out of Kadesh

You can go to bed angry with your spouse, but always go to bed together.

Having sex induces labor.

Enjoy your infant.

Get a job.

Exercise.

Breastfeed.

Buy a slab of dark chocolate and break off a piece to eat whenever you’re feeling blue.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean saying what someone did is ok; it means saying they don’t owe you anything.

Let’s not forget our senses of humor.

Wash your hands.

Do whatever you can do to maximize sleep for everyone in your house.

Drink water.

Eat your vegetables.

The whiter the bread, the sooner you’re dead.

Put God first and everything else will fall into place.

This too shall pass.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

Be yourself.

Don’t stand in front of the microwave.

Turn off the tv and read a book.

Go play outside.

The greatest revelation you’ll ever have is that God loves you.

Having kids is the best decision you’ll ever make.

Make things as awkward as possible. If other people want to live their lives in secret, that’s fine, but you live an open and honest life.

Everyone has an opinion; don’t put someone down because theirs differs from yours.

Good coffee is cheaper than Prozac.

Let it lie.

There are more important things in life than a flat stomach and high cheekbones.

Question everything.

Don’t freak out.

…And always wear sunscreen. (Just kidding.)

I don’t even…

Just….

Wow.

You know that scene at the beginning of The Bourne Supremacy, where you realize that Jason Bourne and his girlfriend, Marie, have run away from everything and are living in some remote town in India? It’s just the two of them; no family, no jobs, no drama.

Of course, then like 15 minutes into the movie Marie gets killed and Jason has to go back to society to find out who did it. But that’s not part of this post. Also, SPOILER ALERT! Oops, too late, sorry. Well, if you haven’t seen it yet you probably aren’t that interested anyway.

Sometimes I just wish I could disappear like that. I’d go to Paris with Lance and Noah. Noah could homeschool, and he could have a French tutor. Lance and I would spend our days eating croissants and drinking strong coffee at local cafes. In the spring the three of us could walk around the city and stop in little shops and the occasional museum and art gallery. In the winter we would bundle up in snow boots and hats and see all the lights. Every once in a while, when Noah was studying about another country, we could get on a train and go visit wherever it is. And then at the end of the day we’d come home to our tiny apartment where we’d put on a kettle of tea and some Beethoven and talk about all the things we saw and where we want to go next.

And no one would know where we were. And no one would know how to find us. And we’d live in such peace and contentment; no drama.

I just made this corn and chili chowder recipe I found from The Pioneer Woman, who I always think I can out-spice, and then I’m wrong and I suffer the consequences to my shame. I’m like a guy when it comes to how much heat I can stand; I can’t let anyone beat me. I’ll accept any challenge, too, and I’ll try and act all manly about it, not reaching for my glass of ice water even when my eyes are watering and smoke starts coming out of my ears. The Pioneer Woman said to put in two chipotle peppers, and I was all, I need to put in THREE chipotle peppers. That’s just how I roll, y’all. It’s my own fault really.

Just like that time I bought a bag of Habenero chips at my favorite deli. My dad was with me, and he got some too. I wasn’t even worried about it. After the first chip, my dad and I are like, “Oh yeah, that’s some decent heat! Yum!” Then the third chip hurt a little more, and my dad and I were playing chicken like, who’s gonna wuss out and grab their water first? The fifth chip blinded me for three days. Lance had rolled up his t-shirt and was patting out flames that were erupting spontaneously all over my body. My dad was openly weeping. It was a dark day in our household, y’all. It’s embarrassing, really. We were defeated by a bag of potato chips. And that bag of chips remains on a pedestal in my mind. In fact, at the supermarket the other day I reached for a block of “Habenero cheddar,” like a kid in a candy store, my eyes all aglow. I actually touched it with my finger before the memory of the chips reached out from behind it and slapped me upside the head. I backed away, slowly.

So I just made this soup, and I took one bite of it and my tongue exploded in flames. It was all we had for dinner, so I managed to eat the whole bowl, and I figured hey, I just lost my tongue anyway, right? But now I’m sitting here wondering if I should prepare myself for some major painful burning shits later on tonight.

And speaking of going to Hell…Dude. Church is hard.

Oh man, sometimes I make myself laugh, like just now. What a segue! I didn’t even MEAN to do that, it just happened so organically. Lordy.

Yesterday Lance, Noah, and I all got dressed up (which for us means we got out of our respective pajamas and work-out clothes) and went downtown to visit this church. It was the second time we visited an Episcopal church since Noah’s been old enough to really look around and try to talk to people. I really like the Episcopal church. I believe in what they stand for, which is really a blog post for another day, so I’ll just leave it at that for now. And they’re the only church that is openly accepting of the GLBT community, and that is very important to me. But the thing with Episcopal church is, they’re quiet. I guess the expectation is that people put their kids in the nursery, but Lance and I really are not ok with that yet. I don’t know those people, and they don’t know Noah. Maybe I’ll do that when he’s older and I can at least explain what’s going on: that we’re going to worship Jesus (yes, that one! The one that loves you!) in a place that kids are not welcome.

I’ll pause for the irony to sink in.

But for now, we just keep him with us. For those of you who have never been to a liturgical service before, let me paint a picture of what this is like for you. While I balance a squirmy baby on my hip, I have a hymnal in one hand and the program in the other. The program tells you what hymn, Bible passage, or prayer is going to be next. I find this difficult because the whole time I’m singing one hymn and trying to keep Noah from destroying the pages, I’m thinking if I don’t look back at the program to see what’s next, I’m going to be behind by like half a recitation and I’m going to look like a TOOL. So I’m like passing the baby to Lance, who has to pass him back, and I put him on the floor, and I’m turning to what I THINK is the right page in the prayer book only to realize what we’re reading now is in a different book altogether, and by that time I look back down at the floor and Noah is missing.

SHIT.

Where is he? I put down the 15 books that I’ve been balancing under my nose and find him crawling up the aisle toward the alter, so I reach down and scoop him up and head back to our pew and stand, but everyone else is sitting. So we sit, and Lance and I are sitting there like dipwads for like 30 seconds before we realize that everyone is actually KNEELING now, and that’s what it’s like until the preaching portion, when we have like 20 minutes of trying to keep Noah from crumpling paper, hollering, and throwing pencils at the backs of peoples’ heads. Then it’s sitting/reciting/singing/kneeling time all over again.

Just you know, for example.

The worst part is, you go to church to worship God. And amongst all of that, it occurs to me that very little actual WORSHIP is going on here for me. It begs the question, why am I even doing this?

So at the very quiet liturgical service yesterday, Noah wasn’t crying or fussing, just kind of talking. The thing is, all the grown-ups were talking too; he just doesn’t know when to say “And also with you” or “It is right to give Him thanks and praise” yet. So when the priest says “Let’s all be painfully, inhumanly silent for an unnecessarily long time” Noah is all like “DAA! DAAAA?” And it’s in a cathedral, so the sound of his little voice is like bouncing off the ceiling and all around the room. Which he isn’t used to, and which is very cool. So he does it again, only louder this time. It didn’t make me feel self-conscious at first, because there was a woman behind us with a kid who was just learning to talk, and had no concept of “whispering,” which is what she kept whispering for him to do. She’d be like “Whisper, baby, ok? This is a whispering place.” And he’d be all, “WHY MOM?” (And the echo follows: WHY! WHY! WHY!)

Yeah, they left after like 10 minutes. So then Noah was, I swear, the only child left in the whole building.

I read this quote one time that most young adults dislike children because they are, get this: selfish.

I’ll pause again, for the irony to sink in.

When I read that I about pissed myself laughing. What a bunch of bitches we are, right? And I was just thinking, while I was in church, how patient my little Bubbs was being. Just talking, looking around, not putting up a fuss or anything. I mean at what point did our society expect children to be quiet and still for something long and boring like church? Do you remember how boring church used to be when you were a kid, Reader? Do you remember how boring it still sometimes is?

Well, right before the Eucharist, during another wonderful opportunity of silence, Noah lets out an awesomely awesome raspberry, and this woman a few pews in front of us turns around and GLARES at us. Like, full-on lip curl and everything. Like, HOW DARE YOU interrupt the reverent reflection of my oh-so-sensitive freakin’ heart in this house of worship.

Again, I’ll pause. You know the drill.

I was so shocked I just smiled at her, and she turned back around. I gave the back of her head a barfing face (which I for some reason thought would make me feel better, but which did not) and then nudged Lance, and we left.

How much does this suck, Reader? I felt unwelcome at church because of my baby. And clearly, the mama behind us with the toddler felt the same. But just letting Noah make noise and crawl around is disruptive and, as some clearly think, disrespectful. So what’s the solution? Throw your kids in a germ-infested nursery with a bunch of other kids and adults that don’t know you from the man in the moon and only care about your kid insomuch as they feel it is their Christian duty to watch after him while you abandon him, confused and probably crying, so you can sit for an hour in relative silence? Or just don’t come until your kid is old enough to appreciate the sermon and the liturgy and not make wet fart sounds during communion? Both seem unfair to Noah and to us.

It makes me wonder what the New-Testament church looked like. I don’t recall any of Paul’s letters addressing the ever-so-offensive issue of letting children be children while his parents worship the Lord. It’s us who have evolved the Church into what it is today, right? Don’t you read about Jesus’ sermons and think maybe it wasn’t so quiet? Weren’t there crowds? Probably babies and definitely kids? Possibly even a flock or two of goats? I’m just thinking the noise level had to be pretty obnoxious, and I can’t see Jesus turning around and giving any mothers a nasty look, like, Can’t you keep that brat quiet!? I’m TRYING to tell the WORLD about being at PEACE with one another. SHEEEZ!

I mean is it just me? Or is it at all strange to you, too, that we have this man-made ritual that we call church, where we come for an hour or so on Sunday morning, sing a few songs, read a few passages, take communion, and listen to someone teach, but we consider children being themselves, just the way God made them: inquisitive, talkative, impatient… some kind of rude impertinence? Didn’t Jesus say the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to children and people who are like children?

But grown-ups are all like, stop acting the way God created you to act; you’re messing up my ability to worship God.

I would pause for the irony to sink in y’all, but I’m done here.

Me: One day Noah’s going to be like, MAN I can’t BELIEVE you guys made a Twitter for me! That’s so embarrassing you GUYS.

Lance: Whatever, by then he’s gonna be like, what’s “Twitter”? Is it anything like “Thought-o-matic”?

Dear Noah,

This month snuck up on Mommy, Bubbs. You were so busy that I didn’t even realize it when you were suddenly a whole month older. That’s what everyone tells me will happen; suddenly I’ll realize you’re 20 years old and I’ll be all, But, wait, I was just about to check your diaper and make you some applesauce… WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE BRINGING YOUR GIRLFRIEND HOME FROM COLLEGE??

I think this has been simultaneously one of your most charming and one of your most werewolfish months thus far, which I kind of feel like I tell you in every one of these letters, but that’s the beauty of being a first-time parent. When you have a little brother or little sister I’ll be slightly more prepared for the bipolarity of a baby, but with you I don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. (That’s a line from Steel Magnolias, one of the best movies of all time, Bubbs. You’re gonna love it when I force you to watch it with me in a few years.) You are more charming than ever because you smile and wave at everyone, you point at everything, and you can talk! You’ve actually started looking for your Daddy in the morning when we wake up together. You look at the bathroom door and you say, “Da-da?” and I say “He’s not in there. Where is he?” And you look at the bedroom door and you wait… and when Daddy comes in you say “Hi Da-da!” and you wave at him. And even though it’s not “Mama” yet, it’s so cute I don’t even mind. And you know what words mean now, too. If I ask you where Lucy is, you look at Lucy. If I ask you if you want milk, you stop whatever you’re doing and look right in my eyes if the answer is yes. (If the answer is no you ignore me. Just so you’re warned, that will be rude in a couple of years, but it’s ok for now.) You get so excited whenever you see someone you recognize. And you love being held by your friends and your family, which is everyone basically, because you never meet a stranger. In fact I had to pull you away from a little girl the other day because you had cruised right on over to her and you were patting her on the leg by the time I reached you. It was so cute I had to stifle a laugh. Also, INAPPROPRIATE.

You can also feed yourself almost everything now (even though you still only have two teeth), and you alternate between stuffing fistfulls of peas into your mouth and dropping them on top of the dog. When you’re finished with something, you toss it aside like DONE WITH THAT. You zoom around here with lightening speed, so if I turn away for a fraction of a second you’re across the room putting the rug in your mouth again even though I don’t know how many times I’ve told you PEOPLE WIPE THEIR SHOES ON THAT. You dance with your arms when you hear music. You pull yourself up on everything, and you can even stand up by balancing one hand on the cabinet door. The other hand is, of course, opening the other door. I’ve had to rearrange all the cabinets so that only non-lethal objects are in the lower ones, instead of kitchen cleaners and blades to the food processor. I’m completely unprepared for your rapid development, Bubba. Meanwhile, your Daddy is opening cabinet doors, closing them, then opening them again for a double-take, as he has absolutely no idea where anything is anymore. He’s like, “I was looking for our deadly knives… now what are all these harmless baby toys doing in here?”

On the flip side of things, you’ve been sick twice this month, baby. I’m so sorry. I think I hate it worse than you do when you have a stuffy nose and a cough. Worst of all, this month Mommy and Daddy found out you have some lead in your blood. We’ve been super busy repainting all the trim in the house and getting our water tested and mopping the floors for any dust… and praying for you. See whenever Mommy and Daddy are scared or sad, we always turn to Jesus for help, and I hope you will some day, too. We believe that God cares about you and we believe that He/She is looking after you all the time. And even though we are worried about you, we have hope that your blood will normalize in a few months and everything is going to be just fine.

Even though we are dealing with that right now, you have no idea there’s anything wrong. You’re happy as ever, smiling at Mommy and Daddy’s worried faces as we look down at you. It makes my heart feel lighter just watching you play.

Earlier today, you were sitting in a sea of books you’d pulled off your bookcase. I was sitting behind you, and you turned around and handed me one of your books, so I started reading it to you, and I got through about half a page before you took the book back and tossed it aside like, Ok Mom, that’s enough. For about 10 minutes I tried to read some more, tried to get you to give me a kiss, tried to get you to turn around and look at me, but you were not to be distracted. It was a sad and happy realization for me that you no longer needed me to entertain you. Mostly sad because for a minute I was like, Well what am I gonna do with my life now? And then happy because I was all, Wait, what the heck am I talking about? This is awesome! I’m gonna go catch up on my blogs.

(But sad really because my mind flashed forward another 12 years when you’re going “God Mom, just leave me alone, ok? And like, stay in the car when you drop me off at school.”)

I love you so much, my little Love Bug. You are the reason I smile first thing in the morning, because waking up to you cooing and playing and laughing is enough to make my whole life brighter.

Love,

Mommy

My favorite time of year is upon us, Reader. Summer is such a buzz kill, for real. But Autumn! (Did you just hear the collective contented sigh of the entire southern United States?) Leaves a’fallin’, sweaters a’bein’worn, pumpkins a’bein’eaten. We took a brisk walk to the coffee shop this morning and my little winter baby was smiling and waving at the breeze. I can’t WAIT to dress him up as Harry Potter for Halloween!

Which reminds me: I need to get the fabric store this week and get like 8 yards of black cloth. This year, I am attempting two new things. Number 1, I’m going to make our costumes. (And the movie shoots to the night before Halloween, me frantically searching through the 1/2 price costume bins at Party City and going, should I be a sexy nurse or a bloody corpse? A NURSE OR A CORPSE?!) Number 2, I’m going to be a witch.

STOP THE MUSIC.

All my fundie friends and family are freaking out right now. They stopped reading, slammed their laptops shut, and started to pray in tongues for me. I’ve never been a witch before for this very reason. But this year, SUCK IT, Y’ALL. (Just kidding, I love you. Keep up the prayers, I need them.) I’m going to dress up as Professor McGonagall. I gotta find a sweet witch hat and stick a feather in it. But I just know I’m never going to find a bitchin’ outfit like this at a thrift store. Hence, the miles and miles of black fabric. (I’m trying to convince the Hubbs to rock a Snape costume, too, but I guess he’d have to shave his beard, which would almost be sinful since it’s all nice and full right in time for winter. Like a furry face sock. So yummy.)

I couldn’t resist; I went in Lance’s office and snapped a nice blurry pic for you, Reader. He was on the phone so I couldn’t explain and he couldn’t protest. He looks like he’s sitting in a control tower, doesn’t he? I love how his face is all like, “WTF are you doing, woman? Can’t you see I’m working? I’m totally getting a lock for that door.”

So, Lance’s face is all winterized, this weekend I traded my summer clothes out for sweaters and jackets, and today I pulled my fingerless gloves out of hibernation.

Oh, man. I love my fingerless gloves. Lance got them for me for Christmas a couple of years ago, and they made my cold work day go by so much warmer. Now they just make my regular, non-work day go by warmer, you know. I’d wear ‘em in summer if people didn’t look at me all weird. Also if they didn’t make my hands sweat.

Oh! And I finally have living room pics to show you. (I thought of that because my living room is like a preview of Christmas, which is exactly what I was either consciously or unconsciously going for.) I was looking around here the other day when I realized that, other than a cozy rug under my feet, this room is really done. It’s the only room in the house that feels complete, except for the bathroom, which I’m kind of ready to re-do already, but that’s another story.

Here’s an awesome “before” shot. This is when we first moved in (obviously) and I had pushed everything into this corner so I could paint. The chaos of it still gives me shivers. Scroll past it quick!

Then here’s a shot of that same corner. Abra-cadabra!

I always wanted a way to hide a tv in plain view, and I think adding the shelves above really helped. You can’t even see it, can you? I know you’re like, What tv? But trust me, it’s there.

Our house is really small. We don’t have a foyer or entry way or anything, so we went to Urban Outfitters and bought a bunch of hooks for our coats, and put them behind the door.

Lance made this little table for our DVD player and the Wii, then I painted it white, stapled a piece of white fabric on the back to hide the ugly cords one gets when one is married to Lance A. Roggendorff, Cord Master Extraordinare, and I Mod-podged a blown-up Calvin and Hobbes comic strip on the top. You can’t read it, but it’s the one where Calvin offers a bowl of tapioca (representative of his wasted brain) to his television set. We’re all about the irony in this family.

The End.

I’ll let you know how those costumes go. I’m going to go eat another piece of pumpkin bread, and then I’m going to write a blog post about how my pants are getting too tight and wonder how come the dryer suddenly started shrinking all my clothes.