nodding my head and smiling, like I’m in perfect agreement with whatever rhetoric is being spewn. Whatever it takes to not have to have that awkward silence.

I feel surrounded by God. Not in a spiritual sense. In a sense that everyone is always asking for a prayer or forgiveness or a miracle. Pray for this, pray for that, we’re praying for you. Look at this miracle, look what prayer did! Look what God did.

What would happen if one day I finally said, But I don’t pray.

How would things change if I stopped feeling obligated to keep it to myself and wasn’t absolutely terrified to say, I’m not sure I think God exists.

I was involved in a small debate today, in the drama epicenter that is Facebook. One of my friends chose to use her status message as a means to voice her disapproval of the Islamic prayer gathering that is to take place on Capitol Hill. And just take my word when I say that “voice her disapproval” is cutting her a gigantic break because her phrasing? Not that nice.

Now, this girl and I grew up in the same tiny Texas town. Heart of the Bible belt, the type of place where you either go to church or you just don’t exist. Lots of Southern Baptists and lots of It’s-our-way-or-no-way. I was raised in the Christian church, just like everyone else. But somewhere along the way, something changed. I felt like all I had were questions and doubts. That has carried on through to my adult life and for the most part, I just ignore it. I do the nod and smile and hope that one day maybe something will make sense to me again.

But back to the Facebook drama. I read her status. And then I read it again. And again, my brow curling into a confused arch as I tried to comprehend what was so horrible about this gathering. I clicked the link she provided, thinking there must be something I was missing. But no. These people are gathering on Capitol Hill to do what? Set something on fire? Rip their clothes open to reveal bombs duct-taped to their chests? Indict Obama into the Muslim Hall of Fame? Erm, no.

To do nothing more than pray.

Her many supporters got into a heated discussion about the history of Islam and somewhere, someone threw out that God punishes people who don’t do right in his eyes.

Which completely pushed me over the edge, and led to me spewing that I don’t believe in any sort of god, and that I refuse to believe that there is a god who only punishes the bad people, and all you have to do is follow what he says and you can float up into the clouds when you die while everyone else burns in a fiery eternity at the hands of satan. I just can’t make myself believe that.

Because there is so, SO much evil and hurt and despair in this world that is bestowed on good people. People who don’t deserve one iota of the pain they are forced to endure. All you have to do is take a quick glance around the blogosphere to see the massive number of devout religious families who are dealt death, illness and tragedy. Sometimes I wonder if it really has nothing to do with God, but more with the fact that maybe that stuff is given to those people because they have the blind faith needed to get through it. And mother nature just kind of knows that.

I look at my own life, and some of the sins I have committed, and I wonder why, so far, I have been spared the punishment? If it’s true that God punishes the non-believers and the sinners, then why am I so incredibly blessed despite my immense faults? And I hate that I’m so superstitious that I’m afraid just writing those thoughts out will cause something bad to happen.

All that to say that I’m confused, very confused, on where I belong in this whole spectrum of faith. There’s a lot I simply don’t understand.

But most of all, I’m afraid – afraid because I have no fucking clue how to even begin to explain things like this to my children. We don’t go to church. Along with that comes a fear that they’ll some day resent me for not giving them a better foundation for religion. I want them to choose for themselves what to believe, but feel like I don’t possess the knowledge to give them the information to do so.

Most of all, I don’t want them to know the torture that comes with one day realizing that you don’t fit in with the only way of life you have ever known. I want them to go through life knowing that there is good, and there is bad, you get a little of both, and some people get more of one than the other. Sometimes you can control the ratio with your actions, but sometimes you can’t. And all you can do is live your life while having tolerance for the way other people live theirs, because there’s enough hate in the world already without adding any more to it.

Well. I guess I just start with that, huh?

I suppose it’s time to hit Publish.

That Mom

I was about to post that despite all the boys in my house being sick for the past week, the baby and I have somehow managed to escape the germs thus far. But as soon as I say that, I’ll wake up with a skull full of snot and be picking more boogers out of Avonlea’s nose than I do already, so I won’t go there. Instead, I’ll say that I predict we’ll be hacking and snotting within a couple days, considering our faces have been the direct target of eleventeen sneezes over the past two days. You know, the whole droplet thing and all.

I kept Sawyer home from school yesterday, which broke my heart because it’s only his second week and the theme for the week was “my family.” He seemed much better by early evening yesterday so I decided he was fine to go back today. When I picked him up, his teacher informed me that he had green snot. WHAT. I had seen no such thing before I dropped him off and in fact didn’t think his nose had been running at all. But apparently it had and suddenly I was That Mom. The one everyone else silently crosses off the Christmas party list because she sends her sick kid to school to infect the entire preschool population.

Dudes, let me tell you, it’s more than humiliating to feel the other moms burning holes into the back of your head with their eyes while the teacher is smacking your hand for bringing green snot into her classroom. I’m kinda traumatized.

And speaking of school? He already brought home a book club order form. BOOK CLUB. You know, Scholastic? Dozens of book choices compiled into a little newsprint booklet? Yeah, he’s already point out seven books he wants. I thought I had at least one more year before this crap started. But at least it’s just books and not a hokey Christmas wrap and boxed candies fundraiser. Those I’m even less excited about.

Tomorrow there’s a meeting for the Parent Teacher Fellowship (our school’s version of the PTA) and I’m kind of not that excited about it. I’ve already scoped out the moms of his classmates and I’m quite easily one of the youngest, and definitely the least conservative. Doesn’t exactly make for an easy icebreaker. I’ll keep holding out hope that I’ll be pleasantly surprised, though.

I think deep down I’m just worried that no one will like me, and in turn, they won’t want their kids to be friends with mine. Yeah, apparently my middle school self-consciousness has snuck its way into adulthood. I guess now I’m That Mom too.

Trying not to worry too much – he does a decent job of attracting friends on his own.