Money, Money, Money...

Well, our credit card company should be happy lately. Not that we don't pay it off, but just that we've been using it more this last two weeks.

We decided to splurge and get a portable DVD player (and I also went ahead and got the carrier so I didn't have to make one, that fits on the front seats so the kids can watch from theirs.) We bought a DVD recorder/VCR combo so we can permanantly burn all our old family tapes and such. And tonight we just purchased a Dell bacis computer because we're tired of this one not being able to do anything since it's "SO" old (not even 10 years???)

Oh, well. At least we'll enjoy all three over and over again, so it's quite worth it. But, OUCH! on the pocket book!

And meanwhile, somewhere in the recess of my brain and the room upstairs my clay is calling to me, but I have had places to go and people to meet and I'm not even close to being done. So my precious passion will have to wait.

Writings in the Sand

Where do I draw the line? How do I draw the line? More accurately, where does GOD want me to draw the line???

I have been on a journey for the last 3 years. A journey of questions, doubts, worries, and a few brief moments of freedom finding.

Since becoming a parent, I have asked myself 100's of times, How do I present the Truth to my children so they understand and live it?

I know that there is no way I can present the Truth to them if I myself am unsure of it. And therein lies the problem.

I didn't used to be this way. Before. Before I went online. Before I found people who lived their lives differently from me. Who opened up a whole new way of thinking and feeling and living. Who for the most part showed me better alternatives to my narrow way of thinking. Whom without I would have floundered even longer than I have to find a way of parenting infants that fits my style and theirs.

But who also created gaps in my faith. Not on purpose, but by the simple act of stating something I had never thought before.

And so I looked and searched and researched. And answers were many and varied, and I still didn't know. And I still am looking and searching and at times I think I have it until something comes along to shatter it all over again.

How do I know what is Right and Good? For surely there IS a Right and Good? Christ didn't set an example so we could keep on playing in the dirty filth we call fun. But so that we could follow and be light to the dark world around us.

So what IS the light? What is not appropriate for us as Christians? Surely there must be SOMETHING every Christian agrees on? Or isn't there....

"Each person has to decide for themselves." "Only God can tell you where to draw the line." "If it's not in the Bible, it's a grey area, and you have to decide for yourself." etc, etc, etc.

It's the Grey that's killing me. Surely God has an opinion of the grey stuff?? I mean, if there's a Best (Christ) then there must be a worst (opposite of Christ). And the inbetween must fall SOMEWHERE closer to Best or Worst. How can a certain inbetween fall closer to Worst for me, but be closer to Best for you? Or vice versa?

Wouldn't it stand to reason that if one had all his/her Grey matter shoved closer to the Best that there would be hardly ANYTHING they'd consider to be close to being Worst? And wouldn't that technically mean that even something that is Sorta-Worst would end up on their Sorta-Best end instead?

Or from another angle, if someone's line is so close to the edge that even a bump would send them flailing, then wouldn't that mean there is nothing they consider wrong?

So where do you draw the line?

I grew up with the line so far from the edge that I didn't even know what the edge looked like. I was ridiculed for being naive, chastised for being ignorant, and pitied for being sheltered. But I never once came close to falling off that cliff.

On the other hand, I see people dancing on the safety barrier because they, afterall, know they can handle it. It doesn't affect them...

But how can it not? Wouldn't it stand to reason that the closer to the edge you begin, the better chance you have of going over it someday?

But maybe my analogy is wrong. I once was asked if I thought God's Will was like a target, and I didn't get the bullseye then I have missed and messed up my life. Yes, I do think that's what it's like.

But they say it's not. That God can have many plans and as long as you are in His daily will, you are okay. But in my thinking, that still means that eventually you will hit the Bullseye, the Mark, the Goal.

So what IS the truth? How do I find it? I've memorized scripture since I was a kid, and I can talk circles around my OWN theologies, so how to I glean the good stuff and leave the chaff behind? I admit that praying is hard for me. I feel I don't know how to do it right. I talk, I try to listen, I hear nothing. Then I try to guess what I did wrong so I can confess and hear God, and I still don't hear Him.

Why is everyone else comfortable with the choices they've made, but me? And when I think I AM comfortable, I meet someone who disagrees with me, and I begin to doubt again. Especially if GOD told them that THEIR way was right for them. If it's right for them, then perhaps it should be right for me. Afterall, I'm not entirely sure it was God who I heard from in the first place. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.

Yes, I'm a people pleaser, which also translates into me wanting to please God. To the extreme. Give me a list God, I may die trying, but You know I'll try. If it went against everything I feel, I'd still do it. Because I want to get it RIGHT.

I have tried to follow instinct, believing God gave it to me, as a parent. But when all the other Christian parents do something different, then I begin to wonder. God wouldn't tell all the other Mom's one thing and me another, would He? And if so, then how does He expect me to fit in when they start talking about how I should do it "such and such" a way?

So where do I draw the line? How do I draw the line? I feel like the men who accused the woman who was sleeping with a man not married to her, when Jesus began to write in the sand. Maybe they saw what He was writing, but we don't know. But I feel like my lines are all written in the sand, only I can't make them out. And when I think I see where they are, the prevailing winds come and they fade away.

I'm a lot closer to the edge than I have ever been before, and believe me, it's not always easy. I liked being safe, and I'm not convinced that that isn't the better place to be. But I don't know, and I don't know if I'll ever know. But I want to know.

I want it to be more than just writings in the sand.

Busy, busy, busy!

This week I:

- Went to a new church for the second time, including Sunday School and a carry-in/annual meeting afterwards.

- Helped Boom move his desk upstairs to the attic, along with my sewing machine and all his stuff

- Moved my desk to the living room and moved the fish tank to the opposite wall

- On Monday I re-arranged the living room which included drilling a hole big enough for two cable wires through our thick double 100 yr. old floor boards, un-splicing and re-splicing phone wire for the computer, moving all furniture and entertainment center and computer

- Went to small meeting at library to discuss a small application tape for "Deal Or No Deal" for one of the group members

- On Tuesday I visited with the pastor's daughter/associate pastor's wife and her kids and the kids she watches; had a great time talking

- Wednesday was shopping day (grocery and Walmart) and then Awana where I felt like a liar and betrayer

- Thursday was story hour and then I made shish-kabobs for supper then we met with the pastor

- Friday another quick errand at the store and then on to a lady from our current church's house where we took 7 hours to make 6 stepping stones for the ladies retreat next weekend (which I'm not going to in case you wanted to know) Wanted to tell her since she's also in charge of Awana, but didn't have to heart or courage to....

- Today I've cleaned all the rooms, almost and tidied up everything and the kids are in the bath, I'm next, then more shish-kabobs.

There - there's my week. How was yours?

To Everything There Is A Season

We don't give up easily, Boom and I. At least we try very hard not to. But we were beginning to feel so downtrodden every time we walked into church that we had to do SOMETHING.

After months of soul searching and praying (more on his part than mine - I just kept hoping it'd get better) we decided to finally try the church here in town that we'd heard about and that we knew at least a few folks who attend.

The first Sunday was okay, enough to try again. The second Sunday we knew. This was where we wanted to be.

I hope it's not wrong. I hope this is where God is leading us. Boom thinks so - God always leads him; I just follow. I keep thinking that anything that might make me happy God wouldn't want, so I can't completely feel at ease with this. And everytime I go to church on Wednesday I feel like a traitor and a liar.

What hurts worse, though, is that no one has noticed our absence, or at least not that they've mentioned. But that's how it's been - that's why we wanted something else.

A church is supposed to be a family, a support, a fellowship. We need friends, not just mentors. We need people who will help encourage us in our Christian walk, not just wish us good luck.

The people have always been friendly and nice, just not to the point that we felt appreciated beyond the warm chair and the positions of service we filled.

So we are moving on. How we will break it off we don't know, yet. How they'll respond we don't know yet. Whether the new church will be all that different we can't say for sure, yet. But we won't give up. Somewhere out there....there has to be people who like us for who we ARE, not what we DO. I hope this is that place....

Yeah, THIS is the answer.....

Noelle, the pregnant robot.

But does she let the staff know if they were kind or cross? Is she able to show emotion when she feels treated like, well, a machine, instead of a human being? Does she cry in pain or joy?

"We steal shamelessly from everybody and everywhere that has good training programs."

What about homebirths and midwifery where training is hands-on, personal, and the outcomes are statistically better than medicated births?

But I guess if you're going for the whole "patients aren't people, they are statistics" thing, then a robot probably will do wonders for you.

Update on my life

Okay, so how do I sum it all up and yet convey all that has gone on in a couple of weeks?

We got our puppy, Boomer. After the first week I went nuts with trying to get him outdoors every 10 minutes (which is how often he peed, being only 7 1/2 weeks old) and stopping him from chewing everything in site. So Boom built an outdoor pen for him, big enough to run around in and chew things, etc, where I can put him if it's nice out when I need a couple hours to clean or something. He was carte trained on his own after night one, and was sleeping pretty much 6 hours straight until we had a bout of the runs for a little over a week which I just cleared up with a "chicken & rice" remedy (boiled chicken with rice...they like it, it worked!) He's learning to go to the door when he needs to go out, and he only goes every half hour at most, or every hour or something. With the weather being so nice we stay outside as much as possible.

He's also learning "Come" and to lick instead of bite me, though we have to work on Boom since he seems to like chewing into him pretty good. And we even took our first walk today, leash and new surroundings and all, unless you count the playground out back, where we have gone a few times now.

I won second place (out of many, actually, thank-you-very-much) in an essay contest for our local library system, receiving a $25 gift certificate to Walden books (much preferred over the first place prize of $100 savings bond.) I decided to car pool with the first place winner who is also from my town and I made a new friend!

Long story short, her hubby had an Art League meeting same night across the street from the awards, and so we met him there afterwards, and I got to meet the lady in charge of the Art League, who it turns out is a sculpture, who uses clay, and she told me about this clay supply place not even 25 minutes from our house!!!!

It's not listed in the Yellow Pages or online, so I had NO IDEA that it existed. I can now buy my clay (which comes in 50 lbs minimum quantities) without having to pay tons of shipping, and they can order anything I want! And they have all the tools I'd need! YEAH!!!!!!!!!

So I bought one small tool, goggles to peer in at the cones during firing (like welder's goggles) and some oven-mitts that are fire proof or whatever so you can touch the kiln during firing without loosing your hand.

I also went to the Awana Games two weekends ago and the kids loved it. I DID enjoy it, actually, I just wish the politics sometimes were different (within our own church, that is...)

And I was reminiscing the other day about marching band (I was a colorguard for my Junior & Senior years) as I was French braiding my own hair, which I learned out of necessity for marching band. My hair had to be braided while wet, so I couldn't have someone else do it all the time, and it wasn't really that bad; I can even do double braids.

But boy, I loved marching. I gave it my all, every time. We were good, too, for the most part. And I miss good marching bands. Our local high school just doesn't cut it these days, and I hope that someday they improve so I can look forward to half-time again. We didn't just marched, we PERFORMED. And we had VERY high standards. No lazy marching would do for us...no-sir-ee. We held our FEET - TOGETHER!! SHOULDERS - BACK!! BUTT - IN!! CHIN - HELD HIGH!! EYES - WITH PRIDE!! EYES - WITH PRIDE!! And I LOVED it!

So anyway, things are looking up with Spring. Went on a walk today, though it rained just then, but the sun came out before we were done and dried us off. It's good with Spring in the air again.

Now if only I could get that kiln operating....

Picture of my Elephant Mug

The recipient loved it, though her young daughter loved it more and claimed it for her own :) I was quite proud of it being my first mug!


This is the mug I received in the exchange:

Wonder what Dreams Are Made Of

This week I have been daydreaming. A lot. Sometimes I dream about doing something really cool and everyone liking me, or I daydream about my kids and our unschooling and how fun it will be to learn and the places we'll go and the things we'll experiment with...sometimes I daydream about having friends.

This week I dreamed about Ocarinas. Not just ocarinas. MY ocarinas. On sale at craft tables where all the kids are gathered to see the cool pendant ocarinas I'll have. And not just ocarinas, but mugs and plates and bowls and candle holders and tart burners and sculptures and....

You get the idea. It's so far from reality right now that I really should stop daydreaming. But I can't help it. To be good at someone and have someone recognize that fact and appreciate it...who can help but to want that feeling?

I don't even have a kiln hooked up yet. And my "studio" is more like a play-doh work station. And I don't have a wheel made yet. But the dreams still persist.

Today I had practice for Awana Games. I'm the coach, mostly by necessity and the fact that a year ago I said I'd HELP with games and was asked to head it up (which I hated, by the way, and would have quit if not for my people-pleasing guilt factor.) So this year we are going to the olympics so to speak, and we aren't very good, to put it mildly. I don't want to be the coach. Never have. I like kids, don't get me wrong. But I only want to be in charge of something if I'm passionate about it. And frankly, I'm not passionate about Awana Games.

And yet, people keep telling my I'm doing a good job, and that the kids love Awana Games (they also like recess...it's not hard to please them in that regard.) And today one woman who meant very well told me I was born to be the Games Leader since I do such a good job. So much for trying to quit next year (the Awana Director who has been on vacation and will be another week was standing right there...and who is responsible for me being in this position, and whom I can't get to understand my point of view in certain things...)

Anyway, I seem to get recognized for being "good" at all the things I could care less about. In school it was grades. "Oh, you're so smart!" In the yearbooks it was "to a smart and nice girl." Nothing about cool, unique, fun, funny, pretty....just smart and nice. Whoop-di-do.....

So I can't help but to daydream about being good at something I want to do, ME, not anyone else telling me I should because "you'd be good at it." Not something I do because "no one else signed up." Not something I do because I volunteer to help and end up in charge. Something I do because it's fun. Because I enjoy the whole process. I don't count it as work, I count it as progress. Something that tells a story about me.

I wish being a mother fit that category. But truth is, I don't feel like a great mom. And people won't say, "Oh, that's so cool that you co-sleep, you can tell!" or "Your kids are so well adjusted, I bet it's because you unschooled them!"

And so I would like to have a hobby. A hobby I can share. To open myself up, possibly to disappointment.

But for now I can daydream. I can daydream that my work will be great. That people will line up to see the only potter in town...

At least the house is clean from my work yesterday, because with my head so far in the clouds I just don't feel like doing anything...

Learning to be Content

I find that right now, at this point in my life, I am learning to be content. Truly. I have a wonderful husband, two beautiful, healthy children, I have a good-sized house, we just bought a used 11-year old van, and we are getting a new lab puppy next week. I have a hobby I'm loving, Boom has a job he loves most of the time, and I'm actually feeling at home in this area.

And yet on days like these it all comes down again. I hate how hormones can control me so easily. Last week my son was fussy every night until I finally knew we needed a doctor and found both an ear infection and some pneumonia. Then my daughter starts up with croup. I missed church Wednesday and Sunday feeling guilty as anything. But I was still content. I was glad for the things I had and happy about our lives.

Until today. Today my kids were happy and playful. The sun was out. I relaxed most of the day. But I feel down. Depressed. Worthless. Like I'll never be successful at my hobby - I don't even deserve to play with play-doh. That I'm a horrible mother who can't get my daughter to eat healthy food anymore and I'm not exactly the best example setter in that arena. I can't stand Rugger nursing to sleep many times because it's just irritating now. And worse, yesterday I actually felt I had a better time at Apples of Gold, opening up some more and being assured that I was accepted. But now I feel that I used it too much for my own selfish therapy. That I'm going to be dreaded for company because all I ever talk about is me.

And it's true. I'm so darned desperate for company that when I get ANYONE to listen, I go on and on and on. And I can't stop. Or if I do, I come home and get depressed.

But if today wasn't today, and if I wasn't in that week before womanhood makes it's appearance, then I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling fine today. Because it was sunny out. And I have a wonderful husband, two great kids, a house, income, a "new" mini van, and a dog on the way.

And what more could I really need?

Some Signs You Have A Male Toddler In Your House

1. You are constantly cleaning your furniture to remove the smeared banana, spaghetti, catsup and any other food that you've eaten lately. (I know, I need to contain eating to the kitchen. I know.)

2. You are constantly putting away small knives, screws, fingernail clippers and other items that might be weapons in small hands, even though you have no idea where said items were found.

3. Every time you walk away after putting in a DVD for your 3 yr. old, you end up having to start all over because "someone" opened the display door and pushed the "open" button, AGAIN. After 5 times of finding the spot in the movie where it was stopped, this gets pretty old. Especially when you're in the middle of doing dishes, or cleaning, which may not happen often, and now you know why.

4. You find an apple sitting in the detergent compartment of your dishwasher. Harmless, actually, but quite revealing regarding how your child thinks. Obviously the dishwasher IS a toy, after all. It cleans about as good as one, which is why I attempt to wash dishes during DVD viewing.

5. You hear what you think is someone rolling up the toilet paper while you are in the shower. After all, while you are sitting on the potty both children frequently visit you and roll up said roll. However, upon exiting the shower you notice there IS no toilet paper, though you are SURE you didn't use it all up. Confusion ceases upon entering living room where a trail of toilet paper ends in a pile of chocolate-smeared toilet paper. Why you didn't THINK before leaving the ice cream in their possession while showering is beyond you, but apparently your boy has enough sense to find something to clean up with....

Ode to Dirt Roads

Anyone who comments about dirt roads being scenic and a necessary part of country life hasn't driven on them as much as I have.

Now, for some reason Boom used to actually LIKE the dirt roads. We used to visit here from Pittsburgh and he would lighten up like a school boy when we hit the dirt. I'm sure a lot of it was because it sparked memories of his high school life of speeding and getting stuck in ditches, and of baw-hawing through fields, and of cows in the road, and other fun things like that.

But now, he knows better. He knows dirt roads aren't kind to your body as you jolt every joint and all your organs flop around inside of you. He knows dirt roads aren't kind to your car, which needs replaced almost yearly due to the wear and tear caused by the stupid roads, and I know that I'd rather pay those mile-high taxes that New York state has because the minute you hit their state you know by the smooth pavement and easy driving.

For those of you who don't have the luxury of driving frequently on dirt roads, I'll tell you all about them.

First off, dirt roads are DIRTY. Or, more accurately, they are dusty. In the middle of summer you can see a car go by a mile away due to the huge cloud of dust that comes up off the road. I'm surprised there's any road left by the amount of dust that leaves and blows inevitably towards your home and fills your house with dust so much so that you probably consume more dust than the average vacuum cleaner. Your car is also covered in dust because of course you don't have air conditioning and thus the windows are open to help you bare the high humidity, and you no longer remember the color of your dashboard due to the thickness of the brown dust. In fact, scientists would probably date your car to be from around the Crustacean period based on the layer of dust found in the back of you car.

Second, when dirt roads AREN'T dusty, it's because they have been covered with oil, or doused with rain, each of which carry their unique properties into your home.

For some reason, instead of paving, we country folks have this bright idea that in order to calm the dust in front of houses, we'll just pour a lot of old, yucky, good-for-nothing oil on the road. Now, what's amazing about this is that I really don't see any point to this. They only pour the oil in front of the house, so when it's windy out (99.9% of the time on the dirt road I lived on) the dust from just before or just after the oil would blow up to the house, anyway.

And then there's the actual oil. Who hasn't been driving along on a nice Spring day when all of a sudden they see that tell tale black spot just ahead and they realize they can't slow down in time because the dirt isn't exactly a swell spot of friction, and so they end up skidding right into the oil spot causing oil to splat upon most of the car and surroundings. Boom used to joke that it was the cheap way to coat his underside of the car, but the truth is that it would be coated whether or not you want it to be. And chances are, it will be more than coated, it will splatter all over the car, creating a brown car (from the dust) with black spots. Of course, as soon as you are off the oil you are driving through loose dust again, which is attracted to the fresh oil like the flies to a hot summer day.

But that's not all. There's more. When not dusty, and when not oily, the roads are inevitably muddy. Now, that may not sound all that horrible, but that's because you've never had to try steering a car (or worse, a rear-wheel drive vehicle) through this stuff. It's like hydroplaning through pudding. You are swerving and sliding and falling off the road, which would fun if you were in an arena with monster trucks and lots of cheering. But you're not. You're late for just about anything and know that the fast you drive the slower you'll get there.

And the equivalent of mud in the winter is slosh. Snow doesn't stay snow very long during a sunny day; it turns to mush. And driving in wet snow is basically as hard as driving in mud, with the added challenge of not being able to see where the edges of the road are, or if you're even ON the road anymore. Of course, sometimes you THINK there is slush on the road. But you're wrong. It's actually ice. Frozen slush, with hard ridges and gullies left by the tracks of all the previous travelers on this road - all three of you. So now you either try to follow the swerving tracks, or else drive in a straight line (how foolish!) and let your shocks get the workout of a lifetime over all the bumps.

But again, that's not all. Because in every season, or at least until they grate the road (grate means they loosen up all the dirt so it's dustier and VERY loose to drive on, making even the most experience drivers lose control,) there will be pot holes. And I'm not talking about one pot hole every mile or so. No, I'm talking pot holes that make Swiss Cheese look solid. Trying to avoid the holes will only make you hit more of them at all the wrong angles, and sometimes you wonder if it wouldn't be easier to just drive through the field, after all. Forget trying to lull Junior to sleep in the back seat. You're more likely to need a chiropractor after your journey's over. Except that on the way HOME from the chiropractor, you'd bounce everything out of place again.

And to make it even more fun, when it's snowcovered, the pot holes are completely hidden, making for a most interesting adventure.

And that's the adventure I had yesterday as I drove to a new friend's house. For friend I now hope she is. She started coming to church a few weeks ago, and doesn't have a churched background. But she IS crunchy (as in granola, as in she is more natural-oriented, like myself!) and we have VERY uncanny-how-they're-alike mother-in-laws.

So I guess it was worth the dirt road if I made a new friend. Of course, she lives JUST across the PA/NY border, so that you know you are at her driveway when you hit the blissful smoothness of pavement. Lucky girl...

Snow Day and a Birthday

I'm behind a few days, so you'll have to excuse me for writing many blogs in one day.

A week ago today we had a snow day and Boom got to stay home. Most of the day he worked on the attic (which is looking SOO nice!) but then he also went to the store for some supplies. Well, when he got back he asked if I wanted to open my birthday present, because, "let's face it. I bought your present today."

Now, my birthday wasn't until Saturday, but I've rarely opened my presents only on the actual day, so I told him it would be fine to open them, since Friday we'd be leaving for Ohio for the weekend and that way I could open his presents with just OUR family.

So then he started hinting that what he got he thought I'd really like, since he looked at my wish list (something I started so I could remember when birthday's and Christmas came what I'd like, since usually I can't remember.) Anyway, he said it was NOT on my list, but something similar.

Well, I admit, I was a tad worried. You see, Boom always tries to get me something I'll like. And being the gift lover I am, I always hope he can get something that says "ME" and not just something that would be nice, but says nothing about who I am. So I was anxious to see what exactly he picked that WASN'T on my list, but he thought I'd like, anyway.

And then I told him all about the wonders of on-line shopping so he could get things cheaper, and the exact thing I want, and long before the actual day, and all without leaving the house. But he's old-fashioned that way. I think he likes to SEE what he's picking out.

So as I put away clothes, he starts wrapping my gift (he asked if I wanted it wrapped, and since most of his gifts have NOT been due to the way he forgets things, I said, "yes"), and he uses the Sports motif wrapping paper, giving me a sly look....

So a few minutes later we're watching Survivor and he asked if I was ready to open it. I had actually forgotten, again, that I had a gift to open, and I was now excited to see what the secret was. As I read the card, Boom again was being his goofy, sly self and wrote, "To the biggest sports nut I know" which of course I am anything but, so I didn't know if he was playing a mental game with me (his favorite type of game) or if he actually got me something sports related.

See, that's the thing. I honestly can't tell sometimes when Boom is kidding me, or being real. Which makes me feel like I don't really know him, but he admits that he is strange and likes to fool people, so he can't blame me for the times I misunderstand him. Most of the time I know deep down inside, but there's the always the part of the that admits the possibility of what he's saying could be true.

So as I open the gift, he got me one thing that WAS on my list - the Tarzan animated soundtrack, which I thought about after watching Tarzan again, and then realizing as I searched that it was Phil Collins who wrote the music, etc.

And then the second part of the gift....

He got me the whole single season series of "The Lone Gunman," a show that aired on Fox and was about conspiracy theories and goofy nerdy guys, and a sleek woman who was always a step ahead of them. I loved it!

He later explained that he had wanted to get me the Monk series, from the cable series, but that it was even more than the Lord of the Rings movies that I also want, so then he saw the Lone Gunman series, and though also expensive it was more affordable, and he knew I had liked the show, and so he got that.

And I think it's the best gift I've gotten from him :)

I also got several gifts from my parents and sis, and got to see my other best friend from high school who stayed for my dinner, and she had her soon-to-be-adopted little girl with her. I went shopping with my sister, where we had a great time, and my nephew is growing up very nicely, and I went to Pat Catan's and got some hemp thread and beads to make a necklace or two, or an anklet, to go with my new hippy skirt and several tops that I treated myself to a could of weeks ago.

Then my nephew was dedicated on Sunday, and we ate Papa John's pizza before leaving for home again.

It was a fine birthday, indeed.

Finding Myself in the Most Unlikely Places

I don't usually post twice in a day. But since I haven't kept up with posting daily, anyway, I might as well post twice in a day when I can.

Tonight was the salve for my angst earlier. I had our monthly book discussion group tonight.

We talked about our pathetic county and economics, about the school situation that is boiling right now, about Walmart moving in, about a private joke that I now own from a former club meeting, and yes, we even talked about the book some :)

You see, even though some of the books are books that I'm not sure I should be reading, truth be told there are movies the equivalent which I have seen, so I guess I can't be too harsh on myself. But what I've found is that I actually have a home here in the library club. A place where people are getting to know the "real" ME. I feel odd saying my pseudonym, but for sake of, people of getting to know Prism again. The Prism that people knew in high school and college. The one hiding behind the face of "Pumpkin's Mom" and "the coach's Wife." The Prism that I feel comfortable with.

I love the fact that there is a private joke relating to me in this groups, slightly off-color and embarrassing though it may be. It's mine, and it fits me, and I'm glad. It makes me feel part of something. Everyone in this group thinks of me on a regular basis because of this joke. And I like that.

Not very often do I see these people in town, but when I do, I'm glad I know them. Most wouldn't fit into my "best friends" kind of person that I'd search out. We disagree on God, on economics, on politics, on which books to read, etc. But we all find a way to share our opinions in a kind way, often a humorous way. We share our interests and our personalities in an hour and a half. And I love it.

I feel part of this town, this community. I feel like "one of us." Most share my view and distaste of Warren, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one choosing to live here and yet wondering why I'm living HERE. Or more accurately, why HERE can't be like other places, since it's not so bad otherwise.

And I even met another Christian there tonight. She came for the first time. She's a pastor's wife with two very young children. So I'm hoping that maybe there will be something there. If not her, maybe someone she knows. But she seemed very understanding and I just opened up to her. My only regret is that I talk too much about myself in my desire to be known, and when normally I would shut up and listen I now keep going on in the hopes that a light bulb will go on in the other person's face and I'll know I've found that bosom friend.

I know that's not how it works, but as in my previous post, I'm just plain desperate.

But the most interesting thing to me is something I discovered when I was a kid. It was the very same thing that almost made me walk away from God, and I can't say that I don't feel the same pull at this time in my life.

At a time when it seems so hard to be a Christian and practice the things I want to practice. "Hippy" things, as I call them. Things that if I were NOT a Christian would be no problem for us as a family to carry out. There would be no criticism from people that meant anything to me. The only criticism I listen to is the kind that says I am not following God's Will or best, etc. If I wasn't a Christian, I wouldn't care what they thought, and I'd be fine following my heart.

At a time when I'm searching for my identity as a mother and wife and yet wanting to retain the original me, and no one seems to want to take the time to KNOW the original me....

I find that at a little library for and hour and a half each month, there's at least 5 other ladies who are getting to know me. And not just KNOW me, but appreciate me. ME. ALL of me. They don't make fun of me. They laugh WITH me. They like me.

And as I compare the time I had earlier, in which I do believe the ladies like me, I find that of the two, the one where I feel ACCEPTED at is in a group where only 2 at most would I call true believers (all of them attend church, I believe.) And yet they accept me and make me feel welcome, come all.

Whereas at church I feel parts of me are not so welcome. And this isn't the first. Growing up I always prayed for a good Christian friend, and instead I'd get lots of people who liked me, but didn't so much like my God. But they were there for me when the kids at church wouldn't include me. They were accepting of my quirkiness and humor and personality, and the church kids just thought I was a nerd and weird.

Why is it that all my life I've fit in more with the unsaved crowd, and that the saved crowd, the very one that is supposed to be a refuge, causes me to feel "odd" and "different." I'm always afraid to be MYSELF in front of them. Not so with the unsaved. They don't judge because they don't have a standard to live up to.

Not that they don't judge ever, or that they accept everything and everybody. But in general I find they are more open to being who you are, and Christians still seem to have an idea of what you are supposed to BE.

And maybe I'm reading it wrong, but as Dr. Phil says, it's the feelings that count. If you are feeling a certain way, even if it's not true, you need to do something so that you don't feel that way anymore. In a marriage, for example, if a wife FEELS that her hubby isn't spending enough time, but he knows he's sacrificing as it is...it doesn't matter. She doesn't FEEL that it's enough, so he needs to do something to show her how much she means. He doesn't even necessarily have to spend MORE time with her, but maybe make the time spent more quality. Or do something special each week that won't be interrupted, etc.

And so even if the ladies at church DO accept me, the truth of the matter is that I don't FEEL accepted. I don't feel the same acceptance that I get from the library group. The library group WANTS me there, they invite me to their homes. Not so with the church group.

And I still wonder, "WHY???"

Why, when I'm doubting my faith and questioning my God, do the people who don't know Him welcome me with open arms, and the people who claim to follow Him more or less "let" me in?

And if it weren't for God speaking rather clearly to me ONCE in my life as a teenager, and if it weren't for my husband who turned to God later in life and I respect that he is not stupid, then I'd be more than doubting right now. I'd be long gone.

And I hate saying that. But it's where I am right now. I feel like Gideon and throwing out the fleece once again. But even though God answered Gideon more than once, I don't know that He'd do it for me. Of course, I wasn't so sure He'd do it the first time, either.....


One of the darkest points in my life, maybe actually the darkest, truthfully, was when I was a freshman in high school. Our church was having a youth convention with another church (at our church) and we had signed up for a couple girls to spend the night at our house. Well, that night the preacher was great, but when he started saying prophetic (actually, it's wasn't prophetic, it was more that he spoke about them, that God was speaking to them through him, but I can't remember what this is called) words about different people, and I so desperately wished God would speak about me. But He didn't.

And as I went to bed that night, I just cried. All my life I had been in a Christian school and at church, and no one had befriended me. And my first few months in a public school and I had lots of friends and everyone seemed to like me. And I thought, if this is the way God takes care of His people, I don't want anything to do with it. And I thought of the people who He had talked to that night, and I basically told God that I wanted Him to touch ME, too. I knew He was real because there was too much evidence for me to believe otherwise. But I didn't think he knew *I* existed. So if He didn't touch ME, personally, then that was it. I'd rather go to hell. What was the point? Why serve a God who didn't know I existed? So my last prayer as I fell to sleep was, "God, touch me."

Next day I was numb. No feelings. No hurt. I was empty and uncaring. I had walked away from God and didn't know what my life would be like, but I didn't care. I hadn't read the papers we were sent home with, which ending up being a twist on the Velvetine Rabbit story. I didn't know the story talked about a rabbit who received a touch from God.

But as the pastor spoke that day, it was as if God was confirming that He had heard me. Without me seeing that paper, He had prepared the talk for that day to be about "touch," the same word I had used. I was in awe and very nervous. When he started to pray, he mentioned that two types of people where there that day, I can't remember what the first group was, but the second was, "and those who need a touch from God."

I had never gone to the alter before. I got saved when I was 5 and didn't care about being in front of people. So I was afraid of what people would think of the Good Two Shoes going to get prayed for. But I knew I had to go, so I did.

I was the first person the pastor prayed for. And since at that time I hadn't been tarnished by over-emotional churches who insist that one must fall over to receive the Holy Spirit, I was not alarmed when I felt a pushing on my forehead. I didn't think about falling over or anything, I just thought he was praying hard and fervently for me. To this day, I'm not sure if he was even touching me, but if not, then that was the only time in my life that I honestly felt the power of God in a physical sense, and since I DO believe that people can be slain (it happened to Saul/Paul), I believe He is able to touch us in that way. Just not as much as people make it to be.

Anyway, the only part of the prayer I remember is that he said that "God sees you. He knows you. ..........He will use your compassion for people to reach them." And of course I cried knowing that my God had actually heard me and loved me....

And I DO, or did, have compassion for people. I want to believe that was a true word from God. But I don't know how to use it when I can't even get people to meet with me.

Which brings me full circle and back in the same seat I was then. Friends that don't believe in God, and people who believe in God that aren't my TRUE friends. And this time I KNOW God knows me, so instead I'm just asking WHY?

Does He still have a plan? What is it? When will I know it? Why do I make friends more easily with these types of people? Am I too worldly? Am I supposed to be a light to them? What does that entail?

But for now, I will just be happy with the fun I had, the laughs I shared. The affirmation that Prism is a person people can like and want to be around. That I'm ME, and people like ME. And maybe, someday soon, hopefully, I'll understand why it's them and not the others. But for now, I'm happy I'm liked for being the person I still believe God made me to be.

What Is Wrong With Me???

***WARNING!!!*** This post contains adult topics...

I know this refrain is getting old. It's getting old for me, too. I wish it would stop. All go away. I get tired of it. Tired of the questioning. Tired of the wondering, the wanting to know the WHY. The forbidden fruit, I guess.

I'm tired of feeling like a freak. Of being different. Of wondering why I am the way I am and no one else is this way. Tired of waiting for someone who actually understands or GETS me.

And today I possible made a major fool of myself in a desperate attempt to find answers. Only when I am at my breaking points do I let my guard down and get real with people. And I always regret it. Only when I can't take it anymore will you see me shed a tear in your presence.

Unfortunately, since having Pumpkin it seems I am always vulnerable. Always on the verge of tears and losing it. Always at the bottom of the pit.

I don't understand God. I don't understand the Bible. I don't understand what I'm supposed to do, who I'm supposed to be, how I'm supposed to act, what I'm supposed to pass on to my own children.

I don't know why I have a HUGE guilt complex. But I do. I have the need, or the desire...the DRIVE to confess all my deepest darkest sins and secrets to the public, so they know who I REALLY am. It doesn't matter that God knows...I feel like a deceiver. It's not like the sins I have hidden haven't been done before. They aren't even bad on a scale of the worst. But they are unknown, and that bothers me.

I don't know why I have to be good all the time. I like to know what the "right" thing is so I can do it, and do it perfectly. I know when I have failed, and if I want to, I will not fail.

I don't know why I question everything now. Why I can't seem to accept that anything is okay, that what I feel in my heart truly IS the way God wants me to do things. Why I can't shut off the voices in my head, on the computer, in the books, on the T.V., in the magazine, at the church. The voices that each have a convincing reason that I am wrong regardless of the choice I make. Each can use scripture or studies showing the impact if I am wrong.

Why can't I read scripture and feel like it speaks to ME??? Why is it I only find more questions, nagging, relentless questions about the God I serve and what He expects from me? What am I doing wrong that makes it so I can't hear His voice louder than the others?

And if I shut them all out...so that perhaps I hear the still small voice, I am afraid He won't be there. Or if I DO think I hear...then when I encounter a voice, immediately they tell me that I am way off. Again.

I have been reading through the Bible with our church, chronologically, and it's very difficult for me so far. I see why people think that the stories are myth because, frankly, it's hard to know how to know these things REALLY happened. I am currently reading the fodder for those who believe God is harsh, unloving, and vengeful. Leviticus.

If there's another book that is as harsh as this, I don't look forward to it. I've read the Bible before, but not really dove into it, searching for answers. Thank goodness I already believe, shaken though I feel right now, because this would make me walk away for good, thank you very much.

Why did God kill Aaron's sons? Why was the punishment for certain sins death, and other similar sins simply ex-comunication? Why were women regarded as more unclean than men (male births made women unclean for 7 days, female births for 14 ? ) I don't understand. I want to know WHY?

Why is it that if it's an attitude thing, which is what I'm told, that David, who had a repentant heart, was given TIME to repent, but not Ananias and Saphira? (spelling may be off, I'm not checking the names right now because I'm laying my heart out here, forgive me.) I don't understand. I want to know WHY?

I want to know what God planned for families. What marital love was meant to be like. Were Adam and Eve told how to make love, the secrets of their bodies? Or did they have to discover it? And was Adam such a terrific lover that he discovered her pleasures on day one, or was she like many (Christian, mostly) woman today who wait years into their marriage before they realize how they work?

Was Eve terrified of giving birth, unknowing and unsure? Did she panic as waves of pain overcame her? What, exactly, was different from the original plan of giving birth, since most other mammals give birth as we do???

Did Adam and Eve hold their child, sleep with their child, or shove it off and ignore it's cries, realizing that "it would be okay" and "it needed to learn that the world doesn't revolve around it?"

Personally, I think God DID tell Adam and Eve a few secrets about love making. Maybe I'm way off, goodness knows it seems to be that way a lot. But if He told them how to tend a garden, and what animals are, etc. WHY IN THE WORLD would he leave them to be frustrated trying (fun as it may be) to discover something that seems JUST out of their reach?

I read about Eastern women who are trained in the art of love making so they will be a pleasing wife to their future husband. They don't have sex, they are just told HOW to have sex. Maybe this is wrong. I don't know. But what I DO know is that surely they have a better time on their honeymoon than couples where the bride is so shy she leaves the lights off all night long for goodness sakes. Between the two, I'd say God would want us to ENJOY the gift of sex, not hide from it like schoolgirls.

I've read about tribal women who are in rhythm with their bodies during labor. They sway, the women around them sway, in a belly dance, in tune with nature and birth. She is calm, relaxed. She gives birth without fear, or panic. Then there's the Western way. Fear so strong we immerse ourselves in a medicine to shut out all feeling, not even aware of the power within our bodies, bringing our children from within to without. The passage of life, and we are separated from it by a needle, or a knife.

In many cultures children are a part of daily life. Not something to be separated into other beds, other rooms, into buildings for learning. They are carried to work, they aren't left with sitters. Many cultures have one bedroom houses, where families sleep together. Babies are conceived while their siblings are sleeping. In this culture, one would be crude and inappropriate to do such a thing.

So I don't know where to go. I want my daughter to embrace her sexuality. Not with other people before she's married, but with all abandon after she's married. I don't want her to go years without realizing that females can have orgasms. But how do I tell her? Am I allowed to tell her?

I found out most of what I knew from the internet while I was engaged. I didn't know about books like Kevin Leman's "Sheet Music." So I looked stuff up on the net. And I learned what I wanted to know. And I had fun discovering how it worked once I was married. Though I was also tempted and found out some before.

So I know I don't want to go too far with my daughter. But what IS too far? Does God really want us to send our children into marriage not knowing that a female can orgasm? Since let's face it, most men know that THEY can orgasm. Some women don't even know what the word MEANS before they are married. How much of a shock do we let them have?

Yes, it could be a VERY pleasant thing to be surprised in a marriage. To be innocent. But how do you balance that with enough knowledge to let them be open and expecting, instead of shocked and horrified? Our men obviously go into it ready and willing. Why shouldn't our women? Why is it wrong to teach our children HOW to have sex (I'm not sure WHEN to teach them if it's okay, I'm just asking...)? We teach them how to sew, cook, clean, fix things. But SEX? Well, that should be discussed by the couple to be only....

And that's why we have the problems we do. Couples who don't consummate the marriage two years into it still. Couples who only have sex to procreate, creating a frustration I don't even want to contemplate.

And the fact that I brought all this up at the Apples of Gold meeting today means that no one there will ever think of me the same again.

Yes, I'm open. Open minded, for that matter. And yes, I suppose I am weird. To them. To you. To whoever thinks so.

It started with gift-giving. I talked about how gifts are my love language, and somehow the fact that I gave a "Tampon Angel" as a gift to my secret sister last year came up. After laughing about a few jokes in that regard, I mentioned cloth menstrual pads. At first everyone was laughing hysterically, until they realized that I MEANT it. That *I* used cloth pads, and made my own. Of course I got looked at like I was an alien or something, because they had never heard of it.

I can't blame them. First time I heard of many of the things I do I thought they were strange things too. But I guess the reason I told them was because I keep hoping that someone will want to know WHO I AM. Who I REALLY am. What makes me different. What makes me me. And so I brought it up so they would have another piece to the picture that is me.

And they laughed. And even after I explained it, I'm not sure what they thought. But I know that now I wish I hadn't said anything. Wish I hadn't mentioned my struggle to understand the difference between right and wrong. Wish I hadn't revealed a part of me that is still very vulnerable to criticism.

But I did. It's out there, and I can't take it back. And I hope they don't think I'm a freak now.

I mentioned my struggle with trying to figure out how to justify that the Quiverfull mentality is not right, but most didn't understand what the Quiverfull mentality WAS. (For the record, I've come to the conclusion that I don't feel God anywhere implies that we are not allowed to know and use our reproductive cycle in order to PREVENT or TRY to have kids. If one trusts in God to give children when HE wants them, we are saying that He goes against the natural laws He put into the universe. He allows rape to make a baby, yet that's not His ultimate will. He knows it will happen, but it didn't happen because He wanted it to, but because He allowed nature to take it's course. The same line of reasoning is what the Christian Scientists use to allow disease to consume them, even when there is a known medical cure. If we TRULY trust God, wouldn't we all just let our kids die of something that is curable??? So goes with our fertility. God allows us to learn our cycle for a reason, I believe.)

Anyway, they told me that if I question, then I'm okay. That that means I'm searching for God's Will. But for me it's not enough, and I wish it was. I wish I could glance just ONCE through God's eyes and see the big picture from His vantage point.

I wish I could stop over analyzing everything and everyone. But when I talk to those who can't get past our Western thinking, I feel like I'm overboard. And when I talk with those who adapt to Eastern or other cultural values, I'm too strict with my faith.

So where does God fall? Why is it that the more natural, the more gentle things, the things that seem to make more sense with a loving God and with a perfect earth, are the things that Christians are least likely to do? Where is the middle ground, and how do I find it?

I DON'T want to screw up my kids. I don't. I don't want to turn them into hippies who experiment with things because we should be okay with who we are. But I also don't want them to feel like me. Trapped by unseen rules. Guilty even when innocent. I want them to be proud of who they are, who God made them to be.

But how will they know what that is if I can't even find who God made ME to be?

What is wrong with me?????????????

A Trip Down Memory Lane

It's 3 AM and I'm still awake. I don't think I've slept yet. So my hope is to put my thoughts down so I can sleep!

I've decided that when I can't come up with anything else to blog about, I'll start posting stories about my past. Memories that are pleasant and make me smile, though also make me sad with nostalgia.

Tonight as we lay in bed to go to sleep, I reminded Boom that there is a picture wedged between our bed and the wall that the kids knocked down several weeks ago. The bed is very heavy (homemade) and can't be moved away from the wall very easily.

He asked me which picture it was, and I told him the one with me with long hair and him in a white tee, and he said, "Oh, the church picture." I knew he'd remember, but it was still nice to hear him say it.

The picture was taken for a directory for the small church we attended while living in Pittsburgh. I remembered the day and the picture being taken. Boom remembered the room we were in. And I started remembering our short time at probably our most favorite, or close to, churches we've ever been in together.

The year was 1996. I had moved to Pittsburgh to go to Pittsburgh Technical Institute for Graphic Design. The term started in October (it went all year so the terms were different from 4-year schools) and I had moved in with my then-best-friend in a little apartment up on Mt. Washington, right next to the old South Hills High School.

My parents and I looked in the phone book under a certain denomination that was similar to the church I grew up in, and we found one that looked promising (only God could have planned it so that the first church I tried I stuck with for 2 years!) What we didn't know is how much work I'd spend just getting there and back.

I didn't have a car until just before I started dating Boom (my parents leased a Saturn for me at that time.) So I had to either walk, ride a bus, or take the "T" where ever I wanted to go.

For church, that meant all three. After I got ready I walked down to the "T" station, and since I knew what time the "T" came, I didn't wait too long. Then I got off at Gateway Center and walked across the street to wait for the bus.

I usually waited around 15 to 20 minutes for the bus. I don't even remember how I did this in the winter! Things seemed so much more milder back then!

Anyway, the only problem I ever had with the bus was when this old Greek Orthodox guy started taking the same bus from the same stop. The first time I met him he was talking to me and wouldn't stop. Casual questions. Not your run-of-the-mill stranger questions. And when a car pulled up to the curb to ask for directions, he literally held my arm very tightly and pulled me back as I tried to talk to the couple. So when I got on the bus, I should have know better, but we all have to learn sometime.

I took a seat next to the window; I loved looking out windows. And wouldn't you know it, the old guy sat next to me. Well, before long even though I kept trying to avoid his talking, he placed a hand on my thigh. This of course made me EXTREMELY uncomfortable, but short of embarrassing myself I didn't know what to do. Thank goodness his stop was not far off, and he got off at a Greek Orthodox church with his Greek Orthodox newspaper, and his Greek Orthodox accent. I hoped that would be the last I'd see of him, but alas, I eventually had to stand on the opposite side of the bus stop until I saw the bus coming, and I never took a window seat again.

When the bus arrived at the street the church was on, another 20 minutes later, I walked about a block to the entrance. I loved walking in because I was enveloped by handshakes and hugs. I loved the friendliness of our church. But more, I loved the worship.

I know it's not everyone's style. And I understand why. But I love the charismatic, Pentecostal type worship that goes on and on. I was so ready for it after a week of being with no Christians at all. (let's face it, when I tried to join a Christian group at school, and the leader of the group was wearing a "Big Johnson" tee-shirt, I knew I wasn't going to fit it...) I opened up and poured out my emotions to God.

And then the sermon. I loved hearing our pastor speak. He was animated, unlike most of the pastors I've enjoyed since. You couldn't fall asleep during his sermon, because you were too interested and he kept his voice alive the whole time. And he used object lesson, the first time I'd seen so many. I love them! The two I remember most are the "priorities in a jar" one, with rocks, pebbles, sand and water fitting into a jar better when you put the big things in your life in first, and when he put a tent of sorts up for one of the Jewish holidays (don't remember which one, I'd have to ask my dad.)

That tent is what makes me want to celebrate the traditional Jewish holidays with my own family someday. At any rate, he always had good sermons and I always went home thinking about them the rest of the day.

After church I didn't get to stay to mingle. I didn't have a watch and I needed to catch the next bus, whenever it came.

Usually that meant later than sooner. If church let out a little early, I'd catch the one bus. But if it let out later, then I'd wait a half hour or more for the next one. It was a very lonely wait. Not a big bus stop. Just a small spot on a normal neighborhood sidewalk on the North Side. (looking back it was odd that I attended a church on the North Side. It was known that many blacks lived in the North Side, and many didn't like white people being there. It also was known as the not-so-good neighborhood of Pittsburgh. I never had a single problem while there...)

On the bus ride back, it was even longer because of a different route. On the way TO church, we went right past the Three Rivers Stadium (oh! how I hated to see that place go!) I saw all the people with their Terrible Towels on game day, and I wanted to be them just once, someday...

On the bus ride back, I saw the homeless on their benches or pushing their grocery cart through town with bare feet. It was depressing in downtown on Sundays. The only places open were McDonald's and Subway type places. It was like a ghost town.

Most Sunday's I went straight home. But one Sunday I met a girl at church from my school, a most unlikely place for meeting this particular girl. She had been waiting for someone, but they never showed, so she rode home with me. We ate at Subway and talked about God a little. I hardly knew her, but here I was eating with her at Subway and talking about church! At home, she lit up a clove cigarette, and I thought that if I ever were the type to smoke, that would be what I'd smoke, since it smelled so good...like some better pipe smoke I've smelled.

But most days I went into the Wood Street "T" station and waited another 15-20 minutes before a "T' came to take me home.

At home I always felt down. My best friend had only attended church with me the first time I went. She wanted to be a Christian, but wasn't ready, she said. She wanted to find a good Christian guy to date, she joined Bible Quizzing. But she wouldn't go to church. So I was alone. I had no one to discuss the sermon with...the thoughts that were in my head. I felt like the only Christian on earth in those moments.

I'd usually relax on the afternoons, enjoying the sunlight coming into our apartment. Oh!, how I miss that! I loved the way the sun poured in and the view of the neighborhood we could see from our back porch on our second story apartment. I miss it terribly at times! I've felt the urge when we have visited the city to drive to that apartment and knock and beg to walk upstairs just one more time. But I don't think I'd handle it too well. I'm tearing up just thinking about it...I miss it...

But this whole routine changed on my first "date" with Boom. I invited him to go with me to Easter Sunday at church if he wanted, since I wouldn't date a non-Christian, and even though he believed in God, I knew he didn't live it and I wanted to show him that church wasn't what he thought it was.

By this time I had the car, so I picked Boom up from the South Side where he lived, and he saw me in a dress for the first time and gave me an Easter basket, my first since I was a little girl. (The large chocolate bunny melted by the time we came out of church :) ) We drove to the church for the first time sine I started attending there, and wouldn't you know it? It was only 10 minutes away! TEN minutes from my house to the church! I had been going there for almost 2 years and had taken an hour or more each way every Sunday...and I was only 10 minutes away by car...

After Boom started attending with me, we got more involved. We joined a couples' small group, and I started teaching a class for 3 and 4 year olds. We even participated in a huge Christmas production called "The Gospel According to Scrooge." It was the best put-together and hardest worked-after play/musical I've seen or been a part of in a church. We put it on for 3 nights in a row two weeks in a row. It was 2 hours and had an intermission. Boom played Marley, and I had a small part because I'm kind of shy :)

It was amazing the difference between the church that I only attended on Sundays because I was a slave to the Public Transportation system, and the church that I attended as much as I was able with a car. I had never even seen the other rooms in the church before. Never met all the other people before. I finally felt at home!

And I still miss it. When we moved the next time we went to the church was a year later when we were in Pittsburgh for a wedding. Our one couple friend had a one-year-old by then, and in general life had gone one without us. It was very hard for me. I hadn't wanted to leave, and in many ways I still miss it so very much that it hurts.

I don't understand why God calls us to certain places sometimes. Why He takes what we hold dear and allows it to be removed from our lives. People lose children, spouses, houses, and more. I lost Pittsburgh.

I know that it's not where God wants me, at least not right now, and maybe not ever. But it will forever be a place that exists in my heart with fondness. There aren't too many bad memories of that city. Most were the most happiest moments of my life. I can still feel them, smell them...though I can't always see them so clearly anymore. Most of all, the pain of leaving is still so strong that I wonder if something is wrong with me.

I am sitting her with tears streaming down my face and my heart aching for things that can never be. And why??? Why can't I find the same happiness here? Why haven't I had fun times and good friends here? Why don't the moments with my children, who are GREAT kids, compare to the moments I had there?

I want to be happy with what I have. I feel ashamed to think that my better memories are before I got married and had kids. What does that say about me? What kind of wife and mother am I?

I sincerely hope it is simply because I was carefree then. Without bills to pay, without diapers to change, without houses to repair and friends to make. I want to make good memories with my family. I try hard to do so. I struggle so much with the feelings of discontentedness. I don't want my family to think that they make me sad...

Which is one reason I practice Attachment Parenting and plan to unschool. I want to make good memories and be connected to my children and for them to remember good things growing up. I enjoy spending time with Boom vs. time without him. I don't feel the need to "get away" from my family....just the need to "get away" in general. I can't wait until vacations are easier with the kids. When they are old enough to enjoy traveling and seeing museums and go hiking without being carried or pushed in a stroller.

And one thing is for sure. They will know Pittsburgh. They will walk on the bridges their parents confessed their love on. They will eat in the places we ate. They will look upon the city that conceived them. For without Pittsburgh, they wouldn't be.

Dinosaurs & Digital Depression

It seems my daughter has taken an interest in her father's lifelong love of dinosaurs. When Boom was young he was banned from the school library because he always took out dinosaur books all the time. So he took one without borrowing once, and forgot about it. He doesn't know what happened to it, but he does remember studying those books with a passion only the young full of curiosity possess.

And now Pumpkin is in love with The Land Before Time, The Ice Age, and the book Oh My! Oh My! Oh DINOSAURS!. She's loved the book since the beginning, the Land Before Time the first time she saw it. And when just recently she watched The Ice Age, she proceeded to watch it 20 more times that week.

Tonight I was hoping to visit with my BIL and his girlfriend and their new baby, but they wanted some time alone, so I'm alone tonight, as well. Boom is watching a basketball game that "his" boys are playing in (he doesn't go to many at all, so I don't mind.)

But I'm lonely, anyway. I like going to visit people, and I wanted company tonight. They didn't tell me until 5 that they weren't going to get together, so I was hoping all day that we were. Good thing we had a good night last night getting Little Caeser's Pizza (cheapest around, no Papa John's, so we can't be choosy) and watching Survivor (yes, I'm one of THOSE people.)

But I've been depressed for a week or so now. I get sucked into the vacuum of friendlessness and I can't get out. I have kids and a husband who need me all the time, and others who don't need me at all. I pulled too much here, not enough there. I feel worthless.

And to top it off, I can't progress in my ceramic pursuit because it turns out we need an electrical overhaul to get the right amperage in our house, and since it might be pricey we'll probably try to get it with the grant money along with the sewage that's getting put in, but in order to do so we can't do the work until the grant is approved, which won't be until late May at the earliest, which means I probably won't have a kiln working until Summer, at the soonest.

And I could keep making stuff, but the chances of them getting broken are great since I don't have tons of shelf space (though Boom did build me a nice shelf for starters) and I don't want to risk transporting again. So I feel stuck there, too.

On a lighter note, we are way behind technologically in this house. The only reason we have a DVD player is because last Christmas we used a Baby Gift Card for SEARS to buy a DVD player (trust me, he'll appreciate it more than the two outfits we could have bought instead.) But our computer, a hand-me-down from my dad, which is newer than my laptop from college, is so old that we can't download music from the web, I can't get blogging stuff to work with Microsoft Word, and I can't get those programs that organize and upload pics to the web to work right on it. Maybe some of it is other stuff besides the old age of our computer, but I can't tell.

Anyway, tonight I noticed that even my daughter will start noticing our lack of up-to-datedness. I took a picture of the two of them eating at our kitchen counter, using my 35mm camera, the only one I have. After I took the picture, Pumpkin frowns and says, "Mommy, I want to see my picture!"

Now, 20 years ago or so this may have meant a poloroid, and a few years ago this would have been mistaken for a request to see the developed picture instantly, but I know it actually means that most of our friends and family have digital cameras and enjoy showing all the toddlers their own picture that they just took.

So even my three year old knows that we are behind the times, and for her sake, I'll try to change that in the next, oh, decade, or so.

June Cleaver, I Am Not

Pumpkin discovered an ancient item hiding behind our bathroom door this evening as we were getting ready for bed.

She pointed at it and exclaimed excitedly, "Look! It's a skateboard!"

"No," I said, "it's an ironing board."

"Yes!" She was still breathless, "an ironing board for the ocean!" Which in pre-schooler-speak means "surf board."

I don't even know how she knows what a skateboard or surfboard are (and they say those satellite programs fry their brains) but it's apparent she has NO IDEA what an ironing board is used for.

Which means either we never get any wrinkles in this house, or we don't have expensive enough clothes, or I just don't care. Can you guess which one(s)?

Hobbies & Hankies

Well, I got to take my bisque out of the kiln while it was still 117 degrees (cool enough to touch by hand, but Oh!, so toasty!) I was very pleased with the results, even thought my elephants had broken ears. It was so cool to see the clay turned white, and nothing else broke that wasn't broken before it went in, which means I at least have SOME technique down. I also got some wax resist, latex resist, and kiln cement from her (along with a face mask the day before.)

I was so excited I showed off my first mug, which I'll keep for myself as a reminder of my journey, and I still liked it the best, to my neighbor and my in-laws at a birthday party last night. The one mug that just had a chipped ear was my second favorite, and perhaps best done technique-wise, so I'll be able to exchange it with the group.

But I am so exited that my ideas that I couldn't have drawn on paper if my life depended on it, and wouldn't have been possible with polymer clay, are not permanently etched in time in a medium that has been around sine the beginning of time. It's an awesome feeling!

I wouldn't mind carving in wood, or stone. But I can't take away from something to reveal the art within. I can only build up to what I see in my head.

But speaking of of wood cutting, Boom braved the garage and went back to his own version of Lincoln Logs today and is still out there finishing them so the kids can have them no later than tomorrow morning. I'm very proud of him, though for the first time somewhat nervous that he's out there. My dad worked with saws all my life, and never once got seriously hurt. (Actually, I don't think he's ever been seriously hurt in any way...) So I never thought to worry. Now that luxury is gone, but I'm glad he's managed to work past it and enjoy himself again.

And, hey, that means I'm this much closer to him building my wheel! I'm not ashamed of ulterior motives!

But our weekend has been sidelined in part because Rugger's come down with a nasty cold that has him clinging to me most of today, and sleeping only in fits the last two night, with last night being so bad that only me holding him helped him at all, which meant no sleep for me. You'd think with co-sleeping that I wouldn't mind holding a child, but in truth I don't like to touch anyone while sleeping and hate it if they are facing me and breathing. Paranoid about breathing in too much CO2. So while I held him and he'd finally fall asleep, I'm doomed to try and lay him down beside me, where he then rolls over to be as close to me, so I slide him over and try to be at his back, and he rolls around again. And this is repeated until the morning when he wakes up crying, and then continues to cry, nurse, and sleep the rest of the day.

At least he ate supper just now, but I dread tonight yet again. This is one of the many reasons I am not planning on more kids any time soon, if ever. I couldn't deal with this and being pregnant, or nursing. As it was, Pumpkin was asking for attention all day and I couldn't help her, and she of course wants ME, not Daddy, just like Rugger does. And there's only ONE me...*sigh*

That's the Way the Clay Crumbles

Well, I guess every potter experiences disappointment during their never-ending pursuit of clay and it's mesmerizing qualities. But I had hoped that at least my first try would be tested IN the fire, not before.

The Yahoo Groups I'm in (Pottery Basics) decided to do a Mug Exchange, which I was so excited for. I knew my potter friend was going to do a bisque firing soon, and so I started making some mugs right away. I came up with the idea of an African mug with an elephant head with it's trunk as the handle.

So I stated wedging, rolling, cutting, scoring, slipping, smoothing, attaching, wetting, and drying. I trashed 3 mugs before they were even done, and kept 5 altogether (one which probably should have joined the trash heap.)

So for a few days I admired my elephants, proud that they didn't completely resemble a mud heap assembled by a toddler. I would at least be able to give a decent, if not perfect, mug to the exchange.

Of course, there was the kiln issue. Maybe a handle would crack or break off. Or worse. But I didn't let that worry me. I figured they seemed pretty strong and I knew I did most of the work "correctly," so they SHOULD come out of the kiln okay.

But then I had to get them ready to transport over to my friend's house. I took pictures with my neighbors professional digital camera "just in case" and then tried to pack them as gently as I could with bubble wrap. Well, I broke one thing on one of my sculptures, but no biggie. I fixed it, knowing it might not hold but not too concerned, since it was the mugs I really wanted to be perfect.

So I drive over to her house the next day, and as I unpack my mugs, the first one's ear is broke on one side. I hadn't even realized that even gently wrapping them had damaged them. As I unpacked the rest, I kept hoping that at least ONE mug was still intact. It wasn't. They all had damaged ears. I was so down, but my friend just said we could fix it later with epoxy. I didn't want to fix it. Truth be told, if I had the time to fire more, I would. I want good mugs, not broken mugs.

But now I know that greenware is not just fragile when bumped, but fragile in general. It's amazing, actually. You have this piece of bone dry pottery sitting on your shelf. It looks real. It feels real. But it's just a pile of dust shaped into a mug, or sculpture, or something. Add water and you get slush. Drop it and you get a pile of dust. Bump it and it shatters.

It's almost like magic that adding a thousand degrees of heat to this same pile of dust will transform it to a strong piece of pottery.

And yet, mine didn't get a chance to be transformed. They were put to the fire without being fixed. And now I have to decide if I give away a less than perfect mug. (the folks at Pottery Basics are being very kind and say they'd still love one, bless their hearts.)

But it pains me to even give it. I wanted a GOOD mug, not a broken one. I want my own kiln hooked up. And my wheel, while they're at it. Summer can't come soon enough.

Here are the pics of the bone dry greenware the night before disaster. The mugs will turn out white after firing, then I'll underglaze paint them and then add a clear glaze over it.

I just hope that the rest of the firing went well. I'm expecting to find out tomorrow...

Indian Summer Thaws the Emotions

As I write this, the weather is gorgeous. It feels like Spring and the sun is out. My heart wants to soar. But like many other such days, there are thoughts that snag me and hold me down. Thoughts I'm not even sure are okay, but I don't want to let them go. Not yet, anyway.

I don't know why, but on days like this I find my thoughts straying to Indian Summer days back in the Steel City. I most often recollect my trot down to the "T" station, down the hill, the many steps, and the platform. And other times I recall the jot home - up the hill and stairs, or up the incline and over the hill, past shops and apartments and the old shut down high school...I remember feeling not a care in the world. I was confident, comfortable, and content.
Why do the trees and fields not excite me the way sidewalks and glass windows did? Why do I enjoy the silent glow of city lights and not the empty light of the moon on a clear night? Why do I even long for something I know I cannot have? I have never loved another man, but I cannot help feeling that this is what it must be like...to have loved another once before but know you can never return.

I know that it wouldn't be the same. Even at the end it wasn't the same. I missed downtown, I missed not driving, and I missed walking everywhere. I missed my friends and going to school. And I know I don't want my kids raised in the city...at least, I don't think I do. But many times I think of all the places we could go and all the things we could do that aren't even available here in our rural dwellings.

Some people dream of sipping tea on an old porch swing. I don't mind that, but I'm more of a Starbucks person (if I were the kind who drank tea or coffee.)

And then there's the friendship thing. I'll get into why this came up later, since most days I'm able to push it way down until I forget it's there...

WHY is it I don't have a great Christian friend to do things with? A friend who wants to and sets aside time to get together at least every other week. Who can encourage me in my walk with God, and who actually understands me as a person. I guess I am lucky that Boom is all those things. He is my best friend and so much more, and I'm glad he truly "gets" me. But I want a GIRL friend, a mommy friend. Someone to joke with, cry with, stay up late and talk with. I know that "it's hard when you have little ones." But I don't buy that. I've made efforts - I've made the time, and I've made the phone calls. But I seem to have more time and more desire than anyone else, apparently. Or maybe I'm just boring and desperate, I don't know.

I have friends, per se. But they don't know the whole me. They don't save a place for me at get togethers. They don't call me up just to chat. The don't even invite me over. I mentioned it at a Bible study meeting I just joined, and as we discussed it, I thought, "Don't any of you even realize that I'm begging, pleading, here...and not one of you is volunteering to be a friend to me." They tell me I have to make the effort and that I need more than one friend, etc. Yet not one offered to be another friend to me.

What is it about me? Have I changed that much since becoming a mom that no one wants to be around me? The only mom's I had been friends with until they left me cold and crying with a newborn were women who were always taking from me...my time, my advice, my pity, whatever. They complained about spouses, boyfriends, etc. I listened, I felt better about my lot, but I got no encouragement for myself. Nothing to take home to keep me warm.

I truly want to give to others. It's what I used to do well. But I feel like I've given so much that there isn't anything left. No one's filled MY love tank. My husband can only do so much and hear the same stuff so many times. I get tired of telling him about it over and over. I want someone who can go shopping with me and tell me what looks good on me. I want someone who will go to a movie with me and discuss it afterwards. Someone to go to the park with, someone who trades days doing playgroups at our houses, someone who sees the world in a similar way as I do.
Apparently it's too much to ask.

Anyway, this Bible study is called Apples of Gold, it's by Focus on the Family, and Renewing the Heart, written by Betty Huizenga.

At first I was really excited. It's a class that teaches you how to cook, and incorporates a Bible study, and you learn how to open up your home and be good at hospitality. And since I discovered through a Networking class at our old church in Edinboro that I might have a gift for hospitality (which makes sense being as I love being around people, and I love entertaining) I thought this would be perfect.

Well, we had a good time, until the friend issue was brought up. But there was one thing in the study that didn't jive with me. And after I got home and skimmed through the rest of the book, it looks like many more things won't jive with me.

I don't know if it's because of my tendency of finding fault with things, or if it's something else, but now I'm not looking forward to hearing in the other classes all the stuff I'm not doing "right." With this book, frugality is almost out, looks are VERY important (which just doesn't jive with me), and she puts out the idea that if you don't do things just so, you won't really be honoring God when you entertain people in your home.

So now I'm wondering if A)I DON'T have a gift of hospitality after all, or B) if once again someone is taking an idea from God and adding their own ideas but it makes it sound like God is saying it, if that makes sense.

Similar to the way I see Dobson sometimes. I appreciate his stance on the family and Christian values, but there are so many things that I do as a parent, or don't do, that he basically says are being lenient and even detrimental (his word, not mine) to the development of my children. I disagree, and it angers me that people may think that GOD wants us to raise our children in a certain way, when in truth it's just Dobson.

For example, it's obvious that the author does not do a family bed (or room, as is our case right now) and that's okay, but she talks about how to make the bedroom a sanctuary to retreat to, and to have a lock on the door, etc. Well, our kids are in the bedroom, it's relaxing enough for us, etc. Same with my looks and that of my house. My husband is fine with both, and says so (Yes, I do ask him.) He doesn't mind me wearing sweats, as he wants to wear them at home, as well. He's more affectionate with me in the morning with bed head hair and "kitten" breath as he says, than when I'm all dolled up. Call me lucky, but my point is that I don't think making things look pretty all the time is necessarily a Godly thing. Not a bad thing, by any means, but not necessarily a command, if you will.

Especially with all my Crunchy Mamas and Unschooling ideas....which are SO far from outward looks and neat homes....I'm trying to find what I think is a good balance, and the minute I accept that natural is okay, I read this book and think, "great...so now what do I do?"
They used the example of what if Christ walked into your home...truth be told, I wouldn't buy a toothbrush in case he forgot (it happens.) If I don't have a mirror so he can see the back of his head, I'm sure he'll live. I'll have clean sheets (pretty, maybe not) and a fresh bar of soap. But to be honest, I wouldn't change anything else in my home because I'm pretty sure He'd be more interested in ME than my house.

Maybe I'm wrong (it's been known to happen.) I don't know.

And then I think about the fact that the author got this great calling from God to do this book and class, and I wish that God would speak to me like that. Because I feel that I'm supposed to do SOMETHING with my love for people. And now with clay, I may have found a way.
Similar to what she does, but focused more on the people (she says it's a pampering for the women, but when you feel guilty about how you do things, the pampering seems more like a scam...) I've thought of having a Clay party of some sort (what to call it, I don't know.) Eventually if it got going I'd have to charge for the materials and firing time, but at first I'd do it for free. I'd invite all my friends and let them play in the clay, showing them a few tips. Then they leave their pieces and I fire them. Then they return to paint their pieces, and again I fire them for them.

My idea is that somehow we just let our barriers down and talk. Really talk. About anything and everything, and I make some new friends. And I could actually incorporate a study into it, since it's pottery and the Bible has several verses about God being the potter, us the clay, and you can come up with so many cool allegories from that alone.

But then I wonder if it's just a stupid idea instead of a seed planted. And by criticizing another's obvious success with another similar program, maybe it's just jealousy.

So today I just kept thinking. And wishing. And hoping. And maybe someday I'll sort it all out, or it will all one day come together and be clear. But until then, I collect all my thoughts and store them once again in my mental Hope Chest, to be pulled out on another day such as this. When the warm breezes begin to blow on the parts of my that have grown cold...