out of Kadesh

First things first: I am operating off of four hours of sleep, so my mind is a little bit fuzzy. My mind is a LOT fuzzy. You don’t understand the weird things you think about when you are rocking your toddler for the seventeenth time in a three hour span.

Aside: You become a little more forgiving with yourself, too, when your cat meows at you after you’ve already filled his food bowl but he didn’t bother to go LOOK IN IT, and you scream at him that you ALREADY DID IT FOR GOD’S SAKE YOU DAMN CAT and then throw something because it feels like the right way to punctuate your sentence. Your HUSBAND might not be as forgiving, as he stumbles into the kitchen and tells you to go back to bed and he’ll take over because, as you can see in his eyes, he is afraid for his life. Your TODDLER might not be as forgiving either, and he starts wondering if maybe he was adopted and he should start looking for his birth parents, who would surely be saner, like himself. Also they would probably not serve broccoli at dinner, which would be awesome. But YOU are more forgiving of yourself. My mantra: I didn’t do it. SLEEP DEPRIVATION did it.

So this thought is borne out of a severe lack of sleep, and will be written down in that same spirit. Feel free to back out of this post now if you would like.

Why do we think that God is good?

I heard someone say “God is good” at a coffee shop a few weeks ago, and it actually bothered me at the time. Here was this well-dressed, latte-sipping girl who was surrounded by a friendly audience, and I really rolled my eyes as I walked by and overheard her. To be fair, I have no idea what she was talking about. She could have been saying “God is good because He created the Universe,” or “God is good because there has finally been a breakthrough and Unicef is able to get through the tyrannical Somalian government in order to get food to those starving people” (there hasn’t), or “God is good because He healed someone’s cancer.” But I seriously doubt it. When I saw her toothy smile and heard the way she said it, my mind unwittingly drifted to the myriad of wonderful things that might have happened to her today to make her pronounce God’s goodness with such unshakable confidence. Like, she got an A on that chemistry final. Or, she tripped and fell on the sidewalk but her pantyhose DIDN’T RUN.

It’s totally unfair of me, y’all. I judged her. I know, I know, lest I will be judged. I am sorry. It was wrong. But it did make me think, in a sleepy stupor last night, what it means for God to be good. Because, I will be honest, at 2:30 in the morning I was NOT feeling God’s goodness. Because, at 2:30am, I decided, God was NOT being good… to me.

I think when people nonchalantly say “Oh, God is just so good,” they are talking about all the great stuff that happened to them this week. Or maybe bad stuff happened, but to put it in perspective, they comment that God is good because at least they still have food, shelter, clothes, etc. I just don’t think people are thinking about those millions of people out there who DON’T have food, shelter, and clothing. Even (gasp) OTHER BELIEVERS. Could a Somalian mother say God is good after losing her child to starvation? Could a homeless man say God is good after spending another night in the snow? Could the victims of any of the numerous natural disasters that have occurred recently remark to their neighbors that God is good? Where was God when that child was dying? Where was He when the homeless man lost his house, his family, and the last bed at the homeless shelter? Where was God during the earthquake, the tsunami, the hurricane, the tornado?

Is God really good if I see no evidence of it in my own life? If my son never sleeps, no matter how often I beg God to change this one thing for us, is God good? Is He good only when good things happen to me?

Conclusion time. I still think God is good.

BUT.

I think God is good regardless of my personal happiness. I think God being good means God is loving, and kind, and generous. Which means I also think praying that you get that super close parking space at Walmart, and then calling it God’s favor when you do, has nothing whatsoever to do with God’s goodness, or really even with God at all. I think if you’ve got bank, that’s awesome, but I don’t think it’s because God is good. (If that were true, wouldn’t it follow that God is BAD when I, also a woman of faith, go bankrupt?) God’s goodness can’t be contingent on our circumstances. So I think He’s good for one reason: the people and the world He created.

Here it is, the hippiest thing I’ve ever thought: We are all God. Now before you think I’m blaspheming or becoming Buddhist, which is the same thing to some of you I know, let me explain. I seriously think we are praying for God to do all these things and He’s like, uh, yeah, I already did that when I put other people on Planet Earth. Take, since I am obsessed with it and can’t stop mentioning it in this post, the craziness in the Horn of Africa. I can pray that God change things there, and that’s fine, but that can’t be all I do. Then I can’t sit back and be like, where the heck is God? Because God is in me. God is ME. So I have to open my purse, or write my congressperson and tell him or her that I want our government involved, or blog to make others aware of it, etc. God is good because He made me and He made you, Reader, and we are a people with compassion for our fellow man, a people with generous and loving hearts, a people who want things to be better for our kids.

Natural disasters happen, but I don’t think they are God’s fault. And so when your house gets spared from the flood, I don’t think it’s a reflection of God’s goodness. I think it’s just science, and sometimes science sucks y’all.

BUT. (Number 2)

I think there are reflections of God’s goodness every day. When your house is destroyed by a tornado, the people that give you a warm bed and a meal reflect the goodness of God. Love. Generosity. Kindness. These are the aspects of His character, and I believe He is good because there is goodness in people.

Otherwise, God is nothing more than a magic wand, and when I wave it and it works, He’s good. And I just can’t reason with that kind of shallow faith.

This thought will help me tonight, when my son refuses to sleep and I ask God for help and nothing happens because God is not a baby-behavior-wielding-genie. But I will still question God’s goodness tonight, because a piece of me wants to see it played out in my own comforts. And tomorrow I will be overtired and irrational, but I will remember that it’s not God’s fault that Noah is cutting canines. It’s just life.

And someday, when he starts sleeping peacefully, I will still give thanks to God, but I will remember that God is good regardless of Noah’s sleep habits.

And it would help me remember this if you would buy me a cup of coffee, Reader, because God’s goodness can be reflected in you making my life better. Thank you. (Just kidding. But seriously.)

Sundays are for:

Wearing pajamas all day.

Eating cereal at 7am, then pancakes at 10am, then goldfish crackers for the rest of the morning.

Playing Wii Golf.

Reading books.

Walking to the coffee shop.

Taking naps.

Watching movies.

Snacking.

Sundays are NOT for:

Fixing the lock on the door.

Bathing the dog.

Laundry.

Cleaning the bathroom.

Grocery shopping.

Catching up on work.

I’m proud to report we spent Sunday appropriately. How was YOUR Sunday?

Dear Noah,

A month ago I started your 19 month letter, but I only got one paragraph written because I had to break off to chase you around to steal back that kitchen knife. I came back to it today so I could write this one, and read what I wrote. It started like this: “It’s official. You are a wild man.” I remember writing that right after something had happened; you threw something at my head like right after I’d asked you not to or you were screaming your displeasure at me telling you not to or you were biting me because I told you not to or something like that. So Mommy pulled out her laptop and wrote that sentence instead of yelling at you or biting you back, which is what I felt like doing.

But the rest of the paragraph from that 19 month letter didn’t make the cut into 20, because I can’t remember you not being sweet like I said at the time. Maybe this is simply a mother’s love, but it seems like immediately after you act like a complete little turd, I forget all about it and only see the best in you.

Your turdiness is really only a result of trying to communicate, anyway, which is totally understandable (after the bite mark on my leg has gone down, that is). You’re always trying to tell your Daddy and me something, but it’s hard when you only know how to say “Mah,” (which means MORE, Bubbs, not I WANT), “Bah,” which means so many things we have to go through this little game every time you say it: “Book?” (You shake your head) “Bed?” (You shake your head.) “BAH,” you clarify. We’re like, “Ball?” (No.) “Banana?” (No.) “Blanket? Bus? Blocks?” (No, no, no.) Finally out of desperation your Daddy’s like, “Diaper? You want us to change your diaper?” and you’re all nodding your head and leading the way into your room, like OF COURSE Bah translates Diaper. Silly parents.

You are so sweet and smart Bubbs… BUT. You’ve got some very strong opinions, which is awesome, but you’ve also developed quite a little attitude to go with them. You throw yourself to the floor in frustration because we pulled you down while you were teetering on the arm of the chair or WHYYYYNE at us for making you give us the dog’s leash so she doesn’t pull you down the front steps. You have been playing with your sweet girlfriend Sammy a lot lately and I’ve noticed for the first time that you don’t like to share your toys. You also don’t like to share HER toys. Or her milk. Or her snacks. I know you have no concept of “sharing” and that’s totally normal, but it was startling the other day when you brought one of Sammy’s toys to me, then when she reached for it and I gave it to her you FLIPPED OUT and snatched it back, and handed it back to me. And when you were SURE it was secure with Mommy, you went on to play with other toys. It was like I was your bank, and you were stealing money and depositing it so that the original owner couldn’t reclaim it. Sammy and I just stared at you in disbelief.

Later I told your Daddy and he was all, “Yay, he’s normal!”

And speaking of normal (for a little boy? I guess?), your love for vehicles has EXPLODED in the last month. In fact, other than the weird cross-breed word you made up for “Banana” and how you can say “Key” for kitty, I’m going to go ahead and say that your first official word is… “Backhoe.” Yes. Not that your Daddy or I have any experience whatsoever with construction, but no matter. You can spot a piece of construction equipment a mile away, and you’re all “Backhoe. Backhoe. Backhoe. BACKHOE!”

You say WHOA any time you hear a motorcycle, you point and gasp when a truck drives by, you point out every car, van, plane, or bus, and you make a vroom sound (“Vee-vee!”) or a siren sound (“Woo-oo! Woo-oo!”) whenever you see a fire truck or ambulance, or even a tow truck with flashing lights. Your Daddy and I have no idea where you got that, but I think you’re pretty smart, Love Bug. You pretty much exclusively play with your toy cars, buses, and trains. If you’re quiet for a long time and I go to check on you you’re almost always running your cars around on the couch or flying your plane through the air. I think it’s so fascinating that even though we did nothing to cultivate this, you have developed a love for boyish things, while your poor stuffed animals go untouched and unloved.

Oh man, I have one more car story, and then I promise I’m done, but I just need to drive this point home so when you’re begging for a dangerous sports car when you’re 15 I’ll look back and remember you’ve always had this passion. Today, I decided we were going to finger paint. I feel bad for you because it’s so hot and the mosquitoes are so bad at our house that we don’t ever go outside, and I know how much you love the outdoors. So I decided to do this fun indoor thing together, so I got out some flour and mixed it with water and put it on four separate plates, then put food coloring in each of the flour mixtures. I taped newspaper on the table and taped some white paper on top of that, and then I put all the plates of paint on the table, too. Then I went to find you, and you had your school bus in one hand and your green van in the other, and you were racing them along the chair in the living room. I asked you if you wanted to paint, and you looked at me for a second, turning this new word over in your mind, then you shook your head and focused on your cars again. “Please?” I begged. “You’ll LOVE this, it will be SO fun.” You looked at me again, but no interest showed in your eyes. So I picked you up against your will (I learned this in Great Parenting 101), still holding your cars of course, and I brought you to the table. Well you played in that paint for a whole three minutes before looking longingly at your cars on the other side of the table and making the all done sign at me and pointing at the cars and saying “Mah” repeatedly. Mommy just looked at you and sighed. Lesson learned: cars trump crafts.

How smart you are, though! You know already that you’d rather play with cars than paint, even though I didn’t know that about you yet. You know so many new things every day. When I say, “Do you want to go with me to the store?”, you nod, put down whatever you’re doing, and go into your room. A minute later you are bringing me clothes from your drawer (even though they aren’t always appropriate: once you brought me a jacket and stood there with one foot lifted as you balanced on my shoulder, trying to get me to put your pants on already), and then find your shoes in the basket by the door. You know after dinner that we’ll go for a walk, so you find Lucy’s leash. You know if you spill milk you need a towel to wipe it up. You know what the tiger, lion, monkey, cow, elephant, dog, cat, horse, and owl say. In fact you can mimic so many sounds and actions, and I always see myself in my little Noah mirror. You know what “nap” and “bedtime” mean, and you pucker up to kiss whoever is in the room when it’s time for bed, then you come grab my hand and lead me to your room.

Like always, I am amazed how quickly you have grown in the last two months. Could it only be 20 months ago that I was bringing you home from the hospital and panicking as I realized I didn’t know how to keep you safe? And instinctively you’re trusting me for your protection: whether it’s at the store when a stranger comes by and you grab my leg before you smile, or the way you make sure I’m close by whenever you’re flirting with other girls (which I think you should always do until you’re 30, by the way). You’re so big now, but you’re really still so teeny. Maybe I’ll always feel this way. Maybe you’ll always be Mommy’s baby Love Bug.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Lance,

You have officially been alive for 28 years and two days, and this year for your birthday I want you to know how glad I am you were born, and not just because it means I get to eat cake. (But that is a BIG reason.) So in no particular order, here are 28 reasons I’m grateful to your parents for having unprotected sex sometime around November of 1982.

1. You’re the only father I want for my kids.
2. You have melt-me brown eyes.
3. You take out the compost, recycling, and garbage, and you clean the cat litter box.
4. You like to read with me in bed.
5. You have a very dry wit, but you can always make me laugh.
6. You care about people.
7. You’re not afraid to cry.
8. But you’re not a pussy.
9. You enjoy a good movie, and you enjoy talking about it afterwards.
10. You’re good in the sack.
11. You have nice thick hair that doesn’t look like it’s going to go bald.
12. You are like a living version of Google Maps.
13. You’re really smart.
14. You’re laid back.
15. You make me feel less crazy when I think the world is ending.
16. You’re a good kisser.
17. You’re my best friend, the one I want to talk to late into the night.
18. You appreciate good theatre, but you don’t get all snobby about it because you respect that it’s my thing and it would piss me off if you acted like you knew more about it than I do, even though we both know you know more about most things than I do.
19. You support my ideas and my desires and my dreams.
20. You bring home the (veggie) bacon, so I can be a stay-at-home-mom, and you don’t complain about it.
21. You enjoy good coffee.
22. You’re honest and patient.
23. Your love for our son is obvious.
24. You always relish my cooking, even though sometimes I just know you’d rather have a fat juicy hamburger.
25. There’s no one I’d rather take walks with in the evening.
26. Your hands are slightly bigger than mine.
27. You’re taller than me, even when I wear heels.
28. You love me, and I love you, with all my heart.

Forever and ever yours, even until this list is 95 Reasons for 95 Years,
Megan

Hello? Is this thing on? Ok, just checking. It’s been so long since I’ve Facebooked/Twittered/Blogged that I forgot how to type, but if I put my coffee down it seems to be a bit easier. Two hands. Huh. I’m not used to having access to both.

My poor Bubbs is recovering from a fever. I think it is a teething fever, which comes on for no reason about a week before he cuts new teeth… but before that he had the shits, and before that he had a runny nose, and before that he threw up one time. So my gut tells me it’s teething, but the Internet tells me it’s something life-threatening.

Excuse me while I pick up my coffee again to calm my nerves. Counter intuitive, you think? Just wait until you have a toddler.

I feel great. Well, my boob feels like it’s about to fall off, but that’s just the plugged milk duct that came on the other day to remind me that even though I’m weaning, I’m still a slave to breastfeeding. But I feel great otherwise, really. I started running. I’ve never been a runner… I dislike the feeling of Jelly Legs/Jelly Belly/Blood thundering in my ears/Can’t get enough breath/Searing pain in my lungs… things like that. And then as I’m running and trying not to die, I typically reason with myself like: “This is painful, why am I doing this? No one’s chasing me, and even if someone WAS chasing me, I wouldn’t be jogging this embarrassingly slowly. I’da cut through that alley and I’d be hiding behind that trash bin by now, or at least I’da taken the trash bin lid off and I’d try using it as a weapon. It makes no sense to do what I’m doing right now, and look, here’s an air-conditioned ice cream shop! Bump this crap.”

But I’ve always been jealous of runners. They look like they are having a great time, getting fit and being alone and not talking themselves out of doing it.

It came about after we joined the YMCA. I took Noah to the nursery a couple of times, thinking he would love it, but it turns out he… um… didn’t. Quite the opposite in fact. In fact I am fairly certain I know the first topic he’ll be discussing with his therapist one day: the day his mother left him in the nursery at the Y for FOUR MINUTES and he screamed and cried so hard and long that by the time she got back, he was hoarse and shaking. And I will also be discussing the psychological ramifications of this with my own therapist, because I think I am STILL shaking and second guessing every decision I’ve ever made and my abilities as a competent mother.

(Also, do you think this explains the vomit/fever/runny nose? Four minutes of exposure at the germ-infested YMCA nursery? Internet thinks maybe.)

So my desire to get in shape was countered by my desire to protect my son’s tender emotions, despite the rolled eyes and “He’s fine”s and the “This must be your first kid”s of the YMCA nursery workers, and so I decided to quit the gym and do something else.

Except I haven’t actually quit yet, because I am holding onto the hope that we might take ourselves swimming before the summer is over, and also because it is impossible to quit the gym, don’t you know?

The first time I got the crazy idea in my head to go for a jog, I was angry. And upset. And things were feeling pretty hopeless. And I was able to use that anger to fuel my run, and I ran for over a mile, and I know that probably doesn’t sound like much to you, but please bear in mind that it was hotter outside than the fires of Mount Doom, and, not being a runner, by the time I got back to my house I had to retrace my steps to look for my ass, which had fallen off from the stress of being thrown back and forth in a way it was not used to for 20 minutes. But I felt amazing. Powerful. That mile might as well have been 10 for me, and I actually had this naive thought: I can do this.

I’ve been running ever since, but I think I have hit a snag. Unless I’m upset about something, I don’t run as well. Yesterday I ran for 1/2 the time I did that first time, and felt just as worn out as if I’d done the whole mile. Which technically means I’m getting WORSE the more I run. But nothing was nagging me. I was all happy and content. And I didn’t really want to run… what I really wanted was to watch Hulu and eat leftover Lance’s birthday cake. (The other problem of course, is how much I hate running when Noah is napping, which is really the only time I can run, but the last thing I want to do during my ONE BREAK OF THE DAY is stop watching Hulu and put down the leftover cake so I can pump up my heart rate. LAME.) So I found myself wearing down on the run and I started trying to think about all these social injustices so I’d get a spurt or two of energy, but it just didn’t have the same effect as when it was a personal injury.

Which leads me to this conclusion: I’m like, hella selfish.

So, in an attempt to change my evil ways, I had this idea that for one year, Lance and I should give something up every month. (Welcome to marriage, ladies and gentlemen. Lance is probably all, um, but I feel ok about myself…? NO. We’re in this together. We’re gonna make the world a better place so just SUCK IT.) More on this um… later. Hopefully.

This month is No Chain Month, otherwise known as Buy Local Month. See we pray this prayer before dinner, all together (meaning Lance and I pray, and Noah watches and then claps when we’re done), and it goes “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. And may we always be mindful of the needs of others.” So that’s what this project is really all about… we’re going to try to be mindful of the needs of others. This month, by supporting our local farmers and businesses, and by taking away the convenience of Target/Kroger/Home Depot/Etc., which needy people do not always have access to, especially in third-world countries. Also, we are going to try to NOT be mindful of the needs of The Man.

Amen.

(How does this help me run better? When I find out I will tell you.) (Meaning: it has nothing to do with me running. I’m just telling you two stories in the same blog post, but I love my segues and it seemed like a good one. Try to keep up, Reader.)