Where's MY Friday?

No politics today. Phew. I am politicized out. Although, I will give a quick shout out to Dennis Miller for his witty and always acerbic comments on the convention and the Democratic party. As a newly converted Republican, he finally got something right.

As I caught a glimpse of Dan leaving for work today (I was in bed still with one eye barely open), I noticed he was wearing jeans. I asked him why and he responded, "It's Friday." In the corporate world, Fridays are the "casual" day, representing the end of a long week, the hard earned "dress down". He also reminded me he was meeting a friend for "happy hour" after work. Between a Friday and a happy hour, what's a girl to do?

Such a simple thing got me thinking this morning. I don't have a Friday. Sure I wear clothes fit for the homeless most of the week, but I don't have a "Friday" attitude. I don't have that one day that I look forward to, that holds the key to two days of play, church, etc... Each day seems as long and as routine as the next. Don't get me wrong, I have days where I thoroughly enjoy my time, my kids, friends, etc...but as a full-time mom right now, my days are very routine and similar. Each day blends into the other and seems the same as yesterday. Fridays used to hold anticipation of the weekend, and now I don't even notice them.

Today I attempt to begin an ode to Fridays. Friday, I love thee and celebrate thy end of the week-ness. Friday, I deserve you just as much as the corporate world of America, and thus, will have an unfermented glass of grape juice with my kids during happy hour, will throw on an extra crappy pair of sweatpants, and will fold laundry and clean the kitchen in the true spirit of the TGIF attitude.

Deja Vu and Dress Up

WARNING: This blog contains the same disclaimer as yesterday's.

So, if John Edwards tells a bunch of Democrats that we will "seek out and destroy" Al Qaeda, it is reason to cheer like mad and elect a new president. If George W. tells America the same thing, soon after 3,500 Americans were brutally murdered on their own free soil , he is ignorant and a "war monger" and only wants to use violence to further his own politics. Has America become so dumbed down that if the message is the same and the messenger is different, it isn't deja vu? That is what the Dems are hoping for.

I thought it sweet that Edwards used to sweep the floor of a mill and that he worked his way through college. No one can argue with his work ethic, family commitment, and successful law career. However, many Americans have swept floors and worked through college, and they still aren't millionaires. I love how Kerry and Edwards are really trying hard to emphasize their "commonness," but let's face it, they are about as common as a meteorite hitting my ass.

The emphasis on John Kerry's "heroic" service in Vietnam (fab book coming out next week debunking his war stint...will think of name when it comes to my 5 hour of sleep brain) astounds me. If the Democrats are relying on the rationale that because Kerry served in Vietnam he is equipped to be our commander-in-chief, I would like to remind them that this thinking backfired for Republicans TWICE. Bushie Sr. in '92 lost to Clinton, thus his time in the service as a pilot in WWII made no difference to voters (or at least not enough to negate his "read my lips" debaucle). Again in '96, the Republican nominee, Bob Dole, practically lost his entire frickin' arm to the war, and again, voters decided Clinton needed to stay. The fact that Kerry has military service (reports vary, but I have read it was 4-6 months that he was over there, and his third injury was deemed "self-inflicted" by his military doctor) is great, and indeed, he served his country, but putting on fatigues and chasing down a guy in 'Nam to blow his brains out might qualify one better for therapy than for the presidency.

I know, I know, it is a stint to appeal to swing voters and to disenchanted Republicans so they might feel that Kerry is pro-military, a strong "leader," etc....but it is so interesting to me that the Democrats go wild for his stories of Vietnam when it was primarily the Dems who spit on the soldiers, protested the war, and politicized its needlessness for years.

Last night, I had to keep checking the bottom of my TV screen to make sure I was watching the "DEMOCRATIC convention". With all this talk of war, fighting Al Qaeda, and raising the military budget, I wondered if I wasn't watching the wrong convention. Sure, there were little snippets of the true party regarding the economy and taxes, but no mention of gay marriage, gay rights, abortion, and various other hot topics usually affecting the platform. If the Democrats can act like Republicans, talk like Republicans, look like Republicans (I read today that Kerry's stage aesthetic tonight was patterned after the old Republican Gentleman Clubs--marble, dark wood, etc...), does that make them Republicans? No, it just makes them the party who likes to play "dress up". Disguising themselves as Republicans may be the perfect strategy, but when the Republicans don't make equal asses of themselves (pun intended), I sure hope voters will see that a donkey dressed up like an elephant looks even more ridiculous than a big ol' fat elephant laying around naked. Or, as W. would probably say, "nekked."

I would rather ride a naked elephant around this election circus ring than a donkey dressed in drag.

Throwback

WARNING: This blog may change your opinion of me--especially because I know my cool emerging church friends are mostly registered Democrats, however, despite my best efforts to keep politics off of my blog site, there is no way I can hold back my thoughts about watching the Democrats last night, in all of their self-deprecating glory. There is no point in delving into all of the reasons why I find their convention highly humorous, except when it comes to the idea of feminism and the speech given by Teresa Heinz Kerry, as well as the inherent inauthenticity of John Kerry's campaign. First, the wifey.... I cannot fault Mrs. Kerry for being a billionaire, as she married into money, and last week even told the press that she would give up all her money in order to have her husband back--which seems sweet, until you consider how her current husband who is using her money to try to win the presidency might feel about that statement. In fact, she acknowledged to her son last night that his father would be proud of him, and I asked myself, "Would his dead Republican senator of a father really be that proud if his money was being used to help win a Democratic presidency to a man now married to his wife?" All those issues aside, I saw her speech as a tragic throwback to a different era--an era long gone and conquered by the suffrage movement, Roe V. Wade, and an endless list of prominent female leaders in our country and around the world. A large portion of her speech was dedicated to expressing the fact that women have the right and freedom to their opinions and that their "voices" should not be silenced any longer. What the heck did Hillary Rodham Clinton prove during 8 years in the White House, and even now as a popular senator in New York? When the camera panned to Hillary during Mrs. Kerry's speech, I think I could see the death darts shooting from her eyes, and it was the first moment I actually wanted to reach out and give Mrs. Clinton a good ol' hug. Is this the kind of first lady that is going to appeal to women all around the country? I realize that voters aren't choosing a first lady, but a president, HOWEVER recent polls have indicated that the candidate's wife does affect voter preference. I am pro-life in most circumstances, however, I find it highly weird that Mrs. Kerry did not use her platform to reinforce the rights of women in this country that Democrats feel the GOP is continually threatening. I find it offensive that Mrs. Kerry thinks it is NOW time that women start having a voice. Has she been spending too much time at her Italian villa taking a ketchup bath? Oops, she just sold it to George Clooney for 7 million. Guess not. Before the election, it is better not to have a posh Italian villa compete with W's Texas ranch with stinky cows, snakes, and other unnecessary accoutrements. She implied through her word choice that she is somehow unique because she is "opinionated" and she hopes that one day women will all feel the freedom to be so. Maybe she was talking about the women in the middle east, because I think Hillary feels that freedom. Sandra Day O'Connor, Ruth Ginsberg, and Condoleeza Rice must all feel the same freedom. The list could go on and on, but really, who wants me to spell all those names and list them?

Perhaps it is because Mrs. Kerry wishes that we were able to live in a "democratic, free society"--another throwback for me. Shouldn't someone have debriefed her first? I was embarrassed for her when she said this, whatever her intention may have been. We DO live in a democratic, free society. Period. That is why her husband is able to run for president. Our country has been democratic since its inception. George W. Bush being president hasn't changed the fact that our country is free. It has changed the fact that millions of people in the middle east are able to experience some freedom for the first time in decades, or at least the hope of freedom.

It is not right wing propaganda that since Hussein's Iraqi dictatorship, over one million people have been needleesly slaughtered. I realize that in Rwanda and Sudan, the numbers are the same. I realize that we let these people die and did not send our troops. I realize that women, Christians, Muslims, Jews, the poor, and countless others around the world are slaughtered every day. I realize the tragedy of our limitations and that our political motivations affect many decisions we make.

What usually disturbs me about this political season every four years has been drastically different this year. I can easily get riled up over specifics. Usually, it is easy for parties to stick to issues and that is often how Americans decide who they will vote for. This year, it is interesting that there are no issues to get riled over, as Kerry is able to cater to everyone's personal opinions and convictions. And his wife is able to be freely opinionated too--such a revolutionary! John Kerry is pro-choice, and he also consistently votes in support of partial-birth abortion, and yet he is personally opposed to abortion because of his faith. He is now a Vietnam war hero, yet he burned his medals upon returning and trash-talked the war for years. He supported the war in Iraq, and then after the support-o-meter shifted across party lines and in the media, he changed his stance and now says we need to do it "right". He supports serious gun control, yet makes sure he is pictured with a nice shot rifle in his TV ads to show he is an avid "hunter." How can anyone not find something they agree with here? When he knows there are people who will not vote for a candidate for one specific issue (gay marriage, abortion, the war, etc...) he either avoids it or plays both sides to get the vote. A man of faith, a hunter, a fighter--an "everything but the kitchen sink candidate". The media describes him as the "people's candidate". John Kerry is the "people's candidate" as much as I am the next quarterback for the New York Giants.

Despite the Bush family money, nothing can compete with the husband of the Heinz heiress, or the boy who attended boarding school in Switzerland and whose teachers worried about his "excessive amounts of self-confidence". John Kerry is no more "Of the People" than George W. is "Of the Prairie" (I credit this observation to the Orlando Sentinel). Many people I know are Democrats because they feel the party best represents the lower class, the middle class, and the working man/woman. Thanks to Michael Moore, the world has gotten to see a skewed view of the Bush Administration and yet I also credit him with showing George W. to be a real person who still does yard work, makes silly comments, and is really just a cowboy. It is refreshing when people who have seen his movie have told me that it made Bush seem more accessible and authentic. (Check a multitude of sources debunking his claims about the links between the Bush family and Osama, as well as many sources who were shocked at the editing of the movie--as any consumer knows, editing can tell an infinite amount of stories).

Yes, George W. has a real problem with authenticity. Too much of it. He says the wrong thing sometimes. He hesitates when he speaks, searching for a word. He uses simplistic language with a southern drawl. He makes funny hand gestures. He looks perplexed. God forbid a president ever look any way other than confident when he wags his finger at the camera and says that he NEVER did a certain naughty thing with a certain naughty intern. Clinton was definitely convincing in his charisma and persona, and more accessible than Kerry. But, no one can compete with the unabashed humanness of W.

A fabulous editorial I read today in the Post has said of Edwards' anticipated speech tonight, "though he can speak down-home, he can't singlehandedly solve the Democrat's authenticity problem. You simply can't fake authenticity. Bill Clinton was a lot of things, not all so admirable, but he was the real deal when it came to The People. He didn't have to fake the schmooze or ask directions in the trailer park, while Kerry is the awkward white boy who whiffs on the high five. Americans love theater as much as anyone and expect a little choreography with their conventions. But they also possess a highly evolved sense of malarkey and know when something's phony. In the end, authentic anger may play better in Peoria than pretend populism. At least it's real."

I am called to authenticity as a woman, a person who wants to live in the way of Jesus, and as an American. That doesn't mean I agree with everything happening in our country and around the world right now. I never will. But, I respect a man who is authentically himself more than his competition and who doesn't have to be "everything but the kitchen sink" in order to get my very authentic vote in November. He just has to be W.

The Age of Innocence

Lately I have been grieving over things that I beat myself up for. When many of my friends cannot conceive children or have had difficulty in that area and have been through so many seasons of sorrow over the barrenness in their families, I still struggle with the fact that I have been a mother since before I graduated from high school. Well, technically, I was almost 8 months pregnant at my high school graduation, (who knew a graduation gown doubled as a maternity dress?) but by then, baby cribs, layette gowns, and the "womanly art of breastfeeding" (this is the title of a real book, I kid you not) had pushed aside college scholarships, college parties, a semester abroad, and the last summer after high school spent in anticipation. It isn't that I look back and want all those things--in fact, I sometimes feel I was spared from a lot of the college experience I probably wouldn't have enjoyed. But, there is something about skipping a "stage" in life that society not only deems important, but that I had deemed important when I had dreams of teaching, writing, and exploring independence in a new place away from parents and the confines of high school life.

I was still able to go to a local college while my parents helped me with my new baby, while I lived in their basement as a pariah of Christianity for "engaging in premarital sexual activities". True Story: I actually had a relative suggest to my parents that if they were going to "let" me move back in with them, that I shouldn't be allowed to come upstairs and out of the basement unless it was an emergency. Does that reflect the kind of God I loved? Where was the father to the fatherless and the husband to the widowed? Did single mothers not fall into this category because they were technically never married, and thus, never widowed? Was I in some "exception" category to those that God mercifully loved? Most churches I tried wanted to shoehorn me into a specific area. I tried the "single" groups only to feel like a freak because now I was hanging around people who were in their 40's and not married and apparently socially retarded (Jimmy, can I borrow the word "retarded" here?). I tried parenting/mothering groups only to feel like a freak because I didn't have a husband, a minivan (Now I can relate!), perfect acrylic nails, and a myriad of other mysteries I didn't understand. I passed out fliers at my church expressing interest in starting a playgroup/mom group for anyone who wanted to be a part of that, and I got a call from the pastor's wife that there were only very few times that would be appropriate for such a group as most of the mothers in the church had husbands and family time was very important to them. I couldn't be expected to understand these things.

Usually, the word "freak" is applied to marginalized people who may wear goth makeup, be into strange hobbies or practices, or just all around be crazy. But, as a middle class, Caucasian, 18 year old mother, I felt like the word fit perfectly. Yet, nobody was telling me that God still loved me. Why do all the "ministries" only minister to people that fit into a tidy box of weirdness? Now, as age 30 isn't so far away for me, I wonder how much has changed. Sure, now I have the husband, the minivan, the suburban house, and 2 beautiful children. I make dinner with organic chicken from Whole Foods, I try to expand my mind with art, poetry, and dialogue, I like to think I am moving towards pursuing some of my academic and emotional aspirations (basically just being normal is the emotional aspiration). But, there are moments--usually at night--when I still feel like I am grieving over the age of innocence lost, when I remember the letter my high school teacher wrote for my top pick college recommendation that is sitting in a dusty file folder in a dean's office somewhere, when I look at the itinerary for a semester spent in England studying authors and places and even gravesites I only know from textbooks, when I think about what life would be like to take a nap whenever I want, meet with friends without having to think about what the consequences of time spent away would be, or what time my presence is needed again. I am not wallowing or feeling sorry for myself. I am not living in the past. Do not feel the need to say "Get over it, already!" at this point. I made my choices, and my life is rich in different ways because of it. However, lately, there is this void and ache that I cannot push away and I must face. I have had therapists tell me that it is a grief that I may always experience, the grief of being thrust into a place in life long before one is ready--the "usurpment" of youth, childhood, discovery. Yet, we are all constantly being "usurped". We are all thrust into death, change, and circumstance without much control. My grief is not comparable to my friend's who lost three babies in one sorrowful day, to my other friend, whose wife killed their two children, stabbing one 37 times, to my aunt and two cousins, whose loving and wonderful husband and father died of AIDS because he was on the wrong end of a tragic transfusion, to a family dealing with their young child's recent diagnosis of leukemia, and to countless others who have suffered as I have not. Their questions of God and His mercy seem more legitimate than mine, and yet I know theirs and mine all reach heaven with the same sobbing desperation.

This season of my life is spent wondering why I am in a time of grief. What is wrong with me that I cannot move past the longing, the void, and the desire for the same life, just a different timeline? Perhaps God is trying to show me that I would never have had the same life, with all it has offered me, had I done it a different way. Only He could know that my answers may never have come in a traditional dorm room, a guided tour of Westminster Abbey, or a marriage without kids at the "ideal" age between 26-36.

If I take the paradox of the gospel--in order to find my life I must lose it--then maybe I needed to lose that transitional decade into adulthood in order that I might find myself a different and redeemed woman. I once heard that the definition of the word "redeemed" meant to literally purchase at a price, as in slavery--to "buy" the freedom of someone else. The loss of the time in my life that I ache for the most was perhaps the ransom for my heart's freedom. Though others around me thought I should have stayed in the basement with my baby and a scarlet letter, I knew deep within that I was invited to a banquet where I was told, "Sit. Rest. Feast." And I wasn't alone anymore. I was seated with all the other freaks.

When it rains...

The weather here is cold (50's) and rainy. It is a nice change, but it tends to lean me towards the melancholic and contemplative. It is also fitting that it would downpour at the end of a week with a lot of emotional storms.

My prayer for today is that God will grant me His patience, peace, and willingness to do what I need to in order to love my family well.

Sacrifice

Yesterday when I was visiting with my friend Jill (I described it in my blog), her friend received a phone call. I could tell by her tone that it was serious and after she hung up the phone, she told me and Jill that one of her friend's sons, Mark, had just died. He was in Iraq and their base was attacked and he was burned badly. He lived, though, and was airlifted to Germany and Texas where for two weeks he was in a coma and struggling with massive burns on his body. They were going to amputate his legs and fingers, and before they did that, he died from the exposure and trauma to his body. He was the firstborn of three sons, only 22 years old. He was a screwed up kid, apparently, until he joined the Marines, and found a purpose in his life. Now, his purpose is over and he leaves two brothers and two parents left to understand his sacrifice. Whether or not people agree with what our country is doing in Iraq doesn't diminish the fact that people ARE fighting, dying, and trying to believe they are bringing good and freedom to a dark place. I struggle with the war for various reasons, but when I heard the story yesterday, it was the closest I had been to a real person dying a real death--not just a news report.

It made me think of how easily we use the word sacrifice, at least how easily I do. I will say "I sacrificed my workout today in order to take the kids to the pool or do errands" and then to hear about a real live person who flew halfway across the world to do something he believed in, only to be sacrificed at the altar of war and fire and evil, makes me think that in my life there isn't much sacrificing at all. That's not to say my role, my burdens, my wounds, are a cake walk, but when I think of Mark's family, it makes my trials for today fade into prayers for a weeping mother.

Copycat

I am a little steamed that Dan is copying me and starting his own blog site. Of course, anyone can blog and that is the beauty of it, but at the same time, this was something that was all my own and something I was really excited about. There are few contributions I feel I can make in life right now, and if putting my thoughts out there electronically for all to see is one of them, then I kinda want to keep that to myself, which is sort of contradictory. Maybe I am just being ridiculous, but I don't know any other husband and wife team bloggers, and until I do, I will remain resolute in resenting Dan for trying to be a copycat. Tell me I should feel otherwise.

Old Friends

I got to spend about 45 minutes this morning with a friend, Jill, who I have known for about 11 years who was in town briefly with her two kids. We met while we were both working at a health food store and still in high school. When I was pregnant with Eli and living in a S*&^ hole hand washing my undies in a bathtub and hanging them in the kitchen to dry, she was the friend who would stop by and bring me ice cream, maternity clothes, and any other comfort she perceived I needed. She drove me around in her Saab convertible and took me to get a manicure, drove me to the Goodwill to help me buy a rocking chair for my soon to be born child, threw me a baby shower and invited the few friends I had left, and came to the hospital soon after Eli was born to bring me gifts and encouragement after my long emotional and physical ordeal.

She sent me postcards and letters from her many trips to Israel over the next few years, brought me trinkets from her Semester at Sea while she traveled the world, and always made sure she kept in touch no matter where our lives took us. She is Jewish, and has recently explored Orthodox Judaism. She celebrates Shabbat every week with her family, does not drive anywhere or exert herself (even cooking counts!) on Saturdays, visits with her rabbi consistently, and bathes herself in the mik vah (I may have misspelled this and for a good visual, reference Charlotte in last season's Sex and the City storyline of her conversion to Judaism to marry her beloved Harry) to purify her sins. She is fascinating to me, as she is very in tune with God and how she feels called to live her life, but I also sense a burden within her as she constantly feels she is falling short. It has made me often think of the concept of grace in my own life, and how I often take it for granted. The fact that I don't have to follow a list of rules about modesty, sexuality (she follows Levitican laws and is deemed unclean for most of the month), eating, religious studies, and forgiveness. There is a definite beauty and mystery in the Torah and its history, and without it, my faith would be incredibly incomplete. In fact, one of my frustrations with contemporary Christianity is that it often ignores the Old Testament and its rich stories. It is the perfect set up for Jesus. But, Jill doesn't see it that way and is still waiting for the Messiah. She believes just as strongly that he hasn't come yet as I believe He came long ago. I am deeply thankful for her in my life, and I hope our friendship will be one of mutual love and learning for a long time to come.

Sleeping Beauty and the Rut of "Justs"

Sometimes I think if I only had more sleep I would be a nicer person. Less moody. More loving. More patient. More willing to do things throughout my day that require more energy than I have. Though I intellectually know that being a mom of two kids requires endless energy, emotionally I feel like it is not enough. What am I doing to contribute to whirled peas? What am I doing to pursue people and relationships? What am I doing to pursue God in a new way, a different way than the "30 minute quiet time"/10 Step Program of the God I grew up with? There are moments when I think I am doing the things that matter, then there are more moments when I am at the grocery store trying to decide which brand of baby food is the best deal, or whether or not I can actually get by going through the express lane. I feel like I have multiple personalities sometimes. The wife/grocery shopper/house cleaner (subpar at this one)/meal maker, etc... and then I am this rock star (does playing the piano count?)/actress (Dan can attest to this--Oscar Award quality!)/runner/poet/dancer/chef/lover... the latter being the more exotic of the roles. So, I am going to stop trying to think of my life right now in the rut of "justs". I am "just" a stay at home mom. I have "just" finished 3 years of college. The list goes on, but I am going to adjust it so my first inclination is to eliminate the "justs". However, if I "just" had 9 -10 hours of sleep per night, I am sure it would be a lot easier.

I am reading a book right now given to me by a dear friend from Minnesota called _Do you think I'm Beautiful_? Some of it is trite, but the core message is solid. Basically, the author thinks that women have to ultimately answer that question throughout their lifetime, and it isn't merely a physical reference to outward looks. She writes a lot about how others treat girls/women that affect how they perceive their physical/emotional beauty...and I am reminded of the time that a boy in junior high brought me a bag of dog food over lunch in a packed cafeteria. In that moment, I sure as hell didn't think I was beautiful, and the wounds from that remained for some time. Braces, a bad haircut, and a really bad sense of fashion didn't help. But, now, 15 years later, I feel like I am finally becoming free from how others have wounded me in that way. The dog food has officially lost its power. Not really because of the book I am reading, but more because I am growing more comfortable in my skin the older I get. Though my skin has 213 stretch marks (true figure and counting), clogged pores and cellulite, my true skin is that of a feisty Italian girl who cares less and less what others think and more and more about what my Creator thinks about what He has made, and is STILL making. So, to Brett Combs, Dogboy, I say "Aarf!"

Ode to....

Pablo Neruda is an amazing poet. I have loved him for years, but just today I stumbled across his poem "Ode to Soap". He has this talent of writing odes to ordinary things: soap, socks, a potato (a spud!), a hummingbird and making them sound exotic, sexy, and brilliant. How can a potato be sexy?

Spud,
sweet
matter,
dusty
almond,
the mother
beyond
did not cradle
dead metal.
There in the dark,
insular softness,
she did not prepare
copper and submerged
volcanoes,
or the blue severity
of manganese,
but rather, with her hand,
as though in a nest,
in the most tender wetness,
she deposited your balloons

There's more, but that captures the necessary essence. I love how he combines the bizarre and sensual, especially in his love poems. On the soundtrack to Il Postino, there are a ton of his poems being read by Hollywood's finest--Samuel L. Jackson' is cool. Definitely worth a trip to the local library.

My date with Dan Friday night went well, except for the fact that Dan wore the wrong shoes. This may seem like a shallow grievance, but when a woman goes to the effort to dress up, she dose not like to feel overly dressed compared to her partner, and when she looks down at her husband's shoes, she does not want to GASP at the sheer horror. We worked through it, but it was a rough 15 minutes in the car while I grilled him as to why he made such a poor fashion choice and how he could be seen in public with Magic 8 Ball Camper Shoes. If I could find a link to insert here, I would, but I cannot. Just picture ugly black leather lace ups that look like bowling shoes with a maroon 8 ball emblem sown on the side. In the end, I forgave him, and we had a lovely night of exotic Mexican/Latin food, an attempt to find live jazz in Denver and do some dancing (didn't happen), and overall great conversation with another couple out here.

On another note, I miss Minnesota. I miss my Porch buddies, my house in the burbs, Byerly's drive up grocery service, the lush greenery, my Northwest Athletic Club crazed aerobic teacher, and watching 10 neighborhood boys fight over their turn on my backyard trampoline. I miss fires at church, Wednesday night casseroles, the road rising up to meet me, my pastor wearing Birkenstocks, my pastor's wife wearing a Fat Albert blouse (it IS a blouse!), and every other eccentricity and wonder I came to experience during my time at 13th Ave. S. I miss Super Target. (Supposedly one is being built by my house out here, but I have yet to see the familiar red arrow mark). I miss Cafe 28's yummy pecan chicken salad (Javier, can you ship that?). I am going through some serious withdrawal/depression. I know over time I will feel more at home out here, but in 2 years, the land of bugs and lakes came to be a nice stop in my journey.

If I were to write an Ode to Minnesota...where would I begin?

Death to Smoochy, aka Romance

Dan is taking me out for my birthday tomorrow night. My real birthday was yesterday, but since he was in Juarez trying to do the work of the Lord, we are celebrating it tomorrow. I made the mistake of telling him that I DEFINITELY did not want some kitschy Mexican crap from the market down there, but I fear that I was too late in my plea.

I am actually excited to spend time with him in a real, romantic way. This is unusual only because it has been so rare that we have gotten to do that recently. I have lamented about this void in my life before, but now I find myself actually wanting to shave my legs, wear an outfit other than sweat pants, and indulge in a little bit of good old fashioned nookie! Who says romance is dead once you get married?

In a CD jacket of all places, I was touched by the profundity of the contrast between darkness and light. The author was writing a description about a song, and he mentions that the purpose of darkness is for the light to seek it out. Without the darkness, the light wouldn't be anything valuable. It was really a lot more profound when you read it...will dig it out of my car and explain more later. It made me think about how I easily keep my thoughts on God, redemption, and grace to myself. I am so afraid at times of how I come across that I often stay a part of the darkness. Safety is so much easier than letting my little light shine. "This little light of mine..."

And, oh, honey, tomorrow on my date, I will be letting it shine, shine, shine!

Teletubbies, Marijuana, A Day in the Life...

Eva loves watching Teletubbies. I don't think watching TV is great for developing children at any age, but I have to confess I let her watch it from time to time. Even I am transfixed by the show. The opening song, in particular, makes me happy to be alive and I want to reach through the TV screen and hug the creepy, yet cuddly, strange alien things named Dipsy, LaLaa, Tinky Winky (according to Jerry Falwell, this is the "gay" one because he is purple and has a triangle on his head--since when did gay people steal the market on colors, shapes and rainbows? They are still available to others, in my opinion).

Dan called from the border this morning. Two kids on their mission trip smuggled marijuana over the border and then back again. They even had the foresight to stash some in a bush near a hotel in New Mexico on the way down, knowing they would revisit that same bush on the way back. I am just thankful that I am not trying to find a Mexican attorney for my husband right now and having to think about how I will support my family by blogging and watching Teletubbies. Dan said all the kids were really upset and were crying, praying, hugging, and talking about the whole thing. I am hoping it will be a vehicle in the kids' lives to somehow facilitate a deeper dialogue about the issues they face.

It made me think about how as adults we are trained for things to be "no big deal" and besides a death, if I reacted like that, I would be perceived as overreacting, something I am accused of often. I wish I would feel more open about weeping loudly, laughing so hard I peed my pants (I do pee when I do jumping jacks sometimes), or just expressing myself in a way that doesn't think about whether I will be perceived as looney. I grew up in a home where extreme emotion of any kind was definitely not okay, and it is strange that I am such an expressive person in spite of that, but I shame myself for it, and today, my goal is to start embracing my emotions rather than cower because of them.

My "premiere" posting

In the spirit of trying to stay in touch with those I care deeply about (here's a shout out to Minnesotans) and in an effort to actually begin writing more (New Year's Resolution for every year since I learned how to write), I am starting my own blog page. I am now a Blogarooni. Blogster. Blogmeister. Blogarino.

I don't know if my life qualifies as interesting enough to be a blogger, but then again, I also think my life is so complicated that it is amazing I am not admitted into the North Oaks Psychiatric Hospital. I just made that up, but if I WERE to be admitted, here is a list of reasons why, and I am just going to lay it all out there right away:

1) I grew up with a highly dysfunctional family--controlling mother, abusive father, lack of nurturing all around.

2) My best friend's Mom stabbed her to death and then killed her sister. This was my initiation into the wide world of grieving. Heavy abandonment issues stem from this.

3) I ran away from home multiple times at 17, got pregnant, my parents emancipated me (were legally NOT my parents anymore since I was a minor) and right before I turned 18, I moved back home, and then had a baby. (This is NOT a recommended time frame for most people)

4) Was consumed with the lack of control in my life and developed anorexia, which was a struggle for the better part of 4 years. Hamburgers still scare me, but more for e.coli reasons than fat content.

NOW, after sharing all of that, if you still want to be my friend and blog-reader, here are some high points of my life:

1) Was a Spelling Bee Champion during my elementary years. I relate best to the fear and trembling each year televised on ESPN during the Scripps Howard National Bee.

2) I wrote a book in the 6th grade. It is a fantasy-genre largely inspired by the Chronicles of Narnia. It is REEEALLY lame, but it is still close to 200 pages, so I consider that noteworthy.

3)I won a national speech contest in high school and actually got paid $75. That is the best thing I have ever won in my entire life--with the exception of a new pair of aerobic shoes because of a drawing held at my local gym.

4) I am the mother of two of the best kids around--Eli David and Eva Grace. Both their names have Hebrew derivates meaning "God" and "Life" and from that I have decided that they are the most tangible taste of God in my life.

5) Daniel James Stratford (or Danny J who provides the rap for this posse G) is my husband, and for that, I am most thankful.

6) Sometimes when nobody is around and I am in the kitchen cooking, I like to pretend I am the host of a cooking show.