Keeping the Story Straight

         I was reading the Bible to the boys at bedtime and we came upon on of my favorite stories, the story of the wise man building his house upon the rock. It’s been a favorite all my life and I was so pleased to read this thousands year old story to my children and in hopes that they favor it as well. The boys both ask many questions while I’m reading and I try to explain that if they keep talking through the story that we will never get anything read but still, the questions come. As I was reading that the wise man built his house upon the rock and that no storm could harm his home and therefore he was safe as we are safe who build our lives on Christ and that the foolish man built his house upon the sand that is neither strong nor constant nor safe and his home was vulnerable to storm and strong wind as the man who doesn’t put his trust in the Lord is not protected either. The boys understood what I was telling them and got that there was a metaphor for life and wisdom in that little story of architecture and location, location, location. However, there was something that was a little confusing to them. What happened to the man that built his house of straw? I’m a little stumped because in the version that I grew up with there was not another man in the story, there was no other neighbor building in the area and then it dawned on me. They had gotten the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’ confused with this story of the building of a sturdy home and the flimsy home and of the huffing and the puffing that was such a dominant theme of tonight’s discussion. All I had the heart to say was that I didn’t think that there was another man in this story but that it would’ve been just as good a story if this other contender had been mentioned. This seemed to satisfy so we moved along.

Faux Pas

 

            When Alex was about three years-old we were at church during the Christmas holiday and as is customary in many churches we all shake hands and offer the sign of the Lord’s Peace to those in our vicinity. Alex was a shy little thing so I would stand behind him and point him toward people to shake hands with. He was in the midst of shaking hands with a very pretty teenage girl when he sneezed all over their clasped hands. I was so mortified that I had no words but I did have the presence of mind to keep going but did not have the wits about me to realize that my kid’s hand was covered in spit and that other’s might not want to shake that little hand. Naturally I pressed his little contaminated hand into the hand of the girl right next to the original bearer of the sneeze. After she was good enough to shake his hand it occurred to me that I had made a serious faux pas. I did break out the hand sanitizer and passed it back, hopefully redeeming myself a little.

 

            Our church is very near our home and it happens to be on the way to the boys school. When we walk home from school if there is anything in the yard we pick it up. Usually this consists of sticks. I want my kids to do things to help others just because it is the right thing to do so when I have an opportunity to help, no matter how small, I take it and try to instill in them that it’s right. There are many trees in the church yard and we are usually lucky enough to get a handful or two of sticks and twigs to pick up and carry to our home and put in our burn pile with the sticks from our yard and our neighbor’s yard as well. We pick up in her yard too. One day Adam was not exceptionally thrilled to be picking up sticks and posed a question to me. ‘Why doesn’t God pick up His own yard?’ I told him that God had provided us with a yard and that I was thankful for that and that if I could help keep His yard free from sticks and trash that I was happy to do it, and that he, Adam, was going to be happy to do it as well. He shrugged and muttered something about all of the big things God can do that He could at least pick up his own yard. Such reasoning could make sense I guess but I don’t subscribe to it. We pick up the sticks.

Yelling is Permitted, Part II

          Yelling, I do a lot of it and unfortunately I am pretty damn good at it by now. Usually I yell when I find clothes that I was told were put away, crammed behind a bed or hidden in the bottom of a closet or when I find names or little pictures carved into the sink top in our upstairs bathroom. You know, the totally random, utterly bizarre everyday things that make us crazy not to mention, loud. Being at home is one thing; I am not usually prepared to yell at church but it has happened.

            My sons went to Sunday school every Sunday like the good little boys that I forced them to be. They hated it, so I was told, and I assumed it was because they could’ve been home for that extra hour before church actually started. I am a paranoid mother though so I decided to wander over to the church early to see what I could learn about the Sunday school class and why it was so unpopular with my little boys. It didn’t take me long to see exactly what the problem was. The teacher was a bitch.

            She was an older woman and I had a strong dislike for her from day one. I hadn’t realized that she was the one teaching my boys. I did what I have done many times at the elementary school; I stood outside the door and listened to how my kids were treated when the teacher thought no one was around. That is a really good way to cut through the crap, be invisible. She was not teaching as much as she was putting down my children. In short, she was playing with her life and not smart enough to know that. I heard her tell Andrew that he was a little slob. He was five years-old. She told Alex that the way he had colored things looked stupid. Alex is sensitive and very artistic. That was all it took for me to walk right through that door and tear her a new one. Slob? Stupid? Bitch. I told her that she was obviously not capable of being a decent person, to children and adults alike, and that being around children didn’t agree with her condescending disposition. I began to clean up the things that my children had used in the duration of their last ever Sunday school class, all the while this woman was talking and laughing like we were friends. She was uncomfortable that she had been caught and she knew enough about me to know that I was going to tell everyone I knew about her and how she had spoken to my kids. My kids were very popular at this church because they were the only children among so many elderly. Part of me thinks that this ridiculous, pain-in-the-ass of a woman simply has no social skills whatsoever but it is not the job of me or my sons to teach her that which has escaped her for her entire life.

            As I was walking out the door with my boys Andrew picked up something of Alex’s and held it out to him, she ripped it out of Andrew’s little hand and tossed it on the table saying that Alex would get it when he was ready. Wow, so, so stupid. I picked it up off the table, handed it to Andrew and stepped so close to her that I was practically standing on her toes and told her to never, ever come within arm’s length of my children or myself again because she would likely land on her ass if she ever tried to put down or discipline my kids ever again. The look on her stupid face was unmistakable; fear. Just the way I like it.

            I am never afraid to burn a bridge, I have plenty of friends but even if I didn’t I’d be alone rather than be around someone who is not worth my time or my effort. I am not someone who will pretend to get along with someone that I absolutely can’t stand just for the sake of getting along. That is pretentious and does no good. Better to let people know where they stand with you; you have a better chance at avoiding the crap if you avoid the idiots that are out there roaming the streets and the hallways at church.

Yelling is Permitted, Part I

    It really is a lot of fun having and surviving my children but it's not all fun and games. Sometimes people need to survive me when they are involved with my children.

    One of my friends is fond of saying that to be friends with me you need a healthy dose of fear, that is not true for my friends but for others...that might be a safe outlook.

    I have gotten into some major throw-downs with teachers, doctors, nurses and the like. If you are someone's mother you better find the ability to not care what people think about you and be ready to open your mouth when your child needs you to. Motherhood is not for the mousey and meek.

    Case in point, my oldest was hospitalized when he was five years-old for pneumonia. It was a big lesson for me in understanding that not all people who are supposed to have your child's best insterests at heart always do.We arrived via ambulance and my son's doctor was not on staff at this hospital so we had doctors appointed to us. One of his doctors took me aside and explained to me that he did not feel that my child had pneumonia, he felt that my son had allergies and wanted to have him tested. Allergies? I saw the chest x-ray, I knew what we were dealing with, besides, my son had never had so much as a cold or the sniffles in his life. I was not impressed with his assessment of my child's condition but I asked why he felt this way. To my surprise he simply said to me that I needed to trust him and let him do these tests on my child. Red flags were flashing all over the place as this irritating man spoke. Let him run tests on my kid? Just because he said so? No way. We continued to talk/argue for sometime when he finally admitted to me that none of his colleagues agreed with him. Not one person agreed to help him bamboozle me with his desire to guinea pig my child so he tried to push his luck and trick me into having my kid tested for allergies. That set me right off and I told him that he was not to cross the threshold to enter my child's room again. And he didn't, he sent one of his residents to do it for him...with a tray of needles to use on my little boy to test him for allergies. I failed to mention that this was a teaching hospital, the famed and glorious University of Iowa where all of my kids were born. Teaching is fine, I had had students talk to me and help take care of me and my children after they were born. I had been happy to do it but this was different. This was a kid, my kid, and a doctor was lying to me to get his way and have a body to work on. I didn't leave my kid's side knowing that the moment I was gone that the doctor would be on his way to use my unprotected child as a classroom teaching tool.

    As we were leaving two days later I had a nurse approach me and tell me that she was proud that I had not just taken medical advice at face value and that it makes her sad that more parents are not advocates for their children. I had a long and loud talk with patient services once we were home.

    Don't be afraid to yell and stand between your child and whoever is trying to push them (or you) around. My true regret would have been being suckered in and had my child suffer needlessly for a man who tried to convince me that I should just shut up and do what I was told.

Chasing the Children...At Church

          Church is always interesting with little kids. Our church has what it calls ‘A Time with the Younger Church’ where our pastor or other members call the kids forward to tell them a special Bible story and has a little prayer then sends them back to their seats. This is sometimes quite nerve racking for me. One day they were talking about Noah and the Ark and did any of the children know about Noah. My little Adam’s hand shoots into the air and he proudly announces that he does know about Noah, as a matter of fact he knows about both Noah’s because they are both in his preschool class. He didn’t understand the rest of the story that was being told because there are no large boats in the preschool room but the congregation had a ball with that. We went home and brushed up on our Bible stories after that.

           My children attend Sunday school. It runs from 9:30 until about 10:20, in time to be out for church to start. Our church is less than a block from our home so we walk. I wandered over to church about 10:10 just to wait on my boys to be finished. I was walking up and down the hallways just spending time in the quiet when from behind me I hear "You get back here!" and I turn in time to see my sons' elderly Sunday school teacher cross my hallway for another at breakneck speed, for her anayway. As my three are the only ones in her class, I have a pretty good idea who she’s chasing.

 

          One particular Sunday was not what I’d call fun in any sense of the word but it’s worth writing about. During Joys and Concerns a little boy waved for the microphone. What he said made me ache to my core. "My mom died and I cried a lot because she was my only mom." He was sitting with his two older sisters, grandmother and aunt and uncle. They all began to cry and I felt for them. In the midst of this I felt three little pairs of arms wrap around me and knew that my sons were holding on to me to keep me safe and keep me here.

Skywalker vs. The Apostle

 

        At church there is always a reading from the Old Testament, the Psalms and the gospels. One particular day the gospel reading was from Luke. Drew turned to me in all seriousness and wonder as he asked me if it was Luke Skywalker we were going to be reading about. He is a huge fan of Luke Skywalker so you can imagine his disappointment.

 

          The boys are always asking me when church is going to be over. I always tell them that it’ll be soon hoping that that will appease them. It rarely does but it’s what I use. One day we were singing the song we close church with every single week and Drew recognized it as the last hymn. As soon as the music stopped he jumped up, clapped his little hands and said in a voice that carried all through the sanctuary “Yay! Church is over!” I know that everyone else was thinking it but to have my kid shout it was not what I needed. Everyone chuckled and it was funny and precious but I do teach my kids manners, they just don’t always take hold.

 

           I wondered how long this next tradition would go on before it was questioned. Easter Sunday had come around and we had communion at church. As we received our wine a.k.a. grape juice my little boys were looking at it asking if it was really blood. "Why do we have to drink blood? That’s kind of gross, I don’t want to." I guess that they had finally listened to something in church and retained it. We were talking through the rest of church as I told them that it wasn’t really blood and that I wouldn’t have them drink blood because I am not a mom who practices pagan rituals. That didn’t go over as I’d hoped but since I did help prepare the Host for church that day I promised and crossed my heart that it was not actually Jesus’ blood but a representation of the Savior and his love for us. In the end, I drank mine first and that was enough to convince.

Mothers Can Be Very Outspoken

 

            Lloyd,(the co-worker in the previous blog entry) became a true nuisance, whether from low intelligence or no social skills I couldn’t say but it did become a game to see how long it would take me to run him off. On one particular night I was in no mood when he approached me and a co-worker with nothing important to say but decided to run his mouth anyway. My co-worker, Frank, and I had met up because we had candy and were planning on eating it but the man-child who stopped to annoy us didn’t rank up there as someone I would share candy with so we had to put off our snack. That reason alone gave me license for what I was about to say to him.  For a bit we made some small talk with him, thinking that at some point he would wander off and annoy others but as luck would have it, he had no one else he wanted to bother or else they were all better at hiding than Frank and I had been. After what seemed like a lifetime of listening to him talk about his mom and his sister and his brother and his neighbor’s sister’s best friend’s uncle I had had enough and it just flew out of my mouth. It was out before I knew what I’d said, it didn’t take the time to complete itself as a coherent thought in my head , it just formed and became ‘moron-be-gone’. I looked him straight in the face and asked “Do you think your parents still do it?” I was shocked at myself and mortified that he might actually answer this question. Maybe he came from a completely inappropriate family where this subject didn’t make his skin crawl as it should’ve. I stood my ground; I didn’t give myself pause or permission to look away. I had said it and if I acknowledged that I shouldn’t have said it then that would’ve put me in the position to be nice to this headache of a man for all time. There would be more conversations because if I show that I am sorry or feel that I crossed the line then that gives him the upper hand, it shows a change in the balance of power and I refuse, refuse to be held to niceties of office politics. I continue to look at him as though expecting an answer. Truthfully I expected him to flush and walk away but that would’ve been too simple. He sputters and says that "no, they don’t do it, my dad sleeps on the couch" to which I hip him to the fact that people can have sex on couches. I can’t shut up, at this point I am so tired of him that I just keep talking, arguing. Frank has a look of total astonishment on his face, mixed with a look that says he is trying with all his might to not laugh. To the comment I made about the couch as a place for rampant, wild, hot, sweaty sex he assures me that they do not have sex anymore. I ask how he knows this. He tells me that he just knows. I say that that is no answer. He stutters, clearly uncomfortable and wanting this to be over but it’s not going to be over, not until he leaves me and my friend to our candy consumption. We could be in for a long night of back-and-forthing about his parent’s sex life and considering that Lloyd is wholly unattractive I don’t want to even think about the parents doing it on the family sofa. Finally I say to him that since he is standing in front of me and I know that he has a sister and a brother that I also know that his mom has given it up at least three times in her cloistered and virginal life and he might as well accept that. He has a blank look on his face, it seems that the wheels in his head are turning and that maybe he never considered the fact that he and his siblings were not conjured out of thin air or found in the cabbage patch or grown in a jar like sea monkeys or even adopted. He turns and leaves. Frank and I ate our candy and laugh ourselves stupid over the conversation that just occurred. It became the stuff of legend. I did not get fired although I did sweat it out for a while, waiting to see if I got a call to visit H.R. to discuss my inappropriate conduct. It was inappropriate and I have no excuse other than I just couldn’t take it anymore and I snapped. It was rather out-of-body like, truth be told.