Finifrock.com

2011-04-30T10:08:00.001-07:00

So I've been watching Tangled with the kids. And now that I've seen it three times, I have questions.

The first one is, if cutting Rapunzel's magic hair undoes all the healing she's performed with it (as evidenced by Mother's turning to dust after it is cut), then why doesn't Flynn's hand injury come back?

The second is, was the magic tear that heals Flynn a one-time thing, or does Rapunzel now have magic tears? If she DOES have magic tears, how could she live happily ever after? I would think having magic healing tears would be a tough burden; so many injured and dying people to heal and yet she has to weep for all of them to heal them? And if she takes a break from her weeping, and tries to have a little fun, she has to feel guilty, because she has to think of all the people she is now not healing.

And yes, I know, as people have been telling me my whole life, I have "thought WAY too much about this." What can I say? Born with it!

2010-10-27T10:47:00.000-07:00

Watching Back to the Future on the big screen for the FIRST TIME was amazing! I was only seven when the movie premiered- and although I watched it hundreds of times in subsequent years and saw the sequels in theaters, I have never seen the movie so clearly, and in such detail.

It really is a great story, and meticulously told.

Kyle bought the blu-ray disc and we watched some of the special features last night. One of the documentaries has Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale talking about the painstaking process of writing the script- they talk about how they laid the story out on index cards and how for every idea they came up with (for example, "Marty invents the skateboard"), they had to then create another scene ("show that Marty can skateboard") which plants the seed for the audience and pays off later in the movie.

It took them five months to finish the script, and it's easy to see why it took them so long. It's because the script is so well written! Every idea is fully fleshed out, every character is true. Every idea comes to fruition, there are no wasted, pointless scenes and random dead ends, like so many movies.

And like every great comedy, there are no "jokes," per se. What I mean by that is that the humor comes from the characters and the situation that they're in, and so it comes from a place of truth. When Marty realizes that he's sitting next to his own teenaged father at the cafe, his bug-eyed reaction is funny because, well, who WOULDN'T react that way on seeing their own father at their age? We can all put ourselves into that situation, we can all relate- and so the humor comes from that connection with every audience member- a moment of truth. And Marty's discomfort when his own mother is trying to make out with him before the dance is so entertaining- it's so fun to watch him squirm and Michael J. Fox plays the moment brilliantly for laughs, but the laughs come from our understanding of the characters and from the situation, not from (as is so common in movies nowadays) a pop culture reference, a mocking nod to another film, or a clever put-down.

The closest thing in Back to the Future to those kinds of cheap laughs would perhaps be the "Ronald Reagan is president" bit, and all the jokes about Marty's "life preserver" - (his orange 80's style vest). But since Ronald Reagan really WAS president in the 80's and WAS formerly an actor- even the more "jokey" jokes (what I mean by that is jokes that aren't character-driven) contain truth.

I just don't see that in a lot of comedies nowadays. It seems to me like most comedies today rely on the audience's understanding of pop culture more than their understanding of human nature.

Back to the Future also sets itself up in a totally natural way- laying out the characters and letting the story unfold without any obvious exposition. Anyone who has heard me talk about movies knows that my pet peeve is obvious exposition.

For those of you that aren't English teachers, exposition is a natural part of any story, when details that are important to the story are shown or explained. These are the details you NEED to know for the rest of the story to make sense. EVERY movie contains exposition- some just do it better than others.

My favorite example of GOOD exposition is in the movie Steel Magnolias. What we need to know to set up the rest of the movie is that two of the characters, neighbors, have a long-standing feud. Now, a BAD MOVIE, using OBVIOUS EXPOSITION would have another character say something like "Oh, Drum and Ouisa. Those two are ALWAYS fighting!" Instead, the scriptwriter gives us the information brilliantly with this conversation:

OUISA: "Get those magnolias out of my tree!"
DRUM: "The judge has not yet decided whose tree that is, exactly."

Perfect exposition. We know everything we need to know. Drum and Ouisa are at odds. Their enmity goes back a long way- they will even argue over something as stupid as whose property a neighborhood tree is growing on.

Back to the Future is a great example of good exposition, because it holds to the old saying "show, don't tell." And that is difficult, because Back to the Future needs to give us a LOT of information before Marty can go back in time. We need to know about the relationships between George and Lorraine McFly (including how they met, their first kiss, etc.), George McFly and Biff, Mr. Strickland and the McFly family, Doc and Marty, Doc and the rest of town (they think he's a lunatic), and it also needs to set up that Marty can skateboard, play guitar, charm women, and that he's following in the footsteps of his own father by being fearful and cowardly about putting himself out there as a musician. Not to mention the whole history of the clock tower, the lightning strike, etc.

When you think about it, what a DAUNTING task for a writer, and yet the screenwriters manage to make it all seem effortless and organic, each piece of information coming onscreen naturally for us to absorb, understand and process. The woman from the Hill Valley preservation society tells us about the clock tower and the famous lightning storm while teenaged Marty, true to character, is just macking on his girlfriend (in other words, no dumb scene where Marty happens to wander into the Preservation Society in a totally out-of-character moment). The wrecked car gives Biff both a reason to be at the McFly home so we can meet him and highlights what a jerk he is. Linda's boy trouble gives Lorraine a reason to tell her daughter the details of her and George's first meeting, their first dance and first kiss, and the fact that she pours herself a Vodka in the meantime shows us how unhappy Lorraine now is with her husband. And the opening scenes of the film, set in Doc's workshop, tell us all about his eccentricities and his genius before he even gets a moment of screen time.

When you think about it, it's no wonder it took them 5 months to write the script! I mean, wow! But BOY does it make a difference. I wish more writers in Hollywood understood that. To me, the only movie studio of late that really understands good storytelling is Pixar.

Anyone seen a really well-written movie lately that wasn't from them? I can't think of any. I think the last one I really really liked as far as an original story with great writing, and truly character-driven humor- was the first Pirates of the Caribbean. To me that was perfect storytelling.

Everything else that good has been a Pixar kids movie! It's sad that filmmakers take more time crafting a great story for children while supposedly more intelligent adults get fare like The Love Guru. Hey, Hollywood, grown-ups like good comedies, too! Just because you're not making Schindler's List doesn't mean you need to fall back on R-rated humor and making fun of other movies (although I guess it's working out for the Wayans brothers, who've made an entire career of it).

The Way I Was

2010-10-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

No one wants to be alone on a sunny day, but what is it about a cool, cloudy fall day that goes so well with absolute silence?

For the first time in what seems like many years, I am alone on such a day, enjoying my brain. My brain is ordinarily on loan to three monkey-sized tyrants and filled with their thoughts, requests and random gibberish. Sometimes, when I am trying to write an email or even make sense of conversation with another adult, I have to actually tell them that I NEED MY BRAIN FOR A FEW MINUTES.

So it's nice to have it to myself today. The sudden feeling of independence made a pleasant memory bubble up in my mind; the memory of moving into my first apartment.

It was a dump of a one bedroom about half a mile or so from the campus of Illinois State, where I was a then a junior. My rent was $360 a month and that included furniture and utilities (wow!).

For the first time in my life, I was living without my family, without a roommate, with no one in the world whose opinion to consult but ME.

I remember walking to Jewel-Osco on a cool cloudy day and buying a broom, a mop, cleaning products, eggs, soup, milk. I remember thinking that $50 was a lot for groceries (ha!). I remember putting everything away in my apartment- broom in the broom closet, milk in the fridge and thinking how empty the giant fridge looked with my groceries for one- how big the broom closet seemed with my broom and cans of Campell's Chicken'n'Stars.

I know this probably makes me selfish, but oddly enough I remember it as one of the best days of my life.

I Want to Be a Nurse

2010-02-12T07:51:00.000-08:00

No, not literally. I don't want to be a nurse. I actually kind of get woozy when I think about blood draws.

But I was talking to my friend Amy, who had just watched her sister Emily give birth (to a gorgeous little girl, by the way). She was talking about how Emily was in labor for SO long that the doctors wanted to give her a C-section, but the nurse just kept pushing Emily to keep going, not give up, and deliver the baby naturally (which she did!). Amy said something that really stuck in my head- she said - "You know, the doctors didn't really do anything except breeze in every now and then and check on her progress. It was the nurses who were there through all the pain, putting up with Emily when she was upset, coaxing her, pushing her, encouraging her. The doctors just came in to see if they could do anything, and when they couldn't they just left."

And something about it struck me, because I so often have the doctor mentality, especially with my children. How often when they complain to me ("my finger hurts!" "my toe hurts!" etc.) do I actually answer with the phrase, "What do you want me to do? Do you want a band-aid?" And if they say no, I shrug my shoulders and move on, when what they really want is a nurse to sympathize and encourage, to practice compassion, and FEEL WITH them.

I've posted about this before, in my note about compassion because it is such a glaring weakness in my character. I want to go straight to the fix so I don't have to put up with any whining- I don't want to deal with pain, and suffering and hard times.

And yet, I want great relationships! And great relationships are usually forged between NURSE and patient, not doctor and patient because who is there when times get tough and the pain becomes unbearable? The NURSE.

So... I want to be a nurse. I need help. Pray for me!

The Chicken or the Egg?

2009-11-16T20:57:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or does every women's magazine from Parents and Family Circle to Marie Claire and Cosmopolitan feature the same articles over and over again?

They all fall into 8 basic categories.

1. The Five Minute Health or Beauty Tips. This is the part of the magazine that shares such valuable nuggets as: "Don't have time to work out? Lug out that vacuum and give your carpets a good cleaning! It could work off up to 100 calories and as a bonus, your house will be clean!" Also, "We all want to take care of our skin, but who has time? Our experts give you the 5 MUSTS for healthy skin!" (article will then proceed to detail a nightly skincare routine that takes $50 worth of creams and 30 minutes a night).

2. Recipes. They will all be some variation on chicken and pasta with an added ethnic spice ("Spicy Saffron Rice Bowl!")or some type of disgusting looking mini-pizza ("You can't get much simpler than an English muffin with Spaghetti-O's and spinach! Your kids will beg for seconds on these fun (and healthy!) little pizzas!")

3. Kids Say the Darndest Things/Revolting and Humiliating Tales. In mommy magazines like Parents and Women's Day, it's the former. You know, "My Aunt Linda came over for Thanksgiving dinner and my four year old son, Java (always an ambiguous or feminine name for a boy) said "Mommy, why can't I put my teeth in a glass of water by my bed like Aunt Linda?" In the young women's magazines, it's the Revolting and Humiliating Tales, which I won't even put an example of because most of them are gross and involve people getting their period on things.

4. Household Organization. This section is all about stating the obvious. "Cut the clutter! Go through your closets, cabinets and garage. Take everything you don't need out for an impromptu yard sale! You'll clean your house and maybe even make enough to take your family out to dinner!" And often it includes the sneak sales pitch, "Stow your stuff! These colorful bins, $24 at The Great Indoors, are big enough to hold Johnny's soccer cleats AND class science project, plus they add sophistication and fun to your entryway!"

5. The Sob Story Article. This is the closest thing in a women's magazine to real journalism. Usually, this is a good, in-depth article that tells a story we often have already heard on CNN or read about in a paper or heard from a friend of a friend, but at least it's well-written and touching. For the mommy mags, autism, SIDS, dealing with divorce are classic topics. For the young women's mags, anorexia, alcoholism, and abusive relationships are common.

6. The More Light-hearted But Still Serious Article. As the holidays approach, the More Light-hearted But Still Serious Article will be Holiday themed- how to have a "simpler" holiday, avoid excessive materialism and credit card debt, and get along with relatives always works at this time of year. The rest of the year it will be articles on playdates, birthday parties, politeness, safety and enjoying motherhood for the mommy mags, blind dates, being single, being in a couple, weekend getaways for the YM's.

7. Sex. In the young women's magazines, this section is far more extensive, and gives plenty of quotes from 'real' men about what they REALLY want in bed, and what they think is attractive in a woman. In the mommy magazines, the poor men only get a page or two and the tone of them is a complete downer- "We know you don't feel attractive after nursing a newborn all night, but experts say sex will bring you and your spouse closer!" or "Take 5 minutes for sex!" - as if sex in any form would be a miracle.

8. Crafts That You Will Not Do. Halloween costumes you will not sew, cupcakes you will not bake, candlesticks you will not cover in glittery pipe cleaners, no matter how cool it looks in the picture. 'Nuff said.

Each magazine has between a year and two year's worth of material in each of the 8 Basic Categories, which are rotated and recycled over and over again, so that by the time you have subscribed to any of them for about 18 months, you already feel like you pretty much "get" everything any of them has to say.

That being said, I continue to read them. I usually flip right to the Household Organization category, as if simply by reading a couple of tips on how to organize that are more commonsense than anything else my house will suddenly be clean and organized. I sob over the Sob Story Articles. I sometimes even buy the materials for the Crafts I Will Not Do, even though I know I will not do them.

I can't figure out if it's because that's what they print, or if they print what I secretly want to read... I guess that's a chicken and egg question, like that of the Paparazzi. Are they worse for taking those pictures or are we worse for gawking at them? (I'll admit I wanted to read about ANGELINA'S LIES today while I was in line at Ralph's...)

Wild Things

2009-10-25T12:34:00.001-07:00

Went to see Where the Wild Things Are with Kyle and the boys. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it.

There were some beautiful moments in this film, though NONE of them included the Wild Things- they were all just lovely moments of truth from Max's point of view, that brought back to me all the passions and heartaches of being a kid. Max, crying because his sister's friends broke his igloo, Max destroying his sister's room because he is so angry about it, Max lying under his mom's desk, looking lovingly at her face at an odd angle, pulling gently on the toe of her pantyhose to get her attention (that last one was so beautifully shot and so honest it made me cry).

But when he finally gets to Where the Wild Things Are, the movie just disintegrates. Some of the Wild Things have personalities that reflect aspects of Max's own (or of people in Max's life). One of them, called "KW" obviously represents Max's sister Claire and his feelings about her growing up. She goes off and talks to "Bob" and "Teri" (a couple of owls who everyone seems to understand except for Max and Carol; Carol is the angry monster who exemplifies Max at his wildest and angriest), leaving her old playmates who long to have her back. Bob and Teri are standing in for his sister's friends, who Max can't understand.

But KW is the only Wild Thing who is even remotely likeable. The other Wild Things are so obnoxious and self-centered. They fight, and argue, snap at each other and expect Max to fix all of their problems for them, and when he doesn't, they threaten to eat him! Living with them looks like a horrible nightmare!

To top it off, they live in a bland, colorless world that reminds me more of something from Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic The Road than of someplace a wild young boy would dream of going.

Where is the color, joy, and magic of childhood? The most fun thing the beasts do in this movie is have a dirt clod war, and everyone in it ends up squabbling and angry anyhow.

I just don't get it. Why would anyone imagine this? If they did, why wouldn't they want to wake themselves up as soon as possible?

I always thought the book was about a young boy's quest for self-control, his need to tame the Wild Things inside of him so that he can function in the world, and that the beasts represented his own wild side- his becoming their King representing his mastery of his own emotions.

And I guess the movie did present the story in that way. However, it made the journey from out-of-control young boy to emotionally mature young boy look dark, disturbing and fraught with danger.

To me, acquiring self-control is an act of great courage that leads to great reward! How interesting it would have been if the movie focused more on Max's efforts to control the beasts within rather than what happens once they make him their King (which happens right away with no struggle).

What if he had to trick each beast, trap it, train it, bend it to his will, each one symbolizing a struggle in his life? Wouldn't that have made a much more interesting movie, and one much more true to the theme of the story?

As it was, I just didn't see the point of anything that was happening. Granted, seeing Wild Thing Carol and his uncontrollable anger helps Max to understand how destructive his own behavior is. But other than Carol and KW, the other characters were superfluous, though I love Catherine O'Hara, so I enjoyed her performance as Judith, because she is amazing in everything she does!

I also would not recommend seeing this with your kids. There is nothing bad in it (except bratty behavior from Max), but after an hour of obscure psychobabble amongst colorless creatures that seems to go nowhere, my kids were restless. Once the popcorn ran out, they all wanted to go home.

Compassion

2009-10-08T06:56:00.000-07:00

When Jesus heard what had happened (John the Baptist was killed), he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

- Matthew 14:13-14 NIV

As a mother, no passage of the Bible is more convicting to me than this very simple story of Jesus's compassionate heart.

Yes, we all know that Jesus was an amazing teacher, healer and friend to the persistent crowds who followed him wherever he went, some loving him truly, others just hoping to witness a miracle.

Some people just take this story as they find it, and say to themselves, "Well, yeah- he was the Son of God! That's what he ought to have been doing, and more besides!"

But keeping in mind that Jesus was also a human being, look at the circumstances of Jesus's compassion.

His great friend, the one who baptized him, has just been beheaded for the entertainment of Herod's dinner guests. Not only is Jesus sad for his friend, but he probably could see in this sordid tale an echo of his own future suffering. He knew the road he was going to walk, and I can't imagine this event not bringing the reality of his own death to mind, the way the death of a friend pulls the ground out from under you or I, revealing that our own hold on life is tenuous at best.

I'm sure Jesus wanted to be alone to mourn his friend, and probably to have some quiet prayer time to receive comfort from God. He withdraws PRIVATELY to a SOLITARY place. He expects to land his boat and maybe have a quiet nature walk. To hear only silence echoing in his eardrums- no needs to meet, no hurting people demanding his time, no critiques or questions from disciples or Pharisees. This is certainly what I would have wanted, and as Jesus was a man, I'm sure it's what he wanted too.

Can you imagine landing your boat under those circumstances and seeing a mob of people waiting to throng you with their endless, endless needs? Heal me! Teach me! Help me!

I think I would have crumbled and wanted to die. That's how I feel sometimes when Kyle is out of town, especially if one of the kids is sick or if I have an especially busy week with a number of places to run.

I've always desperately needed alone time to rejuvenate myself. I love to read quietly, sit quietly, and let my thoughts meander without interruption.

I think that's why motherhood was so rough for me the first couple of years. I just could not get used to never being alone, never NOT having a need to meet. Endless, endless days- changing diapers, wiping snot, giving baths, comforting, soothing, crying myself to sleep because I was so tired I couldn't sleep (the irony!). And now that there's less of those physical needs, there's more mental and emotional needs to meet.

I feel that my brain is co-opted by three ceaseless little tyrants- "Mom. What did you do with my McDonald's coupon. Mom. When can we use my McDonald's coupon? Mom. Why don't we ever go to McDonald's? Mom. Mrs. Summers says it's time to put the Halloween decorations up. Mom, can we put them up? Mom, can I have a snack? (Right now behind me is Owen reading the Pop Tarts box- "Mom, can we order a Pop Tart shirt? All I want is that shirt. That one right there. Look at it.") Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom! Make a decision! Make it now! And know that whatever you say, however abstracted your brain is, we will try to hold you to it with the tyrannical words "BUT YOU SAID...".

(This problem actually led me to ban the words "you said" from my house last year; I told them the only thing that matters is obeying Mommy RIGHT NOW. I'm not sure if that was exactly the right way to handle it.)

I just can't imagine having patience for the multitudes like Jesus did. I can't even deal with three little children without a break!

And yet, much in need of a solace, hoping for a little "me" time- Jesus lands, sees the crowds, and HAS COMPASSION on them and heals their sick!

How did he do it? There's really no answer except that he relied on God utterly, and never pulled back his heart. No matter how tired he was, his heart could still go out to hurting people; he never withdrew into himself and pitied himself as I so often do. He totally exemplified the grace of compassion; the act of feeling with others.

For me, compassion rarely springs of its own accord, but needs to be cultivated. It's just not a natural part of my nature. I am a more logical person, and I've noticed that for passionate, emotional people- compassion flows more naturally.

A few of them, I like to watch and learn from; my cousin Stephanie, my friend Mike. They are natural "feelers" and as such, never lack empathy and always have time for friends who are in need. I noticed that even back in high school, everyone felt that Mike was their best friend. I used to wonder what it was about him that endeared him to everyone, regardless of peer group or status, and now that I am a Christian, I realize that the same thing that draws people to Mike is what drew people to Jesus; true and deep compassion for others.

I truly desire this for my own heart, and fervently believe that it isn't good enough to simply say "I'm not that type of person" and leave it at that. Just because I have to work hard to be compassionate doesn't mean I am off the hook. When the kids are crying and need me, and I am emotionally worn out, wanting to just wall myself into a cone of silence and retreat, is it okay to do that? Are my kids going to stop needing just because I want to stop giving? Of course not!

And I know that God is with me in each baby step I take toward feeling with my kids, experiencing with them each scrape, bruise, or welling feeling of injustice, and not brushing them off with my usual "Well, you shouldn't have been running in the house!" or "Well, life's not fair!"

Not that I'm saying my kids are never in the wrong. Of course there's a time to check whining and complaining, a time to review the house rules (no running), a time to teach the valuable and true lesson that life isn't fair. But I know all these lessons mean so much more coming from a warm and compassionate woman who loves them like crazy than from a mom who turns her back on them when they are in need because she just "can't deal with it right now!"

However, knowing that is one thing; doing it in the heat of the moment, when I am tired, cranky, and overwhelmed is quite another. That's when I need God and I need prayer.

2009-09-15T13:11:00.000-07:00

Many of you know that I was raised in a Christian home. People who grew up with me in Rochelle know that my parents were deacons and devoted attendees of our small, Protestant congregation, and that I was pretty much a goody-two-shoes.

There was no question of my ever having smoked, drank or "done it", and yet, I would never have defined myself as a Christian. Sure, if someone asked me, I'd say "Yes, I'm a Christian"- because I believed in God, and chose to believe SOME of the Bible (the parts I believed in were those I was already obeying... everything else I found convenient to chuck as "antiquated" or "unrealistic", because to believe that they were commands from God put me squarely in the wrong and that wasn't where I wanted to put myself).

For many years I was confused. I read my Bible every night before bed, truly pondering its words and wondering what they meant, how I was supposed to live. Living like a Christian according to the Bible seemed so unbelievably difficult and I wondered; who could possibly forgive seventy times seven? Who can go through their life without gossiping? Am I supposed to give all my money to the poor, like Jesus tells the rich young ruler? What do all these stories mean for my life?

And then there was the fact that most of the Christians I met seemed to irritate me. Number one on their list of faults (in my non-Christian mind) was that none of them seemed remotely to have sense of humor, except at the blandest and stupidest jokes. Number two was that none of them ever seemed to struggle with anything. Their husbands seemed so perfect and helpful, them so kind and patient. I never saw the slightest hint of humanity from any of them- no one ever had a bad day with their kids, no one ever struggled with their temper or with an unloving spouse. They were constantly saying things like "God is good", and "Amen" and "God worked", "I'm so blessed"- and I kept wondering what they meant. It sounded like they were using God as a band-aid to delude themselves into the idea that their lives were perfect.

And I really didn't feel I fit anywhere into these perfect lives. I was struggling with a little boy who was two and a half and barely spoke, who would have incredibly difficult, hours-long screaming fits and I was nursing another little one. My husband was disengaged, struggling with his own problems and had little time or sympathy for mine. My own nerves were frazzled and my temper shot. I'd yell at my kids, expect WAY more of them than was possible for toddlers, and shoot bitter and sarcastic barbs at my husband any time I got the chance, hoping to break him down, that his reserve would crumble and I would get through to him in some way- trying desperately to get my message across: I AM SLOWLY DYING.

What could I possibly have in common with Christians? And yet- I couldn't reject Christianity any more than I could embrace it. Life without God seemed a life without hope.

And so I went on.

It wasn't until I moved to Santa Clarita three years ago, and was invited out to the Church of Christ by Ron and Cheryl Hammer that I really "got it."

There I met Christians who were totally committed to following Jesus's example and living according to the words of the Bible. They were kind, loving, forgiving, accepting, merciful, compassionate- to their husbands, their children, their neighbors and even to me, a total stranger. I was cowed by their graciousness, especially as I compared it with my own bitter, cynical attitude.

But this was par for the course as far as my experience with Christianity; it would have been easy to let myself off the hook by branding them as saints and telling myself that "I'm just not that good of a person. It's easy for people like them to be kind."

And I'm sure that's what I would have done had it not been for their total and complete honesty. Not one of them pretended they were perfect or had it all together; actually quite the opposite! They were instead confessing their sins to each other, revealing the imperfect attitudes of their hearts and encouraging each other to change. This was the salt that gave flavor to their conversation, zest to their personalities and attracted me like a moth to a flame.

Honesty!

All of the women I met were trying to be good wives and mothers and none of them pretended it was easy. They never diminished the pain of the struggle; yet they never denied the worth of following Jesus. I listened with relish as they described their efforts to be women of God, and their very human failures and successes.

And as I listened to them; I laughed! I actually laughed! They were FUNNY. Funny Christians... I had thought they didn't exist, like ligers and unicorns- but I now realize it's because they were truthful. They had no desire to cover up who they were, to mask their faults and failings. Rather, they were willingly exposing them to each other, not to poke fun at them or just for a laugh but to change, to grow closer to God, to follow Jesus more closely.

I was convicted. I wanted to be different. I studied the Bible with these women and I learned about God in a way I hadn't in years of plodding through chapters and verses on my own, because I understood that I needed to change from the inside out. This wasn't about "being good"- this was a total heart transplant, in which all of my previous attitudes and assumptions about my place in the universe needed to be thrown out and God placed at the center of my life.

It wasn't always easy- I was used to putting myself at the center of my life. My needs. My wants. My notions of justice, fairness, equality. What I think. What I feel. What I deserve. It wasn't natural for me to think about God first. God's mercy. God's justice. God's compassion.

But once my thinking was turned toward God, I found that I didn't have to struggle so hard to "be good" - mercy, love, self-control, patience - all sprang to life in my heart as a natural fruit of turning to God, not as a result of any effort of my own. This was it! This was the secret! This is how these saintly women did it! Stayed patient, stayed loving even in the worst circumstances!

Does this mean I became perfect? Of course not! I struggled daily to turn to God for help, but I became more gentle, patient and kind with my kids, more helpful and forbearing with my husband, more honest about my own shortcomings (before that, my own faults were always the result of something someone else had done to me and no fault of my own, OF COURSE).

I was baptized nearly two years ago, on October 21, 2007 and I am happy to say I am a different person than the one I was. Not perfect. But different.

Why am I sharing all this? Because now that I am a Christian, I want to share some of my struggles to stay faithful and be a Christian woman. It's not going to be the total focus of my blog, but it will necessarily be a part of it, because Christianity is now the lens through which I view the world. I felt like I needed some kind of "statement of faith" on here though, because this blog goes way back to my pre-Christian days and I would never want to confuse anyone who is searching for the truth by writing as a Christian, but having old posts up that reveal all my old sinful attitudes. At the same time, I think it's hypocritical and wrong to remove the old posts; I want to stay in touch with who I was before I was a Christian- to be able to hear the biting, bitter sarcasm in my voice - to remember the lack of mercy with which I treated people, to remember my contemptuousness, my pride, my feelings of desperation- some of which came through in my writing, some of which are just personal recollections connected to the events I've written about.

I know very few people will read this, and some that do will probably say, "Well, I thought you were funnier when you were sarcastic and bitter" or something similar, and you may be right. Maybe I've crossed the line into the world of the UNFUNNY CHRISTIAN and am in it so deep now I can't even see how UNFUNNY I am.

I have one thing to say to you: Poop.

That one goes over pretty well in my house. Not your taste? Butt. Buttcheeks.

Any takers?

No? Come on, this is my best material, people! "That's gold Jerry, gold!"

I don't have a final thought... I've said what's on my heart.

The Revelation Continues

2009-07-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

Since last year's "aha" moment when Owen came face to face with his own mortality, Owen and Stewart's knowledge of death has grown in leaps and bounds.

They were discussing Michael Jackson's heart attack at the kitchen table on Thursday. Let's listen in:

Owen: He had a heart attack. That's when your heart stops working. Everybody dies. Everybody in the whole Earth. What will you do with me when I die Stewie? (Thinking). Ugh, what if you just put me in the dump?

Me: No! We'd put you in a nice grave and bring you flowers every day.

Stewart: (wanting to be nice, knowing as only a 5 year old boy can that flowers are a crap offering for a 7 year old) I would bring you toys, Owen. I would throw toys at you (the desire to be nice slowly being eclipsed by the desire to be funny)... I would dig you up and throw toys at your bones.

Great Green Gobs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts

2009-04-12T20:59:00.001-07:00

A short one today:

I made the boys some fish filets for dinner the other day.

"Is this the fish's guts?" Stewart asked.

"It's a fish and it's delicious," I said, immediately getting defensive, as Stewart is an extremely picky eater and I didn't like where this was headed.

"Yes, but are these the GUTS?" he insisted.

"Yes, I suppose so. But they're good," I replied grumpily.

To my surprise, he was THRILLED. "WHOA! Cool! We get to eat the fish's GUTS!!!" he exclaimed.

I must've had a weird expression on my face, because Owen explained helpfully; "He always wanted to eat the guts out of something."

He has been a little obsessed with "guts" every since we read "Runaway Ralph" and the children sing the song about "greasy, grimy gopher guts." But I had no idea we were dealing with a lifetime ambition, here.

Kyle Robert

2009-04-07T21:26:00.000-07:00

Two hilarious Kyle stories:

Kyle swears there's a Room of Requirement, a la Harry Potter, in the Cardinal Hotel (this second-rate establishment he stays at whenever he goes to Palo Alto due to its proximity to Ning headquarters).

When I asked him what that meant, he said it's a room with a mini-fridge and microwave, which none of the other rooms have.

"So why don't you look at the room number and request that one?" I asked.

"I can't. It moves. You never know when you're going to get it. Sometimes it's at one end of the hotel, sometimes at the other. And then when I go back to the same room, it's gone."

I am skeptical at this point, knowing that Kyle's sense of direction isn't exactly accurate. This is, after all, the man who was willing to bet his LIFE that UCLA was west of the 405 (not that he phrased it that way b/c he doesn't usually know which way is east or west- it was more like "I swear it's that way!").

"Well, why don't you look at the room number next time if you like having a fridge," I suggested.

But even as I was saying these words, they sounded wrong to me. Kyle is not a fan of leftovers, even at home, let alone when he is staying in a hotel. I'm cheap and would totally bag my food and 'fridge it. But I knew, without the slightest doubt, that Kyle would NEVER use a fridge or microwave at any hotel, ever. But I asked anyway. "Do you even USE the fridge or microwave?"

"No. But it just puts a little spring into my step, knowing it's there."

Amazing. Kyle Ford, ladies and gentlemen.

The next story is about a candy bag that Kyle swears gained sentience.

After Halloween last year, I let the kids pick out their favorite candies to eat and then put all the rest into a large paper gift bag to dispense on special occasions or to give away.

I never did give away any of that candy because Kyle ate most of it.

Every night, he'd sit down, and shake the bag, then paw around in it, looking for his favorites.

Things went well for about a week- he happily ate all the Snickers, Baby Ruths and Butterfingers.

But by week 2, things were getting bleaker. He had to dig a little harder and a little longer to get to worthwhile treats- the candy that floated to the surface always seemed second-rate- you know, little hard candies, plain caramels, dime-store lollipops, Tootsie rolls of various disgusting non-chocolate flavors- just general second-raters.

His forays into the bag began to last longer and be more frustrating.

"There's nothing but crap in this bag," he'd say frequently, and then dive back into it, scratching and scrambling like a raccoon.
He'd surface several minutes later with a tube of mini M&M's, or a Reese's peanut butter cup and be all pleased with himself. "I swear, this wasn't there before!" he'd say, with wonder and glee.

Finally, it got to the point where he began to flat out state that the bag was "giving" him things. "Let's see what the bag will give me tonight," he'd say, getting it down from its place atop the fridge.

"It's not giving you anything," I'd say. "Dump it out and take what you want and throw the rest away."

"I've done that before and there's nothing good in there. But when I put everything back in, something always appears. Like, last night I dug through this entire bag looking for these," he said, holding up a mini-Snickers. "Weren't there. But tonight, here they are! It depends on its mood. You never know what you'll get."

And the really crazy thing is... he was kind of RIGHT. Like, one night I dumped out the entire bag and ate all the Laffy Taffys out of it. Or so I thought. But it seemed like every time I peered into the bag, for weeks afterward, there would be one or two hovering about. Never enough to satisfy, of course, but enough to keep me peering into the bag, as if it were a crystal ball offering me a tantalizing glimpse of future riches.

I know Kyle felt the same way because one night, near the end of the bag's lifetime, Kyle exclaimed in frustration- "This bag will NEVER give me what I want! Like, say I want just three tootsie rolls. It will give me two. But never three. And if I go back tomorrow the third will be there!"

I wish I could say the bag met a glamorous end- but the sad truth is that we ate every piece of candy in there except the broken lollipops, at which point I finally tossed the mystical bag into the trash.

The Game of Life

2009-01-01T08:27:00.000-08:00

We had our traditional New Year's Eve "cheers and game night" last night. That means we play games and drink sparkling juice (the kids call it "cheers").

Kyle suggested that we play Life, which was quite an experience.

Wilbur was keen to play once he saw the little cars and he and Stewart instantly started driving them all over the game board. We should probably have just let Wilbur drive his car around but for some reason we tried to help him play. Every time he spun the wheel every piece would fall off the board, and at one point I found myself asking him if he wanted to pay $10,000 for life insurance.

Kyle just looked at me, and then over at Wilbur, who was gleefully handing out $5,000 bills from his pile of money, and said, "I don't think he wants life insurance."

Meanwhile, Stewart, who had just gotten married, flipped his car and the pieces scattered. "Ooops, I knocked my wife out. I punched her out of the car."

Lovely.

I don't think Wilbur understood the concept of marriage- though he latched onto the word, calling his little pink piece "Mary." "Will you put this Mary back in for me?" he asked continually, as every time he so much as looked at his car, he and his wife and daughter exploded out of it.

Owen did well with the gameplay and was definitely fired up over his salary and his wife and twin boys. However, he was a little bitter because, as he said, "I don't get to spend my money!"

I tried to remedy that by suing him for $200,000, but that didn't go over well.

I explained that, like real Life, this game wasn't so much about making choices to spend your money, but about various fees and charges coming your way.

We decided he might prefer Monopoly.

Maybe we'll do that in 2010.

Wilbur James

2008-11-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I've posted so I have to share some cute stories about Wilbur.

He is the most hilarious little guy. He seems way older than 2, as he has two older brothers to watch, and he seems to have a handle on everything a lot earlier.

For example, we took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese's last month, and as we were inserting tickets into the ticket cruncher to redeem them for crappy, useless prizes, Wilbur drifted over to the prize counter and peered through the glass.

"Wilbur?! What is he doing?" Kyle asked, concerned we'd lose him in the crowd.

But he came back a minute later and informed us of the following: "I need a chocwate wowipop."

Just like that. Like, "Uh, guys, I'm gonna need a chocolate lollipop now, so make that happen!" I was wondering where he thought I was going to pull a lollipop from when I realized they had Tootsie Pops at the prize counter!

So not only did the kid (who, by the way, can't possibly REMEMBER his last trip to Chuck E. Cheese) figure out the entire ticket system and go over on purpose to pick his prize, he also knew that Tootsie Pops have "chocwate" in them. I mean, wow. I think Owen might still have been screaming in terror at the sight of Churck E. at that age.

Another example of his initiative is the day he put himself down for a nap. We had been running errands all morning and he was super tired. I was hauling groceries in from the garage, and noticed he was missing. Then I heard that his white noise machine was on and his door was shut, and sure enough, when I peeked in, there he was, snuggled up with his blankie and sucking his thumb.

He tells hilarious knock-knock jokes, of his own devising. Here are a couple:

Knock Knock.
Who's there?
Awesome.
Awesome who?
Awesome me.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Upside down.
Upside down who?
Upside down poop.

With such a knack for out-of-the-box comedy, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that his little potty, the one I had such great hopes of him using to put me out of the diaper buying game, is only used as a stage for his performances of Wiggles tunes, sung and played on his "ta-guitar."

"Well," my mom said philosophically, as Wilbur took the potty like a rock star and blared "play your tatair with Murray!" in the background, "He is performing on the potty, though it isn't quite the performance you were hoping for."

Of course, the ONE THING he doesn't pick up on early is potty training!!! Arggh!!! Really, Wilbur, I would've taken the potty training over any of your other quirky precocities! I could've lived without your knowing what a beer bottle looks like and liking-nay, LOVING- the taste of beer! Or your freakish knowledge of what Scooby Doo said and in which episode he said it! Or your ability to sing along with every song on the radio, even if it's the first time you've heard it! All this I could've lived without, if only you were potty trained. Or close. Or interested. Or had gone on the potty even one time by accident. But, alas.

However, he is a sweet little guy- and although far from perfect, he is FAR more obedient than my others were at that age. He will sit still for nail cleanings and tooth brushings, and even sat very still when I had to pull a million tiny barbs out of his hand on Halloween after he grabbed a cactus. "Mommy," he said, very seriously. "That flower hurt me."

"I know, baby. That was a cactus," I said, my eyes suddenly welling up because he is so precious- and he just keeps changing. The pain in his hand had taught him another lesson- the meaning of "cactus"- and he will never confuse one with a flower again.

Sensation by sensation, word by word, he is growing up- and as grateful as I am for that, I can't help but want to hold on to him NOW.

I guess that's why I wrote this.

Stew 2008

2008-06-27T08:52:00.001-07:00

Stew 2007

2008-06-27T08:48:00.001-07:00

Stew 2005

2008-06-27T08:47:00.001-07:00

Stew 2003

2008-06-27T08:45:00.001-07:00

If You Know My Mother You'll Find This Funny! (If not, you probably won't get it)

2008-06-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

Moms sometimes tell me that they are turning into their own mothers.

Usually this realization is brought on by certain words coming out of their mouths that sound all too familiar- words like “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about!” or “Starving kids in Ethiopia would be grateful to eat this asparagus!”

For me, the realization has come slowly, a dim awareness creeping over me like a fog.

I felt its chill the first time I gardened in my church clothes, spattering mud and water all over my skirt and crusting dirt under my fingernails right before Sunday services.

It breathed down my neck when I took the dog for a walk in a bathrobe and bright red rain boots.

A note on the toilet telling visitors to “Use Pencil to Flush” (our old toilet handle broke so for a while we had to lift the tank lid and trip the mechanism with a pencil) brought me a step closer to Melissa Finifrock-dom.

“Fixing” my car stereo with duct tape and a bungee cord was ALMOST a breakthrough moment…

But it was not until today when I took the kids for a bike ride to Ralph’s, bought a dozen eggs, then knelt on the cement and ripped the carton in half in order to stack them into my cooler that I realized… I AM MY MOTHER.

Just Semantics

2008-06-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

A conversation I overheard last week between Stewart and his friend Jimmie...

Jimmie: My scooter is crying.

Stewart: Scooters don't cry, Jimmie.

Jimmie: They do when you chop them up into little pieces! (suddenly noticing me) Sarah, Stewart said he's going to chop my scooter up into little pieces!

Stewart: (calmly) No I didn't. (Pause). I said I was going to cut it into little pieces.

The Choice is Clear

2008-05-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

They sell pregnancy tests at the 99 Cent store now. The brand is "U Check."

I scoffed when I saw them, thinking "who would buy a pregnancy test from the 99 Cent store?"

Then I realized that I would and I was a bit sad for myself.

Happy 30th to Amy!

Tour of Doodie

2008-05-17T08:54:00.000-07:00

The other day, Owen gave his friend Jimmie a hilarious tour of our house.

He hadn't seen Jimmie for a week, so he had to give him all the highlights of what he had missed.

"Right out there is where Krycek pooped on the patio. Right there! HE POOPED!" Giggles.

"And up here, right here on the bathroom floor, Wilbur went pee pee and then he slipped and fell in his pee pee!" Hysterical giggles.

"See that spot on the carpet? Krycek barfed there! Right there!" Belly laughs.

The sad thing is, it was ALL TRUE and it literally had ALL HAPPENED within that week!

If we ever need to sell the house we'll need to keep Owen away from prospective buyers...

Arghhhh!

2008-03-01T20:34:00.000-08:00

Well, it's official. I need to get that brown tooth fixed.

I smiled at Stewart tonight and he looked at my teeth and said, "Wow, you have a gold one!" (He's into gold teeth, having seen them on pirates.)

My smile stiffened as suspicion grew in my breast. "Which one do you think is the gold one?" I asked, sinkingly certain I knew what the answer would be.

"That one," he grinned, pointing to the Tooth-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Still somewhat in denial, I asked him to point to it again, hoping that it was a mere coincidence. Alas, he pointed unswervingly to It.

I decided then and there that no matter the cost, the tooth would be fixed.

It's either that or just full-on succumb to the pirate look. I mean, yeah, Keira Knightley didn't exactly go the blacked-out teeth route in World's End, but I could pull off a less-hot swashbuckling style, right? I could get some filthy rags, put some beads in my hair, strap on a cutlass and just go with it!

On the other hand I don't want to lose my kids when people think I've had a Britney-style meltdown, so I guess I'll just get the tooth fixed.

Valentine's Day Approaches

2008-02-08T20:27:00.000-08:00

Today, Owen asked me what "K-R-S-S-T-U-V" spells. Something about the rhythm of those letters sounded very familiar to me and I knew it wasn't just a nonsense word.

"Ah, was it K-I-S-S-I-N-G?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Kissing."

"Ew."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Nowhere."

I sang the song in a vain attempt to pry more details from him, telling him that they used to sing it when I was in school, too.

Alas, all he did was blush.

Riddle Me This

2008-02-03T21:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, you know that song that goes "And I miss you... like the deserts miss the rain..." ?

Every time I hear it, I get annoyed because I don't know if she misses him or not.

I mean, sure, deserts don't get much rain and they're very dry so in that sense, yes, deserts do miss rain.

However, do deserts really miss the rain? The entire ecosystem of a desert is based on NOT having rain. Really, too much rain would kill its native plants and animals and it would no longer be a desert.

So, do they miss the rain or not?

Is the song about how much she misses him or about how unnecessary he really is to her life because her giant saguaro and sage brush are thriving?

I've asked for opinions on this topic from various people and they've informed me that "It's just a song!" and that I've "thought just a little too hard about this!"

But I can't let it go. I must know!

Another thing that puzzles me:

We just watched the Superbowl (which means that we fast-forwarded through the game to watch the commercials and the half-time show). And that weird Godfather Audi commercial where the Audi cuts the other luxury car's "head" off is an enigma. If the Audi is the superior car, as the commercial asserts, why was it jealous enough of the other luxury car to dismember it (or disfender it- hey-o!)? Don't get it.

The Revelation

2008-01-18T13:54:00.000-08:00

The big revelation came last night. Owen, just a few months shy of six, has realized that he's mortal.

It happened like this; we were discussing how much longer Krycek will live and how dogs don't live that long, only ten or fifteen years or so.

"Dogs die, but people don't," Owen said with confidence.

I looked at him, unsure as to how serious he was and realized that he was very serious. "Um... actually people do die, but they live a lot longer than dogs," I said, trying to cushion the truth as much as possible.

"People die," he acquiesced readily. "But not us. Right, Mommy? Not us." Again, said with total conviction while holding eye contact with me.

If you had sliced my heart open at that moment it couldn't have ached more. "Um... well, that's not true."

"We're going to die? I'm going to die! I don't want to die!"

I explained that he wouldn't die for a long time and that when people get old their bodies start to break down and hurt and it's hard to live. Also, I told him how he'd get to go to Heaven and see God.

He calmed down a little after that and started talking about who might die and when. Apparently, since Daddy is "really old" he's "almost gonna die, but not yet." Also, Krycek needs to eat healthy food, so his body will "crack up more slowly and not hurt."

From Stewart I gleaned the following nuggets, which he shouted with great enthusiasm:

"If someone cuts me in half, I will die."
"If I get burned up in fire, I will die."
"If a burglar takes me to Mars, I will see lots of rocks."
"If I go to Mercury, I will get burned up and die. Will you miss me when I die?"

It will be interesting to hear Wilbur's take on death in a few years after he learns everything Owen and Stewart know on the subject.

Interesting side note: One of the first vivid dreams I remember having is that my sister Liz (who was a baby at the time) flew to Mercury and her little body sizzled up and died. I remember I woke up crying and made my mom bring her in so I could make sure she was still alive. Stewart and I must share a brain when it comes to fears because I hear a lot from him about burning up on Mercury.