After reading these three consecutive posts on my local Freecycle from a person whose user name includes the word "tax!derm!st" I think someone should call the authorities:
- Needed: Sewing Machine
- Wanted: Dog Kennel, any size
- I am in need of a crosscut saw - 1 man or 2 man - I will pick up
This moment brought to you by the new Sephora catalog:
HSH: What the hell?
BB: Hot this spring.
HSH: Chemical burn, by Sephora.
BB: Look at my eye.
HSH: The hottest look is "Bad Boyfriend."
HSH: I'm 4-years old.
BB: You look so great. I would have thought you were in preschool!
Bedtime with Posey is not ideal, not least of all because it is still happening in our bed. In effect, she has pushed one or the other of us out. We try to trade off.
The routine is essentially composed of three part:
Stories. (Do-Wah!)
Hugs and Begging: Night-night, night-night. I have to go potty. I have to go potty again.
Waiting: I try to pay as little attention to her as possible so that she can grab her little corner of blanket and get lost in its soothing cornerness, and drift to sleep.
The waiting part is usually a productive time for me, because I can open my laptop and get some work done.
Last night, however, in the middle of waiting, suddly she placed her right foot directly on top of my computer screen. I lifted her foot off and replaced it onto the bed without saying much to her.
She lifted both feet in the air and began talking to them.
"Heddo, feet. Heddo, toes. What doin?"
She dropped her left foot to the bed, then dropped the right foot on top of it.
"No, Toes. Es not nice to hit friends. We don't hit friends. Time out!"
And she put her foot back on my computer screen.
"Time out, Toes! Okay?"
Happiness to all of you. May you all be positively swarmed with love and affection. I know I am.
This morning, my HSH gave me a box of Lindt truffles. We looked at the nutritional information (stupidstupidstupid) and declared that - since we are both attempting to lose some weight - the most prudent thing for us to do is to share a single truffle per day.
Of course, on Sunday, if I choose to toast the Little Easter again, all bets are off. ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, CHUNKY.
In answer to Rev. Dr. Mom's questions/comments:
We're in the Diocese of Albany, NY. Not exactly a bastion of Northeastern Liberal Anglicanism.
I would actually love some tips for researching churches and/or rectors.
As for The Little Church that Could, they actually do have a little basket of toys in the back of the church and some books for keeping visiting grandchildren (or great-grandchildren) quiet. And everyone is always very supportive of the girls' presence, telling them how good they were during the service.
Our little church in Florida had very few kids and no programming for kids, and that was fine for Bee because she was so little. And for Posey, I would be happy to stay at the little church and just accept that I can't sit through service.
But Bee is very much at an age where I think it's becoming important for her to have a peer group at church. And that will only become more important as time goes on.
And ocme to think of it, I wouldn't mind having a peer group, myself.
I'll definitely take The Rev. Dr. Mom's advice about asking questions if we try out the new church.
Not long after we moved to New York, we found a sweet little Episcopal church that has about 25-50 people in the pews every week. And that 50 is on Christmas and Easter.
We like the priest, and we like the people. But there are no other children. There is no child care during services. There is no way I can get through an entire service without having to walk out with one girl (because she's screaming for coffee-hour cookies) or the other girl (because she wants to go to the bathroom, which is in the parish house a full 3/4-block away).
We've tried the big village church, where there is child care. It's a very Blue Blazer type of place, and the rector seems very much to be the CEO of the church. The people are nice enough, although there is a certain sense of the church being the place where a the social elite gather on a certain day. The Sunday morning country club.
On Ash Wednesday, I attended services at another church, close to where I work, far from where we live. The rector seemed very down to earth and conversational in his sermon. The building is big and old, with obvious mid-Century renovations, a combination that always makes me think of my grandmother's house.
After the service, I asked if they had child care during the Sunday services, and he answered in an incredulous tone, as though I had asked, "Do Episcopalians drink?"
"Oh YES!" he said. "Of course we do."
And not only child care, but care that is individually tailored for different ages of children.
The only thing that gives me pause is that they offered little Lenten meditation books written by a writer who has a reputation for being a very conservative voice.
I know how churches work - maybe the booklet came free, or maybe there are members of the church who really appreciate that.
Still, it gives me pause.
We're going to visit on Sunday - assuming there are no blizzards. So we'll see.
I really would love to hear about other people's experiences in this arena.
Me: Hey girls - what would you think about me putting on a movie for you to watch while I take care of the dogs and make supper?
Posey: Do-wa* (translation: "Dora!")
Bee: My princess video
Me: What princess video do you mean?
Posey: Do-wa!
Bee: Um. You know. My, um. Cinderella!
Posey: No! Do-wa.
Me: No, Posey, I think we watched Dora last time. It's Bee's turn to choose.
Posey: Do-wa, Do-wa, Do-wa.
Bee: Where is her Mom and Dad?
Me: Who? Dora's?
Bee: No - Cinderella's
Me: Well, before the beginning of the story, it says her mother died when she was little...
Bee: Did she have surgery or something?
Me: Um. I don't really know that it says specifically what happened. But her mother died, and her father got married to the Stepmother. Then the father died, so Cinderella lived with her Stepmother and Stepsisters.
Bee: Hmm. He shouldn't have married the Stepmother.
Me: You're right.
Bee: He should have married a NICE girl. Like Cinderella's mother.
Me: I agree.
Posey: DO-WAH! (Translation: Why do they even waste their time making any movie or TV programming that doesn't revolve entirely around Dora? What is wrong with the entertainment industry? Dora is the highest form of creative endeavor. All princesses must bow before her adventuresome glory!)
The fact that I didn't post Sunday can be chalked up to my observance of a Little Easter:
When observing fasting or abstinence during Lent, regard must be paid to the fact that Sundays are Feast Days, so the fast or abstinence may be broken. If one counts the days from Ash Wednesday to the day before Easter Sunday, excluding the Sundays, one will see that there are 40 of them, equating with the number of days Christ spent in the wilderness.
Little Easter* is also responsible for the glass of wine I drank shortly after 12 a.m. Sunday.**
*By Little Easter, I mean "Lila & Thor," who were in town for a book release party for one of Lila's friends. It was a festive event, full of free wine and beer and what my HSH calls "The Ubiquitous Table of Above Average Cheese and Hummus."
I was chaste, however, and planned to remain so. Then Lila mentioned that, as each Sunday in Lent is a Little Easter, and is not counted in the 40 days of Lent, well, Lenten fasts are sometimes broken on those days. Thor confirmed it to be so, although he added that he maintains his own fast throughout Lenten Sundays, as well. Although, I don't think he's giving up something as tempting and rewarding as this.
It should be noted that I abstained right up until 12:02 a.m. ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, SOBER!
And I did not use the same justification to imbibe again Sunday evening, you know, in Thanksgiving for the Baby Jesus and the cup of salvation and all that.
**I didn't post Saturday because I was busy. Then lazy. Then busy again. Then drunk.
This morning on NPR, there was an installment of Story Corps, in which a man related this story of his adult daughter's murder and what he and his wife experienced in the aftermath of that. It was an incredibly powerful illustration of the capacity of the human heart to forgive, and the enormous relief that is found in forgiveness.
Black says he couldn't sleep that night "because I really felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from me ... and that I had forgiven him."
Imagine being unable to sleep because a weight had been lifted. What a beautiful insomnia that must be - not wanting to miss a moment of that peace by sleeping through it.
