Losing my religion

As if I didn't have enough to do this summer now I have to add "get excommunicated" to my list.

***

When I lived in Colorado Springs I worked at the Cadet Chapel at the Air Force Academy.  It was a great job.  I had a lot of fun there and I really liked the people I worked with.  With one exception.  I called that exception Father Butthead.  Father Buttead was a catholic priest and a thoroughly unpleasant man.  He was arrogant, rude to everyone around him and always smelled like stale liquor and cigarettes.  One day he got mad at me and another girl I worked with for not doing something or other and he called us "lazy fat-asses".  That was pretty much the beginning of the end for me.

 ***

I was baptized into the catholic church when I was a baby.  It's what people in my family did back then.  Most of my family isn't even particularity religious; it was just done out of tradition.  Out of my 21 cousins I think only one of them was not baptized.

My family was not religious at all and we never went to church.  Aside from what little information I picked up here and there at funerals and weddings and the like, I never was never really taught about the religion I was baptized into.  That was fine with me, I never had any interest in any of it anyway.

Then I started working at the chapel and I started to become interested in religion and the catholic religion specifically.  One of my jobs was to stand near the doors during Sunday services and keep tourists from coming in and wandering around.  My favorite services to attend were the catholic services.  This started because I had a major crush on one of the cadets who served as an usher during the services but eventually I became genuinely interested in the services themselves.

I liked the ceremony, the rituals, the music.  I found the whole thing fascinating.  I mean, how did everyone just know when to say "And also with thee" at just the right time?  And when to stand and when to kneel and when to sit?  Amazing!  I enjoyed it so much that I even started to attend the services even on the occasional Sundays that I wasn't working.

If you had asked me what religion I was at that point I probably would have said I was catholic.  I liked feeling like I was part of the  mystery and majesty of it all.  For an 18 year old still trying to figure out her life and herself it seemed like a pretty good thing to be a part of.

Then Father Butthead came to work at the chapel.  He took over the Sunday services.  Every time I would see him speak Catholicism lost some of it's luster for me.  This was a man who was supposed to be leading people towards righteousness?  He spoke about kindness and compassion yet he could barely summon up common courtesy for his fellow man.  I know a lot of the parishioners really liked Father Butthead but he really changed my thinking about religion (Catholicism in particular) and not in a good way.

Now I don't want you to think that this was a case of one bad apple ruining the bunch.  This man did not shape my views on religion.  He just helped bring into focus for me some of the things that I doubtlessly would have figured out on my own anyway.  As I got older I started to really examine what I believed and why I believed it.  Or rather, what I didn't believe.  I also started to become more skeptical and look at things from a standpoint of logic rather than faith.

By the time I was 24 there had been some major changes in my life.  I was living in Minnesota, I was married, I had a baby.  If you had asked me then what religion I was would have said I wasn't any religion.  (Full disclosure - Jesse and I were married in a catholic church but it was only because I really liked the building and I sort of liked the idea of a big, traditional church wedding.  I am a hypocrite, I know.)  I didn't identify myself as catholic and I thought that since I never went to church I was no longer a member of that particular club.

Then, like every one else int he world, I started to hear about the child abuse that happened within the catholic church.  Hell, it didn't just happen, the church allowed it to happen.  Encouraged it even by doing nothing more to prevent it other than to shuffle the abusive priests around to new parishes every few years.  I became curious as to how a culture of violence (yes, violence) against children could become so entwined with the catholic religion.  The more I learned the more appalled I became with Catholicism.  I'm not going to post links to everything I've ever read here because you're smart people and you know how to google (and if you choose to google I hope you read information from all sides of the argument so that you can come an informed conclusion) but there is a wealth of information out there.  

The church is anti-woman - their stance on abortion and reproductive care in general is horrendous.  They're anti-family - they strongly oppose marriage equality.  They're anti-child - do I even need to explain this one?

All of this is bad but a few days ago I read an article that really pushed me over the edge. (Found here.)  I'll summarize for those of you that don't like to click links.  A nine year old girl in Brazil was found to be pregnant with twins.  Her step-father confessed to raping her.  The girls mother took her to get an abortion.  The church excommunicated the girl's mother and the doctors who performed the abortion  but not the rapist step-father.  Their reasoning? "Rape is a serious crime but a graver act than (rape) is abortion to eliminate an innocent life.” And how did the church expect a nine year old girl to carry and deliver twins?  By c-section of course.

Try to wrap your brain around that.  Try to fathom the lack of compassion and basic human decency that would allow the church to take that stance.  It's mind boggling.

I posted this article on facebook and in the ensuing discussion a friend pointed out something interesting.  She said that if you were baptized in a catholic church then the church will consider you a member pretty much forever.  So if, for example, an article were to come out saying "There are X-number of Catholics in Minnesota" guess who would be included in that number.  Yep, yours truly.    Even though I disagree with pretty much everything the church stands for, even though I never go to church or pay dues or whatever it is that church people do.

So I started looking into how to get taken off that list.  Turns out they don't make it easy.  You can't just call up and ask to be removed.  You actually have to be excommunicated.  And even that's kind of a hassle. You can't walk in and demand an excommunication.  You have to something off of their "Very, Very Naughty" list.  One of those things is to physically assault the pope.  I think he's a terrible man in charge of a terrible organization but I really don't see that happening.  I wonder if they'll let me out if I tell them that every time I drive by Planned Parenthood I make rude hand gestures to the protesters standing outside?

I'll figure something out.  Even if it's only on paper, I can't be a part of organization that fought to maintain a statute of limitations on sex crimes against children.  Maybe they'll let me out if Father Butthead calls and tells them what a fat-ass I am.

I realize that this is a sensitive subject.  My intention is not to offend anyone who is catholic even though the catholic church offends me.  I know some wonderful people who are catholic.  I do not think the problem lies with the individuals within the church, I think the institution as a whole is flawed.

Two years ago today Joseph was one of a kind and I added another chapter in his adoption story.

Four years ago today I had a weed problem.

A real conversation with Jesse

Jesse: You have Doll Parts on you ipod?
me:  Yes I do.
Jesse:  I didn't know you like Hole.
me:  I don't, I just like that one song.
Jesse: Oh, why's that?
me:  I like when she says "I want to be the girl with the most cake".
Jesse:  Huh?
me:  I wish I was the girl with the most cake!
Jesse:  I don't think that's what-
me:  I should get that printed on a t-shirt!
Jesse:  It's supposed to be-
me:  I wish I had some cake right now!
Jesse:  I think she means...
me:  *wanders off to see if we have all the ingredients for cake in the house*

Edited to clarify:  That is what the song really says but Jesse was trying to explain to me that it's a metaphor and not about real cake which I get but think is stupid because why would you want metaphorical cake when you could have real cake?

Three years ago today I took a pregnancy test.
Four years ago today Joseph was attracted to dogs.
Five years ago today it was a rough day.

People who leave comments are crazy (but don't let that stop you)

I discovered long ago that if I'm going to read a news article online I should probably not read the comments following it.  It's better for my blood pressure and sanity if I just click away at the end of the article and not read a single comment.  I can't tolerate all that ugliness in one place.

What is it about people who comment on news articles online?  No matter what the original article is about, the oil spill, the newest summer fashions, how to best grow tomatoes upside down, people are always the same.  Why are they all so ignorant, hateful and humorless?  Is it that none of them can find anyone in real life who wants to listen to their opinions so they have to spew it all out in comment boxes? 

Yesterday I was reading something about the oil spill and I accidentally scrolled down a bit too far and hit the comment section.  I saw a comment so glorious, so wildly, wonderfully bizarre that I I immediately copied and pasted it.  I plan on re-reading it whenever I'm feeling a little down because it just makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.  I hope you enjoy it too.

"please CONGRESS...EPA....somebody.....we gotta do something.....BP ...sure don't seem to be STOPPING THE OIL LEAK....DONALD TRUMP.....WHERE ARE YOU.....HELP....HELP...NATIONAL GEOGRAPHICS....DO SOMETHING....PLEASE....ITS NOW....50 DAYS!!"

Thank you Betty of Massachusetts.  Your irrational faith in Donald Trump's ability to stop the oil leak has reminded me that people aren't always mean and nasty.  Sometimes they're just really random and that's a wonderful thing.


Two years ago today Joseph wanted a wig and Elle was a little sneak.
Three years ago today Jesse painted the basement.

Operation Bathroom

When my brother and I were kids I would always get stuck cleaning the bathroom that we shared.  Every so often my mom would tell him to clean it but then he would say, and I quote, "But I don't know how to clean the bathroom!" and then she would tell me to do it.  Until recently, if you asked my mom about this she would deny that it ever happened.  Not that long ago though my brother told her it was true, that he had been faking not knowing how to use a rag so that I would be the one who always had to clean the bathroom.  He still brags about it to this day.  Butthead.

I was thinking about this yesterday.  I don't know why, maybe I was just in a mood to contemplate injustice or something.  But I was thinking about it and it occurred to me that I should make sure that BOTH of my children were skilled in the art of bathroom cleaning.  That way neither of the kids would have to grow up with the painful, scarring memory of being forced to do slightly more than their fair share of the work!*

Operation Bathroom was born.  I even facebooked it.  "I am going to recruit the kids to help clean the bathrooms. It's high time these little monsters started pulling their weight around here. Check back in five minutes for an update about how one of them managed to injure themselves with a toilet brush."**
 
Ahaha.  I'm so funny.  I didn't really expect one of them to get hurt.  I knew everything would be fine!

I gathered up the cleaning supplies, went into the bathroom and called for the kids to join me in there.  Now, most of the time the second I set foot into the bathroom the kids are right outside the door, rattaling the doorknob, shoving notes under the door, asking me questions they could have asked during any of the other 23.9 hours a day we spend together but decided they needed answered at that very second.***  Not this time though.  I had to beg, plead and use a Very Serious Tone to get them in there.

Once we got started though it went pretty well.  I showed them how to shake the rugs out on the front porch and they liked that.  Elle enjoyed sitting on the bathroom counter and wiping off the mirror.  Joseph seemed to have fun scrubbing the toilet.  It was cute. I liked watching them get so into it.  So when Joseph asked if we could have some music on to clean by I was all to happy to oblige him.

I walked into the kitchen and turned some music on the jacked-up "laptop".  Then I opened the recently finished running dishwasher and pulled out the racks so the dishes could dry.  Then I went into the laundry room off the kitchen so that I could grab a couple of cleaning supplies I forgot.  Then I walked out of the laundry room.

That's when Operation Bathroom turned into Operation Disinfect Everything In The Entire Effing Kitchen.  Joseph was standing in the middle of the kitchen.  Dancing. Wildly and gleefully waving his arms around.  With his left arm waving right over the open dishwasher.  And in his left hand?

You guessed it.

The still wet and dripping toilet brush.

Because I am a Very Good Mom I didn't get too upset.  I just gagged for about half an hour then calmly explained that it's a toilet brush, not a throw your hands in the air and wave em like you just don't care brush and perhaps we should use that as a clue as to where the brush belonged.  He seemed to understand and in fact I think he felt a little bad.

He's never going to be allowed to help clean the bathroom again though.

I hate to break it to my brother but he's no longer the king of getting out of stuff.  "I don't know how to clean the bathroom" can't hold a candle to "I can't help clean the bathroom because Tik Tok might come on and my spontaneous outburst of joyous dancing may lead to poo water being flung all over your kitchen."

*Although really it wasn't slightly because my brother was always finding ways to get out of doing work.  I started doing my own laundry when I was 9.  I think my brother started when he was 27.

** My brother's real and actual response to that was "Don't let them snowball you with any of that "I don't know how to clean the bathroom" junk. Take it from me, that line is bull."

*** Best thing yelled to me through the bathroom door in this past week?  "Mama, I'm going to eat five or ten pieces of candy while you're in privacy ok?

Two years ago today I added a chapter in Joseph's adoption story.

Death Monitor

So I'm using my laptop again.  Sort of.  Jesse has come up with a solution straight out of There, I Fixed It.  I can use the laptop but everything shows up on this other monitor that Jesse plugged into the laptop.  It takes away some portability factor of the laptop (and turns it into a dining-room-table-top) but on the plus side I can... um... I don't know what the plus side is.  Please don't tell the monitor that.  I feel like it has the capacity to become angry.

Remember when computers were first invented and scientists proudly showed them off and said that soon there would be one in every home?  I think this is the monitor that computer was hooked up to.

This monitor is simultaneously the largest and the smallest thing ever created.  I estimate it's weight at about 700 pounds and despite the fact it measures 50 inches across, it's got a 3 inch screen.

The tiny screen is also very dark.  I tried photoshopping some vacation pictures but I had to keep making them brighter and brighter just to be able to see them.  I loaded one onto flickr and then ran downstairs to the office to see how it looked on a decent monitor.  It looked like we had visited Mt Rushmore on the same day the sun exploded.

I ran back upstairs and edited the photo again and tan back downstairs to check the results.  I did this several times.  80 billion to be exact.  That's how many it took to finish the next installment in The "you must be crazy" Chronicles.  Now you might call that extreme devotion to blogging.  I call it extreme devotion to avoiding cleaning my bathroom.  I figure if I wear myself out running up and down the stairs then when Jesse gets home and sees that the house is a disaster I'll be able to say "Sorry, I know Tuesday is bathroom cleaning day but I am too tired from blogging" and I won't even feel guilty about it because honestly, the one thing I really hate about being a stay-at-home-mom is that it always falls upon me to clean up other people's pee splatters.

Anyway.  That's my laptop situation as it stands right now.  Well, that and my keyboard is acting a little wonky but I'm afraid to tell Jesse that lest he hook up a typewriter to the laptop.  I guess I'm going to have to cave in and buy a new laptop.  Sadly, the only way I can afford to do that is to sell a kidney.

Oh, I'm kidding,  I would never sell a kidney to get a new laptop.  I'm selling one of Elle's. She's the one that broke the old laptop.

Four years ago today parenting was really hard but people using Netflix were awesome.
Five years ago today Joseph wanted to wash an old man.

Let me tell you what else is new

The "I must be crazy" Chronicles have been put on hold.  The laptop holding all my pictures was broken this morning by a small red-haired child.

In other news, Elle is terrified of spiders.  If she sees one she will freak out and flail wildly around and anything in her path better watch out.

In other news, it turns out that throwing a laptop to the floor is not a good way to scare a spider away.

In other news, our vegetable garden was attacked by some kind of crazy aggressive weed over the weekend so Jesse and I spent HOURS AND HOURS in the sun pulling weeds.  Thank goodness for sunscreen!

In other news, did you know sunscreen has an expiration date?  And that it's not really effective after the expiration date?

In other news, having your bra straps rub against and pop your sunburn blisters is even less fun than it sounds.

In other news, this morning I went to pick up a gallon of orange juice that I thought was full but was nearly empty and I way overestimated how much strength I needed to use and ended up hitting my self in the face with the bottle.  I have really bad muscle control.

In other news, I nearly bit my tongue off eating an M&M this afternoon.

One year ago today I liked Mike Rowe.
Three years ago today I got pregnant with Little A.

Letters to people and other things

Dear Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi,
Today is my second day without caffeine. This morning I tried to start the car with piece of turkey jerky.  I miss you.

Dear little bird in my front yard,
I'm sorry I cut down the bush that your nest was in.  I didn't realize what I had done until I saw the broken egg.  Really, I'm sorry.  But can you please stop sitting on the leftover bush stump and tweeting mournfully?  You're starting to bum me out.

Dear Jesse,
Thanks for that weird text about your urine last night.  You really know how to keep the magic alive.

Dear womb,
You are on vacation.  Please stop flipping around like that every time you see a baby.  Seriously.  For a few months let's just focus on things like getting laundry done and the garden weeded.

Dear guy I always see when I drop the kids off at school,
Some days you wear too-tight polo shirts and a bluetooth.  Some days you wear hipster t-shirts and a fedora.  Can you please decided what type of a douche bag you are and just stick with it already?

Dear Donald Trump,
I think I've finally got it figured out.  Everyone you know hates you and they're passive aggressively letting you know that by not telling you how terrible your hair looks.  Am I right?  Or is it that you pay people to tell you how great your hair looks?

Dear St Joe Meat Market turkey jerky,
You are peppery and delicious and yummy. You taste a lot better than my keys.  Trust me on that one.

Two years ago today I exposed myself to the neighbors.  Again.
Three years ago today I had a great lining.
Four years ago today I made fun of people on Hot or Not.

The "I must be crazy" Chonicles - South Dakota Edition - Crazy Horse

Crazy Horse

Here's what I can tell you about the Crazy Horse museum and monument.  The place is huge.  And I know you're thinking "Duh, it's a mountain.  Of course it's huge!" but I'm not talking about the mountain.  I'm talking about the museum.  Every time you think you've seen everything there's another hallway or stairway or door leading to another giant wing full of Native American artifacts.  It was fascinating and I'll always remember it as a very special place where Elle spent most of the time asleep, Jesse spent most of the time in the bathroom and I spent most of the time trying to find a place to sit down for few a minutes.

 Joseph was the only one who really seemed to enjoy the museum the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

You know what? I'm lying.  I told him to go and look in that case so that I could take a picture of him.  I wanted some kind of proof that the kids had enjoyed the Very Educational Opportunities that this vacation had provided them.

Mostly though this vacation really provided us with the opportunity to stand in front of things and get our picture taken.

And to look awkward.  If I had a nickle for every time I said "No you guys!  I said a nice smile!" I would have enough money to finance the completion of Crazy Horse on my own.

The part of Crazy Horse that the kids liked best was the place where you could put some money in a donation box and then pick out a rock.  Not just any rock, mind you.  A rock that had been blasted off the monument.  To my nearest recollection, the rock selection took about, oh, infinity.  In fact, if you were to go to Crazy Horse today the kids would still be there picking out their rocks.

The kids would pick out their rocks and then look at each other's rocks and then one of them would decide that the other one had a "better" rock and would have to select a new one prompting the other one to decide that they wanted a "better" rock as well.  It just went on and on and on.  But at least we managed to get the two very best rocks ever!

Fun Fact: "Go stand next to each other inside that tepee and look at me." is a physically impossible task to perform.  At least according to these little buggers.

I didn't get a lot of pictures at Crazy Horse.  This was partly due to the fact that I was lugging around a sleeping Elle most of the time we were there and partly to the fact we were rushing through the museum at a high rate of speed as we tried see everything they had and partly to the fact that I was in a pissy mood because Jesse didn't believe me when I told him the Post Office in the information center was a real, operational Post Office.  He thought it was like, I don't know, a display Post Office or something.  Because that makes sense.

As we were leaving Crazy Horse I managed to get a few nice shots of Crazy Horse.

I got this one while Jesse was performing his husbandly duty of Getting The Car.  Throughout the whole trip Jesse very considerately dropped me off and picked me up right near doors.  At time I thought he was just being nice because I was miserable and riddled with morning sickness.  In retrospect he probably just wanted to get away from me for a few minutes.  Those few stolen moments alone in parking lots probably saved his sanity during that trip.

As we drove away from Crazy Horse we caught a glimpse of George Washington.  He looked concerned.  He had every reason to be.  We were headed his way. Next up, Mt Rushmore!  As always, there are more pictures to be found on flickr.  Smile nice!

One year ago today our dishwasher was broken.
Four years ago today Joseph liked Double dare and my dad left the funniest comment this blog has ever received.