An Agnostic Tries to explain religion... to a 4 year old.

I just came across this unpublished post from 5 years ago-and had to publish it.  Enjoy!

Being an Agnostic or Atheistic parent, I think, can be one of the most challenging ways to parent.   We have had many discussions with our oldest daughter that turn out to be far more philosophical than I have initially expected.
For example, try explaining the meaning of Christmas, Easter or what happens after people die.  If you aren't clear or don't believe than you run the risk of turning your child into immoral, consumerist, little bastards.  At least, that's what I've been told before.
We've tackled Christmas with a little bit of explanation but I always end up going off on a side discussion about the various points of interest of other religions and how I don't even know what is true and what isn't and that the Bible is really just a collection of stories and how Jesus wasn't really even born on December 25th...and after about 20 minutes I look at Olivia and her eyes have rolled back in her head and she is looking so sorry that she even asked.  We talked a little bit about Easter (but really, how on earth am I supposed to explain the Crucifixion and resurrection of Christ to a 4-year old?  And even if you had a suggestion, I wouldn't want to try it.)  So we talked, instead, about how spring is a time of rebirth and a time of new life.  The sad part is, I wasn't even able to come up with that myself.  I had to buy a book.

There are many tricks that parents of faith can use to keep their children in check.  One is the "Hell" card.  I don't get to use the "You can't do that because you will burn eternally in the fiery pits of Hell" argument.  Although, there are some times I would like to.  It's a hard card to play when you don't believe in Hell, though.
Another is the "Jesus died for your sins" card.  That is one that will evoke feelings of guilt in most people, but, that is bullshit.  Jesus was a good man, who was a political scapegoat.  No one should feel guilty for what happened to someone else 2,000 years ago.

Five years later...
We still haven't figured this out but recent studies have come out showing that Atheist parents are kick-ass parents., so I guess we'll just keep doing what we're doing and they'll be okay.

The Triumph and the Tragedy of Motherhood

Today was both a celebration and a gut punch.  Being a mother is so extremely rewarding but, as a part of the reward for doing your job, you are reminded that your job is to make your children independent, strong, and not need you-or, at least, not always need you.

First the triumph-because I'll pretend that I have had a lot to do with that.  My sweet, courageous daughters have been attending a cheering/tumbling camp this week, during school vacation.  They are taking chances and doing things they've been scared to do and today my youngest (6 years old) volunteered to be in a contest and performed jumps and cartwheels in front of the whole camp-all of whom are older kids than her.  That BLEW MY MIND.  My eldest was tirelessly working to improve-hit her back handspring, perfect her cartwheel, learn new techniques so that she can be the best team mate she can be.   I was the kid in high school who loved singing but constantly talked myself out of really auditioning for anything other than the chorus in the school musical (except for senior year).  I was so scared of giving the wrong answer that I didn't raise my hand in class and I always chose my social life over really applying myself-just because I thought I couldn't do it.  Then, here are my amazing daughters who have been just exceeding, addressing things, and volunteering to do extra.  They are challenging themselves, they are accomplishing things, and they don't realize what a huge deal it is.  They are not afraid!  I don't know where that comes from.  I am so in awe of what they have inside of their souls and can't even imagine where they will end up with that kind of courage.  Imagine, if all of the girls weren't afraid to tackle math problems or climb mountains or be doctors or study climate change, the economy, be president.  Imagine a GENERATION of Michelle Obamas, Hilary Clintons, Annie Oakleys.  My job is to keep nourishing that flame and to encourage them to always be brave.

Now the flip side of the coin.  I had heard rumours from an unnamed source that my 9 year old was really working hard to stop calling me mommy, and to start calling me mom.  Tonight she was reading a book to her sister, and was replacing "mommy" with "mom" the whole way through.  I went in to the room, intending to just tell her that I understood, that I remembered that thought, and as I was saying it, I started crying because I realize that it's time.  She is growing up.  She is closer to being a teen than a toddler, and is halfway to adulthood.  I smiled at her, told her that I understood, that I was sorry I was crying, but that I understood.  I told her that it was okay with me if she called me "mom" it wouldn't hurt my feelings, but that she could call me "mommy" whenever she wanted.  We both cried, we both hugged, the six year old started crying, said that she still wanted to call me "mommy."  One of us made a fart joke, we laughed about all the silly ways you can say "mommy" and I left the room with them giggling over Pinkalicious together.
That's the way of motherhood. The bittersweet, working-your-way-out-of-a-job reality of parenting.  If you do it right, they're constantly challenging themselves, reaching out, yet strengthening those wings to leave the nest some day.  I will always encourage them to stretch and grow, even as it makes me want to cling tighter and pull them back.  For now, though, we'll just try to make it through the tween angst, teen rebellion, and I'll sit in awe of the women they're becoming.

The 5 Stages of Moving

We recently moved from one house to a better house.  Keep in mind, it had only been 5 years since we had moved into the first house so this was supposed to be easy...

Pre-move:  Our home is  beautiful, functional, and a lovely place to life.

Stage 1.  Make the decision.
Do you want to move from here to there?  Yeah?  Okay!  Stage 1 is complete.

Stage 2. Lying to yourself.
Oh, this won't be so bad.  We just did this and child #2 was in infant!  How could it possibly be harder than that?  I mean, come on!!  Let's make a plan and get everything fixed up and get rid of everything we don't need or want to move.


Stage 3.  PANIC
AAAAHHHHH!!!  THIS HOUSE IS A DUMP!  WHEN DID WE BECOME HOARDERS!!!  HOW COULD WE HAVE LIVED IN THIS CRAP HOLE SO LONG!  NO ONE WILL EVER BUY THIS HOUSE AND WE WILL NEVER EVER MOVE!!!

Approximately 48 hours into moving.

Stage 4. Resignation:

Throw away/donate all of your non-essential items.  Use the reasoning that you never liked x, y, z in the first place.  It feels so freeing!  Now you start donating absolutely everything that you don't want to move.  The ultimate stage is when you donate car loads of items to charities and don't even want receipts.  

What?  Your Goodwill isn't in a meadow with this dress code?

Stage 5.  GTFO

You are long past the stage of caring about what needs to happen in that old shit hole.  You have a new house to fill up with your....oh... couch and three boxes of kids toys....hmmmm...well, just call it minimalist design and pretend your new philosophy is that you are free from all earthly possessions.

Now, let's all say it together.  "WE ARE NEVER MOVING AGAIN-EVER, AND WE MEAN IT THIS TIME."

Ta-Daaaaa!!

It was just like any other day.  Big sister was at school, little monkey was home with me.  Little Monkey is what we call a velcro child, and was particularly sticky that day.  It was one of those days where you really just want a second to think, not play blocks, not play hide and seek, not read one of those charming children's books, not talk about which My Little pony is the silliest, just take a pee, read a book, listen to some music.
That was not happening at all.  It was like a horror movie.  A super adorable but infuriating horror movie.  Everywhere I turned, there she was.  Everywhere I looked, I was greeted with a chubby, dirty little fist waving at me. 

I tried everything.  I tried doing laundry ("Let me help you, Mommy!")  I tried cooking "OOOH, LET ME HELP YOU MOMMY!")  I tried letting the Aquabats entertain her for a few minutes.  Then, I snuck off to the bathroom.

It's Like This...all the time.

Now, as every mom knows, the bathroom is one of the few times in life when you should be left alone but you never will be.  "This time will be different" I told myself as I locked the door, and sat down. 
I noticed the silence first-as in the TV had been turned off.  Then the door flew open and my sweet, adorable, cloying, clinging daughter made jazz hands and said "Ta-Daa!!!!  Don't worrry, Mommy!  I'm here!" and laughed.  You know what?  I did, too.  It is one of my favorite days to look back on, and we actually had a blast for the rest of the day.  I gave in, I let her cling, and then, after lunch, she looked at me, smiled and said "I need to go take a nap.  I'm worn out."  She got her nap, I got some time to myself, and it was everything I had hoped it would be. 

A Whole New World...

My youngest daughter started Kindergarten last month.  This is the child who has asked to go to school every day since she could talk.  This is the child who has watched her sister go to pre-school and school from the very minute she left the hospital.  She is joyful, bright, funny, infuriating, short tempered, the best hugger and a great little pal to spend your days with.
So...now she's been getting ready to go to school.  She has been spending days on end talking about what she wants to learn, who she wants her teacher to be, how many friends she's going to make,  and so much more.
My experience with her has been a totally different experience than with my eldest daughter.  My eldest was nervous about school, we had no idea what to expect, and while she was excited to go, we both were very emotional and felt very unprepared.  Her school experience, from Kindergarten through 2nd grade, was in a different school district and was full of teary days and nights, lots of unfinished work, bus ride bribery, and calls home from the school  Last year we homeschooled (that's another story) and this year, for 4th grade, after a move to a new district, school, etc., she loves her school.
My youngest, though, started school and is so HAPPY to be there.  She can't wait to get to school.  She  is finally able to experience these magical things she's watched her sister do (buying school lunch, taking notes to the teacher, doing homework (not really-she's mad about that) and going to the school library.  It is such a relief knowing that I can leave them in a supportive environment where they are actually learning and being taken care of.
You know what's even nicer?  BEING ALONE.   Let that sink in for a minute.  Stay at home moms, you know what I'm talking about.  That dream that you have had for at least 5 years ( It's been 9 years for me) has finally come true.  I can now clean up after lunch and there are not instantly dishes in the sink.  I can now sit down without being asked to get someone food.  I can vacuum and not have to pick up little shitty toys all over the floor because someone decided they can't wait to get out their Monster High dolls and rip all of the clothing and limbs off and then go get out their legos then run away, with it all still on the floor, and play on the swings.
Here's another benefit:  my hubby works second shift-so we actually have most of the day together, without children.  We can go out to lunch or coffee or watch an episode of Breaking Bad in the middle of the day or he can actually take a nap before work, be rested up, and I can go have coffee with my friends.  Yes!  Here's the most amazing part of this-we still like each other!  (That's also another story).

So, while I have really really enjoyed and been driven completely insane by my two girls, being with them day to day, watching them grow and learn and fight and start to discover who they are, has been chaotic, fun, and a true blessing.  I wouldn't wish it away or trade it for anything.  However, that doesn't mean I'm not going to enjoy the shit out of this time- and my newly re-discovered FREEDOM.

After....

I've been trying to figure out how to write this down so that it comes out right-so I'm just going to do it.  My father died a few weeks ago and I feel like I have no idea what is going on with my feelings.

Not because he was a good father or a good man, he wasn't either of those things.  He was an angry alcoholic with (probably) some severe mental health issues.  I hadn't seen him in 25 years, he wasn't invited to my wedding, never met his amazing grandchildren, never saw my house, met my husband, or even bothered to find out who his daughters had grown up to be.  He was the biggest non-presence in our life, and his death had a far bigger impact than I had ever thought it would have.
My father disappeared from our life when his second family came to be.  We had a younger sister and brother but never met them (and actually just made contact).  We had aunts and uncles and a grandmother with whom we spent weeks in the summers and weekends in the school year growing up.  We had a father who refused to speak to us, send my sister birthday presents, or even contact us after I was 8 years old or so.   My only memories of him are horrible-drunken road rage, drunken rage in general, feeling scared of him as far back as I can remember.  He was not a good dad, he was not a good man.  He did not help make us happy, strong or capable human beings.

Our mother left him in a high stakes winner takes all escape between when he went to work and came home for lunch.  She packed whatever she could fit into a suitcase and a diaper bag, and fled with her 3 year old and 1 year old from a very comfortable (but, I can imagine terrifying life) into a life of uncertainty.  She moved us to safety, did her best to co parent, and raised us to be honest, compassionate and hard working women.  She, like all other single parents, had to tread the line between being a protective mother and following the law, and she did, and never once disparaged our father's reputation.  We always knew that she loved us (and we still do)

From the age of 8 until sometime in my late teens, I heard nothing from him.  He didn't call, write, visit-nothing.  He was again, the ever present specter in our house-we had standing orders at our elementary school that he was not to pick us up without our Mom's consent, we joked about the drunk under the bridge being our dad to our friends.  We really had no idea where he was or what he was doing.  At one point, he sent us a letter that told us never to drink or do drugs.  We wrote back, poured our hearts out, and got no response-for the rest of his life.

At some point last summer he found out that he had cancer.  He received treatment through the VA, but somewhere around Christmas, he died. (We found out all of this after)  This is where it gets really crazy.
At first I was fine.  Then I wasn't.  How is it that one person who had no tangible presence in your life could have such a hold over your emotions?  How is it that  the death of the absence of a person could be causing such upeaval in my emotions?  Why does that Southern Comfort ad that they show on Hulu make me cry every time I see it now?  (Hint-my husband and I used to joke that that guy was my dad-and that cracked us up every time it came on TV)

That's the crazy thing about this whole situation.  I knew/know who he was-but the 8 year old girl in the back of the brain doesn't.  She is so sad that she'll never get a chance to hear her dad say "I'm sorry for not being around, and I'm proud of you."  I keep hearing this little voice in my head ask the question "What was so wrong with me that you wouldn't even send me a letter?"  Believe me, I know that I was better off but still,  I am so sad for that part of me-and so amazed that it is still there, kicking around in the back of my head, waiting to just jump out, punch you in the gut then hide in the shadows for the next time you see the Southern Comfort ad or something.  It is the most surreal thing in the world, for, I honestly never thought I would spend a minute feeling sad over his death, but here I am.  Is it sadness for the death of a hope or an ideal that never would have been realized?  Is it possible to mourn the death of someone who truly never seemed to bring anything but pain to those he was around?  I don't ask these questions out of anger, I just truly don't understand. 

That brings me to the past few weeks.  I didn't realize how far it had gotten until I was deep in the hole.  Last week, at one point, I was driving and realized that I hadn't felt anything-any emotion-in days.  That was a scary thought.  I was completely checked out of the world and didn't realize it until after it had happened. The scariest part of that, though, was that I didn't care at all.  The thought hit me like I was thinking "Oh, I should pick up some milk on the way home" except it was "Oh, I haven't had a feeling in a while."  But because I didn't have any emotion, I just kept driving and didn't think to mention it to anyone until a few days later, when I started to move through the feeling/not feeling thing.  Now I'm working my way out, letting my feelings find their way to the surface, and doing what he never did-pulling the people close to me closer and letting them help me.

So, the big question is, what exactly am I mourning? Am I in mourning?  As I said to my husband the other day "I have no idea what my feelings are doing right now!"  I don't know-this is all new to me.  I'll just keep him as a lesson  in the back of my mind to love those who love you, live in hope, and keep a kind and open heart. I guess, if there is a bigger lesson to be learned from this whole situation, it's to pull your loved ones closer and let them know how much you love them, and to cherish the people, family or not, who encourage you to be a better person. As I work through that, though, I'll be heading back to the therapist's office to make heads or tails of this truly confusing and crazy situation so that some day I can just appreciate that great Southern Comfort ad for what it is-funny, weird, and strange.

How the Garbage Man Saved My Marriage...

Yes, that is a very dramatic title, isn't it?  Now, before you get all hot and bothered (mom) worrying about the state of my marriage, here's the truth...I may have overstated the issue a bit.  I'm going to lay it all out for you, though, and I think you'll understand where I'm coming from.

Here is my theory about why people get divorced:  teeny tiny little problems (like who should take the trash to the dump or do the dishes after dinner) turn into bigger problems (like hating each other), then the biggest problems (cheating, etc) turn into D-I-V-O-R-C-E.  Yeah, I know what you're saying.  Many marriages are shams, many wives are bitches and/or nags, many husbands are just douchebags and/or clueless, every rose has it's thorn...blah, blah, blah.  Those aren't the type of marriages I'm talking about.  I'm talking about everyone else.  Your friends, in-laws, boss, whoever.  The type of people who, when they announce they are getting a divorce, cause shocked silence, weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Their announcement causes everyone who hears about it to say "I never saw that coming."  These marriages die a slow death of resentment, silence and fights about trash or dishes but really about so much more.  Let's be honest, when you fight about something with your spouse, is it really about that one issue?  Isn't it really about something else (not feeling valued, being lonely, not being sure that you're on the same team any more)?  I know it is.  Shhhhhh...you don't even have to say it.

The truth is that my marriage is pretty amazing.  My husband is kind, a great dad, funny and not at all a douchebag.  I'd like to think that other people think that I come across as slightly less bitchy in real life than I do in my head.  We tend to talk things over, are on the same page when it comes to raising our kids, and have lots of fun together. 
However, there was a problem in our household...and it stank.

Stop smiling, you asshole.

We live in a rural development, really more of a small town inside of another small town.  It's picturesque, classic New England, dirt roads, cape cod houses but no trash pick up.  The only way to have your trash removed from your house is via one of two methods: pay someone to do it or take it to the dump your own damn self.  (watch the video-this is one of my fondest childhood memories)

So, being the stingy, contrary New Englanders we are, we found out that it would cost $20 per month to have someone take away our trash!  "NO WAY!" we said.  We were not going to pay someone $20 to haul away our old food containers, dirty diapers, etc.  We would take it to the dump ourselves.
Well, after 3 winters and summers of fighting about who was going to take the trash to the dump...what's that?  You want to see what that fight looks like?

Almost there...Pretty accurate.

Me:  Can you please take the trash to the dump?  The shitbird raccoons are trying to get into the bins every night and I'm pretty sure there's a colony of maggots in the bottom of the bin.
Him:  (sigh) Okay.  Why can't you do it during the week?  I have to work all day and then spend Saturday cleaning out the van and taking the trash to the dump now.
Me: (trying not to punch him in the wind pipe) Well, I'm at home with two kids, I do everything else around here, and I'm just asking you to take the trash to the dump.  Please, please, don't make me go there.  I hate it there.  It smells horrible, there are so many flies, and I just HATE THE DUMP.
Him: (looks defeated, clearly can not argue with my airtight rhetoric)  Okay, I'll do it.  Do you think I like going to the dump? 
Thing 1:  Thing two pooped in the bath tub/spilled something/drew on the wall!
Me and him:  Stop tattling!  Thing Two, why did you poop in the bath tub/spill something/draw on the wall?

and scene...

You're too kind! 

Now, imagine that almost exact same fight happen 30 times a year...or, imagine someone not going for a while and the trash piling up and then imagine the passive aggressive rage I would exhibit when the shitbird raccoons did get into the trash and spread it all around the yard....and guess who got to clean it up because I "just stay home."  You guessed it.  The trash was not just a festering maggot colony, it was festering rage and resentment and fights and loads of bacteria.

How can I hate something so adorable with so much passion?  Once you've woken up to this scene a few times, you'll find yourself screaming swears at them from your living room windows, too.

Finally, I had enough.  He got a better job which freed up a little extra money which meant I could finally justify paying someone else $20 per month to come haul away our 2-4 bags of trash and recyclables per week.  And, you know what?  It is amazing.  I can't explain the joy I get in taking the trash bins out to the curb and watching for Ralph I-don't-know-his-last-name to pull up in his red truck with his reflective stuck-on letters on the side to empty out my trash and recyclables and take it where ever he wants to take it.  It is just not our problem any more.  So how did this save our marriage?  It gave us one less stressful thing between us.  We were able to move on, get rid of this issue and not give it room to make a problem for us in the future. Plus, I really, really hate going to the dump. 

Today's lesson:  If you can get rid of a major stressor, do it.  Don't let the raccoons win, and let Jensen tell you what you already know:

...swoon....