Ain't Gonna Work on Maggie's Farm No More

Bob refused to work on
Maggie's Farm and so do I!

Sunday, I came clean in this story in our local newspaper about my struggles with weight, and in the telling, I think I accidentally made it sound like my life is great and I never look at myself and think, “What’s with the jiggle?”

The truth is, though, I do sometimes look down and wonder what the hell I could be carrying in my saddlebags (duh… fries!), and whether I might actually be wearing a bustle rather than just having a butt that would put Kim Kardashian's to shame.

Here’s something that actually happened: the day that the article came out, Tom and I went over to Raleigh to the warehouse sale at Raleigh Denim. This is a place in, yes, Raleigh, where they make by hand each pair of jeans on vintage sewing machines out of locally produced denim. Since it’s one of those new hip things – going all Williamsburg on everyday products – the sale was full of young hipsters. Skinny hipsters. I wasn’t rattled, though... I mean, I’m hip – right? Well I HAVE hips, anyway... But then I stepped into the communal dressing room. ACK.

Kim K's butt's got
nothin' on mine!

This crowded house was also full of lithe and beautifully tanned, extremely young hipster gals and fashionistas in varying states of undress and thong-age… shimmying into the ultra-skinny-legged jeans, buttoning them under their taut, tanned bellies… And there I was – 51, 5’1” and flabby. You better believe I changed in and out of that cute little dress as quickly as possible!

When I rejoined my husband, I had to make myself pause and notice his obvious fondness and acceptance, and aggressively remember how unhappy I was when I was skinny… The kind of body that can wear skinny jeans is a NOT realistic goal for me. It would take the kind of dedication that would most assuredly become an obsession… and I really, really LIKE not thinking about it. It’s truly a wonderful life.

And really, my article was not about being comfortable with my body… but having a comfortable mind…. Which I will choose any day of any week. Yeah, if skinny-ness is Maggie’s Farm then it’s safe to say that I ain’t gonna work there no more.

The scene of my wavering

Anyway, here’s the point of my conveying to you this particular vignette: It shows me clearly that comparing myself to others is a really quick route to unhappiness. Because either I’m not going to measure up, or I’m going to start feeling superior… which is sort of funny, when I think about it. Although… because of the sort of flippant way I write, I wonder if I seem like I think I’m superior because I don’t wrestle with food anymore… when this is true only by the sheer grace of God. I feel deeply for any woman – or man – who faces these kind of struggles, and I wanted them to know that there is another way.

Similarly, the blogpost before… where I spoke of my failings as a housekeeper… I was certainly comparing myself to an ideal – Martha Stewart and other people who are prone to do that stuff and are really good at it. Or, maybe it came across as mocky? I hope not. I’m really jealous of them!

I'm not gonna
trade my hard-won 
sanity for the 
kind of body
that can wear
Raleigh Denim.

And that’s the thing – comparing is about coveting isn’t it? I covet the body of that girl in the Raleigh Denim changing room. I covet the cooking and decorating abilities of my younger sister. I’m not, as Paul would say, “content whatever the circumstances.” (Philippians 4:11)

This seems to be an advanced spiritual state that I also covet. And in terms of spiritual growth, it doesn’t hurt to have role models and learn from the writings of others, but I’m pretty sure coveting their growth is pretty much going backwards.

Once I started to ponder this, a BUNCH of stuff in the Bible began to pop into my mind… I’m thinking this whole thing may go all the way back to the fall when Adam and Eve ate the fruit because they coveted God’s wisdom. Then Cain killed Abel after they engaged in a spiritual competition – which sacrifice would God accept??? (Read the book to find out!)

The prodigal son's older brother coveted the welcome home party the dad threw for his wasted brother, comparing it to the goat he never got to celebrate with his friends... Conversely, the proud praying pharisee compared himself to the humble publican who invented the sinner's prayer...

Stuff like that is threaded all through the narrative of the Bible. Fortunately, it’s a human dilemma that the Bible also addresses. For example, there’s a part in John 21 where Jesus is saying to Peter, “Follow me.” Then Peter looks at John… 

“When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?” Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.” (John 21:21-22)  

Bill chose this pic of Cain and Abel.

When I read this at first I think, so… I just need to worry about my own self and not look or worry about others, which makes sense. But what I really think is happening here is that Peter is being told to look at JESUS rather than himself. “Follow ME,” Jesus says.

Then Paul has this part in his letter to the Philippian church:

If someone else thinks they have reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless.
But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. 

What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. (Philippians 3:4-11)

I'm gonna keep
trying to look at
this Guy. I've heard
that His yoke is easy
 and His burden is light.

So… that’s our whole thing. We don’t look at the other guy… and we don’t look at ourselves… we look at JESUS… who is PERFECT, and is OUR perfection… our righteousness. (As Paul also said, “…Christ Jesus…has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. (I Corinthians 1:30))* And every time I try to be my own righteousness – or self-worth – or compare my righteousness – or my worth – with someone else’s, I am essentially working on Maggie’s farm, as it were… and you know my feelings about that!

Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn’t – that along with these heavy ponderings, I had this song running through my head all day: In Christ Alone. I looked and looked for a version that was not oversweet and synthesizery, and here is this one – not exactly what I was looking for, but pretty good. This lovely modern hymn really puts it out there, as I hope to every time I write.

*yes, i pulled this out of a longer sentence, but I don't think I changed the meaning any!

PINFAIL!!!

Martha is a marvel.
I'm nothing like her.

As a wife and mom I consider myself sort of the anti Martha Stewart. I run my own business, I have cooking and house stuff to do, and I have a nine-year-old kid, so doing the extras like making beautiful decorations and fancy foods a la Martha is just NOT going to happen. NOT that there's anything wrong with expressing yourself creatively through crafts and cooking and colorful centerpieces. In fact, I kind of marvel at people who are good at that stuff... while I'm just trying to keep my head above water. 

Of course, with Pinterest.com, everyone is Martha now, showing off the “good things” they find on the internet. Me? I can’t even manage to get the hang of the Pinterest web site. I mean, I feel like when I pin something, it's like I'm saying, "I just might try this!" And I just can't make that kind of commitment. You might say I’m a “Pinterest Fail”… which IS a real thing.

Unless you mean THIS Martha!

So I might as well just skip Pinterest.com and go right to Pinterestfail.com. On this site, the contributors post a photo of the beautiful idea they found on Pinterest, followed by a photo of their disastrous results when they attempted to replicate it. MY version of pinterest fails would have sort of... reverse advice. Simplification rather than complication. It wouldn’t have great homemade baby food recipes, or crafts to do with your overachieving kids, or home-sewn Halloween costumes…  you know, ways to make things HARDER… It would instead have a few tips to help someone who is desperately trying to hang on to their sanity. 

Okay, I just described myself. Anyway... here are some sample tips from my “PinFail” board:

Sleep is king part 1: In the Baby Sale ads (to which my husband always acts shocked, “They shouldn’t sell babies!”) they always have those attractive comfy nursery rockers so mom can nurse baby in comfort, her feet up, gliding gently. Don’t bother with that. Just lie down on your side in the bed with the baby facing you. Pop a breast into his mouth. Honestly – why sit up when you can lie down? If you’re lucky, one or both of you will fall asleep. Oh – it’s daytime? So what! Sleep is king. 

Before I learned about sleep-nursing.

Sleep is king part 2: If your child has terrible posture in his high chair at dinner time, he probably just needs to go to sleep. Strike while the iron is hot and just put him to bed. 

Sleep is king part 3: If your kid won’t go to sleep because it’s thundering and he’s scared, tell him it’s the old lady who lives next door bowling in her back yard. It may quiet him in the short term and later he’ll think it’s hilarious. 

Potty solutions part 1: If you had a baby shower, chances are you are the proud owner of anywhere from 7 to 57 adorable little onesies. BUT… you might want to get over to Target and buy some tiny little t-shirts… because onesies suck. My kid relieved himself fecally on every onesie I ever snapped over his chubby little diapered behind. (Diapers proved no hindrance to my little sh*tting machine!)

Strike while the iron is hot!
Put this sleepy child to bed!

Potty solutions part 2: If your child manages to relieve himself fecally (or otherwise) on every onesie he owns, try a different brand of diapers. We went through many brands – Huggies, Luvs, store brands – until we found out that Pampers were the only ones that could contain his massive BMs.

Potty solutions part 3: Every child is different when it comes to potty training. Read all the books and articles you like, and if you’re lucky, you’ll hit on the right method for your child. Or just make it up as you go along, We couldn’t get Bill to do ANYTHING outside of a diaper for the longest time so we went with the much easier Plan B: I told him that on his fourth birthday he would begin wearing underwear. And he did it... He jumped right into those Spiderman undies and never looked back. I’m not sure why it worked… the grace of God? 

The onesie... an accident waiting to happen!

On sanity maintenance: Perfect your “smile and nod” technique. If your kid is like mine, he will talk your ear off about any and everything that catches his fancy. Sure, some things you definitely need to hear, but if he’s just going on about the bugs in the backyard having a war… well… this is where smiling and nodding come in handy.

Fancy art preservation system: When in doubt, throw it out. How does this old chestnut from Journalism school apply to kids? Well, lots of parents wonder, “How do I preserve all the art projects and scribbles my child brings home?” And at first, I saved EVERYTHING! Just recently, I found a stack of sheets from Bill’s daycare that outlined his daily activities in terms of how many ounces of milk he’d had at various times, how much waste matter he’d excreted, how long and how often he’d slept, and what activities he’d participated in (“laid on pillows and stared at a mobile”) You know what I did with those babies? I threw them out. Because you just have to. Save a couple of best things – frame them and display them or give them to grandparents. Stick one or two of the sweet things from Sunday school in your Bible maybe… and throw the rest away. I mean, unless you have unlimited storage space... then by all means, store away!

Your child will make a zillion
pieces of art before he's 5.
You simply can't keep them all.

Cute toy storage idea: don’t buy many toys. They will just fill up your already crowded-with-art-projects-and-potty-reports house. My kid has more fun with tape and cardboard boxes than all his toys put together. And if your child has the “collector gene” which my husband passed on to my child, I recommend Hot Wheels. Ringing up at about a dollar, these can satisfy your kid’s need to amass a gaggle of something without breaking your bank, or taking up too much space. If you have a girly girl, though… sorry. Can’t help you with that!

Cooking for family tip: When it comes to veggies, just steam everything, saute it in olive oil, or eat it raw in a salad. While I don’t stress about the food I serve, I do love my fresh veggies… so we have a farm share. You know, that’s where you pay a farmer some money in February and come April or May, he brings you a weekly box of produce. Last year I made all kinds of elaborate dishes with the vegetables. Ever made ratatouille? Talk about complicated! So for a brief period, I actually WAS a Martha Stewart. While I hit on a couple of good dishes, for the most part, eggplant was still eggplant. This year, though, I’m following the advice above.

If your kid MUST collect, I recommend
Hot Wheels. They are cheap and small.

I'm guessing you get the idea about my housekeeping, parenting style  from the above PinFails... pretty messy. And I know I'm not alone. A friend recently posted an article from ChristianityToday.com about a woman who had not-so-positive response to the trend of “look at me – I’m a mess” blogs. You can read it here if you want to get the full gist. She made some valid points about the dangers of holding on to our brokenness and making light of sin, but I think she might have misunderstood what we're trying to say.

Of course I haven't read ALL the blogs, but I think that their point – like the point of the above – is not to highlight and wallow in our brokenness, but to point out that some of the popular standards of womanhood, motherhood and good housekeeping are artificial, having nothing to do with our ability as mothers or our love for our family or our success as women. To which I say, hear hear! I refuse to try to be a size zero and I refuse to stress out about whether my child eats perfect, organic food from a bowl handfired by me on a natural-fiber placemat I wove from sheep I raised and sheared, in front of a centerpiece made of organic fruits and flowers from my garden.

Steamy!

That's right, I have no patience with those particular standards... That is not my brokenness. Rather I have other, more grave imperfections including (but not limited to) pride, fear, lack of faith, anger, jealousy, hatred, a sharp tongue, contempt, taking other people's blogs too personally, and many other real and serious sins. If you read my blog regularly, I discuss these too occasionally... Because I want to be honest. 

I mean, when I first went to church, I thought everyone seemed so perfect and together, and I want you to know that this is not the case. I'm here to tell you that I can't even manage the façade! And if I share my struggles with you, maybe other strugglers won't feel alone. Just like walking into a house that's messier than mine is kind of a relief. I like knowing I'm not the only one. 

I'm not a great housewife,
but that's not my sin.

And if you keep reading my posts... you'll see Who I run to in my troubles... because hot on the heels of my confessions of deep imperfection, I always claim for myself – and offer to you – the warm and sweet embrace of the grace of God. 

I do love to wallow in grace, but that doesn't preclude stretching myself to allow for soul improvement. But does my quest for improvement involve crafts and elaborate meals? Nah. I mean, that might be more of a strategy for distraction than improvement. Because wouldn't it be easier to bake my own whole grain bread than to build my patience and increase my capacity for kindness, love, and the grace I show the members of my household and the wider world? 

Take Me To Sound City (Part 2)

If you are my friend on facebook, you know that I struggled with the entry on Sound City I posted last Saturday. I watched and rewatched, wrote and rewrote, cut, copied and pasted… I was driving myself nuts trying to organize my reflections. I guess the problem I had was … just that I had so many different thoughts about it… and I would be writing about one thing, and meander off into some other territory…

And the whole time I was dwelling on it all, I was fully cognizant of the fact that it was kind of weird that I would compare the Christian life to the making of rock and roll records. But … rock and roll does tend to inspire fervent devotion from its… devotees. I’m not sure why – I just know how it makes ME feel.

And I’m obviously not alone. This film has everything – reverence, shrines, pilgrimages, relics, saints, evangelism, heaven… See, in the latter part of the action showed how Dave Grohl heard that Sound City was closing, so he purchased the revered Neve soundboard (relic/shrine) for his own personal studio.

Dave Grohl and Paul McCartney
having fellowship

Then, he invited a bunch of the people who had recorded at Sound City to come to his studio to make a record. And they made the pilgrimage. Stevie Nicks. Rick Springfield. John Fogerty. Paul McCartney. All the saints. I loved the part where the guys from Nirvana were jamming with Paul McCartney and they slipped into a familiar groove… and Dave looked over and was like,”Wait… Paul McCartney’s here?!”

Of course, I have no idea what heaven is like, but I love to imagine that in addition to my dear departed loved ones I will get to hang with many other of God’s saints… have tea with C.S. Lewis, run on the heavenly shore with Eric Liddell, sing with Bono (I know he’s not dead yet… plus I can’t sing worth crap, but it’s MY vision of heaven, right?!)

Anyway, the musicians all jam in different configurations and we get a peek into the creative process. Brad Wilk from Rage in the Machine urges us to explore the works of rock’s founding fathers – to carry our appreciation to its roots. Rick Rubin tells us to be true to ourselves, and spread the good news personally.

And in one of my favourite quotes of the movie, Neil Young, in a fit of evangelistic fervor, tells us what it’s all about: "Let’s rock, let’s play, let’s record, let’s play it back. ‘Wait ‘til you hear this.’ I can’t wait to get in my car to here this. I’m gonna play it for my friend. I’m making a copy. I’m gonna blast it for f*ing 10 hours and I’m gonna listen to it."

Neil Young: "Let's rock. Let's play.
Let's record."

See? It’s all there! And I’m really not sure why... but again, I know how I FEEL. Of course I’ve written more than once – including in the last blog post – about the salvific role rock and roll has played in my life… just like Jenny in the Velvet Underground’s Rock and Roll – “Jenny said when she was just bout five years old / You know my parents are gonna be the death of us all / Two TV sets and two Cadillac cars - / Well you know it ain't gonna help me at all Not just a little tiny bit / Then one fine mornin' she turns on a New York station / She doesn't believe what she hears at all / Ooh, She started dancin' to that fine fine music / You know her life is saved by rock 'n' roll, / Yeah, rock n' roll  / Despite all the computations / You could just dance to that rock 'n' roll station…And baby it was allright…”

The Velvet Underground

But rest assured, this rock and roll salvation – well, it’s salvation with a small “s”. More of a diversion, really. I have actually wondered since I was just twelve years old whether my love for the stuff constitutes idolatry. And … well, I hope not! I mean, it means a lot to me… but not everything. I could certainly live without it. It was just… a lifeline when I was sinking. It gave a lonely outcast a bit of sunshine when every day was gray.

And even though it's been called the devil's music, I think it actually pointed me to God. In C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan tells the children that they have to go back to their own world, but that he’ll be there too. Aslan says,

Aslan

"There I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there"

And no, rock and roll was not a wardrobe to an alternate universe where I met a Christ figure, but it did give me a sense of home… a place I belonged… when my own world didn’t serve me well. So that when I finally came to my TRUE home, that is Christ, I recognized the feeling.

And, it being art, and full of soul, I think rock and roll was the vehicle through which I learned to worship… to look for meaning, to weigh it in my mind, and to let my heart soar in response to something outside myself.

Sure, it's made him a gazillion
dollars, but even Mick Jagger
knows it's only rock and roll.

Yes, rock and roll as a savior – and as an art form – is limited. It never died for me (naked, stoned and stabbed), nor can it actually Save me – with a big S. It’s kind of like the part of Sound City where Dave Grohl talks about how Trent Reznor uses computer technology as a tool rather than a crutch. Just so, I like rock and roll for what it is… a style of music that I enjoy and subculture that fascinates me… not as a Saviour.

So, yes I DO know that it’s only rock and roll… and even the people who make it find the worship of it silly. “I know it’s only rock and roll but I like it,” Mick Jagger slurs. I like it too, Mick. I really do.

Take Me to Sound City (Part 1)

Sound City,
a documentary

Being born in the sixties, I pretty much became aware in the seventies. Aware of music, I mean. As a preteen/teen, I spent hours listening to whatever was hot on album rock radio, and slowly amassed the largest collection of vinyl that my modest allowance would buy. 

I frequently sequestered myself in my basement bedroom in our ranch-style house, under my ginormous headphones with rock and roll pouring directly into my brain. And I studied the album covers. It was in the cryptic writing on these strange and mysterious pieces of graphic design (which I really miss, by the way) that I learned a bit about what went into making a record. Elton John was not just Elton John – no, Elton John was Elton John Bernie Taupin Davey Johnstone Nigel Olsson Dee Murray and a whole mass of other worker bees like… the arranger, producer and the engineer…. The names grew to be as familiar to me as (and much more comforting than) my own adolescent anxieties.

Elton John was not just
Elton John. He was all of these
guys... and more.

It was all utterly fascinating to me, this world of attractive, grown-up, long-haired dudes on either side of a glass booth making phonograph records. It sometimes seemed like their instruments and mikes were plugged directly into my headphones. To an awkward, angsty girl who was floundering in the world, these record makers became like a second, much cooler family.

Later, in the eighties, I actually met people who made records. Although I’m pretty sure THEY have no recollection of it, I thought it was pretty awesome… like a dream come true. I met Mitch Easter and Don Dixon and John Plymale… I reveled in this proximity to the glass booth guys, although I never did get to see the records getting made… despite my tight relationship with a musician (NOT one of the above.)

Don Dixon and Mitch Easter – two
glass booth guys who I'm sure
don't remember meeting me.

That’s why I loved Sound City, a documentary made by Dave Grohl about a legendary recording studio in California where those sweet sounds of the seventies (and beyond) were actually made.

It begins with Dave Grohl recounting the excited pilgrimage in the nineties of his band Nirvana to record at Sound City, the fabled studio where so many iconic albums had been recorded… by iconic musicians and groups like Neil Young, Tom Petty and Fleetwood Mac. 

...directed by Dave Grohl 
(What a great smile - am I right?)

Some of the artists then tell us a bit about how disgusting the place looked, but their disgust is replaced by awe when they list some of the music that was made there, and we’re treated to a montage of album covers shown over a soundtrack of song snatches.... It’s like watching my youth flashing before my eyes.

We learn about the studio's origin and about its owners Tom Skeeter and Joe Gottfried. Their goal? To find the next Beatles and make a zillion dollars. Their tools? A shabby warehouse built around a custom-made $75,000 Neve soundboard. If their purpose was mercenary, what followed was… not exactly.

The legendary Neve soundboard.

You see, at the advent of the digital age, as musicians began to depend increasingly on recording software like Pro Tools, the studio’s busy-ness started to peter out. I could really feel the pain of loss… the loss of community. Because even though a great deal is made of the one-of-a-kind soundboard and the adjoining big empty room, as it turns out… it was really about the PEOPLE.

And me being me, I immediately thought, "That's a blog post." And yet… the applicable thoughts and analogies and quotes just starting tumbling around in my head, and refused to be corralled into any reasonable order. Because… well… because I’m analog and not digital. Meaning that… I’m human and messy and limited. And sometimes I can’t get it together.

Mick Fleetwood made AOR history
at Sound City.

Producer James Brown talks, at one point in the film, about the limitations of analog recording: See, with digital recording you can record something and fix it (ie. remove the human imperfections) with a click or two on the computer... as opposed to the tedious process of splicing tape. And with analog, you’re limited to what you can do with the 24-track technology… and you just have to commit to those limitations and figure out how to work it out. 

Forget that I am actually writing this on the computer – sure, I can fix my typos, but the order of the words? That’s all up to my human brain. I have to figure out on my own how to convey my thoughts and feelings, while in making records, musicians can rely on each other. Indeed, analog recording demands the help and skills of others.  And, sure, you could whip out your Pro Tools – and sometimes economics demand that you do so, but… like Mick Fleetwood says: “The downside these days is thinking that I can do this all on my own. Yes, you can do this on your own, but you’ll be a much happier human being to do it with other human beings. And I can guarantee you that.”

So did Tom Petty.

And of course, me being me, I see it all in terms of the Christian life – it is best done in community – ie. the church. Yes, life with these imperfect people might be messier and less convenient, less perfect … and even more expensive! But you commit to the limitations and learn to work within them. Because life is a bit like music: “Music really isn’t supposed to be perfect. It’s all about people relating to each other and doing something that’s really from the soul… you know, it must come from the soul.” That’s what Tom Petty says, anyway… and he should know.

And it’s not just the creation of music that was a community process for the citizens of Sound City… as Petty said, it was about people relating to each other. “ ‘Family’ might be a little heavy, but there was definitely a warm feeling between us and the people that worked there,” Tom says. Other musicians beg to differ. Barry Manilow says it's the most familial place he's ever recorded at. (Grammar people, haud yer wheest!) And a couple of stories told in the movie sort of highlighted this for me.

Apparently Rick Springfield
won a Grammy. Who knew?

First: Eighties poster boy Rick Springfield came to Sound City to record as a young lad and his career was nurtured by SC owner Joe Gottfried as he burst onto MTV  with hits like Jesse’s Girl, and I’ve Done Everything For You. Joe got him an apartment, a car, acting lessons and his gig on General Hospital. Sure Joe was looking to make money, but over time, they developed a father-son type relationship. And when Rick up and split – signing with another manager who had made big promises, the loss was palpable. “Joe was completely shattered,” his partner Tom says. Springfield appears in the film, and his deep regret shows.

And then there’s the story of the group that grew to become Fleetwood Mac. It began as a couple of kids (Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks) making their first album in Sound City’s perfect room. So Mick Fleetwood comes in, just scouting out the place for Fleetwood Mac's next album, and they play him one Stevie and Lindsay's tracks. Later, when Bob Welch suddenly quit Fleetwood Mac, Mick inquired about Lindsay’s availability… turns out Buckingham wouldn’t work without Nicks… and the rest is AOR history!

Look at the babies!

And it’s a great story, but what struck me was that Stevie Nicks as a young girl – far from home, working as a maid to pay the bills, and probably quite homesick – had found her home away from home. When grown-up Stevie reads an excerpt from a letter that she wrote to her parents during this period, it’s clear that she was with HER second, much cooler family.

And I am living proof that the church can be that for people – a family. I learned this for myself - living sick and lost and alone in the big city (sic)... The church became my second family... and while "cooler" is debatable, well, the music we've made… it’s inspired.

Happy Father's Day!

I’m not going to go deep with this, but in celebration of Father’s Day, I would love to share with you the story of how my husband, Tom Moore, became a father. It’s one of those against-all-odds, almost-didn’t-happen, but obviously-meant-to-be stories…

You see, when we were in our fervent premarital stage I vowed – maybe too loudly – that I did NOT want to have children. It was maybe not too strange a thing to say since first, that’s one of the things you should definitely discuss before taking the marriage plunge, and two, I was thirty-nine, closing in on forty, and Tom was forty-three. My logic was simple: I did not enjoy my childhood and was totally messed up. I was scared to do the same to any offspring I might produce.

You know what Tom said? “Me neither. No kids for me!” Because that’s where we were at that time. Falling all over ourselves to agree and please each other. So that was that… for a while. We tied the knot, started making our way in the world as a Mr. and Mrs… Until… I don’t know, a couple of years later when I started to notice babies everywhere I looked. Especially at church.  Peeking over their parents’ shoulders, sleeping sweetly in a sling, crawling on the slate floors of the sanctuary, voicing their discontent and being removed to the cry room… And I don’t know if you realize this, but those little guys are CUTE.

I learned just yesterday that what I was experiencing has a name: it’s apparently called “baby lust.” And I did have it bad. So… I sort of hinted around to Tom that maybe having a baby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and he hesitantly agreed that, no, it might not be completely horrible. I now know that inside, he was saying “YES!!!” and doing an extended touchdown dance.

So, we decided to see if God was on the side of this crazy semi-reluctant dream… We weren’t exactly TRYING… it was more like we weren’t NOT trying! Of course in the back of my head I acknowledged that as 41-year-old former anorexic, I probably wasn’t very likely to get pregnant at all… so I really wasn’t risking much.* Turns out that, like so many other times in my life, God was of a different mind… and at the close of the very first month, when I peed on the stick… well, there was definitely a plus sign on it. 

And Tom went nuts! He bought outdoor paint in primary colors and painted the natural wood play structure and sandbox that came with our house. He ceded the most comfortable TV chair in the house to me every night. He took me to New York City for a last hurrah. He participated in childbirth classes. He designed the nursery. He bought toys…

Of course the toy-buying was nothing new. While Tom is a responsible adult in the ways that count, he is also quite young at heart… and ever since he saw that plus sign, he’s been over the moon.

On May 4, 2004, when the doctor pulled that squirming mess of a baby out of my belly Tom cried. He loved that wriggly mess. He loved Bill as a baby, but was more excited for him to grow into a playmate. And this child has been his fondest friend, his merriest companion, his partner in crime, and his most pressing concern.

I can't begin to understand how God feels in any way about anything, but i feel like as a parent I get a whisper of the why of our creation.... like maybe He made us just to be with us... He loves having us around and teaching us what He knows and having fun with us. 

Parenthood is fantastically rewarding, but a hard row. And my man is hoeing it with aplomb, my friends. He makes the tough decisions and is on top of the follow-through. Of course, there’s always something we could be doing better, but… so far so good, right?!

Welcome home!

Underdressed

So... I'm fifty-one years old and I'm wearing a black t-shirt dress with a weird kind of imprint on it of Dr. Who's ship, the TARDIS, sort of splattered on it will bleach, black Chuck Taylors and toting a Hello Kitty backpack. As this is not an unusual outfit for me, I have always felt (and probably looked) kind of out of place at most places I find myself.

I normally attempt to dress appropriately for actual occasions – heck, I even wear nice dresses to our church, which is one of those casual come-as-you-are places... But most places I go have no dress code per se. Nonetheless I do believe I'm the only mom who has attended a St. Thomas More school function in Chuck Taylors.

Appropriately dressed

That is all to say ... That today is a different kind of day. Today, I blend right in. In fact, you might even say that I'm a tad underdressed. You see, I'm not sporting a Wonder Woman costume, or any other similarly revealing or flamboyant garb. I'm not all steampunked out or dressed in Lolita fashion, though I find it sooooo cute... if a little disturbing. 

The Lolita look - cute,
if a little disturbing.

And if this all mystifies you, then you have obviously never been to a comics convention... which is where we are. I feel as if I am with MY people. the only time I feel more at home is at church... Or that one time I went to a convo called Mythcon for academic fans of Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and that crowd. 

The new "coolness" of nerdiness has brought a new mix of human traffic to events like Comicons. It's actually kind of popular now to claim nerd status... Nerd. Thick, geeky glasses are hip. Liking Doctor Who is cool - the current Doctor Who wears skinny jeans like a hipster. I can't say I'm a huge nerd. But I do love Doctor Who and Tolkien and Game of Thrones and Harry Potter and stuff like that. I've always been a big reader. That said, when I took one of those Facebook quizzes to discover my "nerd quotient," I scored quite low. So I have to say, I recognized only the most obvious costumes at the "con."

See? Doctor Who is
a hipster now.

I was reminded of this video where a live-in-his-parents-basement, low-on-social-skills, hard-core-gamer type nerd rants about a hipster girl who has claimed I be a nerd. I found it poignant, sort of. I guess for him it's a bit like me and my friends back in the 80s when the sorority girls started to like "our music." To walk by a sorority house and hear the Psychedelic Furs or the Smiths blasting out of it... it was like a blow to the heart.

Not that there's anything wrong with sorority girls... but how could they possibly understand? Speaking for the outcast... Why does the pretty, popular peoples' embrace of "our" culture disgust us? Or do we just feel robbed of the only cache we thought we had... Our knowledge and enjoyment of some arcane body of art or information? We may not have looks or social skills, but we do have our superior taste and intelligence... This attitude that we had... well, it's the exact opposite of evangelism, isn't it?! Or maybe it's just about semantics – one's preferred definition of the word "nerd." (As in, "Hipster girl, if you were really a nerd – my definition of a nerd – you would not enjoy it.")

I have no direction to go with this, just making some observations... 

My people... I love them!

Comic cons are really fun... I saw Storm Troopers and Ghostbusters (AND their car!) and Doctor Whos and Batmen and Poison Ivys and Jokers and Riddlers (or as Bill called him when he was little, Wrigglers) and Jack Sparrows and the Batmobile and the Mystery Machine (the Scoobie Doo gang's van) and the Back to the Future car... and lots of silly, creative merchandise... We watched artists draw and met authors and just generally milled around with like minded souls... People who love a ripping, larger-than-life story, with an unrealistically muscular, impossibly flat-abbed hero or a crazily large-chested heroine... these fellow nerds and sci-fi geeks... My people... I love them!