Dedicated

We dedicated our son at church last sabbath.

That basically meant we lifted him up like Simba at Pride Rock and packs of gazelles and bobcats circled around and sang MNANGAHALAWASSOMANGOHALO which means "Behold! Another manchild handed over to organized religion!"

The same pastor who baptized me, and who dedicated Baby Girl, also dedicated Little Man. It was lovely to have Pastor Park do the honors, as it was his last sabbath at our church before he moved to his new position as a conference administrator (where I imagine he will probably make millions marketing veggie meat).

I know many people have many thoughts about raising a child in a religious community, particularly a Sabbath-keepin', fundamentalist-believin' one, and these same people probably are the same ones that pick lint off the shoulder of your sweater while you are talking to them. But no matter. I'm okay with conservative religions, and I really enjoy the ones that teeter dangerously on Are They a Cult or Aren't They? Those are fun.

In all seriousness, I am just deeply grateful for our church, it's made of wonderful people who are dedicated to advancing a genuine love for God and His word. That's it. I want my kids to know this. If they choose otherwise when they are older ALL THOSE SABBATH SCHOOL LESSONS FOR WHAT?! then I will have to accept that. Just like my own parents did when I made my own church choice. You know, after we screamed at each other for a little while. Long while.

We still love each other. And God. The same one. I think. I believe... Um? Jesus loves you.

And He loves my son.

- photo credits to the talented Dr. Paul Yoo

Skool Vacay

It's school vacation week in Bostonland and it's obvious how stressful vacation week is for everyone who is not on vacation from school. It shouldn't be stressful, I mean, the school buses aren't tying up traffic and there's free admission for kiddies at the MFA, but it's just the expectation is so high to keep the kiddies enterTAAAAAINED and the weather is not yet run-outside-with-no-jacket-warm outside, so we get done with Baby Boot Camp and then where do we go? We didn't plan anything and we didn't secure the free tickets to the Children's Museum from the library three months ago, so we go...to the mall. Uffff. The mall, really? With the tongues of Build-a-Bear unfurling and suddenly we have a new firefighter fluffbear with the full-on firehose accessory? Or so I've heard.

You know, today I thought we'd have a girly fun time at the American Girl Doll store. Oh that cute cafe where you can snap up a doll with her own sassy seat that snaps to your table while you eat high epicure like peanut butter and jelly and hot fudge sundaes! How $$$pecial does that sound? Well, evidently $$$o $pecial that every other 'burban gurl and her mom had the same idea. Imagine! Over school vacation week! The truth is that the store was wall-to-wall mayhem and there was a THREE HOUR WAIT!?! for an appointment at the dolly salon. There was a whole serpentine line of chickadees with their American Girl beloveds in tow for their treatments. Hair styles and ear piercings and probably even upper lip waxes. I mean, it's good to be an American Girl Doll, right?

I just couldn't believe that this was The To Do, though. I mean, whatever happened to using your BookIt! coupons for a free personal pan pizza over school vacation? Or watching a Tom Hanks VHS that your grandma rented from the library? Or reorganizing your sticker book or purging all your orphaned socks from the sock drawer? Is this really...

I'm sorry, I can't think about this right now.

My son just turned 11 months today and who cares about American Girl Dolls when I have this perfect American Baby Doll right...

here!

It's wrong to laugh when this happens. I know.

Fried Day; Friday

I used to dread Fridays. Used to, meaning, like, um,... a month ago.  I did not have an attitude of gratitude at the prospect of Friday.  That whole day, stretched taut with each of my children pulling from his and her respective ends of my sanity.  What will we DO with all those hours?  There aren't enough lunchdates and libraries to get us through, and I have all of these e-mails from my students to answer, and there are only so many Care Bears' throwback episodes a 3 year-old can legally watch on On Demand before she overdoses on the Kool-Aid of Care-a-Lot, and what IF neither of them naps?  What THEN?!  How will we muddle through until we hear "The Chimes:" that most uplifting sound of Loverpants' keys hitting the floor signaling that he is home once more. But something has changed.  It's not a particular tip that I can share, a tear sheet from a designer's notebook.  All I can say is that I was granted an extra portion of Friday mercies from Someone and I am thankful.  I have this heart knowledge that I need to enjoy my children on Fridays.  I lose my expectation of them and uphold my expectation of myself to just enJOY them. Today was no exception.  We were, all three of us, sacked at 5:30 p.m. when the Chimes rang.  Loverpants asked me later what I was smiling about and I suppose I was just so glad it was Friday.

*** Did some sun salutations and stand-ups.

Spent the morning at Baby Boot Camp.  Here's proof!

Got a mid-day treat at JP Licks.

Blessed x2x2x2