Giving and Receiving

A few weeks ago several of my girlfriends offered to come over and paint some stripes in our “nursery” so I wouldn’t have to do it. (I had this grand idea to paint stripes, which I had never done before, but was convinced it would add something to the décor. We knew this task would be tedious so we kept putting it off.)

“Amy, it’s just something I want to do for you,” Tara told me. “A way I can help out.” When she said this, I immediately thought, “How sweet and thoughtful, but … I don’t think so.” The reason I think I balked is because I’m one of those people who thinks she can do everything – and no one else should have to go out of their way for me. In my mind, if it’s at all possible for me to do something – squeeze it in my schedule, find the energy, etc. – then I feel like I should do it myself.

But, since Tara was so insistent, I finally agreed to let her and Emily come over and paint last Saturday.

It was hard for me at first. On Saturday I felt like a totally lazy bum as they were busily working upstairs. They told me to just take it easy. This made me feel like a handicap or something. But, you know, while they were working, I kept thinking over and over, “God bless Tara and Emily.” And, although I’ve always known it, I came to realize even more that it’s so wonderful to have friends who are so loving, good, and generous with their time.

I’m learning that, not only is it important to give of myself to other people, it’s also important to allow others to give of themselves to me.

Thai Experience

Last night our bible study decided to ditch regularly scheduled programming and go to an authentic Thai restaurant as a group. This was inspired by Will and Amanda who went to Thailand last December for their honeymoon and ended up extending their stay because of the tsunami. While there, they acquired a taste for genuine (vs. Americanized) Thai food and wanted the rest of us to have an authentic Thai food experience as well. It was lots of fun. Kevin liked everything. I liked most everything. Two of the guys in our study, who are very picky eaters, only liked the steamed rice.

Will and Amanda’s story is actually quite remarkable. And it’s fun to hear Will talk about their Thailand adventures because of his thick accent (he’s from the UK). Apparently the tsunami took place on the last day of their honeymoon as they sat in their hotel lobby. The wave overtook their hotel, completely demolished it, and swept Will and Amanda 900 yards into the ocean. Miraculously (basically, inexplicably) they ended up bobbing up in the water only a few yards from each other. They had each experienced severe trauma (shattered bones, Will’s ear was severed, etc.) but somehow (God) they managed to hang onto each other and the debris until a boat picked them up. From that point on, getting to shore was a James-Bond-like experience. Apparently they watched many boats around them explode – and changed boats themselves several times, just in the nick of time – as aftershock waves carried them back to shore. They spent five weeks recovering in a hospital and were sent back to the states only when it was finally safe for them to travel. All their possessions were lost except for a small handbag someone had found among debris and returned to them. At the end of their breathtaking story, the rest of us agreed that they should sell the rights to Hollywood and make a mint. It would make an incredible action movie.

They also told us about how indescribably amazing the beaches are in Thailand – most of the western world has yet to discover its virgin beauty. And also how incredibly cheap it is to vacation there. A personal taxi for the day is $1. A two hour massage is $10. All you can eat cuisine, drinks, etc. is $3. We’ve all decided we want to go to Thailand next summer and live like kings and queens for a week. Let’s just pray that our trip is less eventful than Will and Amanda’s inaugural trip. Adventure and excitement, yes. Tsunamis we can live without.

Ingenious Business Idea

Check this out – Dinner Time! We have some friends who tried it and said it was fabulous. I think it’s a very creative business idea and know firsthand that there would be a market for it. It seems reasonably priced considering the amount of food and the alternative (eating out, eating cold cereal for dinner, etc.). I know it’s not a novel concept to make meals in advance and freeze them ‘cuz I’ve known lots of women who have done this. But, like the website says, there are a lot of busy people in this modern world who would be willing to pay a bit extra to spend only two hours making meals for the next two weeks and have someone else do all the prep-work and the clean-up. Nice.

Introducing ...

This is a belated post … but I just came across this picture Kevin had saved to his desktop. We wanted to introduce you to baby’s first stuffed animal toy, purchased for him/her by Kevin’s parents when they were here last month. They actually threw us a mini-shower and got us some things we need. It was great fun to come home from work and have a party. I’m always for parties. :-) So, anyway, we still haven’t named baby’s adorable stuffed donkey. Any ideas? I’m horrible, simply horrible, at coming up with good names for inanimate objects.


Donkey

Uncle Tom

On the long drive home from L.A. last night, where we spent Mother’s Day weekend, Kevin starting reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin to me. He offered to drive the entire way, and have me read, but I wasn’t tired and told him I prefer his reading to mine. He’s very good at all the accents and dramatizing the voices.

We’re only five chapters into the book but so far I’ve found it fascinating. Not only is it well-written, it’s interesting to me to think about all the social implications involved. Apparently Abe Lincoln joked with Harriet Beecher Stowe that she was the woman who started the Civil War.

One thing I love about the book is the fact that I’m already attached to the characters. I can feel for them and empathize with them in their struggles. And I can hardly wait to learn what happens to them in the next chapter.

There have been several other classic books I’ve read where I just couldn’t get into the characters. It’s pretty bad when, about halfway through the book, you still don’t really care what happens to the people in it – whether they live peacefully or die a painful, torturous death. One particular book that I disliked (and could never force myself to finish) was The Scarlet Letter. Although the overall plot was interesting, the description of the town and the docks, etc., etc. at the beginning of the book could’ve been done adequately and skillfully in three pages, instead of thirty. Someone criticized me when I told them I didn’t care for The Scarlet Letter. He snobbishly remarked that I simply “must not appreciate classic literature.” Honestly, I do appreciate classic literature … so long as it doesn’t bore me to tears!

Is every "classic" book infallible and always above being criticized by an amateur like me? Can’t I hold classic literature to the same test as other books I read and openly admit when I like some and not others? Will the elitists in the world please allow me that discretion?

Besides ... How do you determine a good fictional writer, anyway? To me, if you can’t pull the "average Joe" reader (e.g., me) into your story within the first ten paragraphs, you're not a good writer.

Introspection

What is it about thunder storms that makes a person reflect? Outside, the thunder is booming, the wind is howling, and torrential rain is pounding on my window.

But for me, it’s not just the weather that makes me introspective. It’s events that have recently transpired in my life. It’s thinking about several old friendships I’ve had for many years that are now different from what they once were. It’s the prospect of starting a new chapter in my life. And it’s the grey sky, the thunder, and the cadenced rain.

People are funny things. They change. Or, at least, they should change. Hopefully we all learn and grown and never remain stagnant. But also, hopefully, we change for the better and not for the worse.

Not only do people change in different ways, but they change at different paces.

While reflecting on certain relationships in my life recently, I’ve had to ask myself how exactly I have changed and how exactly they have changed. Who has changed the most? What changes have been good? What changes are not-so-good?

Although I can’t really answer all of my own questions right now, I’m really glad that one thing is certain – God never changes. He is ever constant.

Happy CDM!

Random note: In order to commemorate Cinco de Mayo today, I had Chinese for lunch.

Probably the most eventful thing that happened to us last night is that we had to clip clothespins to our ears during child birth preparation class. The whole point was to illustrate how breathing techniques can help you endure pain. Halfway through the full minute with the clothespin attached to our ears, Rob shouted that he wanted the epidural. Of course, we all laughed. Personally, I think laughter helps make pain more bearable than breathing technique. But maybe the concepts aren't far apart - they both provide welcome distraction.

Friends

We had a great time visiting with Dan and Angel last night. Rumor has it that they are looking to move to the Sacramento area. Yay! We like that idea.

And, congratulations to Rose and Michael on the arrival of their beautiful baby girl. I've been checking their blog every day waiting for this news and it finally came. (I guess that's one way to market your blog ... have a baby. Hmmm ... maybe I'll try it one of these days.)

The mighty have fallen ...

Anticipation was high last night as our church softball team, on which Kevin plays first base, had their first game of the season. I always enjoy going to these types of things and screaming from the stands. The first several innings went really well and then … to be honest with you, I’m not sure what happened. To shorten a long story, let me just say that we lost pretty badly … 24 to 5!! Kevin hung his head as we left the ballpark. I tried to console him by telling him that HE did a good job – both at bat and on first base. But I’m not sure how comforting I was.

It’s hard to believe, but I guess our church used to have the #1 team in the league. Wow. Considering last night’s game, coupled with the fact that last year we didn’t win a single blasted game, I guess we’ve come a loooong way.

Although it’s definitely more fun to win, I still enjoy the process of the game despite the end result. So, my plan is to continue to occupy the bleachers on Monday nights, scream until I’m hoarse, as always, and ever be a loyal fan of our church softball team … even though it appears that their glory days have come to an end.

Pianos, Fellowship, R&R

This weekend was good. We spent some time Saturday looking (or should I say that I looked and Kevin salivated?) at grand pianos. Why? Because I think we’re trying to procrastinate looking at baby furniture for as long as possible. Are we in the market for a grand piano? No. Would Kevin die to have one? Yes. We were at the piano store long enough to become friends with the owner – she invited Kevin to come in whenever he feels like it and play any one of her pianos. I think he’ll probably take her up on this offer.

Then we went to Braiden and Mendi’s house for a very delicious dinner and a good time of fellowship. We both decided it’s really nice to have friends that live less than a mile away. (It seems like most of our friends nowadays live at least 15 minutes away, or more, or much more.) We think we’ll keep these friends.

Sunday was truly a day of rest. Kevin had a choral event but he opted-out because things have been hectic lately. It was so nice outside on Sunday that we decided to spread a blanket in our backyard and get some sun. Unfortunately, the sun decided to set like five minutes later. Drat!

Abortion Fails to Kill Both Twins - Mother Sues Hospital

This is one incredible story about a “wrongful life” suit. What would it be like to grow up knowing your mother tried to have you killed and then sued the ‘hit-man’ who didn’t kill you like she’d planned?

Nice Surprises

Last night Kevin and I parted ways for the evening. He went to a Sacramento Rivercats (minor league baseball) game with several guy friends. He had a good time and came back home pretty pleased that he’d caught his first foul ball ever.

“All those games my dad took me to as a kid where I’d brought my glove and hoped and hoped I’d get one and it never happened,” Kevin reflected “Until now.”

Because it was the first foul ball of the game, he also got a bonus prize – a coupon for a free haircut. It’s a good thing because he really needs one. His regular barber (a.k.a., wife) has really been a slacker lately.

Last night I attended a surprise birthday party for a lady at my church. It was planned by her daughter, who did a great job. Some people have a special knack for planning parties. (Angela, you did good!) I was pleasantly surprised because I won the party game … and I never win those things. It was a game where we were each given various words (mine were “whiskers,” “dishwasher,” “hold,” etc.) and we had to write a themed poem out of them. In the end, everyone voted for the winner. And I won … ha! Although I’ve never really enjoyed reading poetry written by all the famous poets, I do periodically like to write stupid, random poetry myself … probably just for the challenge of it.

_________________

Last Wednesday was our second childbirth prep class. For those of you who are starting to get worried, let me assure you that I will not be giving you a play-by-play of all that we learn and do at these classes. But this week we did watch a recorded live-birth. And that’s worth mentioning, I think, for this reason: I’ve never seen anything so simultaneously amazing and gross – at the same time.

Kevin, in his imaginative mind, had pictured it to be a lot worse than what it was (I guess!) and so it was good for him to see it. Before this particular class he said he didn’t think he would want to cut the umbilical cord (I think he envisioned huge pliers and blood spurting everywhere) … but now I think he’s more open to the idea. MAYBE.

More on illegal immigration ...

So, Thursday Gov. Schwarzenegger praised the “Minuteman Campaign,” a group of volunteers who enforce federal laws regarding border control. And here’s the statement released by the leader of a Mexican American group: The governor's comments are "shameful" and "nothing short of base racism … I think we're seeing the real Arnold Schwarzenegger. The mask has now fallen," said Nativo V. Lopez, state national president of the Mexican American Political Assn. "Those of immigrant stock should have no illusions about what his real sentiments and feelings are toward them."

The ironic part is that Schwarzenegger IS an immigrant. But the difference between him and the people Mr. Lopez represents is that Schwarzenegger came here legally. And to allege that legal immigrants won’t understand Schwarzenegger’s sentiments is to insinuate that they’re ignorant and can’t understand the issues.

I had hoped there wouldn’t be any more outrageous comment in this article so I could just roll my eyes and dismiss it. But then it got worse …

The article states that nonprofit groups, such as Humane Borders and No More Deaths, provide water for [illegal] immigrants crossing the border. Federal wildlife officials have provided water stations in the desert for animals but have been criticized for not providing enough for people.

Schwarzenegger says: "What we're doing basically is, by not really securing the borders, we're saying: 'Look, here are the various water stations. Here are the places where you can cross the borders. Here is where we're going to help you.' The whole system is set up to really invite people to come in here illegally, and that has to stop."

But Enrique Morones, president of the Border Angels, an immigrant rights group, says: "I assure you, nobody is coming here for the water, and the stations we have set up by various organizations is a humanitarian effort.”

WHAT THE …?!!

I’ve never heard anything so contradictory in all my life. Why on earth would water stations be purposefully placed in the middle of the desert if it’s certain no one is going to drink from them? And doesn’t the fact that Morones admits it’s a “humanitarian effort” clearly suggest that humans are going to benefit (i.e., drink) from these water stations?

The only consoling factor of this piece is that my friend Mike Spence of the CRA was quoted at the end. And Mike’s a really good guy.

Okay … The End (for now).

Observations of a girl who’d like to change the world, if she could … Instead, she blogs …

I thought it was odd to see several lobbyists and staff members wearing denim jeans today in committee until I saw a legislator also in this causal attire. At that point, I figured there had to be a memo floating around out there somewhere. And I hadn’t gotten it. Later I asked one lobbyist what was going on. She said that the jeans were being worn in protest of a ruling in 1999 by an Italian judge. The judge apparently said that a woman couldn’t have been the victim of rape because her jeans were too tight for anyone to take off but herself. So, every year on April 27 (“Denim Day California”), persons at the capitol – both men and women – don their jeans to criticize this injustice. As I sat in my chair, observing all the denim, I really wished I could’ve been in the loop on this one. Not only could I have joined the protest, I could have also been much more comfortable than I was.

The first bill heard this afternoon was to ban the sale of soft drinks on public high school campuses throughout the state. (It’s already been banned for lower grade levels.) It’s interesting to me that the same legislators who think high schoolers aren’t yet mature enough to decide what type of drink to purchase on campus (i.e., soda or 100% fruit juice) argue that they ARE mature enough to decide, completely on their own, whether to undergo a major medical procedure to abort their child.

The next interesting bill would require that all vending machines in the state be filled with at least 50% healthy foods. The opposition to the bill was a guy who is legally blind and crippled and makes a living operating vending machines. He said: “This bill takes away my living. I can only sell what consumers are willing to buy.” He went on to say that they “test” the various snacks in the machines to see what “moves.” The things that don’t move have to be discarded and they, obviously, get no profit. He, as a vending machine operator, knows that the type of people who buy items through vending machines would, generally, much rather have a Twinkie or Snickers than a bag of carrots or soy chips. If half of his vending machine has to be occupied with health food, not only will he lose profits from the rest of the items not being able to be marketed, he will also lose profits from the health foods going bad and having to be discarded when they are not sold. After the arguments were made, the democrat-controlled committee voted against him. They apparently think that having more health food “available” will make California a healthier state, despite the pleas of the vendors to be left alone. After the vote, the crippled, blind man hobbled away from the table, down the ramp, shaking his head and wondering how on earth he’s going to feed his family next year. I, sitting about a hundred feet away, was dumbfounded by what I’d just seen. How can the party who alleges it’s the party of compassion turn away this gentleman who a) made completely commonsense arguments and b) is just trying to make a living? I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bad for anyone in all my life. (Later on in the afternoon, the committee chair – a democrat who voted against the crippled, blind man – was chomping loudly on a bag of red licorice. This was also an interesting observation, to me. Why didn’t she grab the bag of raisins instead? After all, that's what she expects everyone else to do.)

The last bill, that’s worth mentioning, would create a universal health care system in California. As the supporters of the bill lined up, I thought to myself: “Um, yeah, that’s exactly what you’re going to be doing when you’re critically ill and trying to get in to see a doctor, if this bill passes.” How on earth can anyone who’s ever been to the DMV want the government to control our healthcare system? Geesh. I just don’t understand these people.

Okay, I’m done complaining for now … I need to go home and put on a pair of jeans.

Parenting = “Coaching”?

Lately I’ve been madly running around to various legislative hearings to testify on an assortment of bills. Yesterday, there was the gay marriage bill, which (no surprise) passed from the Judiciary Committee. There were also several other bills, one dealing with protecting the rights of religious foster parents to dictate morality in their homes. The opponents of this bill are afraid that religious foster parents will be too restrictive with the children in their care. They don’t think that the foster parents should be able to impose their set of moral standards on children. Basically, their view is that parents are there to affirm the child’s behavior unless it’s against the law. So, it would be okay for a parent to tell their child to not smoke (as a minor) but it would not be okay for a parent to tell Johnny he can’t cross-dress. One opponent even said that a parent shouldn’t be able to forbid a child from swearing in their home, since that would be placing a moral judgment on what’s appropriate for the child to say. (See how out-of-hand this “tolerance” business has gotten?)

To these people, parenting is about “coaching.” It’s not about being an authority figure for your child. And it’s certainly not about directing the moral upbringing of your child. Unfortunately, insane laws in California that target religious foster parents are driving many good people out of the system. People of faith, who just want to open their homes to a needy child and show them love (which often involves “loving discipline”), are being blacklisted.

And today … I’m testifying against a bill that would force pharmacists in California to dispense contraceptives and emergency contraceptives against their moral or religious convictions. A handful of other states have “freedom of conscience” laws that protect religious pharmacists. California, of course, would be the first state to compel a religious pharmacist to violate his/her conscience. Don’t you ever buy the pro-choice rhetoric. The pro-choicers are not for “choice,” they’re for abortion. If they were for “choice,” they would respect a pharmacist's right to choose too.

The truth revealed ...

Kevin and I have been on this walking frenzy lately. (I think our neighbors will soon believe we’re maniacs because we’ve been walking so much.) This morning I told Kev I needed to stretch before our walk and then proceeded to bend over and touch the ground with my hands while standing. He looked at me in disbelief and said, “If you can do that, I think you can certainly tie your own shoes.” Up until that point I’d been getting away with having him think that my swollen belly was preventing my shoe-tying capabilities. So, he had been dutifully tying my tennis shoes for me for the past several weeks. And, I admit, I had been enjoying this little service. All it took was one little slip this morning … now it looks like I’ll be on my own again! Oh well …

Strong Words

One word liberals love to throw around a lot is the word "hate." In fact, until I started tuning-in more to liberal rhetoric, I was oblivious to the world being filled with so much "hate."

Aside from the fact that liberals don't think it's possible for a person to be both "loving" and philosophically opposed to homosexual marriage (i.e., you're always hateful if you oppose gay rights), the most recent name-calling assaults seem to center on illegal immigration. If you oppose it, you're (naturally) a very "hateful" person ... and racist, to boot.

Here's a recent quote from the speaker of the California Assembly, in response to Schwarzenegger's criticism of illegal immigration (and his subsequent withdrawal):

"I don't know why he said it, but I'm very pleased he has totally removed himself from those folks who espouse that kind of hatred."

Frankly, I think it's rather "hateful" (I'll use their magic word) to undermine the struggles of legal immigrants who worked hard, and waited long, to come to this country by rewarding illegal aliens, who cheated the system, with all the rights of citizenship.

If someone is dense enough to not realize the difference between illegal immigration and racism, then heaven help them. Or, do they realize the difference but then proceed to use the emotional buzzwords simply to gain sympathy for their cause from the ignorant masses? Many times I suspect it's the latter.

It's these hate-calling people who preach tolerance (as they define it) as the greatest virtue. Interestingly enough, I've found that these are the most intolerant people on the planet. As soon as you venture to disagree with them, you're labeled "hateful."

It doesn't make any sense until you realize that, for them, tolerance is a one-way street going (of course) in their direction.

What's Your Type?

I used to go to church with a guy who has a business using the Myers-Briggs "personality types" to help pro-sports teams recruit players. (Cool job, eh?) The theory is that some "brain types" (as he calls them) are better in certain sports than others. And my friend is very successful in what he does.

When I first met this guy, he told me all about myself, even though he didn't know me from Adam. After that, I was hooked. I read his book ... and other books on the subject. I found it all completely fascinating. (To see his website, go here.)

Recently I found a website that is categorizing blogs by personality type. I hope it grows 'cuz right now I'm the only ENTP on there ... and I think it would be interesting to meet more bloggers with my type. (TypeBlogs website link.)

Although some people allege that typing puts people in a "box," my take on it is that typing is very helpful to understand a person. For instance, my mom's type is almost completely opposite from mine. (She’s ESFJ.) Understanding her type has helped me to appreciate her more.

If you want to take the test - which is not always 100% accurate, I might add - you can go here: Jung Typology Test.

Lastly, a caveat: You should remember that there are both biological and environmental/sociological factors that make a person the way they are.

Child Birth Prep 101

I love people. And I love meeting new people. So maybe that’s why I was excited to begin child birth preparation classes last night.

On the way there, Kevin said, “I hope this isn’t going to be one touchy-feely support group session after another. If that’s what it’s all about, I’m not going to like it.” Apparently he had been talking to his buddy Matt earlier in the day and had been told that, when Matt and his wife went through this type of class, the guys and gals were divided into groups and the guys were asked to write on a chalk board all the things they were excited and nervous about. Apparently, Kevin isn’t into that sort of thing …

In the end, it was better than he expected. Although … they did ask all of the nine couples present to go around the room and share information. One of the things they asked for is if any of us were concerned about anything in particular. Kevin (I was proud of him) volunteered that he’s concerned about me being in pain (what a great guy … so empathetic!) and he’s also concerned about the “grossness factor.” As soon as he said this, the rest of the guys burst out with laughter as if they were relieved some other guy was courageous enough to say what they all were thinking.

So, yes, it was a good time.

Oh, and I’d be remiss if I failed to mention Rob. It always seems like there’s someone in the group who’s the class clown. In this particular group, it’s Rob. Most of the women in the room were concerned about the “unknown” and the “pain.” When his wife also stated she was concerned about the pain, Rob blurted: “I don’t see what the big deal is. You know, like … Sacagawea.” He then went on to talk about all the women throughout history who have squatted in the fields, popped their babies out, and then kept on working. (Like my dad says, they must not make women like they used to!)

When it came time for Rob to share what he was most concerned about, this is what he had to say: “All the pillows on my side of the bed are … GONE. When will I get my pillows back?”

[Note: If I were to ask this question, it wouldn’t be funny. But Rob has this certain demeanor that makes everything he says funny. Know what I mean?]

Even though Rob is a little edgy, we still like him. And it’s nice to have someone in class who is so honest and down-to-earth.

Concerning the whole pain thing … I’m still not sure what I’m going to do. I was opting for a natural birth experience but now I’m second guessing that decision. I mean, what’s the point as long as it doesn’t harm the baby or substantially pose serious threats of harm to myself? At first I was thinking that so many women throughout history have done it naturally (i.e., no pain meds), so why shouldn’t I? But then I realized how flawed that reasoning is. It’s like saying that “so many women throughout history have gone without microwaves, so why should I use one”? If technology has made food preparation more careless … and I avail myself of this blessed technology on a daily basis … why shouldn’t I permit technology to make my labor and delivery less painful?

Anyway … it’s something I’ll still need to mull over a bit.

Entertainment and Conversation

We really enjoyed our visit with Kev’s parents. One thing that we did a lot of was engage in conversation – sometimes about important things; other times about nothing in particular.

In this entertainment-charged world we live in, I often think that many people have lost their ability to enjoy simple things … like plain, down-to-earth conversation. (And with the advent of the internet, e.g., things like blogs – though we love them dearly, it’s becoming less necessary to engage in face-to-face communication).

One thing Kevin has commented on is how certain people we know from southern California (where I grew up) always appear to need “something to do.” They have to be on-the-go; they have to be entertained; they have to be amused. They can’t simply sit down on the couch and kill five hours talking about nothing … and actually have fun doing it.

But it’s hard to blame them when they are simply a byproduct of their culture. That’s the norm for them. In fact, until I moved to Virginia and, later, married a guy from the Midwest, I also was oblivious to anything different.

And it truly is amazing how different the culture is in California compared to many other places in this country. California is much more amusement-focused (and image-driven) … and it’s not hard to understand why. There’s a lot to do here, especially in the big cities. California natives are used to living fast-paced lives and so, when the opportunity presents itself, it’s counter-intuitive to just relax and enjoy simple times. The California culture encourages an entertainment mindset.

Once upon a time, this all seemed to be fine and good. But now that I've experienced "another way," I’m not so sure I like it.

Modern Love: Truly, Madly, Guiltily

Well, in my opinion, Ayelet Waldman should be Mother of the Year. The best thing I think a mom can do for her kids is love their father. How many of these other moms will be divorced (or, even worse, have a nonexistent relationship with their spouse) when their kids turn 18 because they neglect their husbands?

March 27, 2005
MODERN LOVE
Truly, Madly, Guiltily
By AYELET WALDMAN

I HAVE been in many mothers' groups - Mommy and Me, Gymboree, Second-Time Moms - and each time, within three minutes, the conversation invariably comes around to the topic of how often mommy feels compelled to put out. Everyone wants to be reassured that no one else is having sex either. These are women who, for the most part, are comfortable with their bodies, consider themselves sexual beings. These are women who love their husbands or partners. Still, almost none of them are having any sex.

There are agreed upon reasons for this bed death. They are exhausted. It still hurts. They are so physically available to their babies - nursing, carrying, stroking - how could they bear to be physically available to anyone else?

But the real reason for this lack of sex, or at least the most profound, is that the wife's passion has been refocused. Instead of concentrating her ardor on her husband, she concentrates it on her babies. Where once her husband was the center of her passionate universe, there is now a new sun in whose orbit she revolves. Libido, as she once knew it, is gone, and in its place is all-consuming maternal desire. There is absolute unanimity on this topic, and instant reassurance.

Except, that is, from me.

I am the only woman in Mommy and Me who seems to be, well, getting any. This could fill me with smug well-being. I could sit in the room and gloat over my wonderful marriage. I could think about how our sex life - always vital, even torrid - is more exciting and imaginative now than it was when we first met. I could check my watch to see if I have time to stop at Good Vibrations to see if they have any exciting new toys. I could even gaze pityingly at the other mothers in the group, wishing that they too could experience a love as deep as my own.

But I don't. I am far too busy worrying about what's wrong with me. Why, of all the women in the room, am I the only one who has not made the erotic transition a good mother is supposed to make? Why am I the only one incapable of placing her children at the center of her passionate universe?

WHEN my first daughter was born, my husband held her in his hands and said, "My God, she's so beautiful."

I unwrapped the baby from her blankets. She was average size, with long thin fingers and a random assortment of toes. Her eyes were close set, and she had her father's hooked nose. It looked better on him.

She looked like a newborn baby, red and scrawny, blotchy faced and mewling. I don't remember what I said to my husband. Actually I remember very little of my Percocet- and Vicodin-fogged first few days of motherhood except for someone calling and squealing, "Aren't you just completely in love?" And of course I was. Just not with my baby.

I do love her. But I'm not in love with her. Nor with her two brothers or sister. Yes, I have four children. Four children with whom I spend a good part of every day: bathing them, combing their hair, sitting with them while they do their homework, holding them while they weep their tragic tears. But I'm not in love with any of them. I am in love with my husband.

It is his face that inspires in me paroxysms of infatuated devotion. If a good mother is one who loves her child more than anyone else in the world, I am not a good mother. I am in fact a bad mother. I love my husband more than I love my children.

An example: I often engage in the parental pastime known as God Forbid. What if, God forbid, someone were to snatch one of my children? God forbid. I imagine what it would feel like to lose one or even all of them. I imagine myself consumed, destroyed by the pain. And yet, in these imaginings, there is always a future beyond the child's death. Because if I were to lose one of my children, God forbid, even if I lost all my children, God forbid, I would still have him, my husband.

But my imagination simply fails me when I try to picture a future beyond my husband's death. Of course I would have to live. I have four children, a mortgage, work to do. But I can imagine no joy without my husband.

I don't think the other mothers at Mommy and Me feel this way. I know they would be absolutely devastated if they found themselves widowed. But any one of them would sacrifice anything, including their husbands, for their children.

Can my bad motherhood be my husband's fault? Perhaps he just inspires more complete adoration than other husbands. He cooks, cleans, cares for the children at least 50 percent of the time.

If the most erotic form of foreplay to a mother of a small child is, as I've heard some women claim, loading the dishwasher or sweeping the floor, then he's a master of titillation.

He's handsome, brilliant and successful. But he can also be scatterbrained, antisocial and arrogant. He is a bad dancer, and he knows far too much about Klingon politics and the lyrics to Yes songs. All in all, he's not that much better than other men. The fault must be my own.

I am trying to remember those first days and weeks after giving birth. I know that my sexual longing for my husband took a while to return. I recall not wanting to make love. I did not even want to cuddle. At times I felt that if my husband's hand were to accidentally brush against my breast while reaching for the saltshaker, I would saw it off with the butter knife.

Even now I am not always in the mood. By the time the children go to bed, I am as drained as any mother who has spent her day working, car pooling, building Lego castles and shopping for the precisely correct soccer cleat. I am also a compulsive reader. Put together fatigue and bookwormishness, and you could have a situation in which nobody ever gets any. Except that when I catch a glimpse of my husband from the corner of my eye - his smooth, round shoulders, his bright-blue eyes through the magnification of his reading glasses - I fold over the page of my novel.

Sometimes I think I am alone in this obsession with my spouse. Sometimes I think my husband does not feel as I do. He loves the children the way a mother is supposed to. He has put them at the center of his world. But he is a man and thus possesses a strong libido. Having found something to usurp me as the sun of his universe does not mean he wants to make love to me any less.

And yet, he says I am wrong. He says he loves me as I love him. Every so often we escape from the children for a few days. We talk about our love, about how much we love each other's bodies and brains, about the things that make us happy in our marriage.

During the course of these meandering and exhilarating conversations, we touch each other, we start to make love, we stop.

And afterward my husband will say that we, he and I, are the core of what he cherishes, that the children are satellites, beloved but tangential.

He seems entirely unperturbed by loving me like this. Loving me more than his children does not bother him. It does not make him feel like a bad father. He does not feel that loving me more than he loves them is a kind of infidelity.

And neither, I suppose, should I. I should not use that wretched phrase "bad mother." At the very least, I should allow that, if nothing else, I am good enough. I do know this: When I look around the room at the other mothers in the group, I know that I would not change places with any of them.

I wish some learned sociologist would publish a definitive study of marriages where the parents are desperately, ardently in love, where the parents love each other even more than they love the children. It would be wonderful if it could be established, once and for all, that the children of these marriages are more successful, happier, live longer and have healthier lives than children whose mothers focus their desires and passions on them.

BUT even in the likely event that this study is not forthcoming, even in the event that I face a day of reckoning in which my children, God forbid, become heroin addicts or, God forbid, are unable to form decent attachments and wander from one miserable and unsatisfying relationship to another, or, God forbid, other things too awful even to imagine befall them, I cannot regret that when I look at my husband I still feel the same quickening of desire that I felt 12 years ago when I saw him for the first time, standing in the lobby of my apartment building, a bouquet of purple irises in his hands.

And if my children resent having been moons rather than the sun? If they berate me for not having loved them enough? If they call me a bad mother?

I will tell them that I wish for them a love like I have for their father. I will tell them that they are my children, and they deserve both to love and be loved like that. I will tell them to settle for nothing less than what they saw when they looked at me, looking at him.

Do What Is Beautiful

This weekend Kevin’s parents were in town to attend two of his concerts. He sang Carmina Burana … twice. As always, his chorale does a magnificent job. For those of you unfamiliar with Carmina, it’s a series of pagan poems written in the 12th Century. One “new” thing was having ballet dancers appear on stage sporadically to highlight some of the dramatic moments of the piece. The conductor also arranged for subtitling for the first time. The text of Carmina, unlike the other (sacred) pieces sung by the chorale, was somewhat crude in various places. But the music itself was incredibly moving and completely inspiring.

Kevin’s mom remarked, after the first concert, that she is glad that Kevin can “not only do what is right and good, but also what is beautiful” by engaging in the Arts. I thought that was a very rousing insight. After all … life would be so bland and dull without the color and spice of art. God not only gives us beauty but also enables us to do beautifully.

Transition

I’m starting to work from home on Fridays now. There are many advantages for me doing this but, at least right now, the thing I’m most grateful for is saving an hour and a half of commuting. And so far this new work schedule has worked out well. Last Friday I was able to focus and get a lot done.

Several years ago I remember talking to an appellate attorney who worked from home. She said the hardest thing for her was the fact that she had to learn to ignore the dirty dishes sitting in the sink, and all of the other housework piling up, in order to work on her briefs. Hmm … I don’t think that will be a problem for me. I’m always looking for a good excuse to put off the dishes.

Yesterday Kevin had a hearing in the Bay and I went with him. We left Wednesday evening and didn’t get back until last night. On the way home, we listened to the Michael Savage radio show. Because I don’t really care for any of the other radio hosts that broadcast during that time of day (typically my drive home from work), I often tend to listen to Savage. He gets really annoying sometimes – especially his voice when he goes on a yelling rampage (he’s from the Bronx) – but I often find him to be very amusing. So, like a bad habit, he’s hard to shake, and I continue to listen to him. Recently I’ve been feeling guilty I listen to him so much. If he can so easily grate on my steel nerves, then I wonder how badly he upsets my child. In fact, my worst fear (lately) is that my child will be born knowing the voices of three people – me, Kevin, and Michael Savage. Ugh. But because I can’t stand being bored in the car, I continue to tune-in.

And my only consolation is that, now, my child will be relieved of hearing Savage at least one day a week … those blessed Fridays.

Having Your Cake and Eating It Too

I know this is “old news” but I’ve barely had time to eat, sleep, and groom lately, let alone blog. So, now that I have a second, I thought I’d take this opportunity to state what I think is a huge hypocrisy. And it all stems from the Charles and Camilla brouhaha. I realize that a lot of people could care less about Charles and Camilla. To make my point, I was trying to talk about it with Kevin in the car this morning (as we carpooled to work) and I could tell the whole saga just wasn’t exactly his cup of English tea. His eyes started glazing over – and that’s a dangerous thing when you’re driving 75mph on the freeway.

But here goes anyway … This is a blurb I found on the BBC website:

“In the eyes of the Church of England, both Charles and Camilla are adulterers who must carry some blame for the breakdown of their first marriages. They knew each other long before Charles met Diana, and Mrs. Parker Bowles' husband is still alive. So they cannot be married in church. The solution offered to them, as to many others, was to marry in a civil ceremony and then have their union blessed in a religious service.” (Go here to read the rest, if you care.)

This, to me, is a perfect illustration of following the “letter of the law” and ignoring the “spirit of the law.” If a church feels it cannot perform a wedding, how can they justify blessing it? Doesn’t it all boil down to the same thing (which is approval)?

I’m not arguing that Charles isn’t entitled to move on with his life. It’s obvious that he and Camilla are perfectly suited for each other. You can tell he loves and adores Camilla with the core of his very soul … and apparently this has been the case for three decades. You can see it in his eyes. Unlike the photos of him and Diana, when he’s with Camilla, he seems at peace with the world. Camilla completes him. What he should have done was marry her in the first place. But he didn’t. And the Church of England needed to make up its mind and either refuse to marry him or bless him OR decide it’s okay and do both. But, instead, the Church of England decided it wanted to have its cake and eat it too. And I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the madness of it all.

Lunch on Arnold

Today there was a big pro-Arnold rally at the capitol. When I heard about it, I wasn’t exactly motivated to get out of my seat and walk three blocks just to see the body-builder, turned actor, turned politician.

But then … I heard that they were giving away free lunches.

For some people (e.g., Kevin), food is not a motivating factor in their lives. For other people (e.g., Amy), food will make them move mountains and swim shark infested rivers. So … pretty soon I found myself at the steps of the capitol listening to a bunch of pro-Arnold rhetoric.

Arnold is a good governor insofar as he has some excellent ideas for fiscally salvaging this mess-of-a-state. And he’s willing to stand up to the special interests. And, let’s not forget that he’s “hip.” Like a friend of mine said, there aren’t too many people who could ride around the state in a hummer talking about pension-plan reform and make it sound "cool" (or at least "palatable" to the common man). But, somehow, Arnold pulls it off.

What I don’t like about Arnold is the fact that he’s in bed with the Kennedy family (literally) on all of the social issues that I care about most. But, let’s not talk about that right now …

The free lunch ended up being a hot dog. (I should have guessed.) You know, I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten a hot dog. Maybe ten years? And, just in case you care to know, I don’t feel badly attending his rally just for the free lunch because I did end up signing five of his initiatives. So, at least in a small way, I contributed to the good cause.

Oh, and Tom Arnold, the actor, was also there. He (a “proud democrat”) made some inflammatory remark about how you know you have a good governor when he can honk off both the extreme left and the extreme right. And then he added, “Sorry Rush.” This statement was interesting only considering the fact that most conservatives wouldn’t think of Rush as “extreme right.” What I happened to know (that Tom Arnold didn’t know) was many of the people I saw in the crowd are farther right than Rush. And most of the core activists in the GOP party are farther right than Rush. It was a major faux pas. But Tom’s from Hollywood … so we don’t expect much from him.

Craziness

Right now is a really busy time at work for me … I’m looking forward to the “rush” of the legislative season being over (already) … but that probably won’t be for some time. Tomorrow I’m testifying at a hearing against the legalization of physician-assisted suicide (PAS) in California. It just so happens that the organization I work for is also conducting a “Citizens Lobby Day” tomorrow. So, basically, we’re going to take a bunch of people with us to the PAS hearing, and then go back to our meeting-place, do our regular seminar, and then go lobby for a while. It’s going to be an insane!

Anyway … I’m not going to blog for long (although I miss blogging when I’m really busy at work) because my eyes have been glued to my computer for almost the past eleven hours and things are starting to appear hazy … ugh.

Probably the most fun thing we did this past weekend was go to a co-ed baby shower for a friend. I’m a freak when it comes to party games … I like them all! At this shower, we were all blind-folded and had to taste various baby foods and guess which ones were which. It was quite hysterical, actually. As I sat next to Kevin, ready to be blindfolded, I said to him, “Doesn’t this make you fondly remember those childhood birthday parties?” Anyway, it was nice to go back in time … That’s the problem with being a kid – all you want to do is grow-up and you don’t realize, at the time, how good you actually have it!

I also spent quite a while on a house project and later found out that all my time (and frustration) was for naught when Kevin had to come home (after helping some friends move) and re-do the entire project! But … that’s life … I guess.

Paint, Courts, Life, and Death

Last night we finished painting the “nursery” … except for one small thing. And, before I get yelled at … yes, I realize that some people say pregnant women shouldn’t be around paint. But I did my independent research and decided that the risks with latex paint are practically nonexistent, especially in a well-ventilated room, so I went ahead and did it anyway. It only took two evenings, fortunately (it’s a small room). I started the project by myself on Monday night while Kevin was at his choral rehearsal. When Kevin got home at around 10:30, I was covered in paint. It was in my hair, on my nose, on my arms and legs, clothes, and even under my bare feet. Kevin scratched his head, in complete puzzlement at how I could manage to make such a mess. What can I say? For me, painting is a total-body experience.
___________

Today Kevin is down in L.A. because his boss is arguing, before the California Supreme Court, that the California Coastal Commission is unconstitutional. This is a landmark case and Kev’s firm has already won at both the trial and appellate court levels. It should be interesting to see what happens … If the Commission is ruled unconstitutional, all of its decisions, since its inception, will be null and void. And that would have incredible repercussions in this state with seemingly endless miles of coastline.
___________

Yesterday I was nearly killed (no joke or exaggeration) as I walked several blocks downtown from my office to my car. The signal for my crosswalk had turned green and I began to walk across the street. A taxi-van driver, planning to make a left turn across my path, was daydreaming (or something?) and the car behind him honked for him to wake up and move on. He then hit the gas to make his left turn, without first looking to see if any pedestrians were crossing (i.e., yours truly). You know how you’ve seen those movies (e.g., Home Alone, Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, etc.) where a car has come within inches of a pedestrian before suddenly screeching to a halt? Well, that was me yesterday. When I saw the van coming my direction, my panicked instinct was to move backwards rather than keep on moving toward the curb. I think I probably ran backwards about four feet when the van finally stopped about two feet from where I stood. It’s a good thing a) the driver finally saw me and b) I had moved backward a few feet. What’s most comforting is that God protected me (and the baby) yesterday. He is good!

On the street corner where my death almost occurred is a little sidewalk café where several persons were drinking their afternoon coffee. During the whole episode, as my life flashed before my eyes, I could hear several people screaming. Obviously, they had seen what they thought would be the demise of a hapless, pregnant woman. After the incident was over, the taxi-driver rolled his eyes and drove on (never stopped) and I continued walking to my car. By the time I reached the curb by the café, the shock of it all had vanished and, because of the released tension (and definitely the hormones), I began to involuntarily shake with sobs. Although I hoped no one at the café saw me crying, I knew it was inevitable. This big gruff guy, smoking a cigarette, tried to console me by retorting, “Those d--- crazy taxi drivers!” Even though it wasn’t the most graceful thing to say, I’m sure he did his best and I really appreciated his kind attempt to calm and cheer me.
___________

Lastly, I learned yesterday that “fetus” means “little one” in Latin. It’s ironic that pro-abortionists won’t use the phrase “abort a baby” but insist on the phrase “abort a fetus,” which essentially means to kill a little one. Wow.

In the same genre, but concerning fetal movement, thus far I’ve been feeling these punching, kick-boxing moves that the baby loves to wage against the sides of my uterus. Over the past week, however, I’ve started to feel these deliberate "rolling" motions when I put my hand to my abdomen. Maybe I’m just being optimistic and simplistic, but it feels like my baby is “playing” with my hand and responding to my touch. And even if s/he isn’t, it’s nice to dream … Like Kevin says, I have the ability to convince myself of anything I want to believe in.

"April Fool's!"

You didn’t think I’d forget about this most-important holiday, did you? If you’re scrounging around for some ideas, here are A Few “Family Fun” Suggestions …

And, for all you chefs out there, here are some ways you can have fun with your family at the dinner table.

Lastly, here are the alleged Top 100 April Fool’s Day Hoaxes of All Time.

'Cuz I can't get her outta my mind ...

Thanks to those comments below, which make me think harder about why I believe what I believe. Iron sharpens iron.

Here are two more articles, which I believe are insightful, on Terri’s plight:

“In Love With Death”

“Starved for Justice”

Peggy Noonan and Ann Coulter are two of my favorite columnists, despite the fact that they each have very distinctive writing styles and personalities!

Yellow Flower

What I Have Learned

To be honest, it’s been difficult for me to keep the sufferings of poor, innocent Terri Schiavo out of my mind since we’ve returned to town … and reality. How far have we come as a society that we cannot save this unfortunate, vulnerable, disabled woman from her terrifying death sentence via dehydration and starvation? I’ve learned several things through this whole incident:

1) Be careful to not marry a loser.
2) There are many people in this world who think that, when you are no longer beneficial to society, you should be exterminated.
3) When you are disabled to the point where you are unable to speak for yourself, your guardian (despite glaring conflicts of interests and the fact that there is no concrete proof of your actual wishes concerning end-of-life care) can have you killed.
4) Many people cannot see the difference between “life support” and “food and water.” If the latter is synonymous with a respirator, then we’re ALL on life support.
5) Oh, and did I mention … ? Be careful to not marry a loser.

Hawaiian Hiatus

In the course of our short marriage, one thing that’s become apparent is our tendency to take big vacations at the most inopportune of times. Our first vacation together (post-honeymoon) was to England after we’d just taken the bar exam. At the time, we were both unemployed. Very unemployed, I might add.

So, now that we’re having our first child and should probably be thinking about buying baby furniture, it was only natural for us to decide to go to Hawaii for six days. Personally, my motivation to take “impractical vacations” stems from my philosophy that most of life’s brightest and best moments simply would never happen if we didn’t make them happen. Instead of saying “I can’t do this,” it’s better to say “how can I do this?” It often takes creativity and a lot of will-power, but magical things can happen when those two ingredients are combined.

And that’s exactly how I’d describe our trip to Kauai, Hawaii. Magical. From the moment we landed, it was like a fairy tale. And although I’m prone to egregious exaggeration at times, this time I’m definitely not exaggerating. I’ve been to some other beautiful places in this world … like Switzerland, for instance. But I can honestly say that, in my personal opinion, Kauai is the most beautiful, engaging, mysterious, rejuvenating, and friendly place I’ve ever been.

We knew we’d have a great trip when our plane flew into the Lihu’e airport and we spotted a whale spouting in the clear blue water below us. Probably the best thing about Kauai is how remote it is. There were no freeways or skyscrapers. The “main road” was two lanes, with several one-lane bridges. It was definitely a kick-back-and-forget-about-your-busy-life kind of place. Most of the island is not only uninhabited but also uninhabitable because of the steep mountains. There were waterfalls everywhere. (Including the Manawaiopuna Falls, made famous by Jurassic Park.) We also immensely enjoyed the clean beaches, the craggy mountains, the lush green vegetation and the countless tropical flowers. One of the best things we did was rent a convertible to get better views of the “Garden Island” while driving out on the roads.

We went snorkeling every day at a different beach. The fish were amazing! We saw so many different varieties, sizes and colors, including two eels. We also saw a bunch of brightly colored coral. Kevin took a surfing lesson on Thursday and it was fun to watch him from the beach. I was very impressed – he got up, and stayed up (which is the key, right?), on his third try. I would have liked to have tried it but, you know, pregnant women don’t fit very comfortably with their bellies smashed against a surf board. (Note to our first born child, when someday s/he is old enough to read: Please remember these difficult sacrifices your mother has made for you, namely no surfing, no snow skiing, and less ingestion of junk food. Thank you.)

Probably one of my favorite things was the luau. Kevin thought it was completely touristy but, as I reminded him, there are just some things, no matter how “touristy,” that you absolutely HAVE to do. I thought the “Imu” pig roast was interesting and, personally, I think the hula is one of the most beautiful dances I’ve ever seen. I could watch it for hours and hours without growing sick of it. In fact, I think I video-taped almost all of the hula dances at this luau. It was my first time to really use a video camera and, being a novice (or maybe my roots are blonde?), I forgot that, unlike the snapshot camera, you’re not supposed to turn it sideways to get a vertical picture. So, needless to say, we have quite a bit of footage of these girls dancing the hula sideways. Kevin had a good laugh about this after he saw what I’d done.

The only disappointment of the trip came on the last day there when we were scheduled to go for a helicopter ride to see the Na Pali coast but a rainstorm prevented it. We should have taken this trip at the beginning of the week when the weather was gorgeous and sunny. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, I suppose. And now we have a good excuse to go back. Unlike most of the other vacations I’ve taken – where I had a lot of fun but was ready to come home, I was very distraught and saddened when I had to leave that wonderful place. I think, having experienced Kauai, I have a better understanding of what Paradise truly is.

Together

Hike Above Ke'e Beach

Surfer Dude

Small Canyon

Lighthouse

Land of Fruit

Yummy Coconut

Big Belly

Na Pali Coast

Wailua Falls

Exaggerated Pregnancy

Looking into the sunset.

Red Flower

Open Road

Respite

I will be away from my computer for a few days on a much needed break from the world of technology. Before I go, I thought I’d just mention that, although it was incredibly fun and I’m glad I tried it once, being a fashion model just isn’t my exact cup of tea. But it was a great learning experience. At the end of the show, this little girl with long, stringy hair, and big eyes, who was holding the curtain to the runway for each model to walk through, came up to me and whispered, “I think you were the best one,” and then she smiled sweetly. That alone made it worth it. (Sigh.) Kevin took some video footage and someone else promised they’d mail me some digital pictures. If she comes through on her promise, then I’ll try to post them. Interestingly, I was chosen to be one of two ladies to go on the local news station and be interviewed about the fashion show. Several friends, and strangers, said, “Oh, I saw you on T.V.” It was nice to be on the news for something uncontroversial, for a change.

Here are several other observations: The clothes available for pregnant women nowadays are, actually, very cute. (And it seems like the more money you’re willing to pay, the cuter they get!) I’m very relieved that the “muu muu” look is out for pregnant women. It’s currently vogue to showcase the belly with fitted clothing, rather than try to hide it. And, because of this, most of us pregnant women out there are breathing a collective sigh of relief. Think about it … it’s really hard to feel attractive when you look like a tent.

It was also interesting to hang with a bunch of other pregnant ladies for a few days. They were all very nice … except for one lady who told me “oh my goodness, you’re huge” when I told her I was five months pregnant. When she said this to me, my sinful nature wanted to slap her and retort: “Do you actually enjoy being rude or is it that your mother never taught you how to be nice?” But, instead, I bit my tongue and smiled.

Boxing and Bull-Riding

Last night Kevin made me watch Rocky IV. It’s the one with Rocky going up against the Russian and both of them beating each other up to a bloody pulp. And if that weren’t bad enough, he then made me watch a T.V. special with a bunch of bull-riding disasters where, essentially, the cowboy falls off the bull and gets stomped, kicked, bucked, thrown into the air, or a combination of all of the above. “I just don’t get it,” I told him. “What is it that these guys think they have to prove by riding these reckless animals?” Is it the thrill of flirting with danger? Do they think it’ll attract the ladies? Is this how they prove they’re a ‘man’? How can getting kicked in the face, or having a bull’s horn stuck up your rear end, make anyone feel like a man? And, after someone starts doing it, do they get addicted to the adrenaline rush? Is that why they feel compelled to go back for more? Hmmm … I personally think anyone who would do such a stupid thing has something seriously missing upstairs.

Lessons from the disabled …

Lately I've been reading dozens of articles every week on physician assisted suicide because it’s a battle we’re facing in California right now. This one, however, was especially touching and especially well written.

“In Oregon, studies show that the biggest reason that people use the assisted-suicide law were loss of autonomy, decreased ability to enjoy life and loss of dignity, while inadequate pain control ranked low on the list. People with disabilities, who face daily a loss of autonomy, would argue that dignity has little to with the care one needs and more to do with societal attitudes and a lack of access to enjoy life. They are daily proof that these are invalid reasons to seek suicide. They deal with it. They find strength in those who support them. They live, they love, and they work and play because they must. There's no easy way out.

The flaw in the tale of ‘Million Dollar Baby’ was in the contrast between the character's ability to fight the odds when she was in top physical shape but her inability to fight the odds to redefine herself when her life was changed by disability. Instead, she let society define her and submitted to that definition.”

To read the entire article, go here to the S.F. Chronicle.

Holidays are good excuses ...

I’m embarrassed to say but I forgot it’s St. Patrick’s Day today until I was half-way to work. (Hope I don’t get pinched for not wearing green.) I hate not being “festive” when it’s a holiday. Holidays are so much fun because they provide excuses to celebrate both important and random things. And St. Patrick’s Day is a good excuse to do two things I don’t normally do – wear green and eat corned beef.

Today there were tons of people milling around downtown covered in green accents. I even saw some chic woman wearing a green pair of pants (not many women could carry this off, but she did so gracefully). It was fun to see so much green around me. It made the world seem smaller. And it made the people seem much more personable, as I could imagine them squinting their eyes at their wardrobes this morning to find the perfect green thing to wear.

The latest “situation” Amy’s gotten herself into …

Seeking to take a break from the hectic world of public policy, I’ve decided to try the world of modeling and fashion. Well, actually, “fashion” is a relative term when your abdomen and other strategic places are ever-expanding!

But back to what I was saying … There’s a maternity fashion show this weekend at the California Exposition (where they have the state fair) and the coordinator just asked me to be a model for it!! I had heard an advertisement for this on the radio several months back and thought it would be fun. So, I arbitrarily submitted my information. They called me back the next day only to say that it was too late because they were already full. After this phone call, I completely put the fashion show out of my mind.

Apparently, however, one of their models has cancelled and now I’m going to take her place! My “fitting” is scheduled for today at noon. (Here’s the link for the clothing company.) The part I’m looking forward to the most is getting pampered with free makeup and hair-dos. I also think it will be a blast to try something totally, completely different from anything I’ve ever done before! And it’ll definitely be something fun to laugh about years down the road …

Creative Policy

Kudos to the creativity of this lawmaker:

“A lawmaker in Maine has introduced a bill to prohibit abortions based on the sexual orientation of the unborn baby … He said the bill looks into the future in case scientists find what he described as a ‘homosexual gene.’”

For more info, go here.

Moving Onward

This pregnancy thing is starting to get old. It’s definitely made me realize I’m not invincible. On Monday morning, for instance, I had no idea how I’d make it through the day because of weekend exhaustion and all the things on my plate for the day (at work and home). If I were my normal, energetic self, I think I could handle all of it … or at least handle it better. But, anyway, now it’s Tuesday afternoon and, somehow, I made it. Praise God.

Yesterday I did an interview with the local radio news station (the one that airs Paul Harvey, and that’s my claim to fame). The topic of the interview was the gay marriage ruling yesterday in S.F. On my way home from work, late in the afternoon, I heard a few of my soundbites on the air. Although I’ve done lots of media interviews, they’re usually either aired live or in other places in the state (or interviews with print-media). It was bizarre to hear my own voice on the airwaves. It was much lower-sounding than I would have expected.

Last weekend my fun, adorable sisters were in town, along with my aunt and my mom. We had such a great time. My aunt had scoured the internet and found this place called “Daffodil Hill” in an old gold-mining town just south of where we live. The whole group of us went down there on Saturday and it was an absolutely gorgeous drive. The hills are very green right now and lots of flowers are in bloom. When we finally arrived at Daffodil Hill, it was very peaceful and serene. I’d never seen anything like it – daffodils everywhere (and a few tulips and irises sprinkled in for fun)! We also had good times, the rest of the weekend … eating fresh strawberry pie and listening to my aunt tell us tales about my mom’s childhood. She told these hilarious stories about my mom’s old boyfriends … beginning with her fifth grade flame. Fortunately my mom was laughing about it, too!

THE Question

On the way to bible study last night we were running late and we almost decided not to go. We also had a discussion in the car about how we haven’t really been learning anything new at this study, lately. Kevin wondered if we should even keep going at all. My response was that, even if we’re not getting anything from it, maybe God would have us go so that we can give something to others. It turns out that we’re very glad we were there …
______________

She wrinkled her brow and shook her head, “I don’t understand how Christ can reconcile us to God?” The young lady who asked this heartfelt question last night had been coming to bible study since September and we knew that neither she nor her husband had professed faith in Christ . . . yet. Now, at last, THE question had been asked. I held my breath – and time seemed to freeze – as I wondered who would answer this question. (It’s kind of weird because there’s not really a definite “leader” at this bible study.) After a moment of silence, Kevin stepped up to the plate.

It was amazing … simple … beautiful. It was the gospel.

Kevin started out, using scriptures along the way, telling this woman that sinful-man cannot meet God’s standard of perfection. And it’s not just that we all have sinned, it’s that none of us can ever hope to meet the high standard God has set for us. Because we cannot meet God’s high standard (whether by our commissions or our omissions), we are doomed to the punishment of eternal death. But God, because of His great love for us, provided a solution. He sent His son, fully human and fully God, to live a perfect life and pay the penalty of death in our stead. Not only was Christ sinless, but every thought that ever entered His mind and every word He ever spoke was out of pure love. (Incredible, isn’t it?!) When we place our trust in Christ, we are justified before God because we take on Christ and our sins become nonexistent in God’s eyes. (Actually, in addition to using several scriptures, Kevin also threw in a Charles Dicken’s analogy from A Tale of Two Cities about substitution and payment for another’s transgressions!)

Although I’ve been hearing the gospel message all my life, last night felt like the first time all over again. It was new. And it was powerful. I was reminded that the “message of the cross is foolishness to them that are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” Last night I (again) realized my need for Christ. And so did the querying young lady who sat across the room from Kevin. It was so amazing to see understanding (light) finally surface in her eyes. Praise God that He seeks and saves those who are lost. Last night it was evident that God was seeking out this woman.

Baby Einstein

Okay, first, a disclaimer. I am not hereby trying to knock Baby Einstein. Got it? In fact, maybe I’ll buy something from them sometime . . . who knows?

Having said that, I think it’s interesting to hear of parents who feel that their babies will have an intellectual advantage in life because of using Baby Einstein’s toys and videos.

I can only imagine what Einstein himself, born in 1879, had to “play with” growing up. Probably nothing too colorful or exciting. And then I think of all those kids in the 18th century who knew Latin, and five other languages, by the time they were 12. Their moms probably put them out to “play” on a plain, brown blanket with nothing to look at but drab gray curtains and an ugly dog. But here is an example of a Baby Einstein toy: The Discovering Water Activity Gym. It comes complete with a musical aquarium with swimming ocean animals, dancing lights, accessory toys, animal peek-a-boo flaps, plastic discovery cards, etc. Could it be that our kids today are too over-stimulated? Could it be that they have so many noise-making, light-shining, colorful toys in their lives (not to mention the T.V.) that they have less room for creativity than in past centuries?

Honestly, I have NO idea about this. I’m just “thinking out loud” right now. (That’s what blogs are for, right?)

After perusing the Baby Einstein website a bit further, though, there do seem to be some interesting books and videos on teaching the humanities to your kids at young ages. I’ll have to see if I can check some of this stuff out at the library. Anyone have any opinions? Any “normal” parents out there who think their child has been greatly helped, educated, enlightened, turned-into-a-better-citizen because of Baby Einstein?

Auntie Melissa

My mom called me this morning. I hadn’t talked to her in a while. She asked me if I had a minute to talk to my sister Melissa (age 8) because she had a “pressing question” for me. Her question: “What room are you going to put the baby in?” Apparently she had been thinking about this and was anxious to know. She had also been wondering how we’ll decorate and she had definite opinions on the cribs and other nursery décor she’d seen at Babies R Us recently. (In fact, I think Melissa has probably thought more about cribs than we have!) Later in the conversation I asked her if she wants us to have a boy or girl. She replied: “I want you to have a boy but I don’t know why.” This really surprised me since I figured that my sister fit the stereotype – a little girl who is usually annoyed at boys (at least 90% of the time) and wants the world to be populated with more little girls. But apparently this isn’t the case.

One thing that’s easy for me to forget is how little-Melissa is excited about being an aunt. And how her life will be impacted (not drastically, but impacted nonetheless). Today I made a mental note to try to call her more often and include her in some things.

How Kevin Folds Shirts

Okay, if any of you think this is a joke, it has actually revolutionized our lives (or at least our laundry!). The other day I noticed Kevin folding his undershirts, using this same method! I think it’s absolutely hysterical. I still can’t figure out exactly how to do it myself – but it’s greatly entertaining to watch!

Grocery Shopping is “Showtime”

“Some folks go to the supermarket for food. How quaint. How boring. How 2004.” The more I read of this article, the more interesting and fascinating it became! WOW.

Drinking a Sin?

"Hello Ociffer. I'm not as think as you drunk I am." -This is a random line Kevin quotes to me on occasion. But, that's besides the point ...

My dad and I disagree on precious little in life. I respect my dad a lot and would go to him for advice on any subject. One thing we do disagree on, however, is whether or not drinking alcohol is biblically sinful.

Here’s an interesting article I found yesterday by following a link on a local (conservative, but not necessarily “Christian”) news blog on this very topic:

“I like beer. No wait, that's not true. I love beer. I love lagers and pilsners and ales and stouts. As a Christian this begs the question: Is drinking a sin? In the words of Rev. Lovejoy, ‘Short answer No with an If, long answer Yes with a But.’” To read more, go here to The Wrong Blogger’s website.

I pretty much agree with the author of the above article, with two exceptions:

The one thing that really bothered me is that the author treats the issue of drunkenness entirely too lightly. (As a Christian, he admits: “As I get older I find myself actually getting drunk to be a rare occurrence,” but doesn’t make any apologies for this.) Although it’s not sinful to drink alcohol in moderation, the bible is very clear that it’s a sin to become drunk. In other words, while it may be okay to drink, it’s never okay to drink too much.

Another thing I disagree with the author about is the tastefulness of beer. (But this is obviously a matter of personal preference.) He likes it, while I personally think it’s the most vile-tasting concoction ever invented. I’d much rather drink something sweet, like Pepsi, for instance.

Probably because of my Baptist upbringing, once I accepted that drinking alcohol is not sinful by itself, I still clung to notions that it’s probably “better” to not drink at all or that it’s a “higher standard” to refrain from all drinking (vs. drinking in moderation). But then this guy I knew in my college and career group challenged me with this question: “If the bible doesn’t condemn drinking, aside from getting drunk or making a brother stumble, how can you possibly say it’s ‘better’ to not drink? Either a thing is sinful or it’s not. You can’t judge someone for something the bible doesn’t judge them for.” (i.e., You can’t say that a person who completely abstains from all alcohol is “better” than someone who drinks a glass of wine after dinner every night because neither of them is “sinning,” nor is anyone necessarily doing a “good work.”)

I found myself stupefied and didn’t have any good answer for him. This made me crazy since, at that age, I thought I knew everything.

So, I’ve had some history dealing with this issue. Maybe that’s why the above article caught my attention.

Playing God

It’s been interesting, to me, to read message boards with entries written by people who are very concerned about their unborn baby being a particular sex. Here is a very typical example of statements made on these message boards:

“Now that we're planning for #2, I'm getting so scared that if it's another boy I'll be really disappointed and won't really love him as much. Yeah, it'll be cool to have two brothers--for them. But I want a daughter! 3 kids isn't an option so this is the last chance.”

One well-meaning person offered a solution to parents desiring a certain gender: Try Microsort, to sort the father’s sperm, before it’s placed in mommy’s uterus. It’s the most accurate way to ensure (it’s 73-88% successful) you’ll get the sex you want and it’s only $3-4K per attempt.

While I can understand a person wanting (even strongly wanting) their baby to be a certain sex, it just seems so funny to me that such a big deal is made over it. I think it’s human nature to want to control every area of our lives. And this is just one of those areas in life that we know we ultimately can’t control. (Even if a couple uses Microsort, it’s not completely guaranteed they’ll get what they want.)

I think God probably sits in heaven and laughs at all of our attempts to control everything. After all, there’s nothing that we can absolutely control. We can make all the “right” decisions, but that doesn’t guarantee we’ll get the results we expect. We can eat only healthy food – at every blasted meal – and we still might die of a heart attack at age forty. We can plan our retirement accounts to perfection and we still might lose it all in a bad investment. And then there’s planning the gender of your child . . . you might wish, and wish, and wish for a girl – and use Microsort to your heart’s content – but you still might get a boy. And, ultimately, God knows what’s best. So, right now – at this very moment, I am exhaling a BIG sigh of relief that He is in control of all things . . . and I am not. And, if you’re like me, there are many times in life when you didn’t get what you wished for and, later, in retrospect, you said, “Thank you Lord, for not giving me what I thought I wanted.”

___________________

Speaking of gender, today we had our 20 week ultrasound (only I didn’t schedule it in time so we’re actually at 22 weeks!) and we had the option of finding out the gender. I must confess that it was extremely difficult for me to keep my mouth shut and not ask the technician to tell me. In fact, I was such a “big girl,” because the first thing I told the technician was that we do not want to know the gender (so she wouldn’t accidentally say something to reveal it). Because we told her this at the outset, she whizzed past the child’s butt every time she saw it and never fully brought it into focus. Kevin surmised, from what we briefly saw of it, that we’re having a little girl because he didn’t “see” anything to indicate otherwise. But that’s just amateur speculation, of course.

It was incredible to see the ultrasound images. I know some women don’t like the idea of having ultrasounds because they think it’s “invasive.” (At least I think that’s their argument.) I personally think women who choose not to have ultrasounds are missing out on a very memorable and completely amazing experience. And from what I’ve read, babies can’t hear ultrasounds because the pitch is higher than the human ear can detect. Although, the baby did move around a lot today. But that was probably due to the fact that I drank two shots of espresso right before I went in so the baby would be more active on the monitor. I told Kevin that, hopefully, this is not an indication of a trend in parent-centered childrearing (i.e., it’s all about us, “Move baby, move! We want to see you move!”).

On Evolution: “The Shell of Death”

Thanks to Kevin’s mom for forwarding this incredible personal account, written by a man who attends their church in Indianapolis.

Scientific Heresy
written by Dr. Rick Gamble

Recently on an international flight, the well dressed middle aged man seated beside me was, like me, working away on his computer. While we both had laptops, mine was clearly a Chevrolet to his Cadillac. I could see that he was doing some very advanced mapping type of work. Since we had plenty of time, I eventually asked him about what he was working on.

With the reluctance of an important man not having time to share with someone his on Tolkienesque “precious”, he said that he was watching an archeological dig in Africa. I replied with a knowledgeable “uh-huh”. But inside I knew that nobody up in a plane could watch someone in Africa. Yet, it was clearly not a movie playing on his screen.

Finally, I jammed up my courage and asked him a few more questions about what he was doing. The man was, in fact, “watching” a dig and showed me how he called it to his screen. From a large world map, he highlighted a place in Africa, where, within a few nano-seconds, an area appeared on the screen. This was no ordinary, get your driving directions, map-quest type of map. It was topographical and geological-with mountains and elevations presented clear as a bell. He then refocused, and it was plain that the lens had captured about a square mile of mother earth.

My palms began to sweat. I had never seen such a thing. The laptop was obviously accessing highly powerful satellite images. I was slowly becoming intimidated by that machine sitting next to me, and noticing my reaction with hidden delight, the owner asked if I wanted to “see” too. As I stammered a “sure”, he pushed the next button.

There they were. Human beings, detected and tracked by their heat, were working-actually digging, in the dirt. I responded to the “mission impossible” type graphics with as much sophistication as possible, and breathed out a knowledgeable “cool”. Not impressed, he went back to his work and I buried my confused brain in mine.

As sufficient time had elapsed, enough that I thought it possible that he could forget the sophomoric reaction of someone who wrote his dissertation on a typewriter (and it happened that he closed the mouth of the lion seated beside me), I finally asked him what he did for a living. He must have been bored, so he opened up and mentioned that he was in charge of the Smithsonian Institute’s National Museum of Natural History. Yeah right, I thought. But in response to my questions, he grocery listed a number of Ph. D’s employed in each of the various departments. That information, combined with the stealth satellite technology, nearly put my doubts to rest.

As we talked some more, I asked about his family and he showed me a picture of his wife. She was attractive, but obviously decked out for a grand party. However, as I looked more closely, I couldn’t help but notice her beautiful necklace-one that would regal any wearer.

Before continuing the story, I need to mention that on our honeymoon, my bride and I went to the Smithsonian museum. While there, we saw the famous Hope Diamond. In the picture of the man’s wife, I saw it again. It was on her neck.

He obviously enjoyed that I noticed. As director of Smithsonian, he has personal access to all of its treasures. His wife is permitted to wear the diamond in public. There were no more doubts in my mind about what this man did for a job.

So here was my apologetic chance. Strapped beside me for a few hours more was a Harvard trained scientist who happened to run the Smithsonian. With a quick prayer and mental download of files on creation, the age of the earth, and the antiquity of humanity- we went at it. To each of my questions he gave the orthodox responses of the religion of the Big Bang, the cult of the primordial slime, and the ethics of the world without absolutes.

Those responses did not surprise me. What I found fascinating was his reaction to pointed challenges that revealed his underlying assumptions. He was clearly unable to handle probing questions concerning his world and life view. His reaction actually reminded me of a few times that Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked on our door. When confronted with their theological heresy concerning Christ, based on the Greek text of the New Testament, the Witness’ eyes inevitably glazed over and they repeated whatever mantras they had been trained to regurgitate. Dr. Smithsonian was no different. Nothing that I could say cracked his kriptonian shell. It is a shell of death.

Such stubbornness of heart in the scientific community was underlined recently when an RP teaching elder related his experiences to the Presbytery as a Ph.D. at a major state university. No matter where the scientific evidence led, the brother confessed, one place it could not go for his colleagues was to the scientific heresy of a God who created in an intelligent fashion.

With that background, Stephen Meyer’s story shouldn’t surprise anyone, but how can it not? The Cambridge Ph.D. published an article entitled “The origin of Biological information and the higher taxonomic Categories” in the Proceedings of the Biological Society of Washington. As has been reported in the secular newsprint as well as by Christian media, The Proceedings editor (not Dr. Meyer but a Dr. Rick Sternberg) was fired for permitting the publication of such blasphemous article. Meyer’s unpardonable sin was simply the supposition that the development of new cells and species, from nothing, required biological information that indicated some type of conscious activity. This supposedly erroneous position knocks over all the burning candles at the altar of Darwin and his random biological origins, and must be snuffed out.

The Proceedings of the Biological Society of Washington is directly affiliated with the Smithsonian Institute. The former editor, Dr. Sternberg, has a spacious office in the sprawling complex. Not only was he dismissed, but the Smithsonian administration will no longer even allow him to access their collections-thus effectively ending his scientific career. Meanwhile, the director’s wife can still dance with the hope diamond dangling around her neck. It is a treasure that he will keep for her no matter what the cost. It looks like Tolkien’s character Gollum never died.

I Need A Blog Fix

Okay, I need a quick blog fix from my job. Lately I’ve hardly been taking a lunch break because legislation is starting to pile up rapidly on my desk, screaming for me to do something about it! It’s a good thing I really enjoy what I do for a living. Otherwise, it would be complete insanity.

Tonight should be interesting . . . I’m having an uncertain amount of women and girls (should be a lot) over to my house for a slumber party. It’s been a while since I’ve been an active participant in a bona fide slumber party. I think we’re going to do the whole nail-painting, giggling, talking about boys, ice-cube dropping routine. (Well, maybe not the ice-cube dropping part.) The lady organizing this party (I’m simply the hostess), is getting married in two weeks! I told her she’s absolutely crazy for planning a non-wedding-related slumber party approximately fourteen days before her marriage. But she has a great heart and wants to do it as a ministry to younger girls. Plus, she says that she doesn’t really want do an over-nighter any time soon after she’s married. So, maybe it’s technically “logical” . . . but I still think she’s mad.

Okay, now I’ve gotta get back to work. Thanks for sharing in my fleeting Blog Break.

Kev's Radio Interview for Choral Society

Ok, here's the link to the radio interview, which I'm told aired this morning on Sacramento public radio. You can listen to it here.

Am I really bad?

Okay, I have a confession to make. I saw on Tulip Girl's blog that Yahoo members get free ice cream at Baskin-Robbins today only. So I signed up both Kevin and I to get yahoo accounts so we could each get free ice cream tonight. Is that really bad of me?

Opera and Chocolate in the Rain

Last night was our final opera of the season. We saw Madame Butterfly. I thought it was really good, but also very dark. At the end, there was a whole row of teenage girls sitting behind us who were bawling their eyes out. I had already known, from reading the back of the program, that the heroine was going to commit suicide at the end of the show. So, even though the events were indeed tragic, I wasn't exactly ready to cry over it. But I did think it was sweet that the girls were so moved. The music from Madame Butterfly was absolutely beautiful. Both of us enjoyed it very much.

As we exited the theater, there was a steady drizzle of cold rain falling from the sky. We shivered as the doors to the theater flung open and we prepared to walk the eight blocks to our car. (There was a rock concert going on last night, too, resulting in parking spaces being scarce.) Luckily for us, there was a big tent outside the theater where some Starbucks promotional people were handing out free Chantico drinks. (Do you remember how I was telling you recently that I wanted to try this sometime?) The sight of those Chantico drinks, all lined up in a row, was very delightful to me. I took it as one of those little gifts in life, sent directly from God just for me.

You see, I’m a very simple person when it comes right down to it. I don’t need much to make me happy. To me, two ounces of warm (free!) Chantico on a cold, rainy night is enough to put me in a good mood for a week. [So, hint-hint, you can expect many euphoric posts written by me in the next seven days, or so!]

Choral News

Recently the conductor of Kevin’s chorale asked him to be one of two people (out of a 180-voice choir), to be interviewed by the local classical music radio station about his participation in the chorale and about their upcoming concert. While Kevin was wondering why the heck he was chosen to do this, I reminded him that his conductor really likes him. For example, he was asked to sing in the Kenny Rogers concert last year. (See this post and this post. Hee, hee.) And every time I run into the conductor, he recognizes me and tells me how much he loves Kevin because Kevin is the only bass who actually makes eye contact with him during a concert. (Which I think is funny because the conductor tells me this nearly every time I see him, like he’s forgotten he already told me!) Anyway, Kevin still thought it was weird that he was asked to do the media interview. After the interview was over, he said that, apparently, the reporter really liked one line Kevin gave him about his favorite part of Haydn’s Creation but it was too long to include in the clip so Kevin had to repeat it five or six times. And you know how, when you repeat a line, it’s never as good – or as convincing – as when you say it off the cuff. But, overall, it sounds like the interview went well and it was a fun experience for Kev.

What's the Point?

"If we would talk less and pray more about them, things would be better than they are in the world; at least, we should be better enabled to bear them." - John Owen

Lately we’ve had discussions on the purpose of prayer. If God is sovereign, and in control of all things, why pray? The consensus is that the purpose of prayer is not to change events (i.e., change God’s mind) but to change us. Prayer aligns us with God’s heart and makes us desire His will above our own fancies. After all, the results, even when painful, will always be what is best for us, God’s children.