Why Is It Always the Beths?

Alternate post title: The Beth's Have It.

One of my very favorite people in the whole world is my friend Beth. She's awesome. A different Beth than the last one.

I met this Beth sporadically at random times in the life of the clergy of our diocese. She's an Episcopal priest and I'm married to one so we ran into one another from time to time. She knew Chris well and so we would be like, "oh yeah. We've met... uh... hi...???'

And then I became the interim missioner of the campus ministry at t.u. 
And Beth became the missioner there.
So we had some overlap while I "taught her the ropes."

Okay, I was supposed to be holding down the fort/teaching her the ropes/helping her transition/etc. But in reality Beth is one of the most intelligent capable go-for-it people I've ever met so she came in and took over (in a great way), and I would come to work at whatever hour I felt like, dump my hugely pregnant self into a chair in my office, eat queso, and read Harry Potter. You would think that this would have made Beth despise me. But it didn't. Now that I know Beth I'm pretty sure this is what made her love me. Had I been super-helpful and in her face and still trying to run the place she would have loathed me. I think the fact that I just let her take over sealed the deal. That combined with and all of the queso and Harry Potter. Being from Virginia Beth swears she has to now eat enough queso in adulthood to make up for the years before she moved to Austin. Yeah, see why we're friends?

Beth and I had no "becoming friends" phase. We went instantly to being BFF. We have a shared love of reading and she is one of the few people who can give me books and I don't feel like "oh crap... do I have to actually read this like homework now?" She is one of those people who can talk about anything. If I want to talk her face off about polar exploration she will listen attentively and (at least pretend) like what I'm saying is as fascinating as I imagine. She is up for an adventure pretty much all of the time so if I say something like "I was reading about Kenya..." she will tell a story about being in Kenya. Or sailing in Maine. Or climbing Mt. Everest during the 1996 disaster. Okay, I made that last one up.

Beth's awesome. And that's why on Sunday I found myself wearing her hand-me-down shirt and groovy patterned tights. Because I'm like the technically older, younger sister she never had. Which might be why she puts up with me.

Luckily we bamboozled her into being Nils' godmother so she's pretty much stuck with me for life.

Social Stressing Network

My husband sometimes (kiddingly?) accuses me of being "anti-technology." I'm actually not anti-technology at all. I just don't want a Kindle as I perfer the tangible feel and smell of a book in my hands. I like to turn the pages. Books bring me comfort in a way that technology never could. Plus, screens bother whatever it is about me that is inherently "migrainey."

You should also know Fahrenheit 451 is one of my favorite books. It's a quick read if you've never picked it up and it will freak. you. out.

So, now that we've got all that out on the table, let me tell you the latest theory I have for which I am going to be accused of being "anti-technology" *even though I'm not.*

I think social-networking might be women kryptonite.

Women by nature are social creatures. We are pack animals. I look at my facebook page and who's active on it? Largely it's women. Women tend to have friends as men tend to look at us blankly when we say thinks to them like, "who can you lean on in this?" or "which of your friends can you call for advice?" or even "who do you want to invite to the party?" When it comes to social networking, we have Mark Zuckerberg to thank for invention, but we have women to thank for driving the bus.

And women, let's face it, we are freaking emotional beasts. So, as I see it, expanding our social network has become problematic.

Recently I encountered two different women stressed about the same thing: letting go. I spent time with a mom worried about Pre-K starting because "it's the last year she'll be at home. Next year is kkkinnnnddddergarten!!!" (and this is a mom I consider really down to earth). Then I got home to encounter a friend (well, actually "friends" plural but we'll stick to just the one in mind) on facebook who just dropped her firstborn off at college. And it occurred to me, these two particular women don't know one another, but each one of them is active on facebook. They are in totally different phases of life and yet they are feeding off of one another's anxieties.

Worried about your kid leaving for college? Escape to facebook. Brew a cup of coffee, turn on the computer, plop down that metaphorical suitcase full of problems you lug around, and hit up your homepage. And what will you find there? Other people's insecurities just waiting to feed into your own. You'll find photos of newborns swaddled safely in the arms of new mothers wearing hospital gowns. Scroll down your newsfeed as you see dad's playing tee-ball with their little ones, first day photos of every age, and... hey... all of your own child's newborn photos are just one or two little clicks away. See it... right there on the left... that little folder icon contains in it years of photographs just waiting for you to weepily reminisce. An hour or so social networking and your rolling suitcase of worry is a little bit heavier instead of lighter.

Or perhaps you're a young mother. Your child spends pretty much all of her time with you, breaking only to hop in and out of preschool a couple of times a week. You are emotionally worn thin as you sleep little and are needed constantly. Don't worry, facebook is a great escape. Plop down on the couch with a Diet Coke and your own metaphorical hiking backpack of worry and flip on over to facebook. Note the number of times older friends have commented on your child's photo saying things like, "Keep them this young forever!" and "It goes FAST! Savor it!" Scroll through your newsfeed and worry with all of the mothers in agony over sending their children off to college or even worse... kindergarden. You get up to leave the couch and swing that backpack full of worry back onto your shoulder. Did someone add a few rocks into it when you weren't looking?

Moms, what are we doing to ourselves? We are worriers by nature. Yes, it is good for us to worry about our kiddos. That's what keeps them from playing in traffic. But enough is enough. I don't need to be worried about sending my four year old to kindergarten, much less college. I need to be worried about keeping her alive and well today. Period.

I'm not lessening the validity of these worries. I think that worries over "leaving the nest" are incredibly valid. What I'm saying is that long long ago in a galaxy far far away before facebook women actually turned to one another for support and advice. They didn't have the internet. If they felt anxious and worried, they turned to their elders. Now, thanks to the beauty of social networking, the elders are the ones making us anxious. You young moms know what I'm talking about - the friend of your parent that is constantly getting on facebook and telling young moms they barely know to "savor it" or "stop time." Boomers, we love you but you're killing us here. You are adding little pebbles of worry into our baggage, little notes of anxiety telling us that life is better here where we are now than it is there, where we will someday be.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that we shouldn't hide our concerns and fears or pretend they don't exist. I'm just saying that we need to be aware of the fact that facebook is a dumping ground for everyone else's stress and we don't need to pick up theirs. We don't have to delete our facebook accounts or hide from the internet. We just need to be careful to not add to everyone else's anxiety to our own.

Dumping your worry onto facebook doesn't make your worry go away. It makes everyone else anxious too. If you are worried about sending a kid off to college, invite over someone who has been there and done that and make them a cup of coffee. If you're stressed out over kindergarten, don't pour your anxiety over everyone who might also be anxious about that. Call a mom who has passed those days and pick her brain. Facebook is fun. It is social. But pouring out your anxiety on facebook doesn't rid your life of the anxiety, it just spreads it. Real life interactions with real life people, face to face or on the phone at least, that's what will alleviate some of your stress.

I can see all of this anxiety that facebook causes because I get sucked into it. But then I shake my head back into the present and remember that those are not my problems. I've got my own 1950s style clutch that I bring with my cup of coffee when I sign in to the internet, and it doesn't involve anxiety about college. Well, perhaps it does. But for now at least that folder is neatly labeled, fairly empty, and tucked in the back for later.

Smile, But Don't Nod

I recently had a political/religious conversation with a new friend. She shared her views, and I put on my best clergy spouse smile and tried to fully engage the conversation.

The thing is: we aren't close. We could be someday, but we haven't known each other long enough and this was our first conversation of depth. Unfortunately, (unbeknownst to her when she brought it up I think) it was a topic that we weren't going to see eye to eye on.

I really like this person. I really want to be real friends. I want to have conversations of depth with her. This was not the conversation though in which my well thought out opinions were going to have any impact on her. We just aren't at that level of friendship (yet?). I graciously listened to her. I spoke my mind about things I find to be "interesting," but didn't give a direct response (which she didn't ask for) on my political or religious view on the topic.

I got home and told Chris about the conversation and imagine that this is how her conversation with her husband went:

Her: I talked to Casey about {topic} for a while today.
Him: What did she say?
Her: Not much, now that I think of it...
Him: Then she probably disagrees with you and was being polite.
Her: Do you think so? But she's a Christian. She's the pastor's wife!
Him: What denomination are they?
Her: Uhhh... I don't remember... she calls him a priest though...
Him: Episcopalian?
Her: Yes! That's it!
Him: She's Episcopalian? What kind of car does she drive? Does she shave her legs?
Her: Huh. She has a Prius, and I'll have to check out her legs next time I see her.
Him: Honey, believe me, she definitely doesn't agree and was just being polite.

The day I bought the Prius!

I hope we end up good friends anyway!

The Rich Woman and Lazarus

There was a rich woman who was dressed in Banana Republic and carrying a Thirty-One bag who feasted sumptuously every day. And each day she got into her Prius and left her comfortable home in suburbia and drove past Lazarus.

She passed by Lazarus, a child in the projects receiving a crap education in a poor school district. She pitied Lazarus. But not enough to vote for education reform. Not enough to blame anyone other than the child's parents, who were also raised in the projects. Who were also given a crap education and no chance or money for college. Not enough to blame anyone other than his mother with her high school education working two jobs and statically doomed to make 64 cents to every dollar a white male makes. Yes, she pitied Lazarus. But not enough.

And she passed Lazarus in the prison cell where he, in her opinion, sat rightfully awaiting his death sentence. Without thought to the possibility of human error in the justice system, without thought of mercy, without thought of the right to life, without second guessing whether or not humanity has the God-given right to take a person's life, she had no pity for Lazarus. She didn't think of Christ's direction to visit those in prison. John the Baptist, St. Peter, and St. Paul in prison did not cross her mind. And she passed by Lazarus, thankful that he was locked away, saying, "Good. He got what he deserves."

And on her way home stood Lazarus with a cardboard sign, a cardboard sign of lies perhaps. But, nevertheless, there he was day after day. She felt a pang of guilt as she passed him by and debated whether or not to give him a hand out. But, there-in was her problem. Why should this man get a hand-out? She had to work hard to get where she was in life. No one gave her any hand outs. She saw not her white privilege or access to good education and health care. She thought not of all of the great jobs given to her because she knew someone and had connections. She thought not about the edge that money had always given her - the extra curricular activities her parents were able to put her in, the theater tickets they were able to purchase, the good health care, and the opportunities afforded her due to her relative wealth compared to that of Lazarus. She thought not of these things. In fact, none of them even occurred to her as "hand-outs" or "coddling" or even help. They didn't occur to her at all. Instead, she readjusted her air conditioner, turned up the radio, and compared herself to those with more than she. She thought only of those with more money, more expensive cars, bigger homes, and finer clothes. They were rich. She wondered how Lazarus always managed to find a Sharpie. Working to not meet his eye, she shook off her smidgen of guilt and passed him by.

Later that evening Lazarus set plates of steaming hot food before the woman's family. She never met her waiter's eyes, choosing instead to simply bark orders, never thanking him or acknowledging his existence, his humanity. No tip was left because of his "poor service" and she left the restaurant shaking her head and chatting with her husband about the fact that "no one knows how to work hard any more these days." She then went for a manicure where Lazarus carefully polished her toenails. She once again never looked into his face, choosing instead to talk on the phone, complaining to a friend about border control, "them", and finally, the sheer volume of toys she had to purchase for her children for Christmas this year.

Lazarus, covered with sores, longed to satisfy his hunger with even what fell from the rich woman’s table. At night the stray dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and after an unnoticed government cremation was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham.

The rich woman also died and was buried with no expense spared. The city mourned the loss of such an advocate for the poor and neglected. The rich woman's fundraising galas would not be missed for long, a new rich woman would soon step in to take over throwing expensive parties to raise funds for the disenfranchised.

In Hades, where she was being tormented, the rich woman looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. Still seeing Lazarus as one beneath her, she called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.”

But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”

She said, “Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.” Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” She said, “No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.” He said to her, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” 


That's how I read this story in Luke. And I can envision endless versions of Lazarus... which is why the story of the rich man and Lazarus scares the shit out of me. 

My Open Love Letter to Beth Bojarski

One day recently (so, like, in the last year or so) Kelly asked me to name people who have been largely influential in making me who I am today (obvious choices not included). Now, if you know Kelly at all then you know that this question was not one that merited a casual response. Kelly wasn't looking for an off the top of my head reply. She wanted an in-depth analysis of the most influential people in my life. Who were these people? How did I meet them? What impact did they have upon me? Give specific examples as to how am I living out that influence today. I don't remember if I passed the oral portion of the examination, but I've decided to submit the written part here.

Her question was intriguing. One I've thought about since that day. I thought about sending a letter to my most influential person, but I like the public nature of blogging. Plus, the drug my neurologist has me on makes my fingers go numb (an expected side effect) and thus lengthy letter writing will not be in my portfolio in the near future. It also makes for some interesting Bodypump classes - try doing a million clean and presses with numb hands. It's weird.

So... without further ado... surprise Beth! You are the first person that popped in my mind when Kelly asked me that question. Why? Because you are perhaps the person who I have most purposely looked up to and tried to learn from in my adult life. Surprised? Perhaps. Let me get everyone on the same page...

Beth was one of the first people I met when Chris and I moved to Virginia in 2006. The very first person in fact. She was our next door neighbor and was outside wearing a superman t-shirt and ready to help unpack our u-haul when we pulled up. She met us with a smile and a welcome basket from the seminary and a promise to always have an open door should I need to borrow an egg. Although... now that I type this out that was right around the time she went vegan... so... hmmm... Beth and a bunch of dudes unloaded our trailer for us and then sat down with a cooler of crappy beer and welcomed us to the neighborhood.

Getting a picture of how cool she is already?

Unfortunately for me, I met Beth before I had my "aha moment" in 2009 when I realized I was the "common denominator" in never making friends. *cough* More on that later if any one is interested. Or not. I'll summarize it for you: I had a moment of clarity when I realized I never made friends because I never tried to be anyone's friend. Tricky.

Fortunately for me, Beth is pretty damn cool and kept reaching out to me anyway despite my tendency to stay firmly put in my hobbit hole. So, here is how Beth influenced who I am today:

The first way that Beth impacted who I am today was a very specific occasion. Beth had a weekly gathering at her apartment (see, she knew how to make friends! sheesh) and at one such gathering the conversation turned catty. Beth was not one to normally partake in making fun of other people behind their backs (another thing I tried to pick up from her), but that particular night she said something rude. Who cares what she said? Who even remembered? It was just one comment among many that were said by a bunch of girls. The next day I found an email in my inbox from Beth sent to everyone who had attended. In it she acknowledged that she'd said something she regretted and wished that she could take it back. She apologized to everyone for hosting a party that ended up turning sour. I was 24 at the time so a bunch of girls sitting around and making fun of someone behind their back didn't seem to me like a party turning sour. That's just what a party was, right? {*see note above about how I did not yet know how to make friends at this time*} Beth's email in terms of my needing an apology didn't matter. But it changed my life! It was the first time that someone had reached out in reconciliation in that particular way. I knew that none of us needed Beth to apologize for her comment, she had needed to apologize. A year or so later I was at a party and made the same mistake. Sorry to burst your bubble people but seminary is a fish bowl. Seminarians say mean things when in a fish bowl. I found myself back home after the party and regretting the thing I'd said and the way I'd potentially made other people feel uncomfortable with my having said it (I'd made fun of a classmate). So, I took a page from Beth's book and sent everyone an email. And it was freeing. From then on I've done my best to always reach out in reconciliation when something is eating at me and that has been life changing.

Which leads us to my second point: Beth is one of the most genuine and openly honest people I've ever met. Perhaps the most genuine and openly honest person I've ever met. She is caring and compassionate and willing to share those feelings. But more than that she is willing to share the whole gamut of feelings. She doesn't hold back, but she does so in a way that is holy, in a way that invites others in and allows them to be a part of something holy. She showed me how to speak my mind no matter what the emotion. Being in school and a small group with Beth I saw her interact with a variety of people in a variety of situations and was amazed by her ability to voice her opinions in a way that didn't diminish the opinions of others. She stood firm in what she felt and believed, but didn't try to stomp on someone else's feet in giving voice to her thoughts. I saw her speak openly to friends when she was concerned for their well-being even if it was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. I saw her share her fears, her triumphs, her mundanes of life - and it was all beautiful - and I realized, that sharing one's life, one's whole life with people is in fact truly beautiful. Beth's ability to be so open and honest gave me the desire to live my life in the same way and it is something that since meeting her I have actively pursued. What I've found is that it's freeing and has opened new opportunities in my life for friendship and love. I have found that more often than not that sharing with people results in "me toos!" and closeness and community and friendship. Sure sometimes it's uncomfortable, vulnerability is... well... vullneerrabblee... but it's so worth it. Beth gets credit for teaching me that sharing one's full gamut of emotions allows others to share theirs and opens up new paths for friendship and depth and holiness.

On a lighter note, Beth taught me how to layer! Ha! Literally. With the first cold snap we had in Virginia Beth found me wearing a t-shirt and a coat. I remember very clearly her saying to me, "Can I ask you a question? Have you ever heard of layering?" And I've survived cold weather ever since. Turns out you can be in the snow and not be cold. Huh, who knew?! Perhaps every Texan needs a friend from upstate New York.

So, Kelly, there you have it. Beth Bojarski wins as the non-relative non-teacher non-obvious-choice for most influential person in my life. Hands down. No contest. No one else even comes close. Unfortunately for Beth the winner of this contest receives a none-expense paid trip to Tejas where they can revel in right-wing hysteria, eat large quantities of beef, and throw away unused paper products just to remind the trees who the boss is around here. I jest, of course... I jest... I'm kidding... a joke... right? *sigh* 

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

We've been listening to a lot of Pandora's toddler radio station lately so I often find stuck in my head lines like, "the mommies on the bus go shh shh shh… shh shh shh… shh shh shh…"

After a few years of this mommy gig I'm beginning to realize I’m just not that kind of mommy. At least not if we were on a bus...

I’m the kind of mommy on the bus who’s screeching “Stop licking the window! Everyone please chill out. Oh my goodness if you touch your tongue to that window one more time… ARGH!” I’m the kind of mommy who is busy picking boogers out of the crusted nose of what might appear to be a calf in the scramble at the rodeo but is in fact my one year old son. I’m the kind of mommy whose hair is cut short into a pixie that embarrasses my three year old daughter. The mommy whose unshaven legs peer out from between a pair of bright pink chino shorts and store brand flip flops. Red lipstick and a bandana tied around my head, I'm the mommy green and queasy, clutching a barf bag and wondering why I chose to take the bus. The mommies on the bus go shh shh shh… right. I’m the kind of mommy who drove the damn bus.

More Like Zeroes in a Half Shell... Am I Right?

This was Carolena's first Christmas to be really excited about something specific that she wanted from Santa. Last Christmas she was excited about the idea of Santa coming. This year she was excited about what he might bring.

This was also Carolena's first time to learn the hard way that Santa doesn't always bring what you want. Bummer. Turns out if you can't be persuaded to ask Santa for something other than a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bike and a live wombat, you're going to be disappointed. You'll shoot your eye out kid.

Come Christmas morning Carolena dashed out to the fireplace only to find a pink and white bike with flowers on it and a TMNT zippered bag attached to it. I could tell by her face that she was devastated. All visions of making the neighborhood jealous as she whipped down the street on her new black and green bike flew from her head as she stared at a bike with flowers on it. Flowers.

Carolena was insanely mature about the bike. I think she knew deep down that the wombat was a long shot, but the bike she thought was in the bag. We'd looked at bikes in stores all over town. She would stare at "the Teenage Mutant Turtle one" and tell me that was the one she was going to ask Santa to bring. She could not be persuaded otherwise. Unfortunately for Carolena, they don't make those bikes small enough for her.

They also don't make Ninja Turtle bikes for girls (uhhh... helllo?!?!) and as my mom put it, "have you ever fallen onto that bar?!" So getting the too big boy bike was not an option for Santa. Not an option at all. Except for when it was an option and in the shopping cart sleigh and then second thoughts crept in... but no, not an option.

She was a great sport about it though. She still acted happy and posed for pictures. There was no mention of disappointment or failure on the part of the right jolly old elf himself.

Later on in the day she quietly mentioned that while she had asked Santa specificially for a Ninja Turtles bike, he had instead brought her a pink and purple bike with flowers on it. Flowers, for pete's sake.

I think she had Ramona-esk visions of speeding through our streets on the TMNT bike, the envy of all other kids and these visions were destroyed by something in the form of pink and purple. Poor Carolena. It was a little heart-wrenching, but did make me think of my friend who told me recently that she wishes her parents had not raised her to believe that she could always have anything she wanted. This, she says, has led her to be thirty-something and just now having to learn the hard way that she does not and cannot in fact, "have it all."

So, yes, Carolena, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Carolenas. He might not bring you live animals from Australia or bikes that are intended for boys several inches taller than you, but thank God he lives and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Carolena, nay 10 times 10 thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

And, thankfully for mommies everywhere, making glad the heart of childhood has nothing to do with live wombats. Well, very little to do with them at least.

BOO!

Get ready Mr. Potato Head, I packed my angry eyes...

Yesterday we loaded up the fam and took a trip to one of my least favorite places on Earth: a warehouse store. Which, in Costco's defense, is many people's idea of heaven. For me, going into a huge warehouse of crap is mainly just depressing. That can be a ranting post for another day. Alas, the combination of my children's non-potty-trained hineys along with an empty diaper basket meant that a trip to Costco was in order.

As per the usual we quickly succumbed to the strange universe of the discount warehouse. What else do we need? We pondered the seemingly endless possibilities while Carolena yearned for the end of the trip when she could redeem her prize of looking through the toy aisles.

A huge clamshell of grapes, some dish detergent, and wine were all tossed alongside our haul of diapers, and then we were off to see the toys. As Carolena checked out everything, I perused the toys making mental notes of things that might be great for Christmas. It was then that I stumbled upon a display of costumes. Seeing an astronaut costume I dodged some oversized bears and dashed past the gaudy three snowman tower to check out the price.

I clutched the astronaut costume in my hands, happy with it's overall look and quality. I glanced up a the sign, $14.99 - cool. Then, I read the sign. "Toddler BOY costumes." Disgust came over every fiber of my being. The astronaut costume placed firmly back in place, I backed up to read the signage and found this:

Costco has designated all of these as the "boy costumes."

I snapped a picture, wrote up a comment, which in my opinion was ooooozing with sarcasm, and posted it to Facebook.
And to think I almost allowed my three year old daughter who loves space, watches youtube videos from the ISS, and knows Neil Armstrong's name and why he's famous to get an astronaut costume. Silly me. Luckily, Costco had the "Toddler Boy costumes" clearly labeled lest anyone get confused into thinking girls were good enough at math to be astronauts. Hm... perhaps a firefighter costume... oops... nope... those are boy costumes too. Sigh, what oh what is a toddler gal supposed to be for Halloween? Guess she'll have to go as a housewife again this year.

Perhaps I wasn't clear enough? Perhaps too many people merely skimmed my post instead of reading it? Perhaps the people who were confused are the reason bigwigs at Costco think women are too dumb to be astronauts? How could anyone have thought this was a post about Halloween costumes?!?!

Who the hell even cares about Halloween costumes? I care about the fact that it is 2015 and people are still telling one another that things for boys require brains and brawn while things for girls require tulle. I find it disturbing that this kind of sexism is still being engrained into this new generation.

Dear Costco, it is in fact possible for women to be astronauts. We should encourage little girls to dress up as astronauts and dream of going to space. Astronauts' suits are gender neutral. The dress up version does not need to be labeled as specific for boys.

Then, after my fb post, I found something even more disturbing - normal everyday (supposedly) intelligent people who thought my post implied that I didn't buy the costume because it was "for a boy." What? People actually do that?! People were under the impression that I had put the costume back because the sign said it was for a boy and I have a girl. They thought that my anger was at the fact that this suit was labeled for a boy and that they didn't offer astronaut costumes for girls. I've even gotten suggestions on how to make an astronaut costume for her. What the hell would that even look like? Pink? Bedazzled?

Let me be very clear: if Carolena wants to be a BOY for Halloween, she can. If she wants to wear camo shorts to school, she can. If she wants to dress like a boy every single damn day, I will let her. She can be who she wants to be. The problem isn't Halloween. The problem isn't what C will wear for Halloween. The problem has nothing to do with Halloween.

My children are being raised to be who they are. I want them to like what they want to like. Carolena loves snakes and alligators. She happily plays with trucks and trains. She plays dress up in tulle. She turns everything into her baby. She loves princesses, and dinosaurs, and (gasp) astronauts. She is who she is. I don't need Costco or anyone else telling her that some things in life are designated for boys.  As far as I'm concerned the only thing boys can do that girls can't is pee standing up. Men limit their gender in so many ways by designating things as "girly." Remember the age of sail when brave strong men had to be able to sew? Fine, limit your own lives, don't limit mine or my family's. That is what this is all about. Halloween is inconsequential.

This is more of a problem for girls than it is for boys. In the future, if Nils wants to dress up as Snow White then by all means throw on that costume. We've already got it. He can be whoever he wants to be. What bothers me is that society tells boys that they can be astronauts and firefighters and policemen while girls have to pluck those costumes from the boy department.

If you can't figure that out I can't help you. You are not smart enough for imaginary space walks. Please return your pretend astronaut space helmet and pick up a tulle skirt and fairy wings on your way out.

By Water and the Holy Spirit

There are many arguments in the universal Church for and against infant baptism. I think both sides make good arguments and ultimately parents have to choose what they think is the best decision for their family. For our family, that means we baptize our babies. 

The sign of God's covenant with Abraham was circumcision. This took place on the eighth day of life and in the words of one of my favorite seminary professors it was the liturgical equivalent of promising God, "we are going to raise this child in the faith and we mean it." Amen.

We are going to raise our children in the faith and we mean it. Amen.

Baptism is the sign of God's covenant with us through Christ. Unlike circumcision, it is inclusive for all people (Women! Holla!) and for that I am thankful. I believe that in baptism we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit and that is a gift that I would not deny my children. I certainly can't fully wrap my brain around baptism and the grace of God nor would I ever claim that. If complete understanding of that holy mystery is required for baptism then none of us could be baptized.

 

The Episcopal catechism (yes, we have one and it's awesome) describes baptism saying, "Holy Baptism is the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us member of Christ's Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God." As a parent, I willingly offer my own children to be adopted by God. We offer them with the hope that in our church family we will find a community of believers who will help us in our desire to raise our children as faithful followers of Christ.

My children received their first communions on the day of their baptisms and are welcome to share with us in that banquet anytime. I do not want my children to ever recall a time when the body and blood of Christ were denied them. I do not claim to fully understand the Holy Eucharist but what I do know is this: I believe that contained in the elements is the life giving Christ. I believe that Eucharist is a taste of the heavenly banquet. I believe that in sharing one bread and one cup we are united with the saints of God who have gone before us, live today, and will come tomorrow. I believe that the bread and the wine are holy food, and that is something I want my children to know they are always welcome to.

 

Nils Morgan, we receive you into the household of God. Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood.