Pop Goes the UU

Picking up on Spirituality and Sunflower's Are You a Pop-UU?, I am prepared to "out" myself:

* I watch American Idol, though I think it's inferior to RockStar INXS or Supernova
* I love Gilmore Girls, House, and now, The Riches
* Even though I don't agree with all of his online essays, I like Rabbi Shmuley and think Shalom in the Home is a terrific show
* When pregnant moms ask me what I think are the "must-haves" for when the baby comes, #1 on my list is "a tv." #2 is Tivo. Art gallery opening? Bwahahaha. Your butt is going to be home, Mommy. Have something good to watch.

And, blasphemy of blasphemies:
* I often find NPR boring

Of course, you don't have to be all one way or the other. I love studying theology and reading theology and philosophy books.

While blaring "I Love the 80's."

On being a Homemaker

Happy Feminist has me thinking about my current status as a homemaker.

Back several months ago, when the blogosphere was abuzz with Linda Hirshman's hateful opinions about homemakers, I couldn't get involved. As far as I am concerned, the things she had to say made her the Ann Coulter of feminism, another woman whom I think we should all simply ignore just as one does the obnoxious boor at the party.

Do I need to say that I am a feminist? Well, of course I am.

I'm coming up on 9 years of being a full-time homemaker. I am at odds with the other 99% of liberal women who are mothers and not employed outside the home, in that I call myself a "homemaker," not a stay-at-home-mom. But after about 5 years of being a SAHM, I came to think that a) "stay-at-home-mom" is a perjorative, and an incorrect one -- I WISH I could just "stay home," but we're far too busy and b) SAHM is a demotion. I don't just stay home with my kids, and I'm not just a mom. At present, old-fashioned as it sounds, I make a house a home. I make wholesome meals and try to keep the house clean, and repair things and even occasionally sew something. And I spend time tending to the spirituality of our home, planning family rituals and opportunities to talk about our values. But it's just semantics. Whatever you want to call yourself, go right ahead. And by the same token, I call employed mothers "working mothers." I don't feel that it implies I don't work. Sometimes, I refer to myself and others as "full-time mothers." That doesn't mean I think working mothers cease to be mothers at 8 am.

Rarely do I feel defensive about this choice -- because it was my choice, fully supported by The Husband, and I feel it was the right one for us.

But it was definitely a period of adjustment, and a long one. It took me 5 years to get rid of my business suits. It took 6 years, when asked what I did, to no longer reply that "I used to be a marketing director."

This is what I want to be doing. Just as my friend L-A wants to be a teacher. Just as my friend K wants to be a Director of Religious Education. Just as my friend R wants to be a Russian translator for a large company. Just as my friend E wants to be a vice-president in an international company.

We want to be, and we currently are, all of these things. We are also all feminists. And we all support each other.

Wasn't that the plan?

Sex and Kids

Sex and kids. Damn, that's a hard topic for me.

Not the teaching about sex. Heck, with resources like It's Perfectly Normal and It's So Amazing, that's a walk in the park. But I'm not easily embarrassed. Even when my son said he wanted us to have twins and I explained you can't just "get" twins. And he said, "Well, can't you just do that sex thing twice?" (Age 5)

Or when we mentioned that his father was getting a vasectomy and he furrowed up his brow and said, "Well, if you don't want more babies, why don't you just not have sex?" (Age 9)

Or when he asked, "What does 'humping' mean? And 'boning'?" (last week, age 10)

I want the kids to come to us with all their questions, so I give complete answers, no blushing.

Where I get a little lost is in the values part of the equation.

See, when I hear about abstinence-only education, I scoff. I must admit that when I hear about kids joining True Love Waits, I roll my eyes. "How cute" -- I just want to pat their little heads. Hey, I was a Resident Assistant on the "Women's Privacy" floor -- also known as the "Virgin Vault." If there were any virgins at the start of the year, I doubt there were any at the end. And we've all heard the stats -- those who take vows of abstinence break them. And often wind up with STDs.

But hearing about how casually people take hooking up, ye gods, please not my kids!

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle. I don't want to be a hypocrite. But I want my kids to see sex as something ... dare I say it? ... holy. Sacred. Done with someone you love.

When my son was born a decade ago, we were the only ones of our siblings who were married. Some of our siblings don't share our belief in the sacredness of sex. We decided to make it simple. Unless you're married, you can't share a bed with your "friend" at our house. Ye gods! What throwbacks! Anachronisms!

But here's the deal ... if we hadn't done that, they would have already seen one aunt with several "friends" over the years. Of course, they have seen the aunt with the friends, they just haven't seen the friends spend the night at our house.

But it gets murkier. Grandma has a boyfriend. They are in a committed relationship, but they are never going to get married. It would be fine with us for them to be here -- but, ye gods, then we have to deal with the aunts/uncles crying foul. Thankfully, it's not an issue. He is an older gentleman and would never agree to stay in our house. He is from a generation where such things simply are not done.

How to parse, how to deal. One sibling is in a monogamous long-term relationship. But do we want to handle each situation on a case-by-case basis, becoming the "judge" for each relationship?

Do we want to let the adults be adults and bring whomever they are currently with into our house, and just allow 4 children, ages 2-11, to assume that it's all normal? That if you have a boyfriend, you're having sex? Some argue that you simply explain that what's right for an adult, isn't for a young person. Yes. I can explain that to my 7 year old. (rolls eyes.)

I don't know. I feel like a hypocrite. But I don't think the other way is right, either.

Snow, Edwards, Cancer and the Administration

So, Tony Snow's cancer has spread to his liver. This on the heels of the news that Elizabeth Edwards' cancer is back, and incurable.

And Bush asks for even more cuts to cancer research.

I have to wonder what Barb and George think about this. They had a daughter who died of cancer. And they are hugely involved with supporting M.D. Anderson cancer hospital and other cancer resources.

"Son, that's it. Time for a visit out to the shed."

I love the Internet

I love it for the people. I love it for the relationships.

That's right, I said relationships!

Seems like every time you turn around, some so-called expert is writing about the detrimental effect the Internet is having on relationships. (And I'm not talking about the spouse who's having an online fling or watching online porn rather that schtupping their own partner.)

They say that you can't really have a relationship with someone whom you've never met. And that we're getting our emotional needs met by exchanged words rather than with real people.

Bollocks. (A word I learned a decade ago from an online Brit friend.)

Online friendships are different than blood-and-bones friendships. Like a puzzle piece, they can give more of certain elements, while b-and-b friendships provide more of others.

I have a group of friends that an older friend of mine refers to as my "posse." I call them the Footprints Tribe. They couldn't be more precious to me. Any of them, I would drop anything, at any time of day or night, if they needed me.

But because I love them, I did not share with them my darkest thoughts last spring. I put them into this blog. And when I most needed someone to read my words, and reach out to me, you did. We have created a community -- communities. Many of us have intersecting circles of communities that visit our blogs. For me, it's the Unitarian, mommy, feminist and cancer-related communities, making an extended Vin diagram of relationships.

Then there are the bulletin-board relationships. Due to being a fan of the Sweet Potato Queens books, I was a member of some fan boards. When Little Warrior first got sick, I suddenly received a hand-knit baby blanket and a teddy bear from members of that board, who wanted to reach out in a tangible way. It was shocking -- breaking the fourth wall! -- but altogether wonderful.

A group version of Pen Pals are the email discussion lists. There is a list out there for parents of children who have or had Wilms' Tumor. What a resource! Life-saving and soul-saving. Among these folks, I could share experiences, ask for help, compare notes. No one else in the world could truly understand what we were living through ... but they could. We celebrate together every clear scan, we cry together with every notification of a relapse.

Day or night, you all are out there. At 3 am, in my jammies, I visit you, reading your blogs and catching up on your posts. When someone disappears, we worry. When they return, we rejoice.

I love the Internet.

I'll Never Smoke Weed with Willie Again

I'll Never Smoke Weed With Willie Again - Watch more amazing videos here

Real Moms Know Real Fear

I've been tagged by UUMomma with the "Real Moms" meme. It is amazing how fast this is spreading -- go check out some of the other responses. I'm tagging Nancy, Katy, Karen, Rev. A.C. Miles, and Peg. Here's the Rules. Here's where to post your link.

Real Moms know real fear.

Forget rollercoasters or the Blair Witch Project. Being a mom will introduce you to a whole other level of fear. Like the first time your baby sleeps through the night. The initial delight upon waking -- Wow, I got a good night's sleep! -- is immediately replaced with -- What's wrong? What happened? So we turn up the baby monitor, in hopes of hearing a deep breath or a sigh. Sometimes, we go racing in to the nursery, usually waking up the baby in the process.

Sometimes the baby doesn't wake up. Ever. And that's the fear that is always within us.

Then there's the moment you're playing outside and you turn to water a plant and when you turn back around, he's gone. Gone! And you race around, to discover him giggling in the front yard, trying to pick up a pine cone.

Sometimes, he's not in the front yard. He's in the neighbor's pool. Or you hear a screech of brakes. And that's the fear that is always within us.

And then there's the times you take the baby to the pediatrician because of a weird rash, or repeated vomiting, or a strange lump on her side. Nightmares go through your head of all the worst things it could be. And then the pediatrician says, oh, it's a yeast infection, or the stomach flu is going around, or it's just constipation.

Sometimes, it's not any of those things. It's cancer.

And that's the fear that is always within us.

Late effects (not bad, not literal) of cancer

Last night, we did the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. Little Warrior was big enough this year to walk her ownself for the Survivor's Lap. Everyone lines up around the track to clap for the survivors as they do their lap. WELL ... LW really likes applause. She began dramatically throwing kisses to the audience. You can imagine the response.

Just now: Bo Peep and LW are playing together. Bo Peep: "Mama, Shuggy Elephant has cancer. But we're going to make him all better. See, we're making him feel better!"

Huh.

Sickos in the Blogosphere

Literally sick. Can germs be spread by blogging? uuMomma has mumps at her house. I took Bo Peep to the doctor and she has pinkeye in her eyes and ears. (Most likely same bacteria in the ear infections.) I'm gargling cayenne pepper and water, hoping it'll cure my sore throat. Elizabeth, Mom to the Left ... all of us, down for the count.

Quick, someone, say a prayer, do a Bugs-Be-Gone spell, something!

Okay, I'll admit it, I'm kinda laughing at it all. Because a year ago, I was packing my bag for Little Warrior's surgery. I was crying every day. Every hour?

Pinkeye, schmink-eye.

Back from AWOL

Last week was Spring Break for the two older kids, plus their wonderful Aunt Amazing came in town. (She is a brilliant scientist, a marathon runner, and head-turning gorgeous, even in tshirts and ponytail.) Life is not fair, but she's also the kind of person who looks up her niece/nephew's school schedule up on the computer, then gets tickets to come spend their Spring Break with them. So we forgive her for receiving more than her fair share of God's gifts.

Let me tell you something. Single + childless + marathon runner = energy out the whahoo. The zoo, the children's museum, the park, the playground. AND cleaned out our garage. AND went through the girls' clothes, separating out what doesn't fit. (Which any mom can tell you is an onerous job.)

Tomorrow, the kids go back to school. Whew. I need a vacation.

Email Forwards and Other Evils of the Modern World

Things I’ve Realized About Myself

I’ve always thought of myself as corny/sappy and not that intellectual/cynical. But maybe, compared to some, I am/am not.

I think “Christmas Shoes” is an awful song. What, the boy’s mother is dying, and rather than spending her last moments with her, he’s trying to buy her shoes? Because Jesus is going to care what her shoes look like? Who the fudge is her mother, Carrie Bradshaw???

People whom I credit with being fairly intellectual and cynical of pap often surprise me, sending me chain emails, like the one purporting to be the Dalai Lama’s personality test, which supposedly gives you great insights based on whether you rank lion over pig. Huh?

I hate chain mail of any type. At their most mundane, I think they show an appalling lack of creativity. On the metaphysical side, I think they are an appalling type of black magick. If you don’t forward this message, bad things will happen to you? Or good things won’t? Just because I won’t forward this frigging stupid, uncreative message? And to send them to people, who then must send them on out of fear … sorry guys. That’s a very mild form of evil.

THAT BEING SAID … there are some people who are very dear to me that sometimes send on these forwards. Assuming the content isn’t an outright urban legend, I usually just delete them. (If it’s an outright untruth, and harmful, like the WalMart half-shaved-kid or wearing-deodorant-causes-cancer, I sent them a link to snopes or breakthechain.org)

When all is said and done, it is the singer not the song. Or the emailer, not the forwarded-hokey-ass-message. People are more important than emails.

No matter how stupid the latter is.

Yes, there IS a right and wrong

Words have meaning. Just because some words have been misused, or over-used, does not remove them from our language.

What prompted this diatribe was reading an essay by some touchy-feely who said that we simply need to have peace in our hearts, and not go around protesting, and arguing, because there is no "right" or "wrong."

WRONG.

I can understand, and sympathize with those who have heard "right" and "wrong" used in so many instances, and with so much judgement, that they declare there is no such thing. However, just as I offer my sympathy to those tender-hearted folk, my teeth begin grinding. It is statements such as those that lead others to label Unitarian and/or liberals as out-of-touch; naive.

Just because a word has been misused does not remove its meaning. (And I'm not talking about accidental misuse, such as when a person says "Irregardless" when they mean "Regardless" or "Literally" when they mean "Very.")

Lots of misused/overused words. Just because no one personally asked your opinion about what color the fellowship area should be painted, does not mean you are being disenfranchised. Not everything bad is a holocaust. Just saying "No" does not mean you are participating in a War on drugs.

And, of course, love. Has any word been more misused? But try and tell a mama who is kissing her children goodnight that "love" doesn't mean anything.

Most things are objective, even math. But just because some fundamentalist says that loving someone of the same sex is wrong, does not mean that wrong has no meaning. I say, with all of the personal authority I possess, that he is, in fact, wrong.

As long as we are careful to keep the words "right" and "wrong" for when it is truly necessary to employ them, they are a useful tool. However, if I begin assigning the word "wrong" to anything I disagree with, I dilute its power. I can't stand headcheese. But you are not wrong for enjoying it. I think that breastfeeding is a terrific gift that everyone who could, should give their baby. But if you chose otherwise, I will not call you wrong.

But when New Orleans remains in shambles, when our soldiers continue dying in a futile war, when human beings are being systematically raped and killed in Darfur, it is wrong.

I will not hide at home, with peace in my heart, when there is injustice in the world. To the best of my ability, I will stand up and not be afraid to march, to speak, against what is wrong.

It's the right thing to do.

UU Brats and what becomes of them

In my part of the world (many, many, many miles from Boston), when you run into another Unitarian Universalist who was actually raised UU, (or raised Unitarian, depending on how old you are), there is an immediate "look" that passes between you. You are instantly kin. We are a rare lot, born-n-raised UUs. Most of us have the experience of being told by a fellow 2nd grade classmate that we're going to hell. We probably have the experience of dating a wide range of different-religioned-persons. We probably tried on another religion, ourselves. Things that kids in other religions take for granted baffle us. (In the service last weekend, the speaker mentioned that her husband -- as a child, in a different religion -- was kicked out of Sunday school for asking questions. My 10 year old couldn't wrap his head around that one.)

What is interesting to me is those of us who do come back to our mother religion tend to be so passionate about the religion. Heck, even those who never go back to church -- like my brother and sister -- will still devoutly declare themselves to be Unitarian in a show of identity not unlike the person who never goes to temple, yet sees himself as 100% Jewish. It's not just out religion. It's our culture.

All of this is being prompted by 7th Day who gave me some great ideas on my class, and also outed herself as another lifelong UU. She is also a minister. And if you don't believe she's passionate about UUism, just check out her 4 am comments to my last post.

I wish I knew statistics. It seems there is a larger percentage of born-n-raised UUs in ministry than in your average UU population.

Those of us who stay -- or come back -- do so with a vengeance. Bwahahahaha. Now in your Multiplex: The Apostle II, Doing It Unitarian-Style!

Soliciting UUr help

Okay, I did that for the title to poke fun at myself. I am so OVER all of the so-cute monikers in which we exchange random vowels for UU. "CUUking group." "RUUning group." Thank you, UU World, for not making the magazine, "UU WUURLD" ...

Okay, my point and I do have one:

I have been asked to conceive and direct a new UU class. NOT an orientation, which we also provide. This is more of a "UU 101" class.

What prompted this is that a) we have no minister b) we have few UU ministers visiting our pulpit and so consequently, we have more than a few new members who don't actually know much about Unitarian Universalism, apart from the overview they get in orientation. Our Board, thankfully, feels strongly that we don't want to just be a non-denominational church, we want to be a Unitarian Universalist church.

I have lots of materials I'm going through, but I wanted to know from you -- minister or layperson -- what is important to you about Unitarian Universalism? What would you want a new member to know? How do help a new member not just be a member of our specific church, but to actually be a Unitarian Universalist?

Thanks in advance.

A Tiger Weaving In and Out

I had a dream a few months ago; I don't think I blogged about it. It was one of those symbolic dreams that's so obvious, you wake up and immediately say, "duh, what was that about?" with sarcasm dripping from your thoughts.

My family was going about our business -- cleaning up dishes, getting dressed, watching television -- and all the while, a tiger was weaving in and out, all around us. All of us knew that he was there. We all knew that at any moment, he could turn and viciously bite -- and kill -- any of us. But in this dream, we did nothing. We knew that there was nothing to do. We couldn't lead the tiger away, we couldn't kill the tiger. We simply had to exist with the tiger walking around us, in and out, circling one or the other. Little Warrior was there, too, going about her business. We didn't try to hold her away from the tiger -- we knew we couldn't. We had to just act normal, not look the tiger in the eyes, and act as if he weren't there.

Some days, it's easier than normal, living with the tiger. Little Warrior is SO fat and healthy looking, and such a bundle of spirit. Ye Gods, the spirit. The spirit that will cause her to throw a screaming meanie fit if her siblings go outside and she doesn't get to. The spirit that will decide that RIGHT NOW, Mama must sit down and nurse her, even though Mom just heated up her lunch and was just about to take a bite of hot vegetable curry. And Mom will find herself, just as she did with other children, grumbling martyr-like, that Of Course She Isn't Allowed to Eat Her Lunch, She Doesn't Deserve It. And getting irritated at Little Warrior. God's in His heaven, all's right with the world.

On those days, I can bump against the tiger, and not even notice. Was that the couch I bumped against?

And then there are the days ... you hear that the tiger in the next house has attacked its occupant. Someone has relapsed. Someone who was originally given a "favorable histology" path is given another biopsy and hears "unfavorable/anaplastic." Their tiger has them under his paw.

And then, you hear every breath the tiger takes. You hear every step. He stops to sniff Little Warrior, and you grow cold with fear. She has dark circles under her eyes. Does that mean ... She's fighting a yeast infection, which she did before diagnosis, does that mean ...

You're happy right now, and the bulbs are emerging through the pine needles, and the sky is blue. You're thinking about the future.

Does that mean.

And the tiger stretches out. And yawns.

This ain't freaking Italy.

Or even Holland.

If you have a baby born who is anything less than 100% "normal," then you have most assuredly been sent, by some well meaning soul, an essay called "Welcome to Holland" by Emily Perk Kingsley. I won't reprint it all here. If you haven't read it, you can google it. It's all about how you can expect one thing, but you need to appreciate it, even if you get something different. I'm sure that for many, many people, it has great meaning and has had a positive effect on their psyche. The author had a child born with Down's Syndrome.

Blow me away, but last spring, in the Candlelighters newsletter (Candlelighters is an organization helping children with cancer), they reprinted the essay.

Are you freakin' kidding me???

Okay, so here's my retelling of this famous bit:

Welcome To Turkey
by Lizard Eater

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with cancer - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Turkey."

"Turkey?!?" you say. "What do you mean Turkey?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Turkey and there you must stay.

Ah well, think you. I can deal with this. And Turkey has wonderful things. Culture. Turkish delight. Turkish coffee. Turkish all-cotton supima bathrobes.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. While you're in the bookstore, trying to buy guide books and sign up for a Berlitz course, two large men with guns and uniforms will come and grab you. They will accuse you of being a terrorist.

They will put you in jail. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. Twice a day, guards will come in and beat you. Every evening, you will be tortured, as they try to get information out of you. "I don't know, I really don't know!" you will cry. "Did you drink diet soda while pregnant? Did you use commercial floor cleaner? Did you move to a polluted city?"

But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that every Tuesday, you get two spoonfuls of gruel, not one....and no one is annoying you by talking too loud on their cell phone. Turkey even has rats, whom you can make into pets.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Turkey.

/snark

Love v. Gratitude

After reading Galen Guengerich's contention that "gratitude should be the center of Unitarian Universalist theology" in UU World, I have been mulling over thoughts of love and gratitude.

Now, I am a big fan of gratitude. Before All Of This, I was in the gratitude club. Not only did I worship gratitude, I felt grateful that I felt gratitude. I knew it made my life better, that I was able to view life through Grat's prism. Nightly, my family goes around the table, saying one thing each person is grateful for that day.

But, now, I believe that gratitude is, as UU Momma writes, "a byproduct as well as a means to an end." I think that gratitude is a result; love is a source.

I thought that I would always be able to find gratitude. But then I learned that life can turn so dark, one can become so lost, that there is no gratitude.

But when there was no gratitude, there was still love.

That very night that Little Warrior was admitted to the pediatric oncology floor, I turned to the Husband and said, "WE -- the you and me that are 'We' -- we will get through this."

As soon as we passed on our news, friends were pulling love all around us. They did research, they said prayers, they made casseroles. They brought us bags filled with comfy clothing, food, magazines. They hugged us. They wept with us.

I am grateful for them. I am grateful for the marvelous doctors who never said, "Oh, I couldn't do pediatric oncology/surgery, it would be too devasting." I am grateful for the scientists, the nurses, the Candlelighters who paid for my parking. I am utterly grateful that my baby is here today.

But when I felt no gratitude, I still felt love. Both from within me and from the outside, I felt love.

UU Soul said it so eloquently, "As much as I love gratitude, I have a problem with UUs relinquishing love to Christians."

Another little tradition that my family has is in our goodbyes. We say, "May the Spirit of Love go with you." The other person answers, "And with you."

Recently, I have begun taking this outside my family. I say it to my friends when we part, I say it to fellow congregants. I don't think that 'love' is a word we hear enough.

May the Spirit of Love go with you.

Louisa May Alcott and George Will

George Will's recent column mentioning Unitarianism has me thinking about Louisa May Alcott.

Specifically, Will's description of "the Emersonian faith that we please God by pleasing ourselves."

Huh.

Well, I can't claim to be an expert on Emerson, but that doesn't ring true to me. And, as I said, it has me thinking about Alcott, a Unitarian of that time.

Her most famous book is, of course, Little Women. But for a taste of Unitarian ethics, I would guide you toward "Eight Cousins." It is a novel written for youth, but it is lovely. It is chock-a-block with lessons about diligence, the glory of hard work, exercise, whole foods, raising strong women and men ... and sacrifice.

A quote from that book, that I will admit to trotting past my own kids:

"It is necessary to do right. It is not necessary to be happy."

Gee, that doesn't sound like pleasing God to please ourselves.

The context of this quote is that the bachelor uncle, quietly, has ceased smoking, because he feels it's a bad influence on his teenage nephews. It leads to the heroine, his orphaned niece and ward, giving up her heart's desire of pierced ears in exchange for her cousins stopping smoking.

It's simple, sure. The best morality stories are.

To have this marvelous, moral religion reduced to, "If it feels good, do it," exposes the writer of the article as one whose theology most assuredly includes a belief that the only way we can keep from being monsters is to believe in a punishing God.

How dreadfully unnecessary.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes ...

... but I find that the farther away I get from my "foxhole," the easier it is to believe in something besides this temporal world. The farther away I get, the farther away from my fear, it becomes possible to believe that there is a unifying spirit. That coincidences are not mere coincidences and that there is a rhythm in the universe.

What draws me up cold, however, is when a child dies from disease, specifically cancer. It offends my sense of right. If you die from disease, it should be after you've actually lived long enough for the world to have its effect on your body. For cancer to kill a child ... it just doesn't make any sense to me. It doesn't fit in with the rhythm. It is a jarring note, an error in the symphony.

If you do pray, and today is one of those days where I'm not sure it does anything, but if you do pray, please send up a prayer for the family of Mark. He was 9. He fought this disease for six years. 2/3 of his life. He had "the cancer to have if you have to have cancer."

Conquer Childhood Cancer

Little Warrior was "lucky." She was diagnosed at an early stage, with a type of childhood cancer that has very good survival rates.

She was also not so lucky ... she was technically at a Stage 5, because she had tumors on both of her kidneys. And then the tumors didn't shrink with the chemo. And because the margins of healthy kidney contained something called nephrogenic rests, which basically means, "um, you may not be done with this."

But mostly she was lucky because of the research that had been done on Wilms' tumors. She benefited. There was an established protocol.

From the below mentioned article:

"The list of studies the group plans to eliminate is not final, but Reaman said the cuts will cover several diseases, such as relapsed acute lymphoblastic leukemia, relapsed solid tumors, a brain tumor called good risk medulloblastoma and chronic myeloid leukemia."

Right there in the middle ... "relapsed solid tumors" ... that's what's on the chopping block to cut the research funding for.

If Little Warrior suffers a relapse ... things become very, very serious. Due to a lack of funding, there is NO established protocol for relapsed Wilms'. At that point, it becomes trial and error. It becomes, "I heard so-and-so-doctor did this ..."

PLEASE, follow this link to send a message to your congressperson to support funding for childhood cancer research.

http://capwiz.com/curesearch/home/

We need more than just luck.

Watch ABC World News Tonight with Charles Gibson

"In response to the federal budget cuts for childhood cancer research,Dr. Gregory Reaman, Chairman of the Children's Oncology Group, was approached and will be featured on ABC World News Tonight with Charles Gibson, airing tonight between 6:30 PM - 7:00 EST. Please check your local listings. The interview was conducted by Brian Hartman, ABC News. The segment is entitled: "Why would anyone want to take a step backwards in the fight against cancer?"

For more information, please visit www.curesearch.org."

Related story:
Budget Cuts Could Hurt Children with Cancer

Food-gasm

Well, the surprise that The Husband had planned was not only dinner at our favorite restaurant, but dinner at the "Chef's Table" in the kitchen. You get to see all the flying around, and the chef decides everything you'll eat, bringing out all kinds of goodies. Not a single miss.

So, on with the food-gasm:

Soup Course:

H: Turtle Soup
a bowl of the signature soup served with a dash of Osborne sherry

LE: Sweet potato
Delicious not-sweet soup, bisque-like, with black truffle oil

Salad Course:

J: Shrimp Remoulade
boiled shrimp coated with Louisiana style remoulade sauce on a cucumber and radish salad

T: Greens with a strawberry vinaigrette, candied pecans, fresh sliced strawberries and warm goat cheese toast

Appetizer Course:

J,T: Chacuterie platter. Homemade smoked tasso ham with a peach jelly, venison sausage, boar terrine with brown mustard and bread and butter pickles, served with brioche toast round

Seafood Course:

J: Jumbo Lump Crab Cakes in a pool of sweet corn cream with a pea shoot salad
T: Wild Maryland Rockfish and Crab, atop a sauté of house-made pancetta, caramelized shallot and wilted chard.

Meat Course:

J: Veal Tournedo – Cocoa nib crusted and pan seared veal paired with a Great Hill Blue Cheese Lyonnaise potatoes

T: Lamb chops with cornbread custard and Jack Daniels Demi-Glace

Cheese Course:

J,T: All artisanal Texas cheeses; a firm goat cheese, a brie-like cheese with green peppercorns and a ewe’s milk-blue. Served with toast points and local honeycomb

Dessert Course:

OHMYFREAKINGGOD. 5 DESSERTS!!! We could only manage a bite or two of each.

Brennan’s Peanut Butter Cup: creamy peanut butter mousse in a dark chocolate shell glazed with a rich chocolate ganache paired with homemade peanut butter ice cream

Creole Bread Pudding Souffle: creole bread pudding whipped into a light fluffy soufflé with rye whiskey sauce

Chocolate Espresso Cheesecake: layers of chocolate and mocha cream cheese filling on a chocolate graham cracker crust.

Medley of Sorbet: a trio of housemade seasonal sorbets topped with fresh berries and served in an almond tulip shell

Creole Cream Cheesecake
made with housemade Creole cream cheese, drizzled with caramel sauce

Laundry List

First on the list today ... let y'all know to look out for a charge from essentials gold on your Citibank or At&t Universal cards. $149.95! It's some kind of a club that supposedly saves you money on purchases ... here's the thing. You can get charged for this without even signing up. I googled it and it came up on Rip-Off Report.com. I contacted my card and filed a fraud claim and contacted essentials gold and told them to cancel it and give me a full refund; I never authorized it.

Here's the deal -- this is done in alliance with the credit card company. I certainly didn't give my credit card number to this business. And I'm not dumb -- I'm not the sort to cash any of those little "checks" that come from your cc company and in small writing say something about how cashing the check means that you've signed up with so-and-so company and will relinquish your first-born child upon demand.

So, I'm a little pissy. You shred your mail, you watch for online theft, you never do business with telemarketers ... and your own cc company sells you out. (And yes, after I get this all cleared up, I'm canceling my AT&T card.)

Okay, on to something fun ... Lizard Eater is going to share a good surprise. (No, I'm not pregnant! Pah! 4 kids, I think I've done my fair share of growing UUism in-house.) Actually, I can't share the surprise, because I don't know what it is. The Husband has some big surprise cooked up. Thus far, I know that I'm going out to dinner,* and that the big part isn't today. Hmmm. *I asked The Husband how I should dress, and he said that he's seen people there in suits, he's also seen them there in casual dress.

I know. He's taking me to McDonalds.

The Perfect Margarita

We take a break from our regularly scheduled programming (because really, when Elie Wiesel is being attacked on an elevator and Zsa Zsa Gabor's husband is claiming that he is her baby daddy, the world has simply gone too crazy for words and you must take a break from reality) for The Perfect Margarita.

I had heard about making margs with agave nectar, so I decided to start with American Princess's recipe. Start and stop. It's perfect. (Those of you who are not granola-heads, you can get agave nectar at your local health food store. Get the light, not the dark or amber.)

6 parts good tequila, 4 parts lime juice, and 1.5 parts (a mod to the original recipe) of agave nectar. Salt on the rim.

Warning: this drink is much smoother than the amount of tequila would indicate. POW.

What does it mean, "To Be Human"?

Nancy of Heart of a Family, is a funny, smart, great writer, and also happens to be the mama of an adorable son who was diagnosed with Williams syndrome.

She has a terrific post today about humankind's instinct to dehumanize those not like us. Of course, unless you're looking in a mirror, everyone is not like you. Different color skin, different gender, different abilities, different health.

Before reading her post today, I had three main things floating around in my head. I've been putting together a home-movie DVD and it has some clips from last spring on there.

Holey shamoley.

Because I was in it, because I was there every day, Little Warrior never looked like a cancer kid. Skinny, yeah. Dark circles under her eyes sometimes, sure.

But looking at the video ... there it is, the look of a cancer kid that we are all familiar with, thanks to tv: almost hairless, big eyes, pale, gaunt.

Alien cancer child.

The other thing in my head ... hurts, even though I don't personally know her. My best friend's aunt is dying of breast cancer. Literally, today, dying. Well, she would be dying, except ...

The doctor is busy.

The doctor is so busy that he can't get over to her hospital room to sign the necessary papers so that they can disconnect all the wires that are keeping her body ... not alive, but breathing.

What's another hour or two? (Or five or six ...) After all, she has the rest of eternity to be dead.

(Quick note: Little Warrior would probably have been born about 45 minutes earlier than she was, except the doctor was across the hall with another laboring mother. The nurses had me doing all manners of panting to keep from delivering. So, there you have it. Gotta wait on the doctor to be born and gotta wait on the doctor to die.)

And third thing ... I've got two cancer-parent friends who are waiting on scan results. The results are in, mind you, but they have to wait til next week for their appointments.

And as they wait ... they cry. And worry. And imagine the worst.

A patient is a patient, not a human. A patient's parents are cancer-parents, not humans.

Because surely, we are more compassionate to humans.

"We were just generous when it was convenient or easy."

I could have written this, but it was another "cancer-parent" friend who just posted this on a list we're on.

"People are so amazing. I use to THINK we were generous people before A's was diagnosed. My definition of generous has changed over the past year. We were just generous when it was convenient or easy."

I would write a whole essay about that ... but she summed it all up. Just generous when it was convenient or easy.

ASK for the sale

That's a basic rule of sales, if not THE basic rule. You can do your whole presentation perfectly, but if you don't then ask for their business, chances are good that you won't get it.

Eclectic Cleric has me thinking about this and other business rules and how they relate to doing church. EC has a post today asking why can't we be as good at greeting visitors as a bookstore?

My situation that I'm thinking about concerns pledges and our "already" members. As I've mentioned before, we've got Money Trouble, right here in a River City, with a capital T that rhymes with P and that stands for Pledge.

Just a few years ago, we were all focused on the same plan, and we had the highest average pledge in the entire district. Now, we have one of the lowest.

So, we had a meeting this past weekend to talk about what we need to do. Now, all of it can't come from pledges, and we're working on that. But we have a culture now where supporting your church financially isn't seen as necessary. None of us have too much money, but face it, most of us (including yours truly) could give more.

So, the presentation was made. Motivation was raised. Spirits were high. And then ...

They didn't ask for the sale.

I know it's hard. How nice it would be to say, "So if you want to give more, the forms are here ..." and have everyone rush the table. It didn't happen.

Any successful salesperson will tell you ... you can have the greatest presentation in the world, but if you don't ask for the sale, you're not doing sales.

ASK FOR THE SALE.

Went to a party alone last night

It was a grownup party (a 'my divorce is final' one) for a friend of mine, so I left the 4 katzenjammer kids with The Husband and made an appearance.

Most of the people I didn't know, which is fine. I'm the kind of person who can join in talking with total strangers, no problem.

Feeling kinda single, feeling kinda cool (merely because there were no children hanging off me) ... and then:

"Dave, this is my friend Lizard Eater. Her daughter had cancer last year."

Okay, it wasn't quite as non sequitor as that. But it kept happening. I kept having to tell complete strangers the story.

Oddly, when Little Warrior is with me, I don't mind it. In fact, there's something in me that wants to let people know she's a cancer survivor. (Knockwoodpleasegodsofar). She's fat and a bundle of energy. I want people to know that babies can get cancer and can beat it. (Knockwoodpleasegodsofar).

But in this situation ... didn't like it. Didn't want to be The Parent of a Baby Who Had Cancer.

Just wanted to be me. Plain ole Lizard Eater.

Okay, I Fell For It

Ben turned me on to Wolf Warning, an article about a website that pastors can use to note troublemakers who go from church to church. Intriguing idea, but not so much with the "let's heal this person."

I admit, I read the article and fell for it.

Then I noticed some of the other articles on the site -- Bible code predicts Tenn. woman's hangnail, Southern Baptists launch pre-emptive strikes against Assemblies of God, etc.

Okay, so it's like a religious version of The Onion. Pretty funny stuff, though. Like this:

Kirk Cameron cut from Growing Pains commentary

Time for "Much, Much"

(And can it be used in our congregations ...)

Kids go through phases. Now that we are parents of 4, when one of ours is going through a particularly naughty phase, we just look at each other and give the call: "Time for 'Much, Much.'"

This is our slang for "Much discipline, much love." It has been our experience that when you've got a kid acting out, the best way of handling it is two-pronged.

The first "Much" -- man, we are on that kid like white on rice. If they so much as roll their eyes, we're getting them back in line. We become little commandants. We want it to be real clear that their behavior tain't appropriate and it's not going to fly. Our normal flexibility takes a backseat. (This is all non-physical. Although, I have been told that I can give a look that physically causes a cold sweat to appear on the back of the neck.)

The second "Much" is just as important. Much love. Lots of listening when the kid wants to talk, lots of hugs and kisses, one-on-one time, etc.

So far, it works.

This is kind of an interesting idea when you think of applying it to church members who are "acting out." I'm not talking about honest disagreement, but rather the members who are behaving in an inappropriate fashion, via triangulating, being antagonistic, etc.

There are some members who come to our church and either they are hurt, or they genuinely don't know the appropriate way to relate to others.

They need our help in healing. But they also need to know that certain behaviors are not acceptable.

I know that I've seen my own church go both ways -- either tolerating behavior that shouldn't be tolerated, or coming down hard on a member with no balance the other way.

What if we gave them Much Much ... very clear direction as to what is unacceptable, but at the same time, a clear show that they are welcome and valued. Following up a "talking to" with an invitation to come to your covenant group. Or, "hey, you're coming to Potluck or Saturday, right?" And then the next time you meet, extending more attention. "How did your dentist appointment go?"

With kids, the big thing is to let them know that whereas their behavior might be unacceptable, they are very much acceptable. They are valued. They are loved.

I'm not a kid, but I know that's what I want, too.

Goodbye, Molly

http://chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/4516026.html

I met Molly Ivins a few years ago, at a book signing. You would have thought I was meeting (insert favorite rock star). I could barely talk. But I managed to squeak out my request that she write something about from one Texas gal to another, because I was going to give it to my Mama. She kindly did so.

I don't believe in a literal heaven, where you meet up with those who have gone before you -- though I really, REALLY want to -- but it's a nice visual, isn't it: Ann Richards hanging out at the gate, meeting Molly with a cold beer held out. Saying something about "You think we can raise some HELL up here???"

"Eating her courage away"

Bo Peep just bobbed into the kitchen, singing, "Little Miss Muffin, sat on her tuffin, eating her courage away."

So get off your tuffin and stop eating your courage away.

Aw, shucks ...

Thank you for the nominations for the UU Blog Awards.

And thank you, you generous souls who responded to my post about being a minister/returning to seminary. They were so heartening. I am humbled.

And ... I spent an hour looking at my seminary's schedule. (And a few minutes grousing about how the Big Important University near me offers Ph.Ds in theology, but no Master's, and no divinity degrees of any type. Because, God forbid, you might actually want to put theology in practice. /snark)

It would be a very different experience, returning to my seminary. I couldn't see it just as "language lessons," as I did before. I would have to question some concepts. I would not hide being a UU.

That might be kinda fun.

Triptych of Little Warrior

Questions of how prayer works, aside ...

Thank you for your prayers.

Healing the Those Emotionally Hurt by Ministers

I'm not talking about those who were a victim of ministerial misconduct. That's a whole other issue.

I've become aware that part of the anti-ministerial attitude shared by some in our church comes from having had a negative experience with a minister in the past.

For most, it was in another denomination. A minister who made them feel excluded. A minister who didn't preach of love. Someone who made them feel less than what they are.

For some, it happened in our own church, in the past. They feel disillusioned.

I know that this has been an issue in other UU churches as well. It doesn't always manifest as an anti-minister attitude, sometimes these folks go to a church that already has a minister. But they carry with them the pain of previous religious experience.

Unlike most of my posts, this isn't a rhetorical question. I ask you -- do you have a program for healing these souls when they come to your church? You can put the anti-minister attitude to the side. It will be years before we can afford a minister anyway.

But how do we help them heal?

How do we give them "hope and courage"?

I hate this disease I hate this disease I hate this disease

Molly Ivins' cancer has come back with a vengeance.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Today is Livejournal's third annual "Down the Rabbit Hole" day, in honor of Lewis Carroll's birthday. Goal: to post your own "down the rabbit hole/different from your regular life" made-up day. So, joining in with my lj friends, here's my Down the Rabbit Hole post:

Alan C and Merribeth are taking me out to dinner tonight. Alan said to choose what I wear very carefully, because since I was nominated, paparazzi will probably be staking out the restaurant. Mer's husband Dave is staying at home with the new baby. She joked that she might have to go to the ladies' to ... get this ... pump her boobs. I know it's the "right" thing to do and all that, but it weirds me out. But the idea of being a parent is equally freaky. It was hard enough playing one in "Left Coast"!

Anyway, Josie is coming over this afternoon to help me get ready for tonight. I think I'll have her fix my hair in an updo like Gwyneth is always wearing. That looks so "classic movie-star," even if it does make my face look fat. Well, I've porked up since being between films. I am actually a size four now. Horrifying! And the awards are just a month away. Back to the raw food, and no more dates, either. Those are just candy.

Cecil says that I need to pick a charity that I support now. It's all the rage, Angelina, thank you very much. No, actually I think it's a good idea. After all, Karma means that you get something good in return, right? Since I played a mom in "Left Coast," he thinks it should be something for children. He talked about St. Jude's, but gah, I just couldn't. I just see those bald-headed kids on tv and want to bawl, so I change the channel.

Hey, is there a charity for plump film stars? LOL!

I don't know who I'm going to take to the show, since Luke will still be on location. He said that he and Jessica just really need to stay and work on their scenes. I'm sure she needs a lot of direction.

Maybe I'll take my niece Clarissa. She is so cute. I mean, she's in that awkward stage right now, but I think we'd look sweet together. That's the great thing about being the aunt. All the fun, none of the work!

Okay, I gotta go. I'm scheduled for a massage in 5. Tah.

Fighting the Call

It seems like I spent a good part of my life fighting the pull to be a minister. Then, a few years ago, I had my Road to Damascus moment and I felt that I could fight no longer. It felt scary, but it felt right. I felt that God was giving me clear messages to become a trained-and-ordained minister. I knew it would take me longer than most. That gave me no pause; I figured it was for a reason and would ultimately help me.

And then ... diagnosis.

Funny, but even in all that fear of the first few days, the thought of ministry didn't disappear. In fact, I very cynically thought, "Well, this is just like in a book ... the heroine experiences a huge crisis that alters her faith, she turns her back on God and is done with religion."

Of course, I am a Unitarian, so even if I turned my back on God (I would argue I didn't, I just began to define God in a different way), that doesn't mean I'm done with religion.

Sidenote: Isn't it great to be part of a religion where our changing beliefs about God don't mean that we must exit out the side door of the chapel?

I had to put all seminary studies on hold to take care of LW. As time went on, and my thoughts about God and prayer changed, the thought of going back to seminary seemed to me distasteful. Being around surgeons and oncologists, it felt that for me to be a minister was frightfully self-indulgent. Especially a UU minister, who would serve such a tiny part of the population.

(This is where I am aware that this is a public blog ... I am fighting the urge to delete those words, because I don't want to offend any UU ministers. But the most important part of this blog, to me, is that I be honest about my feelings.)

And, ultimately, it's the case of the starfish. "I made a difference to *that one*." I have been blessed to have several UU ministers make a difference to me via their blogs and my blog. I can only imagine what a gift it would have been to have my own minister.

I think that the biggest issue is one of circular logic. Very soon after Little Warrior was diagnosed, I began hearing the refrain, "... this will make you a better minister."

Perhaps it will; I think all of our life experiences help us to be better ministers. I will go out on a limb here and say that I think a minister with 20 years experience will be a better minister than one with 6 months experience, assuming that s/he has learned something in that time, and is still willing to learn.

But the whole argument is so distasteful to me. For me to benefit in some way from LW having cancer ... I feel nauseated. Yes, I have learned from the experience. Yes, it has affected me in many different ways. But there is no lesson I learned that was worth an innocent baby going through that.

I guess I am still angry at the universe. Before, I saw messages from The Source in everything. I would be thinking about something, a song would come on the radio; I felt it was a message.

I am a petulant child. I fight against becoming a minister. Because LW's journey WILL have made me a better minister. And I don't want to reward the universe by allowing her pain to make me a better anything. I know that I sound like a spoiled child, even as I write those words. But the feeling remains.

I want to go back to seminary. To learn and argue and be exposed to new ideas. I just don't want to be a minister.

Forgot about IT ... then vividly reminded ...

At 1:00 today, I was filling in a form that asked for LW's birthdate. I thought, as I always do, of the cancer clinic, and how I have to "think" of my other kids' birthdates, but hers is automatic because it's the identifier that you're always being asked for.

Anyway, what was cool was realizing that I had gone a whole half-day without even thinking about cancer, or seeing it as part of who she is. (The Baby Who Had Cancer.)

And then ...

A friend just emailed me the link to the website for the daughter of an acquaintance of hers. Little daughter, just diagnosed with a terminal brain stem tumor.

Clicked on the link. Read. Saw her picture.

Died a thousand deaths all over again.

The Day After, One Year Later

Song of Solomon 2:11-12
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come

Last year, I woke up on this morning, and my life had changed. I was the mother of a child with cancer.

Today, I woke up, and --at least for the moment-- all is well.

What shall I do with my new life.

A Look Back at One Year's Journey

Okay, so here I am, a year later. One year ago today, I took Little Warrior (who then went by the label "The Happiest Baby in the World") and Bo Peep, and went to playgroup, followed by a trip to the pediatrician for something which surely was nothing ...

And was something.

So, LE, ya wanna wrap up everything you've learned this past year in one pithy post? A few mentions of how you've changed?

I know what "profoundly grateful" means. How could I not? Little Warrior is still alive and looks like a bouncing baby toddler. She is still alive. Last year, that wasn't a sure thing.

I tried to go back and read my blog from the start of last year. I got to the end of February, and stopped. I know too much about what happens in March. It's kind of like seeing a movie multiple times ... you still hope that Shelby is going to wake up from her coma, even though you know she won't. For the rest of my life, I will be able close my eyes, and be back in that doctor's office as he tells that us that the chemo isn't working. "Minimal response." I can be in the surgeon's office as he explains what will happen if he opens her up, and the tumors have spread farther than he's expecting.

I can't read March.

It seems so unbearably cliched to say that this has affected me, changed me. But how could it not.

When I began this blog, high on what I felt was a Road to Damascus experience, I picked uuminister.blogspot.com. I meant no disrespect to those who were already ministers; I was simply excited about beginning the journey to becoming a minister.

I should change to a different url and will, at some time, when I have the time. I'm not currently in seminary and do not have any immediate plans to return. Right now, the idea of opening myself up to others' pain, and their need for my ministering ... I can't imagine it. I am not healed. I know this.

God
My old vision of God -- well, he and I parted ways. I don't call myself an atheist, or even an agnostic, but the idea of a personal God who sees all and cares just doesn't work for me anymore. To me, I think of "God" as being sight, and we are those who are blind since birth. How do you explain sight to one who has never seen? He will try to put it into his own context, but there is no real context for it, other than what it is. So we try to make sense of it by using things from our context -- Father, Mother, Love, Oneness.

That being said, at night, as I curl up in bed, I have found myself thinking, "I miss God." I cannot, as the song goes, simply let it be a mystery. I don't work that way, I don't think that way. But I will not deny that my heart yearns out for a greater power who loves me and wants good things for me.

I expect that journey to continue.

Change
After Christmas, I sat in my favorite living room chair and looked at my little Christmas village set. It's such a touchstone for time, for me. What will have happened by the time I next bring it out?

Before this past journey, I would say that with great anticipation. What will have happened by the time I next bring it out!

Now, I say it with fear.

This is how I have changed. Before, I loved change. It was all unicorns and rainbows and oooh, what wonderful thing will happen next?

Now, I have learned that change is not necessarily good. And life can be scary.

Friends
I already loved my friends, but I have a greater appreciation for the power they have. The power to make you feel not alone. The power to be your brain, when you are frozen. Mine showed up at our hospital room with good food; a binder, filled with different pockets and pads, ready for me to fill up with the overwhelming information I was getting; their own clothes -- warm sweatpants and flannel shirts; and open ears. There was nothing I couldn't say to them. I didn't have to reassure them. I could break down if I needed to; I could laugh if I needed to.

Going to chemo appointments, another friend met me there a couple of times. The purported reason was to keep me company, but the bigger reason was so that she could share the experience. It wasn't just mine and The Husband's painful journey to go through -- our friends did, as well.

Little Things
I have a profound appreciation for what I previously would have considered "little things." I admit, I wasn't much of a card sender. But now I know ... a card in the mail is so much more than a little piece of cardstock. It's a piece of time, a chunk of energy. It says that a person thought of you, bought a card, looked up your address, found a stamp. It is a gentle handpat, coming through your mailbox.

And Little Things that mean nothing ... I have very little patience for petty squabbles. No patience at all for those who enjoy complaining. Change it or get over it.

I have learned that you can't tell what's coming around the bend. If the sun is shining and you don't feel bad, then take advantage of that. Enjoy. Enjoy every minute that you actually can. There will come a time when you cannot manufacture joy. When life is so sad or scary that there is no happiness in your soul. If you can be happy ... do.

Simple, simple, simple
People say lots of things to you, when you go through something sad or traumatic. They mean well.

In the end, it was the simplest things people said, that had the most effect on me. When a friend called and said, "God, this really just sucks!" When another friend, who had lost her son to leukemia told me, with great meaning, "You will live through this."

Real is vastly superior to eloquent.

Having This Blog
This blog has been my place to cry, my place to rail. My place to say the unimaginable things I didn't want to share with anyone, not even myself. I could put them here, and leave them here. I have treated it more like a diary than a conversation; this was deliberate. I am too concerned with others' thoughts of me. It was for this reason that I didn't share it with anyone who knew me in "real life." I knew that I would begin writing what I wanted them to see me writing, rather than truth. I needed a place where I could be brutally true. I felt a need to be brutally true to any future person who might find herself in my situation and discover my blog.

And yet ... I discovered a community. New friends would leave comments on my blog, giving me cheer when I needed it, compassion when I needed that. Faceless, usually nameless friends, with interesting monikers ... I felt they were walking along with me on this journey, shadows to the left and right of me.

And Life Goes On
Several times, as I've been writing this post, I've had to pause. Not to get lost in thought or to gaze, unseeingly into the great void ... Rather, to go chase Little Warrior, who has gone up the stairs, or wrestle away a pack of gum that one of her siblings left out, or soothe Bo Peep, who just got bonked on the head with a lego.

Life goes on. Little Warrior is well, and frequently wreaking havoc. This week, I think she's decided to go early into the Terrible Twos. I lose my patience. I lose my temper. I explain to her, as she tries to climb over the back of a kitchen chair, that I worked Really Hard to try and keep her alive and I Don't Appreciate her attempts to kill herself.

And Then
I laugh.

Obladi, Oblada.

Not Seeing the Forest for the Trees

Suddenly, I feel surrounded by many who don't see the forest for the trees, both locally and globally. And by locally, I mean my church.

Case in point: my church, as I briefly mentioned, is in danger of dying. Money, baby. We may not last the year. We're having to go into our savings, our hopeful, "someday we'll have a church of our own" money. We are having strategic meetings, trying to figure out how to get more money. Saving money isn't an issue -- the only way we could save money at this point is to move out of our building. (Which may be an issue.)

So what happens at the last program council meeting? A member tells us that we NEED to make a third bathroom. Technically, it would actually be a fourth bathroom, since we have a large ladies' room, large men's room, (really large -- this used to be a gym), and a bathroom in the nursery. We need this bathroom, you see, for any transgendered folks who don't feel like going to the men's or ladies'. On top of that, we need to purchase the $75 sign from Meadville-Lombard, that proclaims it to be a transgendered bathroom. When it was pointed out that, gee, if we got that far, we could make our own sign, he said no, because their sign has braille on it.

OKAY, LET ME SEE IF I AM GETTING THIS STRAIGHT.

We, a church that may, after more than a decade, be about to close our doors, need to make a $5000 bathroom for any blind transgendered people who might, possibly, one day, come into our suburban strip-mall church???

I think the bathroom is a fine idea, though I would simply make it a big unisex bathroom so that it could be used for families/transgendered/etc. And handicapped accessible, which we don't currently have.

But the bigger fact remains ... we don't have enough money to pay our bills!

(Lizard Eater dissolves in a mouth-frothing, squeeking, head-spinning, puddle.)

Okay. I'm back.

I am comparing that with the news today that the doomsday clock has been moved closer to midnight, due in part to our climate change, which Stephen Hawking described as a greater threat to our planet than terrorism.

Meanwhile, motions are put before Congress and before the voters to define marriage as only between opposite sexes. Bush is sending more troops to Iraq.

And the beat goes on.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-CHANGES ...

(with a thank you to David Bowie.)

BLOG CARNIVAL TOPIC: Change

What compels you to change, and towards what are you aiming? You could talk about what religious (or non-religious) figures inspire you, about what tools you use to help yourself change, and what role you think god and the church might have to do with this change?

Well.

I have found that the most powerful source for personal change is external events. Of course, I doubt I would have written that last year at this time. Cynically, I can point to how often we make our resolutions ... lose weight, get a better job, read Proust ... but often what propels us is an event. A husband leaves. A class reunion looms. A boss takes all the credit for your big project.

Contentment can be a very dangerous thing, as it may keep us from pushing ourselves to improve, to strive toward a dream. Discomfort -- economic, self-consciousness, whatever -- is good sauce for change.

Before last January, I probably would have said something about how events occur precisely because we need to change. I know that on more than one occasion I said something along the lines of "if you're not doing what you should, God will happily give you a kick in the ass to get things going."

Your child gets cancer = inability to go along with that. For me, anyway. Because if that's true, then, that everything happens for a reason, that God has a master plan to make you change, then ... wait ...

So, if I am going to change because of my child getting cancer ... and this is happening for a reason ... then God gave my child cancer to get me to change???

"What a freakin' asshole!"

Pardon my blasphemy. I don't believe that God is an asshole and I don't believe that God makes things happen to effect change.

Moving on ...

The three questions -- what figures inspire me, what tools I use, what role is that of god/church: well, slap my butt and call me a housewife, but the person whom I have personally seen change the most people (and for the better) is a self-described chubby little lady who calls herself "Flylady." She wound up creating a tool to help others -- a mailing list and her website -- and she does all of that for free, because she feels it is her mission from God. (Any slippage into Blues Brother accent is purely accidental.)

So what is this magical change she causes?

Well, you can call it learning how to be organized, or keep your house clean, or take care of yourself, but in her words, it's from the acronym FLY -- Finally Loving Yourself.

She teaches people to love themselves by taking care of themselves, one babystep at a time. Your very first step, believe it or not, is to shine your kitchen sink. Even if you have to take all the dirty dishes out of it, and stack them on the counter, first you shine your sink. And you make a commitment to shine it every night before you go to bed.

Simple? Yes. Effective? Well, I believe her mailing list just topped 300,000 members with no advertising. Every day, people send her "testimonials" about how she has changed lives, marriages, kept CPS from taking their kids, encouraged those in abusive relationships to leave.

Her theology is not mine. Occasionally, she sounds too old-fashioned in role proscription for my taste. But she helps people change for the better.

And I'm not just a hair club fan, I'm also a client. Hat off to you, FlyLady. I humbly give you the award for being a Matthew 25:35 Christian.

4 Sets of Yellow Pajamas

That's what Little Warrior now owns.

Whenever you get surgery, day or otherwise, at her hospital, they put you in a set of yellow pajamas, which are yours to keep. She now owns 4 pair.

(shakes head in wonderment that her 19 month old baby could have had 4 surgeries.)

Well, today was mouth surgery. Chemo has its effect on developing teeth; in her case, her teeth either crumbled to bits or looked like swiss cheese. She is now sporting a Hollywood Smile of four capped teeth and two tooth-colored filled teeth. She also has cut-up gums and a puffy face, but we are DONE!

She is sleeping on her father, who is also asleep. (Part of being a daddy means developing an amazing knack for sleeping upright.) We will spend most of our weekend trying to give attention to LW, who, by the end of the week, began lashing out at strange times. (Go figure ... Tues=CT/MRI, Wed=doc appt, Thurs=onc. appt and blood test, Fri=surgery.) And attention to the 4 year old because having two different "grandmas" taking care of her this week has her doing deja vu back to last year. And attention to The Boy because he finally succumbed to the tummy bug going through our family. And attention to The Princess because everyone else is getting attention.

As for me, The Husband just found a recipe for a Truffletini that he wants to try out. (He loves to mix drinks, but rarely drinks, himself.)

Happy weekend to everybody. Long week, tough week ... but freakin' GREAT week here.

Beautiful, beautiful day

Got a call from the onc. CT Scan = "No Evidence of Metastases." Abdominal MRI = "No Evidence of Disease."

Mommy=Ecstatic.

Scans and Two For the Road

She got her CT scan and the MRI. No results, of course, yet. But The Husband called the onc's office to say, look, I already have to miss work twice this week, can you let me know whether I need to come to the appointment on Thursday? In other words, will the appointment just be to say, "everything's great" or ...

Or.

Have you seen Two for the Road? Really, you must, MUST see it. Albert Finney and Audrey Hepburn, following their marriage, but in a non-linear fashion. One of the best things in the movie, is that you see them pass (on the road, in cities) their younger selves who also were at that place, at an earlier time.

Haven't you ever felt like that? Gone to the old cafe where you used to hang out in college, and expect to see your younger self over in the corner? Thought of the things you'd go tell her/him?

Just me?

Anyway, I had a Two for the Road moment today. We got to the hospital at 5:30 am, and they don't open up the offices til 6. So, The Husband, Little Warrior and I went to the little hospital chapel. No one was there, so we let LW romp around it.

I sat in the same place that I sat on March 31. I had just handed LW over to the anesthesiologist for her surgery on both kidneys. We didn't know what would happen. Went to the chapel and sobbed and sobbed. Dropped to my knees, begged silently, sobbed more.

I saw her today, my younger and heartbroken self. I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to LW who was, at that moment, happily climbing into a little chair, just her size. Rosy-cheeked, hair growing in. I pointed her out to my earlier self and said, Look.

I like to think that I felt my future self put an arm around my shoulders but I couldn't, alas, hear what she had to say.

Cognitive Disonance

Tomorrow, Little Warrior gets her 6 month CT lung scan and abdominal MRI. Today, I'm trying to put together a humor service.

Call me insane.

I guess it's denial of the highest degree, since I don't give this talk til February. What I really feel like doing is sitting somewhere and weeping a bit. But I'm a Mom, with two kids at home, and that tends to be the kind of thing that comes up later in therapy. Theirs, not mine.

On top of this is the fact that she's been dealing with the stomach virus that she caught from her sister. She seems to be better, cross fingers, touch wood. If she throws up again, we have to cancel the scans and reschedule.

My purple bracelet isn't here yet. Thank goodness.

Random thought ... I don't want LW to grow up thinking she's special because she had cancer. She IS special, but for much better reasons. She has a giant scar across her belly. I think I'll teach her that when people ask, she should say she once laughed so hard, she split in two.

Pet Peeve Yields Side-Splitting Laugh

Okay, admittedly, I was an English major. But it really drives me nuts, this current fashion of using "literally" to add emphasis to a statement, even if it is NOT literally true.

But in a recent story about a UU minister's service, a journalist misused "literally" that gave me quite a humorous vision.

Snip:
"Reverend Trumbore, of First Unitarian Universalist Society, wanted to try something new for the first Sunday of the New Year, and his Sunday morning service had the congregation in stitches. Literally."

Literally?

Literally???

A vision of Rev. Trumbore, running through the aisles of his church, slashing his congregants with a pair of scissors, arose in my literalist brain. "At the end of the service, still laughing, but grimacing from the pain, the congregation carpooled to the local hospital where most received between 3-8 stitches where the minister had wounded them."

I'm slated to give a humor service the Sunday before Valentines Day, but I don't plan to literally have my congregation in stitches.

That, you can only get from a professional minister.

--
http://www.capitalnews9.com/content/your_news/capital_region/default.asp?ArID=202156

Enjoy your own bed

Tonight, if you crawl into your own bed, take a moment to appreciate it.

Before you nod off, look around your room -- even if it is messy, as mine usually is -- and appreciate how comfortable you feel. Your room. Your womb for the next 6-9 hours.

It's usually something we take for granted. Until you find yourself not in your room. In a hospital room, either for yourself or someone you love.

The night before I took Little Warrior to the doctor ... that turned into the ER ... that turned into the oncology floor ...

The night before all that, my little baby lay next to me in bed, as she did every night. She was blissfully asleep, belly full of milk. I knew I was taking her to the doctor the next day, for some repeated vomiting and a distended abdomen. Perhaps it was some type of a bowel obstruction.

I kissed her forehead and looked around the room, soaking everything in. Consciously soaking everything in. Appeciating the moment. I'll always have this night, I thought to myself. This lovely, normal night.

I don't think my thoughts were particularly prescient. It is the domain of all parents to worry that something big and scary will happen to their child.

(That being said, "Your Baby Has Cancer" was not something I expected to hear.)

Over the next two weeks, I would think back to that night. I guess I still do, because it was the last night of my innocence.

But I also looked back to that night because I was in my room. Messy, things strewn around, blankets twisted. My room. My bed. And it was where I most wanted to be.

Tonight, if you are there, enjoy being in your own bed.

Scan Date: Tuesday

Well, that's sudden. Which is probably good, since it gives me less time to go crazy. As one of the other "Wilms' Parents" says, "Every three months, we have a nervous breakdown." The new normal.

So, up early early to get to the hospital by 6:30 am for CT of chest, MRI of abdomen. Already got the phone call from the billing department informing us that since it's a new year, our deductible starts again, so be sure and bring $1000 with you, 'kay?

All prayers/candle-lighting/chicken-sacrificing accepted with thanks.

I Just Ordered My Purple Bracelet

I think I'm watching my church die.

It's heartbreaking and heartrending and I can't even get into it all here.

Moving on, in a not-completely-unrelated story:

"It was a pastor’s simple idea: Just stop complaining.

And to help his congregation remember, the Rev. Will Bowen gave each one a purple bracelet stamped with the word spirit.

The challenge was to go 21 days straight without mumbling a complaining word and no gossiping and criticizing either. If a person slipped, the bracelet was to be switched to the other wrist, and the 21-day time period started over.

But what began in July as a simple idea has become a national movement, a “complaint-free movement.” And Christ Church Unity in Kansas City is becoming known throughout the country as the complaint-free church."

I'm sure that I will be switching my bracelet back and forth many times a day. But at least I'll be trying.

“If you don't like something change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. Don't complain." - Maya Angelou

Order a bracelet. (free)

Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream ...

... a world where Unitarian Universalism wasn't foreign.

In my dream, I blogged about it, calling it "A Big Day for Unitarian Universalism."

Early in the day, there were two different instances of someone prominent/celebrity receiving an award and being identified as UU, e.g. "Justin Timberlake, Unitarian Universalist."

Later, Oprah came on, and she identified her guest as Jane So-and-So (except Jane was famous) and noted, "and she's a leader in the Unitarian Universalist religion!" And the audience cheered, in the way that they would if she said "and she lives in Chicago!"

Wow.

Relativity

The Husband is upstairs, sleeping with a stuffed-up, snotty baby on his chest.

I'm downstairs, emptying the vomit bowl from The Princess every 20 minutes.

Last year, at this time (prior to January 18), I would have thought, Day-um, this sucks! What a horrible start to the new year!

This year ... (shrugs nonchalantly).

Ah, relativity.

--
January 18: initial diagnosis in ER

New Year's Thank You to Fellow Bloggers

Ah, the end of the year. The one thing I'm not doing is listing any resolutions or any plans. Last year, Christmas '05, my family sat around my dining table and spoke of our plans. A trip in the spring for my parents, going back to seminary for me, etc.

God said Ha.

But I will use this time for some blogging thank you's. I am a bit fearful to do this -- I know I will miss someone who has written just the right thing at the right time for me. So, as we say in church, "we honor both the spoken and unspoken words ..."

Thank you, Anne, for your plucky spirit, wild life (compared to this sedate mom) and awesome sense of humor.

Thank you, Boobless Brigade Master, for your in-your-face attitude that I learn from and seek to emulate.

Thank you, Philocrites, for keeping me in the greater world of UU thought, even during the time I couldn't attend my church or seminary.

Thank you, iMinister, for making me feel like I had a minister keeping an eye out for me, and a hand outstretched for when I fell.

Thank you, Peacebang, for challenging me both in the theological and appearance arenas.

Thank you, RevSean, for saying nice things. Nice is undervalued in some places. It is not here.

Thank you Nancy, for sharing your journey with your son. I know that if we lived next door to each other, we'd be great friends, and constantly in mischief.

Thank you, Chalice Chick, for being my "Yeah, yeah!" blogger friend. So many of your posts have me saying, "Yeah, what SHE said!"

And to all of you whose blogs I have visited, and those who have visited mine, being an observer to this journey.

Happy New Year. May 2007 find you and yours in good health, with the only surprises good ones. And laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

I don't want to take down the Christmas tree.

We need to take it down.

For one thing, we got it Thanksgiving weekend and it's quite dried out.

For another thing, we're having friends over New Year's Eve/New Year's Morning and we could really use the space in the living room. Not to mention moving the other chair back in here.

Plus, we have so many other holiday decorations, whittling off some of the work for Monday would be nice.

But if we take down the Christmas tree, it means Christmas is over.

If Christmas is over, then January is just about here.

And January is our next round of doctors' appointments, CT and MRI.

And January 06 was when it all began.

I don't want to take down the Christmas tree.

Yuletide Wrap-Up: On Dealing with the Calorie-Phobic

There were a few bumps this holiday, as there were all over the country. Nothing as dramatic as Uncle Billy getting drunk and accidentally shooting the cat. Just your average annoyances.

Since those hiccups did, however, take away a bit of my enjoyment, I am trying to think of "how will I deal differently with this next year?"

First issue at hand: those who love to eat good food, but then spend all their time talking about how fat they are, and how things are so delicious, so they have no willpower, and how they hate themselves for being fat*, and by the way, LE, you might be interested in LA Weight Loss or Jenny Craig -- I have a friend who did that and lost 30 lbs in 3 days!

Lizard Eater stopped midbite where she had been happily minding her own business to give the person a "that's not going to happen" smile.

So, next year: in addition to the cookies and homemade truffles and all the yummies that only are made once a year, there will be a prominently-labeled container of prepared raw veggies -- carrots, sliced red bell peppers, celery, radishes, oh lots of good stuff.

At the beginning of the holiday, a formal announcement will be given, stating the location of said container, and the expectation that if one feels inclined to moan about the calories of any treat, they are to immediately go to the raw veggie box and fill their mouth. (And shut the hell up.)

* One good effect -- it made LE (who is 30 lbs overweight) and The Husband (who is a little less buff than he'd like to be) agree that to hate one's self over weight is the height of vanity and shallowness. Especially when the person in question is exceedingly fit, and is stressing over a 2 lb difference in her normal physique. If you're going to hate yourself, lawsy, let it be for something more interesting, like your predilection for shooting housepets while intoxicated.

Yuletide Wrap-Up: Yule Ritual

Gathering all my thoughts up, much like the toys, gift bags, product instructions and other holiday detritus that are scattered around our living room.

Pre-Christmas: On Friday, I led our first ever Winter Solstice Ritual up at church. Though I wouldn't describe myself as "exclusively" a Pagan anymore, I went through an extended amount of time where my spiritual energies were focused on Wicca, so I have more than a passing acquaintance with it. Fast forward to the present, when a mother in the congregation asked if I would talk to her teenage son about Wicca, who evinced an interest. Really smart, interesting young man -- the combination of my interest being reawakened, added to more new folks coming to the church who had that bent, topped with the teen's interest, led to the service.

It was terrific.

About twice as many people showed up as I expected. One part of the ritual was really, really lovely. I stole it from an online source, perhaps from a UU congregation, but can't remember now, who. Whomever, I thank you.

We had "personal" candles held, one for every couple of people. One yellow candle in the middle of the altar represented the sun. All of these were lit. I had some words about the longest day of the year, and how ancient peoples perhaps didn't know that the sun would return. Some words about loss. Gee, why did that appeal to me? And we went around the circle and those who wished to, were invited to share what they had lost during the past year. For me: "Loss of innocence. Loss of a feeling of protection. Loss of a personal connection to the divine." One by one, as each couple finished, the candles were extinguished. Lastly, I snuffed the sun candle and introduced a few minutes of silence for us to think about these losses.

Then, I lit the sun candle and invited those holding the personal candles to relight them from it. I had some words about the promise of the sun returning, the promise of a new year. We went around the circle, speaking of the promises we could see. Mine: "The promise of health for my family. The promise that we can now turn our energies to our dreams and goals."

Really lovely.

Magic moment: at the end of the entire ritual, (which was a definite end, there wasn't anything inconclusive about it), everyone stayed put. "Um, go in Peace ..." I said. Again, no one moved. After a couple of seconds, one woman said quietly, "I don't want to go." Everyone agreed, so we just sat for a few moments in silence.

Fixed "in a box" link

Bummer, I didn't have the correct "In a Box" link. It's fixed now.

http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/digital_shorts.shtml

Not kid friendly.

Nothing says "Christmas" like male genitalia

I was already a fan of SNL's "Schweddy Balls" skit.

And now I have in a Box.

Tee-hee.

--

Emily: You are four.

Lorelai: And balls are funny.

-- Gilmore Girls

Christmastimes A-Coming!

And all my inner Martha Stewart has gone out the window. Less than a week to go, so it's now time to start either getting things done or scratching them off the to-do list.

Now first, for anyone not familar with this treat, I offer up Oreo Truffles which are absolutely the most slack-azz thing you can make that are still yummy. Really yummy. Like, people won't guess how trashy it is.

Take a package of Oreos. Any Oreos. I've heard using the mint ones are terrific.

Run them through the food processor, or put in a plastic bag and beat the mistletoe out of 'em.

Toss the crumbs in your mixer with one package softened cream cheese. Mix til they're totally mixed, just one big black mess.

Roll into balls.

Chill.

Toss a bunch of chocolate chips -- regular, milk, white, I don't care -- in a bowl in your microwave. Nuke for 30 seconds, stir, repeat til it's good and runny.

Take the chilled balls out and dip in the chocolate. Put on a cookie sheet and chill. Eat.

If you want to get fancy, take some chocolate of the opposite color, pop it in a baggie, and nuke til melted. Squiggle some over the truffles.

Pathetically easy. My kids think they're the greatest thing since tv.

Now is also the time of the season that both I and The Husband are patting me on the back. Some people like to wrap packages. I don't. I am obviously missing some key geometric gene, because I always wind up being one inch short on wrapping, or way too much, and my gifts look like Little Warrior wrapped them. Actually, hers might look better.

I don't like to sew, either, but I dislike it less than wrapping. Plus, I hate all that waste. All that work buying pretty paper and RIPPPP ... plus bagging up all the paper ... ugh.

So ... after Christmas one year, I went and bought lots of different Christmas fabrics for cheap. Sewed up what are basically pillowcases of every different size.

Which brings us back to this time of year. Toss the gift in a bag, tie on a ribbon. Done.

And Christmas day ... simply fold up the bags and box them away til next year.

How very Martha Birkenstewart.

Time to Hang Up the Cauliflower

The same daughter who referred to part of my anatomy as "mermaid" asked me this the other day:

"When are you going to hang up the cauliflower?"

???

"You know, you kiss under it."

I think you mean 'mistletoe.'

(Confused look). "Then what's cauliflower?"

I need to feed my kids more vegetables.