God Hates Fags

Did that get your attention? Now imagine it coming from the mouth of a 6 year old. I couldn't, until I watched 20/20 last night. I was appalled like I have never been before. Now, my second journey into Christianity is still fairly new, but I'm pretty sure that what I've read in the Bible does not contain those three words, or anything about God hating anyone, anywhere in it.

Everything I've seen is about God's love for us. ALL of us. And the fact that we are all sinners and that no one sin is greater than another. Except blasphemy. And I think that what this "church" is doing borders on blasphemy to me:

The Baptist Confession of Faith says: “Therefore, to swear vainly or rashly by the glorious and awesome name of God…is sinful, and to be regarded with disgust and detestation. …For by rash, false, and vain oaths, the Lord is provoked and because of them this land mourns.”

In my humble, non-Bible-scholarly opinion, these people are using the name and Word of God to promote ideals that are not Godly in any way. They are giving Baptists and Christians a bad name. All of Jesus' teachings are to promote love, acceptance, and caring towards others. Even murderers and enemies, because again, all sin is equal in God's eyes. Tiger Woods' adulterous actions with multiple women are the same sin as a woman lying to her boss about being ill to get a day off from work (hmmm....don't know where I came up with that example...never done that before).

I am neither Democrat, Republican, pro-war, or anti-war, but regardless I am proud and indebted to the men and women fighting for my freedom. The thought of anyone choosing to picket the funeral of someone who lost his life fighting to give those very people the right to even have this church and "worship" this way is vile to me. And the fact that they are ingraining their hateful rhetoric into their childrens' brains is even more despicable. It honestly borders on child abuse. And while as a Libertarian I in no way agree or support the ruling recently about a dad who is forbidden by the court to take his daughter to a non-Jewish church, part of me kind of wishes that someone could forbid these people to take their children into this awful, hate-spewing environment.

Last night, my husband and I watched this story with a mixture of disbelief, sadness, and revolt. I don't even have words for people who do this kind of thing. If I were the fighting type, I would be tempted to give them a taste of their own medicine, driving by their house with signs saying something like "America hates you and you give religion a bad name, you scum of the Earth".

But that would go against the teaches of Christianity that I'm trying to follow.

I Used to Be a Night Owl.

Before baby, I was such a late night person. I used to work in retail management, and had a wonky schedule with nice time off during the work week, shifts that started at 1PM sometimes, and being at work before 9:30 was considered early.

I switched to my current career around a year and a half before Jacob's birth, with "banker's hours" and although it took a while, I eventually got used to it. However, I was still terrified of what would happen once I gave birth. Seriously, I could easily stay up until 2AM, sleep until 10AM, and my husband and I never seemed to be able to make it out of the house on the weekends until noon or later. The thought of waking before 7AM was reserved for plane flights, nightmares, and Easter Sunrise Service. How was I going to adjust to having to get myself and a baby ready, take him to daycare, and still be at work by 8 or 8:30?

Part of the solution was to find a daycare that only made my one-way commute 7.1 miles. Mission accomplished, until a recent promotion that puts my one-way commute at over 30 miles. I have to leave home nearly an hour before I'm scheduled to be at work. How has that worked? Surprisingly, exceedingly well. I am usually the first one to my office in the morning. My husband and I will soon begin carpooling three days a week. I go to bed between 10-11PM, wake up between 6 and 6:30, and I actually enjoy it.

This morning, before 8:15, I took a shower, got dressed, put bandages on my heels to prevent new-shoe blister syndrome, nursed Jacob and changed his diaper, played and flirted with him for 15 minutes, took him to daycare, took the dog to the vet/groomer on the way to work, and swung by Starbucks for an Iced Caramel Macchiatto. It felt GREAT! Next up, waking up at 5:30 to have half an hour of "me" time? I used to think that would be impossible, but now I think it can be done. We'll see...

This will just be a random stream of thought.

Because I want to blog, I really do, but I find myself uninspired. This is normal. Back when I was blogging a regular 3 times weekly, I would sometimes jot down blog title ideas or funny comments that I heard and wanted to write about. But now I don't do that anymore, and although I find myself inspired sometimes, it usually is just a passing thought.

So I guess this post is abouit blogging, sigh, and why I do it. I have always enjoyed writing. I find it therapeutic. Since I couldn't finish college and actually get any kind of degree that would allow me to write for a living, this will have to suffice. It's kind of like a journal, but I like that voyeurtastic feeling of people reading my thoughts. That's kind of weird, right? Especially because some of them I know, some I don't, and some I know but don't really know, like in person. I know I'll never win any awards or have one of those blogs that allow me to make extra money, but I like the idea that maybe I could, if I really, really tried hard at it.

Other than that, I'll just grace the 50 or so of you with these thoughts:

My old UPS guy was Filipino and really, really hot. His name was Joe.

Speaking of, my husband and the last 3 boyfriends before him all had names that started with 'J'.

I love Indian buffet. I just ate it for lunch (instead of the chicken pot pie from home I should have had) because it has been almost a year since I've had it. I devoured it like a starving person. I shut my office door so no one could watch.

At 9 months, I am mounting a new effort to build my supply again. Although it's been sufficent to nurse on the weekends, my boobs hate the pump and I've been supplementing the daycare bottles for months. I just used up my last formula checks on a 23oz container and I am dreading having to pay full price. So I'm doing whatever it takes: fenugreek, mother's milk tea, pumping 3-4 times a day again, to hold out these last 3-4 months.

I judge people that parent differently than me. I never say anything and I try to hold it all in and deep down I understand that we're all just doing the best that we can to get to the end result of a happy, well-adjusted child, but I still judge.

It bothers me that my husband tries to label Jacob as advanced. I think he's just normal, and normal has such a wide range at this age that I just want to let myself be impressed when he masters a new skill, no matter how long it takes.

Maybe I just don't want him to be walking by 10 months.

Some days I feel closer to my online mom group than my real friends. This makes me sad, but the truth is it's just easier to communicate at my own convenience than trying to schedule events around 2 or more nap and work schedules.

I have two good friends that I really, really want to call right now.

But I have to go back to work.

I think I'm going to walk to the gas station next door and buy a Dr. Pepper. I haven't had one in a while.

Luckily, I don't have enough cash for a candy bar, too.

"Your life will change, you know."

Man, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that while pregnant with this child, I could have quit my job and been a Stay at Home Mom. And I totally agree.

But what people don't tell you (or maybe they forget because life gets busier along the way) is that it changes in such amazingly good ways that you cannot fathom until your child is born. Or maybe you can't even fathom it until your baby is a little older and a little less needy. When he crawls over to your husband, pulls up to stand in front of him, and opens his little mouth like a bird waiting for Daddy to share his breakfast.

I am one of the lucky moms: I have tons of trustworthy family in the area that practically are begging to babysit, yet my husband and I feel like we get so little time with Little Man due to two full time jobs that our problem is letting him out of our sight enough to satisfy said family. People ask me all the time when they will get to babysit, and I think about the Strawberry Festival I want to take him to that weekend before giving an answer. Still, every now and then I get a surge of "rat-race" emotions and I just wish I could have a night off (this usually comes on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no one volunteering to babysit).

Twice since he has been born (nearly nine months ago) I have thought about life without baby in a somewhat rosy way. The most recent was when a co-worker bought lunch and mentioned that her husband was out of town, so she would be going home to leftover take-out, her lapdog, and a bottle of wine. What freedom, I thought. I forget what it's like to go home and have the house to yourself, enjoying Indian food (which my hubby can't stand) and a chick flick all by myself. Staying up until 2AM because I had no intention of waking up until after 9. When I was pregnant, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't have any of those nights to myself anymore. Could I live like that? I tend to be a person who likes to have some "alone time" at least twice a week. My husband and I already fought about the times when he wanted me with him and I wanted to be selfish, soaking in the tub for an hour or two with a book.

Well, I drove home from work slightly jealous until I got to daycare. And my little boy beamed at me with such joy and pride that any feelings of "me time" just slipped away and I instantly slipped back into full-on MOM mode. As I played with him for the tiny hour I could, fed him his dinner, and nursed him to sleep around 8:30, I couldn't help but feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth. And I laughed a little at myself. Because, honestly, a glass of wine and take-out could never compare to the feeling I get when I'm rocking quietly with a little being that likes to reach back and stroke my hand where it's cupping his little body next to mine.

All Part of Growing Up...

I have to make an admission. I have been a cyber bully. .::sigh::.

Not in the same way as the teenagers who torment their classmates so much to drive them into depression and worse, but in that kind of silly way that a grown-ass woman should not be taking part in.

Part of my quest in life is to grow: to grow in my rediscovered Christianity, as a mother, and as an adult. I can admit when I've made a mistake. In this particular case, I do not think my actions have hurt anyone, but the point is that they could have. And it's kind of a shame that I have acted this way.

I'm a small, small part of a well known online community of message boards. At any given moment there could be anywhere from fifty to five hundred of us online: mothers of all ages, shapes, experiences from all around the world. And sometimes we talk about what we're there for: our beautiful children. But a lot of times we turn there out of boredom, and that's when things can turn sour. Usually it involves someone making fun of someone else, or decrying another mom's parenting choices. I have taken part occasionally in this behaviour, and I'm not proud.

I think what the internet and it's various forms of free expression (facebook, twitter, blogs, message boards) invite is that feeling that we can say anything we want. And sometimes we feel the need to be more brutally honest than tact and common sense allow us to be in real life, so we forget that somewhere at another computer sits another new mom just as happy and stressed and overwhelmed and emotional as we are.

So I'm trying to turn a new leaf. Sure, I'll probably roll my eyes in my head when I read something that I find asinine. I'll just try keeping the non-constructive comments to myself the same way I would if I were standing there face to face. Sometimes we all need a good reminder.

Soo.....Mothers Day. About that...

I've been thinking a lot about Mother's Day this week, since so many people have reminded me (as if I could forget) that this is my first one. Something I guess I don't get is the whole "mom's day off" concept. Maybe six years down the line when I'm driving a minivan with a booster and a carseat to soccer practice and ballet class and life seems like it couldn't possibly be more busy or stressful, I will understand, but for now, I just don't.

Because I don't want a day off! I just feel like the whole point of Mother's Day is for me to celebrate the life I helped create and the bond that I share with my son. I have spent a good deal of my day caring for him: feeding him, spreading a blanket out in his room so he could hang around diaper free and climb stuff, urging him to follow me crawling around the house as I folded laundry and washed his dishes, giving him part of my lunch to eat/play with, sharing in his bathtime, more naked time with him shaking his head and grinning at me, now down for another nap. Why would I need time off from that?

I looked at my husband earlier this week and said incredulously, "can you believe we thought we may be bored after our kid was born?" We get home from work and just do nothing, but everything. Just sitting in the living room playing with little man and fur princess is enough to fill up the all too short hour of our time before feeding, bathing, and bedtime begin. Jacob is getting to the age where I can give him a tupperware bowl and wooden spoon and he will amuse himself happily while I do some kitchen work, as long as I'm watching him.

My favorite part of watching him grow right now is his independence that still mixes with the need for mama's safety. When he crawls down the hall and every few feet stops and turns to make sure I'm still there, still watching, just melts me. (Almost as much as I melt when he crawls towards me saying "MaMaMaMaMah".)

So, for Mother's Day, no day off for me. I want to soak up every spare second I can with my son, and give him as many cuddles, hugs, and kisses as he will allow.

Life is short, but oh so sweet!

Today was Senior Day at church. I don't know if every church does this, but it's kind of a day where the elders of the church take over the service. They plan the service, the songs, invite a speaker, do the children's sermon, etc. The whole church service is run by a group of Seniors.

Ours sang funny songs for their specials, about their hair being white and their eyesight going bad, that got some laughs and livened us up. They also sang about being ready to go Home and meet the Saviour. It got me thinking about Jacob, and how short life is already! (Imagine, one day his children are going to think about the 80's the way I think about the 30's!)

Everyone tells you before you have kids that life will seem to fly even faster, and they are totally right. It seems as if every time I have started to get tired of the "stage" he's in (sleep deprivation and constant nursing, then not being able to put him down all day, now the separation anxiety) he has flown right through it into something else, making me want to scream "STOP! Stop growing so darn fast!" This weekend, I had to lower his crib after going in to his room for the second time to find him standing and holding on to the waist-high crib rail. So now, I can no longer lean down into his crib and kiss his sweet little head goodnight. A moment that I have taken for granted the last six months is now gone.

I also tried to spend a few extra minutes with him by rocking him after nursing him tonight, which turned into a meltdown. My sweet little baby that cries when I go around a corner of the room is too big to be rocked when he's tired. He wants the routine of being placed gently in his crib drowsy so that he can take his Mickey blanket, flip onto his tummy, turtle his butt up, and put himself to sleep. .::sigh::. It's a good problem to have, but maybe we did too good of a job teaching him to self-soothe, because now I look back over the last 8 months and a week and wonder if it would even take two hands to count the number of times I rocked my son to sleep?

Life is just flying past at warp speed. Two and a half months ago, my guy was tripod-sitting for a few seconds before tumbling over...now he's pulling up and trying to test himself by letting go of me when he's standing up. He's babbling "da-da", "ba-ba", and "ma-ma" almost constantly, and I'm starting to believe he even knows which one I am. Where did my little baby go? And will I cry every time he reaches one of these huge milestones the way I am as I'm typing this? Every stage is so beautiful and so fleeting that I have to just remind myself to cherish it, to find ways to fit more in and yet stop to enjoy my son's life.

I vow to never again utter the words "it's been a long day", because now that little man is half way between half a year and his first birthday, I know that our days are far too short.