Lent is kind of a new concept for me. Growing up, I was Catholic/Lutheran, and not much good at being either. It was in high school, at a non-denominational church, where I first heard and believed the gospel. Being a typical "seeker-friendly" church, they didn't follow the church calendar or any kind of liturgy or tradition. So, in my mind Lent = Bad Catholic Practice Involving Unnecessary Suffering.
And maybe, for Catholics, that's what it is. And perhaps it isn't. I don't really know. But I do know this. I am now married to a good, reformed Presbyterian. We attend a good, reformed Presbyterian church. And we mostly follow the church calendar. (Well, our worship leader and a lot of the associate pastors enjoy the meaning behind the tradition. I'm not so sure our pastor, with his Baptist roots, actually does. But anyway.) I have discovered that Lent is not "Bad". People talk about Lent. And they give up things during Lent. And they make an extra effort to focus on Christ in preparation of Easter. It's not about suffering. It's about drawing nearer to God.
So now I'm pondering - what do I give up for Lent in an effort to draw nearer to Jesus?
First I considered giving up cookies and candy. Not because I'm using Lent as a weight-loss plan, but because I find myself munching on them all day long - eating sweets has become a comforting habit. I still show a modicum of control throughout my day (I'm not eating half a package of cookies and a half a bag of M&Ms in one day), but I could go without. I could find my comfort in time with the Lord.
But I thought a little more. And then I began to wonder. What about giving up envy? Or comparing myself? Or discontentment? Or my greedy materialism (aka: weekly Target runs)? These are mostly internal struggles. I ought to be thankful. I ought to be comparing my life with Christ's, not others. I ought to be content whatever my circumstances. (Incidentally, when I look at my life, I wonder why I am not this way - I have absolutely no excuse not to be.) How do I give up something immaterial for Lent? It would probably be better, and actually help me focus on Christ as I'd like to.
But it's easier to forego the Oreos and M&Ms.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I'm Sure She Was Trying to Be Nice...
My child is being kind to mommy today and is taking a marathon nap, so I'm grabbing my opportunity to have some "me" time. I haven't blogged in a while - so now's my chance. How far can I get before she wakes up?
Illinois is sitting under, what, another foot of snow? Next year, when I hint that I'm looking foward to the first snowfall, someone remind me that I hate February. And early this morning we had an earthquake. How weird is that? (Woken up out of a sound sleep and rather befuddled and terrified, I first thought there had been a tornado, and then maybe that our house was sitting atop a sinkhole that was finally threatening to swallow us.)
Anyway.
Mostly I want to talk today about the woman who was behind me in line at Aldi on Monday. I didn't like her very much, which makes me feel like a terrible person. Here's the story, as fast as I can tell it in my remaining free time:
I had to go grocery shopping. We also had to visit the pediatrician at 2:00. After the doctor, Abigail is shot, so running errands afterward is not an option. So I tried to plan out my day. The Abster and I were up at our normal time, but she chose to nap for only 20 minutes that morning. So after her lunchtime-ish feeding, I decided I better pack her into the car and get to the grocery store before it was time to go to the doctor. I bundled her into her puffy white Ralphie suit and stuffed her (screaming) into the car. Off to Aldi we went, only an hour to go before we needed to be at the doctor's office.
Once there, I discovered that Aldi (as far as I could tell) had not a single grocery cart with a working buckle on the child seat. So I stuffed her in the seat, tied her down with my enormous scarf, and held onto her with one hand. We raced around the store stuffing this week's groceries into the cart. At the front, I discovered only ONE register was open - and that I had left my wallet in the car. Untying A, I left my cart and raced outside to get my money.
Back inside the line was gowing longer, and A had had enough of this errand stuff. I stuffed her back into the child seat, but she was having none of it. She looked up at me, arched her back, and started to scream. The lady behind me (who looked exactly like Liza Minelli in her older years) stuck her face in front of Abigail's and said, "Oooh, baby girl, what's wrong? Are you spoiled? Are you spoiled?"
Um, excuse me?
I smiled sweetly and said, "No, it's just been a long morning." She was still arching, and I was afraid she would wiggle out of the seat, so I picked her up.
Silence. She looked at me, doe-eyed.
"Ooooh, you are spoiled!" squeals the Liza-Lady. "Look at that! Mommy picks you up and you stop crying right away! Spoiled! So bad!"
I took a deep breath. I had to focus on getting my cart full of groceries onto the belt with one hand. Liza-Lady decided to help me (I murmured my thanks) as she continued talking.
"My son was the same way. Still is the same way. So spoiled. Wants everything his way. And now he's 46. He just called me and told me he's going to motorcycle across the country. 'What motorcycle?' I ask. 'The one I built,' he says. Eesh. 46. Motorcycling. So spoiled. So awful."
I kept stacking groceries on the belt. "I think she just needs a nap," I protested.
"Ooh, but you should look out, Mama. You're gonna spoil her."
Then the lady behind Liza-lady pipes up. "Oh, I don't know. I always picked up my kids when they were crying. They want you, they want you. They're kids. And they're okay."
I flashed her a grateful look, smiled close-lipped at the Liza-lady, zipped my card though the scanner, and got the heck out of there. I bagged my groceries in the car, with Abigail sitting in her carseat, where, thankfully, she fell asleep immediately.
Why, oh why, do strangers give out mothering advice?
Illinois is sitting under, what, another foot of snow? Next year, when I hint that I'm looking foward to the first snowfall, someone remind me that I hate February. And early this morning we had an earthquake. How weird is that? (Woken up out of a sound sleep and rather befuddled and terrified, I first thought there had been a tornado, and then maybe that our house was sitting atop a sinkhole that was finally threatening to swallow us.)
Anyway.
Mostly I want to talk today about the woman who was behind me in line at Aldi on Monday. I didn't like her very much, which makes me feel like a terrible person. Here's the story, as fast as I can tell it in my remaining free time:
I had to go grocery shopping. We also had to visit the pediatrician at 2:00. After the doctor, Abigail is shot, so running errands afterward is not an option. So I tried to plan out my day. The Abster and I were up at our normal time, but she chose to nap for only 20 minutes that morning. So after her lunchtime-ish feeding, I decided I better pack her into the car and get to the grocery store before it was time to go to the doctor. I bundled her into her puffy white Ralphie suit and stuffed her (screaming) into the car. Off to Aldi we went, only an hour to go before we needed to be at the doctor's office.
Once there, I discovered that Aldi (as far as I could tell) had not a single grocery cart with a working buckle on the child seat. So I stuffed her in the seat, tied her down with my enormous scarf, and held onto her with one hand. We raced around the store stuffing this week's groceries into the cart. At the front, I discovered only ONE register was open - and that I had left my wallet in the car. Untying A, I left my cart and raced outside to get my money.
Back inside the line was gowing longer, and A had had enough of this errand stuff. I stuffed her back into the child seat, but she was having none of it. She looked up at me, arched her back, and started to scream. The lady behind me (who looked exactly like Liza Minelli in her older years) stuck her face in front of Abigail's and said, "Oooh, baby girl, what's wrong? Are you spoiled? Are you spoiled?"
Um, excuse me?
I smiled sweetly and said, "No, it's just been a long morning." She was still arching, and I was afraid she would wiggle out of the seat, so I picked her up.
Silence. She looked at me, doe-eyed.
"Ooooh, you are spoiled!" squeals the Liza-Lady. "Look at that! Mommy picks you up and you stop crying right away! Spoiled! So bad!"
I took a deep breath. I had to focus on getting my cart full of groceries onto the belt with one hand. Liza-Lady decided to help me (I murmured my thanks) as she continued talking.
"My son was the same way. Still is the same way. So spoiled. Wants everything his way. And now he's 46. He just called me and told me he's going to motorcycle across the country. 'What motorcycle?' I ask. 'The one I built,' he says. Eesh. 46. Motorcycling. So spoiled. So awful."
I kept stacking groceries on the belt. "I think she just needs a nap," I protested.
"Ooh, but you should look out, Mama. You're gonna spoil her."
Then the lady behind Liza-lady pipes up. "Oh, I don't know. I always picked up my kids when they were crying. They want you, they want you. They're kids. And they're okay."
I flashed her a grateful look, smiled close-lipped at the Liza-lady, zipped my card though the scanner, and got the heck out of there. I bagged my groceries in the car, with Abigail sitting in her carseat, where, thankfully, she fell asleep immediately.
Why, oh why, do strangers give out mothering advice?
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
My Tuesdays
And sometimes my Wednesdays, too. Abigail and Benjamin hang out in our living room. As you can see, they have a grand good time together.
Benjamin chewed Abigail's clippy butterfly toy the entire time he was here today - an hour and a half. Hey, whatever floats his boat, I guess.
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