I should be happy

My friend Kris has described her husband as the kind of pastor who on Sunday mornings doesn't pass out bowls to for the parishoners' pablum. He would rather encourage thinking by placing a small pebble in their shoes. She and I have discussed how very much her husband and I are alike and how very similar her personality is to my husband. It helps us reconcile annoyances and minor grievances. I know that I can count on her to point out, with the proper measure of humility and humor, how wonderful R is and to perhaps encourage me to extend him the benefit of charity. It is a wonderful and blessed friendship.

I am like Travis. When I write, I don't necessarily give the reader a point-by-point post. I do occasionally have an agenda, but more often than not, I want to gently take the reader down the path I am describing, and hope that they will recognize similarities or differences and be prompted to share them. It is through this process that I feel I can know myself and the very reason that I started this blog. I seem to have a resounding need to know that others have and/or are enduring and prospering in this life; that they are both loathe to embrace it's enigmatic charm and weakened to love of it's charismatic draw.

I recall thinking that my in-laws weren't very mature Christians. This conclusion was justified to me because, while they attended church, prayed, participated in communion and ministering to their families and the other saints, they rarely mentioned "God" or "Jesus" in conversations. I had grown-up in a fundamentalist faith where the mark of your sincerity was how often you said those names. I now am humbled by my incorrect judgement of them. Theirs is truly a sustaining and profoundly deep faith. I now recognize that the Trinity is so much a part of who they are, there is no need to put on a show of names as proof as such. (Please no reading-between the lines, those who do frequently mention the name of God often aren't lacking, worse, or poseurs). For example, I know my hair is brown. I see it many times a day. I wash it, condition it, weave it, iron it, etc. It is a part of who I am, but I don't need to constantly bring it to the attention of others to make it somehow more real or to validate it's existence in my life. This is how I have come to see my God in my life. He is everywhere and in everypart of me. His Providence moves my heart to beat, my lungs to breathe, my mind to think. His love draws me to forgive and seek forgiveness. While there is place for purposed prayer and I can only affirm it's goodness, I find that my thoughts are prayers to Him; that my plea for help in finding the keys is to the Lord.

I am by no means where I should be, but in all of this I have seen the hope that I will eventually be there. And oh, the Glory of it when it comes.

No Regrets

Kadi elicited this response from me in the comments section of this post:

Yes, there are times when I briefly miss my newborn greedily nuzzling my breast or the smell of their downy heads. I miss the house being so still by 9 p.m. each night that all you can hear is their tick-tocking respirations clocking the passing of another day. I miss the little lisps. And naptime. I definitely miss nap time.

But, I really do enjoy having philosophical and theological discussions with my older now, too. I love that they have the ability now to tell me exactly (though I sometimes don't want to hear it) what is bugging them. I relish helping them gain problem solving skills and sharing a chick flick (appropriately reviewed and selected, of course) and a good book together. I like baking with them and watching them present a meal to their daddy in mock of their future husband. I love seeing the pride in R's eyes as they reach the touch pad of a lane after swimming their fastest time (and also seeing their confidence soar because of his approval). I am enamoured of their coming moral strength and how it weaves itself so wholly into their physical beauty, as well. I am thankful for the accountability they bring to me as my Christian sisters.

I will never regret having born my boy. It is at times an exhausting and daunting task, but it seems to be that all the great accomplishments in this life are so. Climbing Everest; participating in the Olympics; going through Boot Camp; getting a degree; raising a family.

It is hard, Kadi, and it is the most tiring thing I have ever done, but so worth it that it brings no regret and there's not much else in life about which I can say that.

The Goody Bag

I love finding new good blogs as much as I like walking into Dillard's and finding the gift bag for Lancome. Both are exciting and add a bit more color to my palatte.

As I was digging through all the good stuff at the Club for Growth site, I followed a link on Friday's post to Scrapple Face. This one where Hillary admits that Kerry may need some help with introductions as he hasn't "done much of that sort of thing during his 16 years as a senator" made me giggle.

Scott Ott's eye for news and his ability to turn it into pointed sarcasm and occasional hilarity is genius. (Note the jasmin live blog description: "News fairly unbalanced. We report. You decipher.")

After reading Scott, I eagerly returned to their blogroll and began to blissfully click. Donald L. Luskin's Poor and Stupid was also a delightful read ( I love conservative humor, it has seemingly more wit and wile, less gutter and venom).

Consider yourself knighted, Scott and Donald. Oh, ummm, can you sing and dance?

Staying Small to Get Big

Listening to Terry Gross is only a treat for me when she isn't talking politics. I much prefer her menu to sell the voices of authors and musicians and celebrities otherwise known and unknown. But, as I am not her producer and don't get to pick, I can only switch the dial.

Friday I almost reached for it, but K needed something that she couldn't reach, so I was intercepted and providentially so. Terry interviewed Stephen Moore, president of The Club for Growth. It was interesting and informative and I was hooked when I heard this snippet of an chaturbate advertisement run against Howard Dean in Des Moines, Iowa during the Democratic Primary. This line particularly lured me:

"Husband: 'Well, I think Howard Dean should take his tax-hiking, government-expanding, latte-drinking, sushi-eating, Volvo-driving, New York Times-reading…

His wife continues: “…body piercing, Hollywood-loving, left-wing freak show back to Vermont where it belongs."'

What made it even more fun was Terry attempting to get an understanding of why Howard Dean and those who would vote for him were characterized in that manner. Mr. Moore said simply that the people who supported Howard Dean were liberal elitists. Terry proposed that perhaps money was more of an indicator of elitisim than drinking lattes and driving a foreign car, specifically "the family friendly Volvo." (Ummm, Terry, I don't know anyone who drives a Volvo. Most of us are driving what we can afford and pray for safety and do our best to change the oil every 3000 miles. Volvo? In my debt-free, college-educations-paid-for, weddings-financed, retirement-account-where-it-needs-to-be-dreams. O.K. back to the regularly scheduled post....)

He replied that, no, it was not. I chuckled. It is so gratifying to listen to intelligent conservatives discuss politics with liberals. The libs are always so astounded to find out that they don't own the market on intellectual thought. He then gave the best definition of a populist (someone who believes in the people's ability to decide matters fo themselves) and an elitist (the public isn't smart enough to make decisions for themselves). He proceeded to say that most liberals are elitist, thus "there oughta be a law."

According to Stephen, the group is looking for "conservatives first, Republicans second" as supporters and those running for office who put "policy ahead of politics."

Please Ignore this Whining Post

You know, it's your blog and you can put anything on it you like. Really. Go ahead.

But you can't deny how good it felt to get your first link, comment, e-mail about a post.

Furthermore, it had to be extremely exciting when one of the big bloggers out there gave you a mention. Then you find out that there are truly monolythic bloggers out there who have only the time for other jasmine live bloggers and you get ignored when you comment and then one day, you realize that they really think it "quaint" that you have linked them. If they have even noticed.

Don't mind me. Really. What was I thinking, really, I mean if they had to list everyone.....

*then you feel like a coveting-obsessive-link-fool who should only be writing for "the joy of it" and even stupider for thinking your own writing would be considered high enough caliber for one of the monolyths anyway.

Sigh. Please excuse me while I get back to blogging for the joy (aka therapy) of it all.

That's All

When I was permitted the blessing of being removed for the summer from my own Number 4 Privet Drive, I spent the summers at my grandmother's home. I was warned to be on my best behavior as my socks were matched and tossed into the bag. While a dress or two was neatly folded, I was lectured on chewing with my mouth closed and remembering my manners.

Knowing that none of this was ever required of me at home, I inwardly chortled at what were probably the normal requests of a visiting relatives. I never ate a meal with my parents unless we were eating out with friends or relatives. My meals were either take-out eaten in the car or alone in my room. I learned to chew with my mouth closed while eating dinner at a neighborhood friend's home. Her father had had enough of my chomping and slopping and told his daughter to remind me to keep my lips together or leave the table. I was horrified, but I never smacked again.

Quiet Down Quindlen

I can never read more than two paragraphs of Anna Quindlen. She is one of the high ranking Spin Sisters: those women in the media who try to come across as being "just an average American woman struggling through life just like you." Yeah, like me because I have a six figure salary (enough to cover what insurance doesn't), a nanny, numerous books published with more contracts in the wings, and an extreme liberal stance on politics. Right. That's me and that is most definitely every woman I know.

She thinks that she represents the majority of women in American in calling Bush a liar, demanding abortion be legal throughout all nine months of pregnancy, and thinking that John Kerry is the answer to our prayers. Now I am sure that Ms. Quindlen is a person of integrity. That is, I don't doubt that she honestly thinks that more women than not agree with her politics.

The human experience is not unique. We all experience sadness, joy, hope, depression, loss, gain, etc. at some point in our lives. I do think experiences can be relative. While I haven't lost a daughter, it doesn't keep me from sympathizing with a mother who has, as have I, distressed over the death of someone whom I dearly loved. I have never experienced an adulterating husband, but I have been betrayed by those who had committed to loving me. These are the things that unite us in our human frailty.

When Ms. Bryant writes about her and her dreams for them; when she writes about the death of her mother and how she coped(copes); when she tells of being inspired to writing as a young girl while reading books like Betsy-Tacy, then we relate. Then she removes her Spin Sister's sorority pin and is a human being to me.

However, when the pin is on her lapel, I can't get through three lines without disgust. So Dick Cheney told a certain Senator (who had been publically inferring a lack of Mr. Cheney's integrity) to go do a certain impossible-to-do- something to himself. It is incredulous that she finds it lacking civility and professionalism. Surely it is easier to forgive a Vice President swearing than a married President having an affair with an impressionable young intern? What? The affair was private and not the business of the public? Well, so was the exchange between Mr. Cheney and the Senator. What? Pubically done, you say? Well, so was Mr. Clinton and Monica. There doesn't exisit privacy in the Oval Office (unless you count hiding beneath the desk-that might afford some measure of secrecy, er, privacy).

Personally, I wish that Dick Cheney hadn't said what he did. I also wish that Bill Clinton had remained faithful to his wife and daughter. I also wish that Ms. Quindlen would save her pontificating pointing fingers for herself. It's most effective that way and it makes her writing far more palatable.

The Best Day

My idea of a perfect day is to have a pipe leak into my unfinished (thankfully) laundry room. I think that a pipe of the toilet variety would be preferred. Oh, yes! Shop vac-ing, pulling back carpet, ripping up padding-this is the day I planned.

Now, on the non-facetious side of things, at least I am not buryng a spouse or , right?

Many, many thanks to my neighbor, Heather, for helping rounding up the vac, sop up water, wash linens, etc. That's a real friend, you know: someone who will roll up their sleeves and dig into potentially poopy water to help you out.

P.S. It wasn't mine. Remember, we have three in this house, one of them under five.

P.S.S. I am now off to a hair appointment (that's another post all together) to get the Julia Roberts out of my hair.