Things About The Day

Coffeeless mornings are the worst. It's nearly impossible to function when one doesn't wake up to find oneself standing in front of a puttering coffee pot that somehow was filled with water and grounds and turned on while still in a sleeping state. Coffee is miraculous. It makes conversations less boring, drives more delicious, and any event worth attending, like, say, morning. This morning there was no cream, and being the spoiled developed-world child that I am, coffee without cream is something like having sawdust for dinner to me. I could have gone to the store for cream, but without coffee to remind me that I could do that, I feel as though all I can do is stare helplessly into the kitchen from the couch and wonder how to get on with the day. Clearly there was no way I was going to make my 9:30 hot yoga class without coffee. I toyed with the idea of buying a coffee on the way there but that seemed like a terrible idea, for many reasons, mostly the one involving a big iced coffee just before hot yoga. So obviously yoga was out. Now I know there are many things I should, or at least could, be doing, but I find myself hopeless and despondent and unable to focus. I wonder if this modern epidemic of depression is merely population wide coffee deprivation.

I have a lot of things to get done today, if I can ever find my way out of this coffeeless abyss. A chain of events that began in a hot tub in Hood River has escalated to the point of surety that we are moving back to Washington in June. Hot tubs are amazing for epiphanies. As are people like Christy, who say the most profound things accidentally. All at once, almost simultaneously (once I told him), Josh and I realized that we were Doing It Wrong. All of it. That as much as we love Bend, all of the reasons we love it are things that we can not access. We are working our buns into the ground to have a lifestyle that we still can't afford. The recreational opportunities cost too much for 6 people - the amazing beer makes me really fat, and the job field in a tourist town isn't letting us break past survival. Maybe if Josh had gotten a fire job. Maybe if I didn't need surgery and he hadn't joined the air guard. Maybe if we had less kids, or they were more into video games than expensive things like skiing and cellos and skinny jeans. Maybe if we liked to never see each other or eat dinner together or put any money into savings - then Maybe Bend would be a better home for us. But as it stands, those are NOT the things we want, the lifestyle we desire. I have always wished for a more rural setting, but Bend seemed like a happy compromise between big city and small town. Lots of opportunity, a little less traffic. And it is, if you can afford the opportunities. Floating the river is free, so is the river trail, and the snow parks for snowshoeing and sledding and stuff, unless you don't get a winter pass and forget to pay the parking ticket that said pass would have avoided and end up with fees and stuff. But beer isn't free, neither is happy hour (although it's close), or any school activity that I have found so far. We miss each other. We miss life. We miss watching the kids play their sports, or having time to chaperon/embarrass offspring at dances. I don't worry much about the bills since I have a sugar daddy now, but Josh has been awfully crabby for the last couple of years for some reason. I think that keeping up with the Bendites is killing him. I think having a wife that shops to fill the lack of social connection and psychological stimulation is also killing him. I think having kids that jealously watch their friends go skiing on their season passes to Bachelor, and take vacations to Fiji, and spend more money on their wardrobes with their parent's platinum cards, is suffocating him. Never mind that our kids have almost exclusively designer closets, thanks to a totally RAD mom who bargain shops like a son-of-a-biscuit, and every hair product known to man, and good bikes and cellos and computers and every bit of whatever it is that is necessary to be a teenager in 2013. Never mind all of that. Never mind the food on the table and the chauffer waiting outside the dance at 11:30 for a kid who got a ride with someone else and forgot to text. Never mind a big, weird family with lots of adventures and stories and giant crazy trips to Disneyworld and Hawaii and Olympia and dogs and roadtrips and all kinds of fun that we have had. My kids are spoiled, unquestionably, but by Bend standards, they are among the deprived. Because we don't buy their "Cougar Pal" presents for them. Because we don't stock energy bars and sports drinks for their highly active lifestyles. Because they get second hand gear for their sports (unless Grandma and Grandpa happen to be visiting). We are all spoiled. I am ready to go back to a simpler lifestyle, where the once-a-year new pair of shoes is the envy of the whole 8th grade. Where I can can peaches and jump in the river and have coffee with my sister instead of talking to myself in the aisles of Goodwill on any given morning. I am looking forward to the necessity of planning dinner every night instead of remembering that Costco is 5 minutes away and they have $1.50 hot dogs. I am excited for that once a week latte in "town" when I go for groceries and Irish Dance.

All of that being said, I really need to get going today. Sorting, packing, folding, selling. Getting ready for a moving sale, eliminating EVERY POSSIBLE PIECE from the overwhelming mountain of stuff that will be transported across two states. But first, I must find coffee.

reminder of better days...

Things About Forgiving

How much grace is too much grace? When is it ok to stop turning the other proverbial cheek, or should one ever start?

Can you forgive a lie told to "protect" you, but not a foolish, whimsical teenage blunder?

Can you forgive a betrayal from a friend, but not a lie told to avoid confrontation?

How many times can the truth be mocked before it's too many? How many times do you go back for manipulation and mistreatment from friends and family before it's too much? When are lies actually justifiable, for any reason? I have certainly found ways to justify them. I can't imagine someone who hasn't. As a young child I remember being shocked when I heard my mother tell a manager at ToysRUs that the box to a toy she was returning had been destroyed, knowing full well it was out in the car. I tried to correct her and remember being swept aside quickly. It shattered some lofty ideal I had in my head and probably led to the downfall of my absolute faith in fairies. Mom, you a responsible for the death of a thousand pixies (just kidding). Years later when I shared this memory with my mom she was absolutely mortified, and no surprise, couldn't even remember the incident. To this day my mother would rather be chained to the rack and forced to eat a thousand spiders than tell the smallest white lie, knowing the impact that made. It's really inconvenient when I try to pretend it's my birthday for a free coffee in front of her. But it's a good way to get her to pay for my coffee, reminding her where I learned my dishonesty skills...

I believe in grace. Without it, I would be friendless, loveless, homeless, childless, and most likely dead. I am the chiefest of all sinners and have not a stone to cast toward a lesser sinner than I. There are people that I have chosen to distance myself from because the heartache and the dishonesty that go hand in hand have become too heavy a tax on the life I have chosen. And yet how many people have I taxed to exhaustion that still love me? I believe intensely that for every spotless person you introduce me to, you will find a closet of filth and shame that they simply can not acknowledge. Some people say this is cynical of me, and if this truth made me avoid people, I would agree. I believe in the depravity of man. How can I not, when I live it? I am depraved. We are all animals with instincts of self-preservation and self-indulgence and curiosity and driving needs. The thing that sets us apart from many other animals is our ability, our privilege to chose to forgo our comfort for that of others. We see this act of will in other animals too - dogs are the great protectors who will shiver in the cold to keep a lost child warm, or bark until they lose their voice to alert us to danger (imagined or otherwise). This is selflessness. This is a response to a duty that they have adopted. Much like we adopt the duty to care for one another. For our children. For our lovers. For our friends. I have been guilty of the worst imaginable violations of this duty. To my children. To my lovers. To my friends. Every day I examine myself and am no longer surprised to find the messy remains of selfishness that are spilling over into my relationships. But every day I try to chose to be right to the people I love, at the expense of my ego, my reputation, my sterling innocence. I still mess up. I still have things that I hold so tightly protected inside that I can't imagine sharing them with anyone. And maybe some of these "secrets" are ok. But where is the line. How many secrets can a person have before he becomes nothing more than a liar? One? Two? Sixteen?

It is apparent to most people who know me that I have some issues relating to trust. These issues would probably be easier to deal with if people would stop lying to me. Certain people would love to remind me about the deliberate dishonesty I have issued them. Which is true. I have and probably will again. Where is the line between a white and a black lie? Does telling my mom I love the sweater she knitted equate grossly under exaggerating the amount of money I've spent to my husband? Does omitting the fact that I hate lima beans to my friend who served them for dinner cause the same damage that omitting information to my husband about someone who propositioned me at the bar? Why do we hang on to information that should or could be shared? Is it fear or kindness. I have almost as many honesties as lies in my life that I regret. Maybe because the consequences simply weren't worth it, but is that because in the same breath that we issue forth lies we deny grace for admissions of guilt? What is wrong with us people. Why can't be honest like dogs and children. Your shoes are ugly. I crapped on your bed. I am sorry. Please love me again. I didn't do it to hurt you. Only very, very troubled people enjoy inflicting pain. Like body piercers and tattoo artists. Right, Ariel? But by and large, as humans, we tell lies to avoid accountability, to spare pain, to cover our asses. How much is too much? Is it ok to tell my husband that I cleaned the house spotlessly and hope he never finds the bill to MerryMaids? What he doesn't know can't hurt him right? Why would I withhold information about a guy flirting with me online, unless I enjoyed the flirting, or somehow thought the inappropriate contact made him a good candidate for a family friend and wanted my husband to not hate him?

I have given to others almost as much grace as I have been given in my life. Some would argue that it was too much in both directions. For my part I cannot imagine withholding grace because I deserve so much for it to be withheld from me. Of all of the depraved human beings, who am I to judge another? I have enough to sort out in the hereafter with the Big Guy without needing to tattle tale on a bunch of other losers. Unfortunately sometimes too much damage is done to a relationship to salvage it. I understand this. It doesn't really mean there's no grace, but luckily as human beings we get to choose how we live our lives and who we surround ourselves with. Not like dogs or kids who are stuck with whatever fateful lot they are assigned. It's a crap shoot for sure. I know that I got damn lucky as a kid. And I know my dogs got damn lucky too. It only makes sense that my kids get to be damn lucky and I give a little bit of the thankfulness I have for the life I was given back to some other people. It isn't that mom and dad did everything perfectly - I have yet to meet parents who have. But they were surely selfless, and responded to the duty that they were assigned. This is as much as a child can ask for. Or a dog. Or a friend. "Freedom's not your right to choose. It's answering what's asked of you."

I have no control over the honesty, integrity, motivation or response to duty over any one but me. I have come to believe that dishonesty hurts the person carrying the lie exponentially more than the one being lied to. For all I am worth I hope to be the one who can own my mistakes, uncover my lies and be the person that the people around me need. And full of grace.

"and I would give up everything, if you were to come up clean, to see you shine so bright in this world of woe." 

Things That Make Me Cringe

I had a little run in with the teenage wasteland this weekend, in the sense that Kizzie came home from a Sadie Hawkins dance with a Hickey on her neck and Josh wanted to waste both her and her "boyfriend". Not quite certain how to deal with the scandal of the child, or the scandalized father, I reached out to the world of Facebook for answers, and I got some great ones.

I remember being 15 and so completely swept away by the emotions that I identified surely as love and devotion that ran as deep as my core and a boy a year younger than I was. It's like karmic de-ja-vu to watch my very-much-like-me daughter go through the same death throes of childhood and make decisions that are really embarrassing. Like when I was ignorantly wearing my ugliest full support sports bra the first time I got felt up, and he had to open his eyes to make sure his grandmother hadn't traded places with me. Or the time I showed up in church as a newlywed with so many hickeys that the resident holy-loud-mouth commented vigorously on the type of bed mate I must have been. Or the time I wrote that note to a boy that made me swoon with every one of his manly chuckles and I was riveted upon, yet so grossly spurned my affection. It's hard for me to freak out about One Little Hickey when I am torn with understanding WHEN exactly WHAT level of physical involvement is permissible? Advisable? Safe? OK? I mean clearly none of my daughters will ever be old enough for sex. Neither was I. Kissing? Is it harmless when you're 5? How bout 10? 15 it becomes deadly? 20 it returns to safe? Holding hands? That benign little gesture of affection. Oh Lord, I remember the sweaty palms and trembling excitement. I still get it sometimes when he grabs my hand unexpectedly and squeezes it to remind me that I am the One Thing That Consumes Him. I have difficulty throwing stones from my glass tower of do-what-I-say-not-what-I-do. A certain dad-in-the-picture has no such issue casting iron clad judgements from his throne of righteousness and never-faltering will of integrity soaked steel. Maybe he remembers too well what a boy of 14 is thinking. It's hard to swallow though, considering he paints a picture of himself as an innocent, shy and sincere 14 year old boy. I really can't decide whether the rebellious, hormonal, emotional teenager or the panic-driven, emotional,  losing the chokehold of childhood disciplinary control man is harder to deal with. I have no question that the motives of each of them is so pure that they can taste the pristinity. I have no doubt that he fears, agonizes, heart wrenchingly about her safety: mentally, emotionally, physically. And she longs for him, for me, for ANYONE to understand the depth of her swollen heart (for the record, I've already addressed this: Things That Don't Get Enough Attention). It's a story that is thousands of years old and the common theme to any story involving despair, insanity and death, trying to reconcile the compulsion of love with the consequences of physical involvement. The old adage of waiting for marriage sounds ideal, but I have yet to meet a couple that has both waited until their nuptials to consummate their passions, AND remains happily married with a solid sex life. I am sure they are out there, I just haven't met them yet. Conversely, some of the most solid couples I know are still not married. But what is marriage? A certificate from the state? A covenant before God? A nod of approval from the father? And how does any cultural understanding of marriage suddenly make physical intimacy safe and good and whole? I would contest that sex is dangerous at any age and with any person and should be handled as tenderly as fine china. Obviously this advice springs from lessons learned painfully. All of my china got broke. Bad. If anyone has answers to these questions and at least 16 examples of the good fruit, please email me. Seriously.

I should have seen the signs back then I guess. When will they make an anti-grow up drug?

Since I have no answers, and the ones from Facebook were all over the place, many excellent in totally opposing ways, I decided to just have a chat with the boy who inflicted the scarlet mark on my daughter. Publicly, via Facebook. Which was cheating a little since he and I are not FB friends (yet). I was fairly confident that he would see it, especially since I posted it on his "girlfriends" wall. I was concerned with the reaction Josh was going to (and did) have about the hickey, ahem, "curling iron burn" and decided to beat him to the punch by denouncing it publicly and slightly tongue-in-cheek to try to temper the temper. It didn't really work, because I got a very throaty lecture about having no standards and not having control of my kids, blah blah blah blah.

Anyway, here is the Facebook appeal to said boyfriend to pretty please, back the frack up off my kid:

Dear Boyfriend of my 15 Year Old Daughter:
Last night Kizzie came home from the Sadie Hawkins dance with something on her neck that appears to be, for all the world, a hickey. Of course Kizzie is insistent that it is a Curling Iron Burn, which is fascinating since the only curling irons in the house are purely decorative as they haven't worked in at least three years, and we just keep them to jazz up the back of the bathroom door. Assuming it is NOT, as Kizzie insists, a hickey, and believing it to be a Curling Iron Burn, my only thought is that you must have inflicted the injury on her neck with YOUR curling iron. Clearly one does not come by such perfectly flowing locks without a little mechanical aid. That being said, I am going to have to ask you to be more careful with your curling iron in the future, at least until Mackenzie learns to treat such wounds with ample amounts of cover up. Don't get me wrong, I really like you a lot. Which is why I stopped Kizzie's dad when he emerged from the basement in his stealth tactical medic suit, complete with drug kit and several tubes of superglue, for which I can only IMAGINE his intended use, to head to your house for a friendly chat. The last person that I saw him outfitted in this manner for ended up with his hand glued to his mouth for a few weeks. Josh was nice enough to leave a hole for a straw so he could still get liquid nourishment, so at least you wouldn't have starved. The after effects from his knock out drugs are nasty, though. I managed to talk him down and convince him that every body has curling iron accidents now and then, and it won't happen in the future, I AM SURE. I am really glad that you like our daughter so much and take such good care of her, so we can certainly forgive ONE little slip up. Take care and have tons of fun at the next dance. In 2017. 
yours truly, 
Kizzie's mom

It probably won't help, but it's worth a shot, right? I am beginning to think that I really suck at this mom/wife thing, since I currently have 3.5 people ticked off at me. Some for being too strict, some for not being strict enough and some just for fun. Maybe I should really devote myself to the peddling of designer jeans. I could probably be good at that. All I really know is that the sun is out, my random playlist of crazy music is fun, and I am ready for some warmer weather and potato salad. 

Things About A Paid Vacation

Every year, for a week in April, the federal government pays for my time and food and lodging to get 40 hours of the exact same training that I got the year before. It's great repetitive information, which facilitates napping and the accomplishment of many overdue tasks. I have spent most of this week setting up a Hydroflask fundraiser for Aspen's Irish Dance competition and catching up on the Facebook world that has been sorely missing me. I've also been reading the news a lot, which has been a terrible thing this week. I told Josh that if we hear news of one more catastrophic explosion, we are moving back to a remote corner of Steven's County - maybe we will join the Love  Israel family this time. They have more wine and a croquet league. There have been moments this week when I have been tempted to imagine the end of the world taking place one fiery blast at a time, creeping quickly across the nation. It only makes sense to go and live in a place that most people would rather not visit, much less waste valuable explosives on. Northport is the logical choice. Josh has not been sold on this idea, so we are once again looking at the Wenatchee area. We can't go for a year, so I just hope that Bend isn't sighted in for any attacks between now and then. I figure we are probably safe until next ski season - which is theoretically Bend's biggest tourist season. Truthfully I think that beer drinking is the regional sport of choice for central Oregon, and given the burgeoning industry of beer garden/fire pit outdoor seating at the brew pubs, maybe summer is going to be a threat as well.. a random explosion near Ten Barrel's patio would be devastating on a massive level, as I have seen what appears to be several thousand people congregated there on a regular basis.

In spite of the national tragedies, our week "off" in Hood River has been a much needed recuperation, involving too much wine, not enough hot tub, and food that I will be cursing next week in my daily bathroom scale entanglements. but it's sooooo good! I have been trying to make sure that I have Josh finish off at least the last 10th of most of my meals so that I can convince myself that I didn't eat The Whole Thing. And I am also pretending that my calorie counter app (hateful thing) doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work, if I don't ever turn it on.

You'd think that this week being a week "off" and having few to no physical requirements put upon me, and considering that I have been as close to pain free for the last couple weeks, that I would be enjoying a reprieve from the nagging pain that constantly reminds me I still own a uterus. Instead, thanks to that "little too much wine", a hefty sampling of local beers and some imaginative tequila mixers that The Adorable Bartender/Husband concocted, in true Liv form I felt the need to express myself in a wild assortment of dance moves, cartwheels, underwater acrobatics and other bizarre antics that I have left me in a newly re-invigorated level of pain that makes me shake my fist at the God of Eve who decided that women should be perpetually punished for her stupid mistake. One apple, girl. Let it go.

Other than all of that - I am  so entirely thankful to have a week off, with my boy, that is making us more money than it's costing us (this is rare in my employment situations). Apparently I am so relieved that it completely escaped my mind to tell Susanna, who is riding herd on the girls this week, that Aspen had Irish Dance practice Tuesday night. This would be pretty bad all on it's own except that I was doing absolutely nothing on Sunday and forgot to take her to dance practice myself. Pretty sure her teacher decided we had died or skipped town because the stress of three practices a week was too much, but I was trying to make amends with the hydroflask fundraiser. Needless to say I have already told Susanna about tonight's practice, so if she forgets to take her, I can disavow all responsiblity.

All of that being said, go here: hydroflask 21 oz standard mouth, choose your color,for $24 or just get a PINKADELIC flask engraved for $26. All profits go to helping Aspen's Irish Dance team to Anaheim for the Irish Dance National Competitions in July. You can order through me, I take checks and/or Paypal. I can ship to you, or deliver if you live in Bend, Olympia, Spokane, Colville, Northport, or plan on seeing me anytime this summer. If you do not already own a Hydroflask, they truly are the BEST of all of the stainless water bottles that I have tried. They really do keep cold cold and hot hot for 20+ hours. They're amazing. I have even dropped mine on the ground, out of the truck repeatedly, and broken the lid - Hydroflask has replaced it without question twice. I can't speak highly enough of these flasks. And not only are we selling them slightly below retail, they are benefitting the cutest Irish Dancer ever! Win/Win! Buy one, or ten. They make AWESOME gifts. They also make awesome transportable hot tub drinks. We've tested it thoroughly.

Things To Do

For some unexplicable reason, the words to the Mt. View NJROTC chant have been stuck in my head for the last few days. Really only two phrases: highly motivated, truly dedicated - and I am not even sure if that's exactly how it goes, but it won't go away. I really only heard it once or twice last year, when the NJROTC was still a thing. I don't think the cadet corp even uses it... I will have to ask. I think that the refrain is haunting me because I am lacking motivation, and dedication toward my duty, and my subconcious will not allow it.

Today is almost like a day off. I only work five hours and not until tonight at 4. And on this almost day off, I am leaning  heavily towards replacing my slightly overwhelming to-do chore list with a to-do play list. I wonder what the long term consequences of trading house cleaning for a pedicure, or eBay listing for a nap. Or laundry for a shopping spree... ok, that one is probably ill advised, both because I need clean clothes and don't have money for shopping. Or a pedicure for that matter. But I do have all of next week to sit in a hot tub and aren't pretty toes a prerequisite for public hot tubs? I am pretty sure that I read that somewhere. I had planned on sleeping in today, until 6:50 when Natalee reminded me that her cello needed a ride to school. It was a smart play on her part, since all of my grumbling was thereby directed toward her cello during the 7 minute drive and 8 minute wait in stupid school morning traffic. In fact, the cello was informed that it was no longer welcome to go to school but would be kept at home, reserved for practice, if it continued to drag me out of bed at such ungodly hours. I feel like it wasn't listening. But I am hoping that Nattie can relay the message more poignantly. So now since I have an extra couple of morning hours to waste, I can totally justify a nap, right?

Rarrr. Ok. Highly motivated. My eBay piles are calling. As is my un-boss for a lunch date. Which means frivolous time later and busy work now. Truly dedicated. I hardly recognize my own house, it's been so long since I cleaned a single counter. I did  try to do some laundry last week, but the ultimate result of my thoroughness was a complete lack of towels in our bathroom which meant that Josh was forced to drip dry in the cold mornings. My bad. That whole follow-through thing eludes me some days. I got them washed, even into the dryer, and then - SQUIRREL! Oh wait, that was work. It wasn't until I stumbled out of the shower yesterday morning onto the cold tile and immediately saw angry red at my irresponsible husband for taking ALL of the towels to some unimagineable location and leaving me to shiver nakedly.  As I hollered for Aspen to come down and locate me a towel, I realized that the vortex that had actually swallowed all of my towels was my own laundering fail, but I still had to talk myself out of blaming Josh. What good is having a husband anyway if you can't blame them for stuff?  Poor, poor, slightly hypothermic man. 

Highly motivated. Getting off my rear end. Gonna put on a bra and get after this day. If I work really hard for awhile maybe I will forget that I don't get paid to do my own chores and I will feel like I can afford a pedicure. Truly Dedicated. I'm just not prepared to get out of my sweatpants yet - so it's a good time to crank out some productivity at home, right? Watch me go and kick the booty of both my work and play lists. And maybe just a little shopping...

Things That Are Contradictory

It's almost like I don't have a life. Or I have too much of a life. It really depends on how you define life. I guess I have come to a point where to me, "having a life" means having as much time as you want to drink wine and gossip with friends, as opposed to having a successful career with a 6 digit income and other forms of financial status symbols, like owning my own house or having college funds for all four of my kids, or being the chairwoman for a global charity or something. Maybe my priorities are skewed. Maybe I just don't get what "life" is all about. I saw a quote by somebody smart that I can't remember earlier today that said the purpose of life was to create and share. I would like to assume that means creating AWESOME stories and sharing wine with my favorite people. So, all of that being said, it is almost like I don't have a life. Two jobs, even part time, and a bunch of other commitments leave me lacking the leisure time that I have come to crave. And to top it all off, my faithful husband is putting in longer days at work and I feel like I never see him. Or my kids. Or my dogs, which may be the Very Worst Of All, especially when I walk in the door and Dagny is sitting at the top of the stairs with her eyes big and her ears back disapprovingly, as if she knows I am not going to be home for enough time to cuddle properly, or even to help find her squeaky pig, which has been missing for at least two and a half days. And poor Josh. I see him so rarely that he has been extra nice to me, but that might be because I haven't had enough time to shop nearly as much as usual.

All that aside, I guess I am enjoying my non-life. I like my new job and the challenge it provides me on many levels. Working for commissions gives me the chance that I have been missing to determine my own reward for the hours I put in. It requires me to be proactive and assertive about my place in the store, and with my teammates. I think it's a little funny that we are called teammates in a competitive setting where assisting another player to a win results in lost commissions for ones self... Even so, the people I work with seem to have a good handle on personal  proactivity and relationship preservation. It will be interesting to see things unfold at this job. I am enjoying it now, and will ride that wave as long as it will carry me. For a minute, having two little teeny weeny paychecks almost makes up for having no life, until I calculate that the paychecks combined equal less than my phone bill or my car payment or the last outfit I bought at work... dang it.

I definitely am feeling the lack of depth to my existence these days. Feeling out of touch with the facebook world, which, for better or worse, might be the best representation of a social life that I have. I don't have time to sit and drink coffee and think of profound things to blather about, which makes me feel like I am missing out on something important in my life. As if anything I have to say is really vital to the race of mankind. Isn't it strange in our world how the things that "matter" can also be the things that really tear you away from the things that actually mean something. My whole life I have rebelled against the wife-and-mother death sentence that was pressed upon me from my most formative years. Now I find myself in a quandary between fulfilling (and somewhat happily) this long-rejected role, and kicking and screaming my way to pseudo-independence with my pitiful jobs and stubborn need to convince myself, if no-one else, that I am self-sufficient. It's really quite funny when I step back and look at the fact that my employment has never accomplished any more than justifying my shopping habits, and without the financial support of my Devoted Husband, my children would be starving and homeless. God knows their own father doesn't chip in enough to cover the toilet paper and maxi pads they go through. All of my prideful pretenses about being self-sufficient are nothing more than a cover for the hours I work to make just enough to cover my own expenditures on non-necessities. To admit this is painfully humbling. God forbid Josh ever read this. I want to help, really I do. But I also want to buy things. I want to justify my buying with my hard work, but when my hard work barely produces enough hourly to cover the non-necessities that I seem to think I need, one has to question whether I really have a clue about what is important in life. Granted, the non-necessities that I am transfixed on this week can be easily translated into realistic needs - like jeans for Josh, since he has only 1.5 pairs now that are not completely missing their crotches, and a pair of boots to wear at work that have air cushioned soles (yes. ok. they are doc martens.) and would REALLY help my back. I actually have an entire wardrobe picked out for Josh, including hybrid shorts (in case you didn't know, Nike bought out Hurley and makes Dryfit hybrid shorts that are AWESOME for golf/beach/date night... whatever) Sanuks, jeans and a couple of t-shirts that he will look um - YUMMY in. This is hard, because my paycheck tomorrow is already slated to cover a Scentsy order that will pay back within the next couple of weeks, meals in Hood River next week (which will be reimbursed eventually) and a small pile of treasures back at Pendleton that are quietly, pervasively calling my name... Oh yeah, and an overdue phone bill. Blast. Priorities really suck. Priorities like food and gas and a working telephone for children who are stranded at track meets to call you on. And wine. There is always the basal need of wine. Luckily, I found Rex Goliath Free Range Red at Food-4-Less tonight for $3.98 a bottle. It helps settle the necessity vs. luxury issue when necessities like wine are so reasonably acquired. Now to get ultra bulk discounts on tampax, ibuprofen and peanut butter.

But now, since I have polished off my first bottle of Free Range Red and I am not even in sweatpants, I need to remedy this plight and get on with living my life tonight - which involves another bottle of wine, a million Dagny kisses, relocating a squeaky pig and maybe slide tackling my neglectful husband who has replaced me with a new MacBook and a paint sprayer. For the record I already had a prolonged conversation with a hyper-emotional 15 year old, put curlers in a (finally showered) 9 year old's hair, forgave the 13 year old for using salt instead of sugar in her latest chocolate chip cookie attempt and thereby wasting the last of the chocolate chips, and allowed the 16 year old to escape to a high school talent show without doing her chores. I also made pork fried rice and cheater egg rolls (costco freezer style) for dinner which won me accolades near and far, even if it was at 7 o'clock, since I had to race to Irish Dance class directly after work. Tonight feels like Friday night, partially because I have had a whole bottle of wine and partially because I don't have to work until 4 pm tomorrow. I almost have guilt about this. The work part, not the wine. It's only $3.98 a bottle. I think I will have another. And get on with this living thing...

Dear Jesus: Things That Are Awesome

I have a new job. To be clear for my entire audience (which consists of three obligated relatives) my boss at my old job, who doubles as a buddy of mine, will undoubtedly be reading this at some point, which casts a necessary bias on my storytelling.  Whether my new boss would ever read this is a point of some imaginative contention, since I have eavesdropped enough to discover that he is on Facebook and is at least networked with employees from other locations of the business, but I have yet to determine if he has any social life beyond the store that he has poured his life into. I am absolutely undecided about whether this new venture into the retail world is my dream job or my ultimate nemesis. 1.5 days in, I was ready to throw the towel in and concede the victory to the 18 year olds vying for top teammate.  now I am at day 4, and  I almost enjoyed my shift.

Most of you know that I worked at Costco. Most of you have seen Employee of The Month.  Other than the bad ass forklift-accessed forts, if any current or former Costco Employee tells you that this movie is not almost dead-on accurate - they are lying. Probably because they never made employee of the month and/or were never Jessica Simpson and/or got to take Jessica Simpson out. Every male in the warehouse will protest that he is the Dane Cook of his warehouse, and 98% of them are realistically the Dax Shepard of the warehouse. Obviously, in my three seasons at two different warehouses, I was the resident Jessica Simpson - new employee transfer with the looks (substitute personality?) and cashiering skills to score me a good flirt with any guy in the store, but with one little flaw: What J.Simpson did for that movie in her jumbo ears, I quadruplicated in offspring for real life. I was entirely dateable and desirable - with A LOT of kids. Anyway, all of  that rabbit trail was mainly to point out that the retail (wholesale) world is largely in real life what it is in Hollywood - ridiculous and full of drama.

I wasn't sure how this job was going to work out until I realized that I just needed to imagine a big invisible teleprompter in the sky to cue all of the speeches and pitches and "Power Statements" that I needed to deliver through the course of a day. It took about 3.5 days for me to figure it out. Then suddenly the lines  started flowing freely off my tongue as if I was born selling jeans. Part way
through my last shift I felt like I was one of the chorus performers in High School Musical, and was expecting to burst into song and perfectly choreographed dance routines around the tables of jeans. This job is scripted. If the 6 hours of training videos didn't clue me in, I must have been dense. This corporation has it figured out, in recruitment, in training - they are a highly organized program, that must be fairly successful... the high turnover rate at this store has me a bit curious, but both past and current employees proclaim the greatness of working there. So we shall see. Maybe the first week is like hell week, and once the actual performances start it gets way easier?

Heaven or hell, the cumulative total of work hours has pretty much put the kibosh on any fantasies I had of a life of leisure. Due to a scheduling conflict I had yesterday, I ended up with a miraculous day off, which I used to let a few people know that I was, indeed, alive, list a million pairs of panties on eBay, and cook some amazing appetizers for the first of four combined Scentsy/Thirty-One/Paparazzi parties which I had volunteered to host. What the hell is the matter with me? As we get closer to summer and claw our way out of the financial hole I have created, I plan to phase out Scentsy, eBay and any other superfluous actvities in my agenda so that I can get back to important things like floating the river and riding my bike to Cuppa-Yo. But for now - I have a job to get to. And then another.

Things That Are Discouraging

Once again, my heart was bigger than my budget. I was so excited to take on Japanese exchange students and daydreaming about all of the American fun we would have - the time has definitely been American but not so much fun.

I feel terrible for the burden that has fallen on Josh to run 7 kids all over the place (Sanna has been a huge help) while counting every penny out of the ash tray for gas. Starting a second job this week, which has also been one of the worst on record for pain, was another over-optimistic idea of mine. Turns out 46 hours of work don't leave time for sightseeing and making my fabulous recipes for these three girls that we have, who are, incidentally, very sweet. Also - I'm missing some of the last JV softball games of the season. Not that I've made it to any. It's like I don't even love my kids.

On top of everything, I have mismanaged the money to the tune of three overdraft charges, an empty tank of gas and the temptation to borrow money from my 13 year old. Didn't I leave these days way behind me? Apparently my financial tendencies have clung to me like Ruth from the old testament: "whither thou goest..." I should be more upset with myself but its as much as I can do to crawl into my couch after 10 hours of work and die, so a thirty dollar overdraft seems petty. When did I become such a huge baby? I want to stamp my foot and throw a fit, but when I tried that last week it didn't go over so well.

On top of everything, my back is out awesomely, and one of my kids had the bright idea to bring home a cold from school and share it. So now we are all coughing, scratchy throated grouches. So much for my awesome menu. I hope these girls like burritos! Hey, they're American! Wait...

Things That Bark

So I am in the process of researching, once again, the best route to proceed with feeding the menagerie of dogs we have collected. It turns out that the nutritional needs of dogs have nothing to do with breeding, size or appetite. You would think that the more you pay for a dog, the less you would have to invest in caring for it, right? Kind of like a car. You get what you pay for. You spend $200 bucks on a rig and you can bet you'll spend the other $20K in shop bills. But with dogs, I have found the opposite to be true. If you pay $600 for a dog, that dog will also require extensive shop bills and a grocery tab that rivals your nine year old child. Incidentally, I am not talking about Dagny here. Anyway, with Truck's weight issues (I hope he's not listening, he's so self-conscious) and Emmy's skin issues and Dagny's eating anything she finds issues, we've run the gamut of pet foods from Ol' Roy to some boutique stuff I can't even pronounce. Since I found Josh, he has helped tremendously in the shedding of pounds from a certain pudgy hound, but ever tightening budgets have required us to diligently hunt down the best/cheapest way to feed our needy creatures. I have fantasized about making homemade, healthy dog food during my domestic binges, but have read that it's hard to get a good balance without ordering a certain cookbook, and we all know how well I follow recipes. After much research, including sitting through a somewhat tedious video on Dr. Mercola's website, and a long string of field trials, these are the winning options for our prized possessions:

OPTION 1: If we were rich, which apparently Emmy is, since she is either on a constant diet of this or hot dogs, we would feed all of the dogs FreshPet Select. I can't find mention of this food by Dr. Mercola's vet, Dr. Kathy Becker, which is either am ominous sign that this stuff is so bad that it isn't worth mentioning, or it cuts into the market for her pet food cookbook when you realize you can buy it for $12 a roll at WalMart. This is the only food that we have found that Emmy consistently does well on. This is the dog that could scratch all night long, setting world records for Cocker Spaniel Scratching Times, which happened around Christmas, while she was sporting the Jingle Bell Collar. The Jingle Bell Collar is another important investment for the torture/punishment of angry teenagers, until they figure out that they can remove said collar at 3 AM after 6 hours of constant jingle, and hide it under their pillow, where it is rediscovered around President's Day. Anyway, this itching of Emmy's finally and only goes away when she is eating FreshPet. She likes chicken best. Or I like chicken best. The beef smells, well, BEEFY after a few days in the fridge, and I am not super ok with that. This is also the food that Truck lost most of his bulk on, but at the time we thought we were rich (must have been fire season) so it was nothing to drop almost $100 a month on dog food. Which, realistically, is not that much more than we spend on option #2. Also, the dogs REALLY like FreshPet - probably because it's refrigerated, soft, and there are colorful chunks of real vegetables so they think they're getting leftovers every day. As if I would eat anything with peas in it. Gross. I researched the ingredients, and not only were they all pronounceable, but I actually knew what they all were, and would eat them myself - except for the peas. As far as I can tell, this might be the best and healthiest thing out there to feed your dogs. Dr. Becker recommend a fresh, balanced diet for dogs over any other - and notes that most homemade foods are not balanced nutritionally for dogs (hence the need for her cookbook). She also describes the effect of dehydrated (dry) foods on the body systems of a dog, and it is one of her least favorite choices for them. FreshPet is 73% moisture, which is vitally important for dogs with Kidney issues and urinary tract problems. The only problem I have with FreshPet is the price, and mostly because Truck should get a pound and a half a day at his size, which adds up QUICKLY. A 6 pound roll of FreshPet costs $13-15, depending on if you can overcome your pride and go to WalMart to get it. Other downsides to FreshPet are the refrigeration requirement, daily slicing and dicing (Emmy won't eat it in larger than 2 cm  pieces) and remembering to buy it every week. It does not freeze well, we tried.

OPTION 2: There is no getting around the convenience of dry dog food. Although Dr. Becker says this option is in the low-middle of her preferences, there are some brands that use human-grade food and are well balanced, however moisture deficient. The best of these I have found is Acana - a Canadian company (those Canucks get a few things right...) that makes a whole-food, real-food, dry-food that is only 20% starch, which is pretty good for a kibble. Again, I like the chicken, or Plains (they market it according to enviro-regions) because the Ocean one smells too Oceany. This stuff is pricey - $56-76 a bag, which last us a little more than a month. This is food that Truck does well on. Emmy still seemed to itch but I think this month I am going to give it another run with her to see how she does... Acana created a new line called Orijens that looks even better, but I am going to price that out today and probably give it a whirl. To have all three dogs (maybe four?) on one food that meets everybody's needs would be RAD. Dagny's needs are fairly basic. Food. She seems to do well on everything so far, partially because she's little and made of rubber, and partially because she's not old enough to know better. At this point all we really know is that she prefers whichever food is in the other dogs dishes. Acana makes foods suitable for all life stages, which is nice. It doesn't require refrigeration, is easy to ration and is slightly cheaper than the cold stuff. If we can keep the water dish full, the dehydration isn't such a compelling issue, but apparently most of us are allergic to refilling the water bowl. Truck has gotten really good at making sure his collar clangs against the edge of the metal bowl as he licks the dry bottom to get our attention. This is our go too food when we aren't dead broke but don't have the time and money for FreshPet. We get it at Bend Pet Express, and they have a buy 12 get one free deal, but a couple other stores in the area carry it.

OPTION 3: There is a local company here in Bend called Orion's Choice that makes a decent, mostly healthy food. It is less than $40 for a 40 lb bag, and they deliver it to your door. This is super convenient, unless you forget to leave a check for them under the door mat, or forget to call them until three days after you ran out of food, etc, etc. They will even pick up the empty bag and recycle it for you. The ingredients are, overall, recognizable and healthy. It has more filler than I like - but it's decent fillers like oats and rice and lots of protein. Moisture is only 10%, so again, hydration is a big thing, but for the price, if you're gonna feed dry, it beats the heck out of Ol' Roy or Kirkland junk if you live in Central Oregon. I have really liked the customer service - I've talked to the owner at a trade show and over the phone, and they were nice even when I forgot to leave a check...

http://orionschoice.com

OPTION 4: This is what we have been feeding the dogs (minus Emmy) since we have been poor lately, and it has done ok, until the last batch, which seems to have unleashed a rash of the most heinous gas you have ever smelled. Nature's Domain Turkey Meal and Sweet Potato dry food has seemed to work ok for the dogs until this gas episode - I am not sure the food is to blame but holy moses, the other morning Dagny was sleeping behind my back and I awoke from a nightmare that I was suffocation in toxic gases, only to realize that I actually was suffocating in toxic gases. I think she burned a hole in the mattress, and I am pretty sure the smell is still lingering. Either that or my nostrils were stained forever with the smell. So I am reluctant to blame the food, which is similar in price to Orion's Choice, and pretty comparable ingredients - I would actually put it in close running with Orion's Choice if I could safely rule it out as the cause of lethal effluence. And it's at Costco. What is not to love about that?

This question arises as we discuss the possibility of adopting an oversized wiener dog from the breeders that gave us Dagny. She'd need some love - and help. Then our kid to dog ratio would be even...

http://www.bendweenies.com

Things I Should Change

I need to take a new direction with my rambling. Something more productive and less ego-centric. Not about anybody else of course, because that is just asking for trouble. My intent was always to start issuing forth profound and meaningful essays on where you can get the best products in any given field, according to my personal shopping expertise. Somehow I got sidetracked, yet again, by emotional fru-fru fluff that is mostly useless.

I promised when I started spewing useless knowledge that I would do an expose of accessorizing - the dos and don't according to the conventional wisdom of most 6th graders, but never really got around to it. My own eclectic fashion sense has been undergoing a rigorous and not always graceful transition since I got a job that requires "business casual" attire - I am still learning the ins and outs of this. For example, pants with drawstring waists apparently err on the side of "Casual", and denim is never ok. This is somewhat like learning a foreign language for me, since I have always assumed that denim was the universal language of style. This whole theory was thrown in to question when my Loving Husband informed me that my cherished denim couch was , in a word much nicer than his, distasteful. I thought he was wrong until I had to lower the price three times on craigslist to sell it. It would be nice to think that I have the edge on objective style taste, but as I watch my random of assortment of eBay auctions over the course of a week, it strikes me as very bizarre that there are 42 people in a bidding war over a semi-kitschy tote that I got for free from Victoria's secret. Maybe being "unfashionable" really isn't such a derogatory thing. The flip side of that of course, is the intentionally unfashionable sector, also known as hipsters. If it's mainstream cool, you'd better believe a hipster won't be caught dead in it. Victoria's Secret Anything? PuLeaase. We just got a line of hipster apparel at work, Pendleton has developed the "Portland Collection" which is so uncool, that it's cool. The first dead give away that something we receive in belongs to the Portland Collection is the question of gender. If you can't decide, then it's most definitely TPC. We have gotten some beautiful coats and sweaters that are technically classified as menswear, but we're already having great success marketing them to the 60+ female customers in our store, who are delighted to find out that a small is simply swimming on them. And there is a gorgeous blue and white shawl? scarf? wrap? that I seriously want - but I am not sure for what? A couch throw? A Sarong?  This guy pulls it off nicely:

The Portland Collection

Now don't get me wrong - I am all for unisex apparel, as warranted by my collection of wife beaters and Levis 501s, but some of this stuff is taking it a bit far. And coming from Pendleton's biggest fan, That's saying something. Boys, just don't do this, ever, ok?:

I am assuming this is a man since he has a beard, but maybe in Portland they are thyroid dosing for equal opportunity facial hair now?

These images are disturbing enough that I feel the need to purge my senses with a thing of beauty, and to indulge Pendleton in all fairness, I will share one of my favorites - and I don't care who/what you are, you will look good in this:

Buell Tribute Blanket

But back to Liv's Fashion Sensibility: or lack thereof - it is a frequent discussion topic at our house about whether or not Pendleton makes cool clothes at all. As long as my argument rests squarely on the foundation of the traditional men's wool shirt, I am golden, and I win. But enter the wide variety of seasonal lines, and I am sunk. Josh totally has it dialed in: Pendleton makes old people clothes. And I am not gonna lie, The Portland Collection is not helping my argument. Hispters are really just old people, early. The Pendleton Company itself maintains that it's customer profile is the 50+ demographic with traditional values and squishy checkbooks, but they are seeking to recruit a younger (but prematurely aged?) demographic, IE, the hipster. It is an untapped market that heretofore Thrift Stores and Estate Sales have completely cornered. Go Pendleton, you got this. 

As I have been required to dress like a casually professional adult for this job, it was obvious that my wardrobe needed revamping, and this time NOT from the Victoria's Secret Pink collection. I have picked through the Pendleton Women's Wear very carefully and come up with a handful of skirts, cardigan sweaters and a dress or two that don't make me feel like I am on my way to my own funeral. I have had NO success with the slacks at the store, which is a shame since we have at least seven million pairs there. The only pants, in fact, that I have found to work are some tweed trousers from Eddie Bauer that fit semi-well but swish a lot when I walk because of the lining. This noise never ceases to make me VERY self conscious. I milked the drawstring linen pants from Roxy until my boss forbade them, and then when she left I wore them again and was karmically rewarded by blowing the entire crotch out of them while I was on the sales floor. That's the problem with favorite pants, they're always breaking. I have another pair of Eddie Bauer cotton twill slacks that I love but they are a size too big, and I have searched everywhere for them, and even Eddie Bauer can't identify them, even though they are from the Fall '12 line. Weird? I should say so. My boss has been proud of me in recent weeks as I have finally started to wear scarves as accessories (vs. implements of utility for warmth and wrapping wiener dog puppies in) to work. This is primarily due to the discovery of an entire line of wiener dog accessories that I stumbled upon at Coldwater Creek. Holy cow. Pendleton, Eddie Bauer, and Coldwater Creek - I am like a less cool version of my mother! At least most of her wardrobe is Gap and Levis! Apparently this "business casual" crap isn't doing much for my coolness factor, if I had one to begin with. I hope that when all is said and done, and they lay me to rest, if I am not known for my cutting edge style, they can at least say that I had some bad ass blankets. And wiener dog scarves. 

don't worry, I have it in TWO colors.

Things I am (Not) Feeling

I quit caring for a minute. I mean, not about everything, and really it was more like several days. In fact it still is. Something in me is shut down and I am just lacking the, I dunno, WHAM! that I usually feel. My emotions went on vacation. In some ways this is a good thing, in other ways, not so much. Josh is fairly certain that I have left him emotionally for someone else, but sadly I haven't really cared enough to explain that I have left him for nothing. I told him last night that I think I subconsciously disengaged my emotions to avoid dealing with the pain that seems to be worse every day. I think if I acknowledged how much I am hurting (physically), my emotions would make me climb the walls or do something hysterical. I really hate complaining about my pain, or mentioning it at all, but especially for people like Josh who have to live with me every day, while it doesn't justify my a**holishness, it definitely explains it. I want to not say another word about how I am hurting, because I feel like one of those drug/attention seekers who has nothing better to talk about, but quite frankly, I don't. I must get over this. I must find something more compelling than my pain to think/talk/feel about. This is particularly hard since I am trying not to shop. As shallow as it sounds I get a certain endorphin rush from shopping, especially insanely good deals, that doesn't kill the pain but distracts me from it. But unfortunately, even if I hadn't taken a vow of shopping-celibacy, I have not a dime to spend anyway. I wish I could be the personal shopper for rich people. I think that would fix the problem. What in the world is wrong with me, that I get giddy when I get to shop? I am a very shallow person. God forgive me. Would that I could muster up the same excitement over cooking my family dinner or making my bed. I think right now I need a reset button. You know, like on the computer when it keeps freezing up and you just restart? Or the vacuum cleaner, when the brush stops spinning in the powerhead, and you have to cut all the hair out and then reset it? (this is a daily occurrence here. Is that weird?) I need a button to push to re-engage my emotions and my vision and hope and to kick start myself. Even a beer sampler and pretty divine mac n cheese at a new brew pub the other night didn't get me all riled up. And THAT is weird. By the way, check out the new Worthy Brewing  pub right here on the Eastside. Again, divine Mac N Cheese. So I guess it gets me a little excited.

I think I need a slap in the face or a jump into the cold Columbia right there at China Bend. I need to remember how feeling feels. I need to take the pain and use it as a reminder of how good not-pain is. For now, it's just one foot in front of the other, get through the day. I am not unhappy, or depressed. But I am not happy or excited either. I am just nothing. Is this normal? Am I crazy? Did I fry the serotonin producers in my head with one too many ibuprofens? I probably need to have a good cry, or something girly like that - but it's so non-productive. Did I turn Vulcan when no one was looking? What the heck is wrong with me? I think even Josh prefers the over-emotional drama queen that is Liv to this monotone zombie.

Anyway, I'll get back to you when I get back to feeling...

Things That I Believe: My Thesis

For some reason today has been the day appointed by the cosmos for me to come to terms with the theology I have chosen to subscribe to. The subject was broached with a challenge in Facebook, and as I mulled it over, and went to church, and stared at the words on the wall to the worship song, I needed to know for myself, where I stand.

For starters, lets get one thing clear: I believe in God. I believe God takes many forms in many cultures. I believe that God is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent. I believe that Jesus is God's son - in the same sense that I am his daughter, and have the same means of communication with God that Christ did. I believe the bible is an interesting cultural collection of anecdotes, wisdom and rules. I believe that the word of God (not to be confused with the bible) is living and present and speaks among us and through us daily. I believe God has as much to say to me through my kids or my heathen friends, as he does through a leather bound, gold edged book.

I believe our purpose for life is to use every breath to the best effect for every person. I believe that our destiny, ordained by God, is fulfilled by every choice, action and word that we make. I believe that sin is any transgression against natural law that results in pain or negative consequence for ones self or another person. I believe these consequences are the reminders we are given to redirect us and send us back on the path of blessing, which is fulfilling our individual destiny of making each day better for ourselves and everyone around us. This is the gospel I believe in spreading to the world.

I believe that God is love, and the best way we serve God is by being love to everyone around us.

I believe that heaven and hell are the promise of consequences here on earth, and ever after for rest and peace, or the opposite. I believe that the worst idea of hell is reserved for those who, without conscience, subject others to the painful consequences of violating the laws under which we function: natural, spiritual, emotional, social, cultural, psychological and relational.

I believe that everything happens for a reason, and we are given the tools that we need throughout our life to make the best of it and change bad for good.

All of this being said, I can be free to worship the God of Love and Master of Creation without being hindered by guilt about which rules I have broken according to Dueteronomy, Anne Byrd, or any other spiritual influences I have had.

I can respect and honor the beliefs of my family and friends in a literal messiah and an infallible scripture. I understand the desire for a script, a map to follow, a directive. I've never been one for directions. But I believe in relationship. If God says to me: don't do this, it's evil!!! I could care less. Evil sounds a little fun. But if God says to me: Don't do this, it hurts! I can receive that. Whether its me, or someone else hurting, it's a violation of why we are here on earth. God is the grace, the space, the love we need to make the right choices, the unselfish ones, the clean ones. God is the access we have to empathy, to hope and to vision. God is the bridge between our shallow selves and the wholeness of community.

At the risk of sounding blasphemous, I cannot reconcile myself with Christ as the Son of God, the only Way to Salvation, the Messiah. I believe God's story is so much bigger and more varied than that. That Jesus bled for our liberty from hell is great. But why don't we worship religiously at the foot of every soldier that has suffered and died, many just as heinously as Christ, for our liberties? Why is The trial that Christ endured more than any martyr in history for a different cause? So he was innocent. Blameless. How many innocent people have suffered. Free of sin? That depends on whom you ask. According to some cultures, Jesus was as depraved as any of us. If Christ bled and died for our sins, why are any of us subjected to painful consequences? Following that logic, my period should have ceased to torment me the minute I was saved. But then again, Christ himself said that he did not come to abolish the law - so we should still be confined during menstruation? Or we should be required to marry our brother in law if we are widowed? Or we should be stoned for being raped?? Which law remains? The laws against homosexuality? But not the laws against eating pork or being in public when you're on your period? It's a little blurry to me. And not for lack of reading. I'd love to hear other interpretations on this... Although I'm pretty sure I've heard them all.

I would call myself a Theist, in the sense of the early founding fathers, who believed that God granted us as humans, all of the tools to make our lives exactly what they should be, a blessing. Free will leaves it to us to decide whether we will subject good or bad consequences on those we come into contact with. Sure God can fix it. He's omnipotent. There are miracles. There is grace. There are keys - some of these we find in the bible, or maybe the Qran. While we're on the subject, if you're interested, I love the Old Testament. It's fascinating. I love the gospel of Luke. It's rich in detail and thus, drama. I hate Paul. He's a chauvinist and a pompous, self righteous ass. I see these same personalities in modern day pastors/disciples. I love the logic and insight of the Catholic GK Chesterton, the Protestant CS Lewis and the Presuppositionist Francis Schaeffer, and the Objectivist Ayn Rand. God speaks through many channels.

I know this violates the traditional literalist sensibilities of many of my friends and family, for which I apologize. I honor your belief and respect your choices. For my children I hope and pray that they find the path to God that grants them the fulfillment of their destiny.

But as for me - "my God and I don't need a middle man". We have a relationship. I talk to God more candidly than I would to most people. "Sometimes I use curse words when I pray." I don't care if he made the world in 7 days or 7 billion years. It's still amazing. This life is precious. That is universal. The interpretation of this religiously is cultural. We live in a Judeo Christian culture which means church on Sunday and a leather bound bible. I'm fine with that. And I'm excited to get back to where I can worship God without being hijacked by the guilt of Christianity and cultural norms. I'm ready to re-start this journey.

Recommended reading:

Orthodoxy, GK Chesterton
The Great Divorce, CS Lewis
The God Who Is There, Francis Schaeffer
Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

Things That Get Me Going

So here it is, 10:30 on a Saturday night. The kids have been banished to bed after finally watching Titanic with Ethan (who DID cry as promised), and My Boy is gone at a paramedic refresher near Hood River someplace. My older girls have been bemoaning the fact that they are the Only Teenagers Alive that haven't seen Titanic, as if I should bear the guilt of this cosmic, heinous crime for not allowing them to watch it. Really it just never crossed my mind to see it again after the first time, and didn't realize I was depriving my children culturally. I guess in the interest of their well-roundedness I can bear Celine Dion one more time. Somehow it sounded like a good idea for Ethan to make a big pot of coffee before we started the movie, and he put some cinnamon in the grounds that made it extra yummy, so I drank plenty. Even if I wasn't already on a pretty steady regime of sleeping pills I would probably be scrounging some up tonight.

I was/am in a lot of pain tonight, and after fake-shopping my way through several websites, where I filled up my cart and applied a bunch of coupons and then closed the page, I decided I needed to find another distraction for myself. I mean, not that Titanic isn't riveting, but despite it having been at least 16 year since I saw it (wait, when was that released?) I could still recite almost every line. I would attribute that primarily to the depth of the plot/script rather than my keen memory. Sorry Ethan. Any way, I started up a few chat conversations on Facebook, thinking that would almost be like socializing, but different. I think  I must have been monopolizing the conversations, because people kept telling me "good night" and "sleep well" and stuff like that right after I would send a 17 inch post. Even my Own Precious Husband wasn't responding. I am sure he was very busy studying. Something. So finding something to ramble about in this forum seemed like a good outlet, since blogger is a captive audience and he can't get away from me. I do have to keep saving my draft though because oddly enough the page keeps freezing. I half expect an error message to pop up: "Good Night. Sleep Well." And then the computer reboots itself. There are moments that I think I actually have something interesting to say, but then when I step back and look at what I have written it's a whole bunch of black marks on a white screen just reading out "blahblahblahblahblah", and I realize I should probably get to the point. Well, Mr. Blogger Bloggerson, I don't have a point in all this, except to prove that I can say anything I want to you and you can't ignore me. Not that you have ever responded to me anyway...

This week has been kind of long and dry for me, in a psycho-spiritual way. I think I am bored with all of the trying in my life. Trying to be cheerful, Trying to be a peacemaker, Trying to check my attitudes, Trying to make dinner every night, Trying to do the laundry, Get to work on time, Not let the house fall apart, Drink my juice, Take my vitamins, NOT take my pills, Take my pills, Do exercises, Will myself to Feel Better. I think I ran out of gas. But I am not entirely what kind of gas I take. Josh asked me the other day why I hadn't written anything and I just said I couldn't think of anything. He looked at me skeptically and checked me for a fever, which I had, and then he seemed content to let it go. I think he just missed being talked about in front of his back. It is now a cemented expectation that if I write something, anything, that I am required to tag him in my post on Facebook or he might not know that there is new material for him to read, and respond to in order to avoid getting yelled at for being neglectful. Because this is now a hard and fast rule, obviously I am rebelling against it and have even not shared some of my posts on Facebook at all, let alone tagging him, just so I can yell at him for being neglectful. It's not like it would be that hard to check my blog page every couple hours or something. I know he's always got his phone handy...

Those darn phones. I know I am the chiefest of sinners, but I am trying to institute some new standards in our home - phones have never been tolerated at the dinner table but somehow Ethan thinks now that he has his own chair he can use his phone when he's sitting there, regardless of mealtimes. I have tried to explain to him that his own chair is NOT the same as his own bedroom and he cannot do whatever he wants there, but ultimately I might need to paint over his name to get the point across. It doesn't help that I had to reprimand my other oldest child the other night at dinner when he made some feeble excuse about a client or some business related bullpucky that apparently couldn't wait until the Pineapple Curry was finished. I have also decided that said Eldest Child will pay for all of our eating out meals when he can't refrain from touching his phone during these times. If it's work related, then work foots the bill. Seems logical to me. We've instituted some new financial procedures around here and I am finding clever ways like that to work them to my advantage. Luckily I can rely on him to touch base with his beloved iPhone at least once during a casual lunch date. Or dinner date. Or any date. A few weeks ago at a birthday dinner for a friend we all stacked our phones on the table and the first person to touch their phone had to pay the whole bill. Yes I saw the idea on Pinterest, and yes, it worked. There were a couple of fake outs when habit nearly devoured economic interest, but everyone remained sane for the hour they were phoneless. I am trying to introduce this theory to Josh in small, incremental steps. So far he thinks I am totally kidding when I remind him to "be with the friends that are here" (also stolen from Pinterest), much in the same way he kids Ethan about "making good choices" every time he leaves the house. I am pretty sure that neither admonishment should be taken lightly. Obviously, I too have a lot to work on in this department, as I am constantly concerned with checking my eBay auctions and seeing if anyone commented on my latest Facebook post. I am an attention glutton. There is simply no way to deny it. The cellular telephone has awakened and nourished that greed in my soul for constant connection to as many people as possible, often at the expense of flesh and blood relationships sitting right next to me. Don't get me wrong, I am as un-anti-cellphone as they come. What we ever did before the iPhone is so hard for me to remember that I get a little weepy. It's like those foggy childhood glimpses of memory that are more smell and sound and a certain hue of color than any specific event. I know we got by, somehow... but I can't imagine it now. I am sure that all of my children would be dead and I would be homeless on the street if I didn't have an iPhone. Ok, that might be a little extreme, but it sure would be lonely hanging out with Josh and his iPhone all by myself.  If you can't beat them, make them sorry they ever made you try. That's what I say.

Well, the caffeine doesn't seem to be wearing off, but the extra dose of medicine I took tonight gave me a fearsome itch all over. Maybe it's time for some Benadryl and curling up in the fetal position with 16 pillows and a Dagny. I get to sleep in tomorrow morning, which is both exhilarating and terrifying, when I realize that I will probably wake up at 6:30 and not be able to get back to sleep. Maybe I will double my drugs tonight just to be sure. Or take another round when I get up for my 2 am potty run. Or the 4 am run even. Good lord I am getting old. This is embarrassing. Makes me glad Mr. Blogger can't talk back.