It's kind of a big deal

"Since the dawn of time..."

Isn't that the best way to start a sentence? Well, pretty much since the dawn of time, God has been very specific about the ways we were to (and *not* to) partake in sexual activity. Man-woman-marriage-period (well, a few extra wives here and there plus a couple concubines was palatable). From what I've studied, this was a pretty rare idea among ancient religions. Why do you think this is?

I've often thought about how things changed from the Old Testament to the New, in terms of "the law." Many of the rules were thrown out. Forbidden foods can now be enjoyed with a clear conscience, circumcision is optional, etc. But the rules about sex didn't change: man-woman-marriage-period. And it seems the model was made even stronger with more focus one ONE man and ONE woman.

Sex is a big deal to God, for one reason or another. I have some theories about why, but I'm much more interested in hearing other people's thoughts on the matter, since mine are vague at best. Circumcision used to be a sign of God's promise living in you, and there was a time when you were what you ate (almost literally). But all of that changed, or rather was fulfilled, with Christ's death. What is it about sex?

Depth-deprived post

I enjoy television. In fact, there is some television I really enjoy.

There. I said it. How very pedestrian of me. As anti-intellectual as it seems to some people to "like" watching television, the fact is we all have our diversions. And while mine certainly aren't limited to the small screen, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I partake frequently. And every year about this time, most of the best programming takes a vacation. It's a sad fact in the entertainment industry, but true nonetheless. So indulge for a few minutes while I explore the oh-so-shallow corners of television I will miss for the next few months:

I'm glad he won. I wouldn't call myself a fan of "American Idol," but I would call myself a music fan and good-clean-television fan. So here we are. Kris Allen was my favorite for some time, and I'll never forgot his rendition of "Falling Slowly."

I definitely won't be on pins and needles waiting for the next season. I always skip the auditions, anyway. I just like to hear these kids sing.

I AM, however, a fan of "LOST." This season's finale left me with so many mixed emotions. It also left me with a sense of appreciation for the writers. The two-hour episode they crafted was masterful and chock-full of Biblical allusions. Did Juliet pull it off?

The only other two shows I watch religiously (apart from Jeopardy and almost anything on the Food Network) are "The Office" and "30 Rock," whose finales were also off-the-charts good this year. The way they handled Jim and Pam's "news" was perfect. Both shows lagged a little mid-season for some reason, but ended strong. Let's get Alan Alda that kidney!

So now I've gotten it out of system and can go on with my summer. Thank goodness cooking shows don't take vacation!

Onnnne...twoooooooo..............three

I've never been a big fan of the "counting method" in childcare. I mean no offense to anyone who uses it as a form of discipline (or threat of discipline, rather), but to me it's always seemed like permission for a child to misbehave for three, five or 10 more seconds. "You stop that tantrum! I'm going to count to three..."

No doubt I am a little biased because my parents never counted with us. It was first time or the highway. I think it stuck, for the most part. But Sunday morning I got to thinking about grown-up misbehavior and how God might view it.

Driving to church I was having nothing short of an adult tantrum. I was in a snit (for no good reason, of course) and I could feel my frown lines setting up camp around my mouth. It was not pretty. My tantrums don't look like a child's version — instead of loud yells and stamped-down feet it's a lot of eye rolling and abrupt conversation.

The worst part about an adult tantrum is that you know you shouldn't be having it and know you'd happier if you just let go. But it's easier said than done, and I thought about God looking on as this mood reared its ugly head. Is there any excuse at this point in my life not to stop immediately and fix my attitude? I think not. And I'm pretty sure he thinks not, as well.

So God isn't into "one, two, three." The only number I'm glad He IS into is 70 times 7!

I wanna quit the gym!

Gyms are notoriously hard to quit. I learned this from watching "Friends" (where I learned a lot of important things, such as the importance of saying the right name in your wedding vows). Since Superman and I are trying to trim whatever fat we can find in our monthly budget, I decided to quit our gym. It sounded so easy.

Except that you can't quit this gym — not unless you move outside a 25 mile radius of said gym. Not no way, not no how. There isn't a penalty you can pay for opting out of your contract. What you CAN do, however, is find someone to take over your membership. As luck would have it, my brother has been interested in joining said gym. OK, now we're talking.

Almost.

On my end, I'm told the contract I signed runs out next February and there is a transfer charge for my brother to take it over (but no monthly tacked-on charge that would apply to non-immediate family). On his end, brother dearest is told that my contract doesn't run out until next May and there is a monthly charge in addition to the one-time charge.

My brother is a lawyer. Heh heh. One way or another, we were going to get this worked out. And when I say "we," I mean my brother while I stand by and watch. Here's how I did it and you can do it too!
1) Lean against the wall and look confused.
2) Disagree with any fact the sales guy reads off a computer screen.
3) Back down from your stance when they prove your memory is worse than you thought.
4) Nod at whatever your brother says and say "That sounds right" repeatedly.
5) Remember that these are sales guys and they want to get a long-term contract signed no matter what.
6) Watch your brother get a sweet monthly deal.
7) Walk out of the gym for the last time and kiss rock-hard abs goodbye.

Three Men and a Lady

Yesterday I enjoyed the first Mother's Day of my life that honored me. And while my existence is the product of countless ancestors, there are essentially four people that made my motherhood possible. This post is for them...

To my mother, who once told me that one of her great callings is to act as an extension of God for her children in this life; whose generosity virtually has no end; who talked to me like a human being and not a child when I was small; who didn't get to have a mommy comfort her in the delivery room; who has shown more resiliency through what life's thrown at her than anyone I know; who tells me I'm pretty and tells my son how lucky he is to have me.

To my father, whose unyielding warmth made it hard for me to believe in gruff father figures; who let me dance on his feet in the kitchen no matter my age; who challenged me with questions and taught me to argue intelligently; who worked his ever-loving hiney off to put food in four little tummies; who never stopped caring or asking about any activity I undertook; who taught me never to settle for a man who withholds affection.

To my husband, who whisks me away to ice cream when we feel our poorest; who makes me laugh like a giddy school girl — the same way I did when we were dating; who comes home from an 8-hour day to eat and play with us before going back to work on the computer until very late; who plays even goofier with the baby than I do; who calls home once a day just to say "hi"; who would rather be home than any place else in the world; who doesn't waver.

To my son, who has conversations with me all day without saying a word; who's really smiling at me and not the camera when I take pictures; who came out just as wide-eyed as he is today; whose impossibly blue eyes could stop my heart; who already displays athleticism; who would rather socialize than just about anything; who touches my face when I feed him and gently strokes my hair; who makes me yearn for long talks at the dinner table.

Thank you all for making me the mother I am today.

Going in circles

Snobbery is something, isn't? A distant cousin of prejudice, it feeds off the excess of an over-inflated ego and its motto is "Thank Goodness I'm Not Like That."

As I was watching the Kentucky Derby last weekend, I thought how it essentially boils down to watching people race around an oblong track. Then I thought how many Derby goers may be the type who look down their noses at NASCAR fans. You know, the folks who sit in the stands and...watch people...race around an oblong track. And then I thought about the snobbery of some NASCAR fans who scoff at the properness of sitting in the stands to...watch people...race around an oblong track.

It's funny, isn't it? I realize that car racing and horse racing are two very different animals (no pun intended). And I also know there are plenty of fans on both sides who hold no such prejudice. But you've got to know the attitude's out there. I mean, we are human and these are two very different groups of people (by rule). Naturally there's always room for some well-placed snobbery.

But I'm reminded again of how all too easy it is to scoff at what we don't understand and turn our noses up at what we've never experienced. Dale Earnhardt, Gary Stevens...there's enough toxic activity in the "real world" to go around. Why would we invite it into our diversions? I know as much about thoroughbreds as I do about pit crews (which is almost nothing). But I do know that snobbery and sports shouldn't mix.

Under construction

Is there anything on earth that arouses more irrational anger than unexpected road construction? I wish I had a nickel for every time I rolled my eyes and said not-so-nice things under my breath while the "men at work" told me to slow down. And every time I have to talk myself down from the cliffs of insanity by remembering that the end result is worth it.

I would argue that the irrational anger has increased exponentially as our culture advances further into the era of instant everything. Forget coffee--we've got instant communication, instant fame. Instant, instant, instant.

Will my children see the value in investing four years of their lives for a college degree? Will they be willing to actually earn a strong friendship with months of work?

And what about me? It's hard enough to put down the third cookie today so I might fit into a size smaller jeans next month. Let alone reading more than a chapter in the Bible more than three days a week to become a better human being. God may as well be wearing an orange vest and holding a sign that says "Be Prepared to Stop."

Here's hoping we are prepared to stop. If only to imagine a better road in the distance.

P.S. Did you see who's back in the blogosphere? Always a good read!

News of note

Here is a conglomeration of headlines and tidbits I think are interesting from the last week or so.

First is up is this research, which concluded that people who look happy in their senior yearbook pictures are more likely to be happily married. I hope it's not true in our case, because I would be waking up blissfully happy every morning next to a love-starved, Mr. Grinch wannabe.

In case I was a fan of Janeanne Garofolo before, I'm not now, thanks to this tirade. And Jackie Chan isn't winning any points with me either!

I also thought it was interesting how Miss California got raked across the coals for (gasp) answering a question. One more reason I'll never go to Perez Hilton's Web site. But I thought this commentary articulated the real issue here.

And finally, I'm glad to see Jake Plummer is picking up the pigskin again. I love that he's doing it because he wants to and not because he couldn't stay away -- he doesn't even miss the NFL. Good luck, Jake the Snake!

Endangered species

I plan to write soon on the slow death of real American journalism. But in the meantime, I thought the opening paragraphs of this movie review articulate my sentimentality quite well.

License to Wed

A few weeks back I was watching the panel show Oprah does every Friday. Her special guest was Jenny McCarthy, who had some thoughts about marriage, mainly that it should be treated like a driver's license: expiring every four years with the option to renew.

Well shoot. Looks like I'll have to abandon my "Do Whatever Jenny McCarthy Does" life philosophy.

Right off the bat, I gotta say this advice would seem a lot more interesting if it came from someone who was -- oh, I don't know -- married? But honestly, what a fun idea! No muss, no fuss marriages. Just stay as long as you like and as long as it "works." Sounds like a good deal to me!

I find this idea particularly mystifying coming from a mother, which McCarthy happens to be. She's been seriously involved with Jim Carrey for some time now and often beams about how good he is with her young son. I wonder how that little guy would feel if the men in his mother's life entered and exited every few years?

And therein lies the problem. No man is an island -- especially no parent. The fact of the matter is that marriage (or at the very least some kind of Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russel arrangement) has been and continues to be the best model for raising children. That doesn't mean other can't succeed with flying colors or that some marriages are kind of a joke. Obviously there are circumstances beyond our control that prevent this arrangement. I get that. But what's wrong with it being an ideal?

Deciding whether we want to mate for life is one of many things that separates us from the animals. It should come as no surprise to you that I pull for the lifetime thing. I realize it is an ideal and that it's not for everyone. But if you are married with children (and barring abuse or wanton infidelity) I believe you should do everything in your power to stay that way. Everything. Why? Because what people in this day and age refuse to acknowledge is that your mate is your family -- no more and no less than your own children. Your mutual flesh and blood created their flesh and blood. You are all connected.

Just because we choose our mates doesn't make them any less related to us and thereby easier to abandon. What if we only left our spouses for the same reasons we'd disown our own siblings? In my opinion, that's how it should be.

And in the words of Tim Gunn, "Make it work."

Dry well

I lack creative inspiration and motivation right now. Could you tell? I fear I must take a (hopefully) brief hiatus from blogging. I'm tired and busy and unfocused...none of which are great excuses. But who wants to read lame posts? No I. And likely not you, either. Of course I'll still be surfing in on your blogs, but mine will be static for awhile.
P.S. Happy 2009 :)

A recognition he never craved

Here are 10 things you may not know about Saint Nicholas (also known as "Good Nicholas"):

• He lived almost 1,700 years ago
• He didn't know when everyone was sleeping or awake
• He lived in Turkey
• He never owned a single reindeer
• He was a bishop
• He was imprisoned for his devout Christianity and exonerated by Constantine
• He never set foot in the North Pole
• He believed deeply in helping the needy
• It is said his "do-gooding" was often done in disguise because of his modesty. And this is what we've turned him into:

What a pity that the man himself represented the true meaning of Christmas far better than the myth -- that blessing is doled out not according to one's naughty-or-niceness, but out of mercy. Let us all reflect on the event 2,000 years ago that still stands as the ultimate gift of mercy.

Merry Christmas!

Good shoes

My husband and I got into the strangest "discussion" awhile back. It was one of those where you start off on one thing and end up on another, inconsequential topic that puts someone on the defensive. The issue at hand was whether I would even want high-quality, expensive shoes when all I buy are Payless fare (not that there's anything wrong with that).

I like shoes just fine, but a Carrie Bradshaw I am not. I certainly don't display my shoes in a place of honor (you all remember my "ode to piles"). But one needs shoes to tromp about outside and keep one's toes warm, so shoes are necessary above all. The trouble comes when I have to budget for a new pair and can't justify paying a half-month's spending money on them. Yes, I'm one of those people who raise their eyebrows at a price tag of more than $15 or $20. And because I rarely go shoe shopping, I get so obsessed with finding the one perfectly versatile pair, that I drive myself crazy and leave the store empty-handed.

Quality is more important than quantity -- it's not like I have that mixed up. The number of shoes I own wouldn't turn anyone's head. But I run into a wall when it comes to buying shoes.

This is where the conversation took us, harmlessly enough. But for some reason I started acting upset, even wounded. It's not that what my husband pointed out wasn't painfully obvious. I just suddenly became very melancholy at the prospect of never needing "good" shoes again.

The one career-oriented goal I had seems like an old faded picture. And the fanciest place I go is to church. Not that I'm complaining; I love being a mom and spending the bulk of every day in a thick pair of socks. I'm simply looking at my life now and squinting down the road ahead, trying to imagine an occasion for which I'd need a really good pair of shoes -- except for perhaps sneakers (my go-to footwear for running errands).

Will I never need an excellent pair of sleek, black pumps again? Will I venture into some outing that requires tough, waterproof sandals? Does it matter?

Why it's probably good that I don't have too much time/money on my hands

'Tis the season