potty talk

Ellie had a rash in a sensitive area today. When her diaper was off, she was whining about it and pulling at the aforementioned sensitive areas. While doing so, she looked down to examine and was surprised with her findings. "I have a hole in my vagina!" Hooray. My 2-year old now knows what a vagina is.

She is quite interested these days in private part words. Yesterday Matt told me he heard her in the next room singing to herself all the naughty words she could think of to the tune of "Oh come Oh come Emmanuel."

Penis penis penis penis penis
butt butt butt butt butt butt butt butt butt
poopy poopy pee pee pee pee
fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart
Vagina! Vagina! Vagina vagina vagina vagina vagina.

I am so proud.

The Circle of the Sun

Aunt Amy Bridget Vander Zanden Twadell
Born into this world December 2, 1953
Born into Eternity October 7th, 2008

There was a song that my godmother Aunt Amy would sing to me when I was little. She would sit with her legs crossed on the ground and I would sit in her lap. "Put your arms around me like the circle of the sun, you know I love you baby when my easy ridin's done..." I didn't really understand what the lyrics meant then, but liked the tune a lot and loved hearing her sing it as she hugged me and rocked me back and forth. When I was a kid I thought she made it up herself. Everyone in the family thought of it as "Amy's song."

A child of a very large Catholic family, Amy Vander Zanden was raised in a strict but very loving household. Speaking with a giddy cheerfulness when recounting childhood stories, she told of the seven children using an assembly line after dinner to clear, wash, dry, and put away all the dirtied dishes. If you'd ever seen my grandmother cook you would understand the challenge that would have awaited them. The table would have looked as if it were set for a State dinner at the White House; the kitchen would have looked like Hiroshima after the bomb. The seven kids celebrated when their assembly line technique helped them achieve their all-time best record of seven minutes. My Aunt Amy laughed when she told stories of playing loud music with her siblings and holding rolled up paper between their lips when their parents were away to arouse the suspicion and ire of the nosey old lady across the street. She rolled her eyes when telling about her fancy sister buying expensive shoes and paying her little brother (who wore the same size at the time) to break them in for her very sensitive feet.

My Aunt Amy didn't tell many stories of her adolescent and teenaged years. There were whispers of a cousin's sexual abuse and my aunt's subsequent troubled times. She went to college in the early seventies and fully embraced the age of drugs, artists, and rock and roll. My mom described her during those years as soft-spoken, kind, and "a little unsure of herself." She met a long haired, warmhearted lover of art and music and fell in love. Shortly after my Aunt became engaged, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer and was given a very short time left to live. The family mobilized and put together the most charming, heartfelt wedding in two weeks time. Wearing a simple, vintage garden dress and adorned with a crown of flowers, my Aunt Amy married Kenny Twadell in a simple church ceremony and a reception at home among a very small circle of friends and family. For my Aunt Amy, this wedding was absolutely perfect. My Uncle Kenny and she moved to a farm in Darlington, Wisconsin shortly after. My aunt talked about that house as her favorite place of residence, a place of peace and simplicity. Eventually they moved to Chicago and my aunt became a social worker, helping children from the city's south side and surrounding suburbs cope with lives broken by abuse and neglect. Never having had children of her own, she poured her mothering instinct into loving her nieces and nephews and caring for the troubled children who sat in her office each day. My aunt became a straight-talking, strong woman while working as a therapist. She excelled in this role and helped dozens of children overcome their own troubled times, but the sadness and brokenness of these children's lives was a heavy burden. She battled alcoholism much of her adult life. I remember asking her once when she was braiding my hair why her hands always shook so much. It wasn't until I was in college that she finally started on the path to sobriety. With the help of AA, she got better and helped dozens of others on the path to sobriety. She made deep, soulful friendships with her AA friends. She began to radiate a confidence and peace like never before. Embracing her artistic and spiritual side in this new life, my Aunt Amy started making gorgeous scarves and shawls on her loom with her now steady hands. Many friends and family are blessed to have a few of Aunt Amy's creations.

My favorite memories with my aunt were at Point Comfort, a cozy little cottage which sat right on the water about twenty minutes away from the town of Green Bay. It was there that I would sit in her lap and avoid the tip of her lit cigarette while watching the sky explode into shades of orange, purple, and red as the sun plunged into the water's horizon. I know she was as happy here as she was as a child or on the farm in Darlington. There, all troubles would disappear and the calm waters and golden sun would hold her in a constant state of peace. Out on the beach in front of the cottage I would happily sit in her embrace as she sang me the song that I now know is an old 20's folk song remade by the Grateful Dead, Arlo Guthrie, and others during the early 70's. The lyrics now aren't so unintelligible to me as an adult. I think somehow when that artistic spirit entered the original writer of this song, it had my aunt in mind all along. Eight years before she was diagnosed with a cancer that would prove to be too much to fight against, she sang this beautiful song to me at my wedding. Now, I sing it back to her.

Put your arms around me like the circle of the sun.
You know I love you baby when my easy ridin's done.
Would you believe I love you? Look at the shape that I'm in!
Would you believe I'm sinking? Look at the hole that I'm in!
Stealing, stealing...nobody's got a hold on me.
Cuz' I'm stealing back to my same old used to be.

My dearest Auntie Amy, rest well in the Circle of God's Sun.

The Bitch vs. The Angel

I am missing blogging. Someone described blogging to me once (when I hadn't yet admitted to her that I blogged) as a sort of "verbal masturbation." I'm sorry, Mom. And I agreed. It is. Blogs are full of "I thinks" and "me" and stories that attempt to show what a smart writer, cute storyteller, and interesting person the blogger is. But blogging is fun, it's compelling sometimes, and it's a wonderful release to be able to put something down on paper that has been swirling around in the brain. When you tell someone your thoughts, it feels better. In the old fashioned method of calling a friend up and talking about your thoughts, or sitting in a cafe somewhere to chit-chat, you're also tailoring your stories to that one person. If you're like most people, you change slightly depending on who you're talking to. You don't tell dirty jokes to your grandma, you don't talk baby talk with your coworkers, and you soften and lighten your verbage on political views with someone you know does not share your opinions. This last example you might disagree with.

With a blog, you can more easily be yourself. And for this reason, it's sometimes an even greater release of tension to be able to put onto paper in a somewhat coherent manner one's feelings, opinions, and happenings in life. It's like telling a friend, but that friend is the combination of all friends and relatives in the audience. You can't possibly tailor your speaking points in a blog. You have no choice but to be yourself. And for a woman who is accustomed to trying to please many people, it's nice to be able to be yourself. It's nice to practice how that feels, because maybe, just maybe, we should try that a little bit more in real life too.

When I was reading the Betty Friedan book last year, "The Feminine Mystique," the book that essentially got the ball rolling on the women's movement, I remember reading a quote from her ex-husband as he talked about Betty's personality and how it helped lead to the downfall of the marriage: "She changed the course of history almost singlehandedly. It took a driven, super aggressive, egocentric, almost lunatic dynamo to rock the world the way she did. Unfortunately, she was that same person at home, where that kind of conduct doesn't work. She simply never understood this." I feel that if we behave like the woman who speaks her mind and doesn't sugar-coat our words, our home life and social life suffers. As the eloquent Tina Fey put it in an SNL skit when talking about Hillary Clinton, "Yeah, she's a bitch...but bitches get stuff done."

Sometimes when blogging, our own questions can be answered for us. Like this: we love to categorize in black and white, yes and no terms when the world is full of grey maybes. Do we have to be either Bitch or Angel, or can we be a very direct but very sympathetic friend?

There. I feel better already. What a release!

These dresses will make you look really hot

Not sure yet how to do the swish in the hair. When I find a how-to guide, I will let you know.

http://fldsdress.com/index.php

21-day cleanse

I'm not decided on whether I'm going to do this Oprah-inspired vacation from caffeine, alcohol, sugar, gluten, and animal products. Mostly, I say what's left? Why would I give up my two glasses of sweet reward at the end of a long hard day where I have successfully made it through playdates, quibbles, parks, and tantrums. And what would inspire me to get up in the morning and do it all again without the taste of delicious coffee laden with tiramisu coffeemate creamer? And what would I replace my lunches of peanut and butter and jelly crusts and crumbs of chips? Now, one of the blogs I check from time to time, dooce, is doing it. Here's what she says about why she's doing it:

I want to be a better wife, a more conscious and present mother, a more loyal friend, and a better listener. I'd like to handle my anxiety better.

Maybe I need this cleanse. I also would like to lose my last pounds of baby fat that have collected around my gut, ass and thighs to inspire me to buy one of those swimming skirts that I swore I would never buy. Ooh, actually I've bought two of them. One black and one brown.

I always thought that having a tan makes cellulite less noticable. But it's hard to get a tan on the backs of your legs when you're not willing to expose them anyhow. Maybe instead of the cleanse I'll just get some of that sunless tanner that will make me turn orange and distract people from the chub.

Malapropism

Thanks to a friend who sent this e-mail to me, from her help desk at work.

From: Help Desk
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2008 11:57 AM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Cc: Help Desk
Subject: Thanks, sorry

Thanks Michelle and I would like to apologize for the incontinence.

Little Red Hen Removal

I have removed "little red hen" from my list of posts. I wrote it when I was crabby. It is sarcastic and kind of mean. I'm sorry if I offended any of my three readers. The point raised was what makes a person "good?" The old way says family values, religion. I just meant to question those old ways because plenty of religious people get themselves into heaps of trouble, and plenty of agnostics lead saintly lives. Or let's be honest, maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel like I can still be good even though I have a tattoo, question religion, and have done bad stuff.

Target hit

In Target on Monday, Ellie took off her pink crocs in the checkout line. Here's the conversation that followed with the woman behind me:

Woman [holding up shoes]: "Are these yours?"

Me: "Oh, thank you. Yes they are."

Woman [handing me the shoes]: "Gross."

Happy Mother's Day

If only we could sit on a cloud somewhere and look down and try to understand the world from a transcendent angle, we would get the Point of Life. But sitting on a cloud would only allow us to see the world, not the whole universe. And to see the whole universe, you have to be outside of the universe. Do you have any idea how big the universe is? Neither do I. But I am pretty sure it's really really big. So imagine for a minute that you could hold a video camera and point it at the universe and then zoom in on the Milky Way Galaxy, then on our solar system, then on our world, then on North America, Illinois, and finally on my little bungalow. We could keep going, of course, down to the tiny universes that exist within the subatomic structure, but I already just had to look up the word "subatomic" to make sure I spelled it right, so let's just not go there.

When I look in the eyes of my little angels, it's kind of like that video camera zooming in and out of the universe. In their eyes, I see both the DNA and the stories wrapped around those double helix strands. I see that I'm not the first mother who has been frustrated by a whiny and tired kid in church who is throwing a fit (I might be the first, however, to watch that fit be about putting down her bible for communion). I am also not the first whose heart bursts with pride when her son is sweet to his baby sister (fetching her slippers for her cold feet yesterday morning). I am also not the first who has spanked in anger (last week when the same loving boy pinched my butt with Matt's pliers). I have been blessed by three loving, silly, smart, and sometimes naughty little beans. Being a mom, I feel like I have sat upon that cloud and understood the meaning of life. I raise my glass tonight to all those moms who have wept with joy and frustration at their kids, and all the women who look forward to the day that they will, and all who are terrified of the day that they will. Happy Mother's Day!

Life Direction

I'd like to get the blog up to date...

We went to Gulf Shores, Alabama in late March. It was LOVELY to get out of the bitter Chicago winter and walk barefoot on the beach. Matt and I decided it was a perfect spot to go every spring break. The drive is long (15 hours) and the car smells like french fries and rotting spilled juice by the end of it, but you can actually transport 5 people to a beach destination for under $500. We did the drive mostly at night when the kids were asleep, and as a result had some lovely, long, uninterrupted conversations.

It is so good for the head to get out of the routine. It gave me perspective about the routine. I have some new ideas about career, self, and house. Here goes:

Career: While floating in the hot-tub, I got a message from God about my future routine (half-kidding). "Teach high school religion" was the message. Great hours that match with kids' school hours, in the field I want, can perhaps get kids' tuition for free, will only take 2 years to get certified, plenty of high schools around Chicago exist, and it's a great stepping stone to a PhD at a later date if I feel like it. So yay! Direction!

Self: Volunteer with Church's social committee & kids' public school cultural arts committee, continue Catholic spirituality group and Buddhist classes, start Bob Green diet and exercise program for life, go on a spring break every year and a week long vacation every summer. Go away for a weekend w/ Matt every year.

House: Fix some stuff up now to make house presentable, 8-12 years knock down kitchen wall and make one big open kitchen/family room. This will allow bigger parties!

Schadenfreude

Long absence. By now all of my two dedicated readers I'm sure have found other blogs and thus other people's strange worlds to peer into and thus feel better about themselves and their own lives. But I'm back, so now the schadenfreude* can continue here.

My neighbor (one of the two dedicated readers) says that living in Logan Square in Chicago was nice because the strange people who lived there made her feel less strange about herself. This is the reason I would never make it in Naperville. Matt and I are simply too weird for Naperville. We would implode when we didn't cut our lawn when it was 1 1/2 inches high, people would stop talking to me when they realized that sticking my foot in my mouth happens on a weekly basis, and I'm certain I would burn in hell if I admitted my fondness for the Buddhist way of life. I seem to be very mean towards Naperville. I'm sorry, dear town of my childhood, you gave me many great memories. Swim team, wide sidewalks for bike rides, and a beautiful church where my love of God was born. Naperville is perfect...so perfect that you can't possibly be friends with it anymore, much less stay in a committed relationship with it. It is as perfect as a friend who only shops at whole foods, exercises daily, has no pimples or wrinkles, is impossibly cheerful, and whose kids are perfectly behaved and clean at all times. A better person would admire and emulate such a person and feel blessed to call them a friend. Alas, I am not always a better person.

Maybe Naperville was right for me, as evidenced by my love for Pottery Barn and Zoloft and my hatred of insects and mice. Yet I know in my heart that it's not good for me to live in a bubble. We only learn and grow when we are challenged. Oak Park challenges me often. But I must admit that it also helps me to not feel so bad about myself when I can see other people who stick their feet in their mouths more frequently, act spacier than I do, or have kids and lawns messier than mine. I am only human, a Catholic/Buddhist/Humanist/Neurotic woman in progress.

*Schadenfreude:pleasure derived from another person's misfortune

I'm sorry poop is so funny

The apology goes to my brother Chris who doesn't like reading my blog when it has to do with poop. Stop reading, Chris. But for the rest of the crowd, according to Dr. Oz on Oprah, we should be very concerned with our doo. Check out this hilarious article:

http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/03/12/poo/index.html?source=rss&aim=/mwt/feature

Cathuddishindormanslam

I was so inspired by this old story I heard from a professor. He heard it somewhere else, it's hardly new. But it's a story about a half dozen blind men that are placed in front of an elephant and are asked to touch it and say what they think it is. The one in front of the trunk says it's a hose; the one next to its leg says it's a column; the one next to its torso says it's a wall. I feel this way about most world religions and each time I'm opened up to a new one I see how when the rules, the words, and the robes and incense are cleared away, they are all essentially the same: a great big grey elephant. But seriously, can't all of them be summed up like this: love, serve, forgive, be thankful. Seems so simple. And then there's real life. Each religion seems to think that they are the one who is not blind. That something about them makes them uniquely qualified to be the authentic way to God.

This exclusivity has been the hardest part for me about being a Catholic. I just don't want to believe that my Jewish friend who does way more community work than I do, or the agnostic who is much more understanding and compassionate, could possibly not find favor with God.

My own view of religions is that some cultures are just more receptive to certain ways. God understands that cultures are different and had to adapt His message to suit the culture. But what happens now that our cultures are getting all mixed up since the dawn of the era of easy communication and cheap travel? I'm guessing that we end up with a whole lot more people like me, who have one foot in their religion, but are open to other ideas also. Maybe we're headed for a hybrid religion that combines the best elements of all of them. "Cathuddishindormanslam" we could call it.

Latest funny quotes

Ellie:
with a chicago accent: "Pabi" (pacifier)
"Pooby" (poopy)
"Poppie" (potty)
"Moomy" (movie)
"Copi" (coffee) always followed by "Hot!"

Annie to Nana:
"I have a headache slash fever today."

Johnny to Nana during a sleepover where he woke up at 6:30am and watched two cartoons. After a cereal commercial he said,
"Speaking of food, when are we going to eat breakfast? You know, Nana, we can't watch TV all day."

And my favorite:

Johnny to his friend Owen:
"Did you know that my dad is 32 years old and he's NOT EVEN DEAD YET!!"

Response from God

Dear Annie,
Since your dad was nearby, I decided to have him use his pen to write my words to you. I love you so much my dear sweet angel. You mean so much to me! I've watched you since the minute you started growing inside your mom's tummy. You grew and grew and were finally ready to be in the outisde world. And the day you were born, I left your mom and dad to watch over you for me, since they would always be close to you. That's how I make sure you are always cared for--by giving you a loving family to help you grow. When I need to talk to you, it's easier for me to have your mom or dad or grandma or nana say the words to you. That's how I do things! :) So I'm having your daddy write this for you. You will forever be my special Annie Teresa McGillen!
Love, God/daddy

Note to God

The tooth fairy always leaves a note to Annie when she loses a tooth. Annie started to have a lot of questions about the tooth fairy and a few months ago I found a note by her bed for the tooth fairy. It read, "Dear Tooth Fairy, What do you look like? Are you a boy or a girl fairy?" The tooth fairy responded that she was a girl, but that there are boy fairies also who she is friends with. A few weeks later a note was left for Annie's guardian angel asking what her job was. The guardian angel responded that she was Annie's special friend in life whenever she needed a little help.

Last night I found a note written on the back of the slip of paper entitled, "My life Goals." It read:
Dear God,
I love you. Please reply.
Love,
Annie

Now I'm in a pickle. Respond or come clean?

Inspirations from the Ice

I finished a long conversation with my sister tonight. She was telling a story about when we were little and very much in passing said, "and Mom wasn't paying attention to us older three because I think she was busy taking care of you littler ones..." I thought this was funny because I don't remember my mom playing with us on the floor or teaching us to draw or standing behind us on the ladder at the park. I don't know if I assumed she was paying attention to the older three or what, I just remember my mom as a presence in the background of my life; there to make things run smoothly and help in case of emergency, but not a constant playmate or an emotional manager. Very different from the typical parent of today. I have this memory of a parent I once saw at a party playing with a shape sorter on the floor with her one-year old. The kid started to cry when she could not force the star into the circle hole of her shape sorter. The mom put aside the toy and said with a concerned and empathetic look on her face, "Maya, are you feeling very frustrated? Can you say 'frustrated,' Maya?" When I'm feeling blue I actually think about the lack of parental playtime or emotional management to justify the pity party I throw for myself. If only I were part of one of those perfect little two-child families I would be a different person! I would have had all the parental attention that I needed and all the friendship that I wanted with another sibling. Never mind that if my parents had followed my wish and only had two children, this fourth child wouldn't be here to complain about it in the first place. By the way, just to come clean, that parent was me, and that child's name wasn't Maya, it was Annie.

A few words about my mom...she belongs to a very small minority of people on the planet who believe wholeheartedly in Catholicism AND Astrology. The movements of the stars and the signs under which people were born have organized my mom's life decisions and the way she deals with people in her life. I am an Aries, the natural-born leader who is also sometimes a bit self-centered. Who, me? I rolled my eyes every time I heard my mom utter a sentence beginning with, "Now because you're an Aries..." But, fast forward ten years and I think I am becoming a believer. At least I read my horoscope every day and always find truth in it.

Anyhoo, back to the story...after I hung up with my sister I kissed the kids goodnight and put on my coat for a walk outside. We've all been cooped up in the house for a few days with fevers and I wanted to get out. It was warmer today and even rained--strange for a Chicago February. The air was cooler than it was this afternoon, but still mild, and I was enjoying the sounds of being alone outside: the faint buzzing of the streetlight, the sound of my foot occasionally catching on an uneven bump in the pavement and echoing in the empty night. I love nightwalks. Places which bustle and brew the day's affairs look different from the emptiness and solitude of night. Sometimes walking these familiar streets at night gives me a feeling of owning and understanding everything all at once. The rain that had fallen earlier in the day froze over on the sidewalks making a glistening sheet of ice on each square. I had to walk carefully not to slip. After a few blocks of setting one foot down carefully in front of the other, I began walking faster and more heavily on each foot. And then, I slipped and fell. I sat there on the ground a minute to make sure I didn't re-damage my tailbone as I did a few weeks ago when I slipped down our front stairs. All butt bones seemed fine, so I stood up and proceeded again carefully on the dangerous ice. Someone could KILL themselves on this stuff! And then suddenly a memory shot into my head.

I remembered days like this as a kid when the rain would freeze on our driveway and make a slanted skating rink. My mom would lace up our skates and send us outside to play. She would stay inside and do what? Take a nap? Read a book? Just the sort of thing I would like to do, but feel like I shouldn't because maybe they kids would slip and hurt themselves and I wouldn't be right there, or maybe they'd get stolen from the front yard, or maybe they would slide into the street (if we had slanty driveways in our neighborhood, which we don't). I guess my mom figured that whatever challenges came our way we would figure out on our own. When we couldn't solve our own problems, we could help each other out. When we couldn't help each other out, we could come inside and get her.

And I realize now that this was a good way to do things. I learned to do a lot on my own, and with time I have learned to be a good sister and be a friend to my siblings. And when all else fails, I still call my mom. Being a kid of five and having the wonderful opportunity to nearly brake my ankle or slide into traffic made me self-reliant, independent, brave, and able to share time and attention with four other people. None of that would have happened without my mom, who was probably not taking a nap or reading a book when we were out skating. Can you imagine the laundry and ironing with a household of seven? And the food required to prepare? God, I think I need to take a nap. And I smiled as I looked up at that buzzing, annoying street lamp, that being the fourth of five kids was a very good thing for me, the self-centered Aries. God Bless my Mom.

Annie's life goals

I just found this written on a scrap of paper when I was cleaning up Annie's room. Spelling has not been changed.


My life goals

ride a horse
jump of the high board
meary Grant
kiss Noah K. on the lips.
live in 20013


:)

Wanting what we don't have

I always reserve the right to change my mind. Whether it's my religion, my hair color, or whether I'm working full time, part time, or no time. A few months ago when I was deciding whether or not to take a part-time job, I made up a list of pros and cons to help me decide whether to take it or not:

o. money (a wash in this case, as it would have paid for childcare with almost nothing left over)
-. juggling work and home (I am not very good at multitasking)
-. missing the kids (I would especially miss out on mornings with Ellie alone, something I had really looked forward to)
-. added chaos from having more going on and less time to do it all (not good for the old anxiety)
+. break from the kids (yes, please!)
+. identity outside of the family (badly needed)
+. career direction (ditto)

As I declared several months ago, these factors all have different weights, so while the list of pros and cons is even (see + - o notations), they might not be equally weighted. Added chaos is a weighty factor. I have a hard time even remembering to change Ellie's diaper on a regular basis with all that we have going on. But I think I have changed my mind. Not that I'll do any better with chaos, but I am feeling like a break from the kids, and an identity outside the home (perhaps I should add something to do with my mind outside the home) are also weighy factors that might trump chaos.

So I have begun the process to seek part-time employment. But not so fast. The moment that I started sending out resumes (1-2 each week), I suddenly felt my kids and my home pulling at my heart when I picked Johnny up from school and smelled the delightful smell of tempura paints. Could I possibly exchange that for the smell of printer toner? We could of course get into all kinds of other smells that would be much better in an office than at home.

Anyway, I gave up sweets for lent and never in my life has the candy in the checkout line looked so good or the kids' valentine's candy been so tempting. I even looked at the can of whipped cream in my fridge and wondered whether it would be legal of me to squirt some directly into my mouth and whether that would be satisfying or not. Today is Sunday, 4 days after lent has begun, and I just binged on the candy that my in-laws just brought over for the kids. It was delicious.

Do we always just want what we don't or can't have?

Poopy Playdate

Johnny had his friend Ryan over today after school. The nice thing these days about playdates is that the kids can entertain each other, so I am rarely needed during a playdate. Except when I am needed, it is usually not good.

Ryan[From the bathroom]: "JOHNNY'S MOM?!!!...I NEED HELP!!!"

There's only one reason someone needs help in the bathroom. And after wiping many, many bottoms, I understand why the Europeans have bidets. I slowly finish up what I'm doing, as I'm not looking forward to the bottom that awaits.

Ryan: "JOHNNY'S MOM! I REALLY NEED HELP! I POOPED IN MY PANTS!"

Now knowing that this is a true emergency, I stop what I'm doing and break into a trot.
Me [entering bathroom and trying not to inhale]: Okay, Ryan, stay here while I get some wipes and new pants from upstairs.

I hurry upstairs to get said items. However, I'm not fast enough for Ryan. As I descend the staircase, Ryan is waddling naked through our living room, chunks falling to the floor.

Ryan: "I NEED NEW PANTS!"
Me: "I KNOW you do! That's why I told you I was GETTING THEM and for you to STAY IN THE BATHROOM!"

Ryan got his new clothes, and John got his new clothes (he chose this time to urinate in his pants as well). Content in their clean dry clothes, the boys sat down to play computer games. There is one game that Johnny loves that features puttering cars. To a little boy's ears, though, the puttering sounds like gas-passing. Ryan bursts into laughter.

Ryan: "Hey, those cars are tooting!" [Not getting the pun.]

He almost sounded superior the way he said it, like he couldn't imagine anyone breaking wind in front of anyone else. And it's times like these that I wish that there were another adult around to laugh with, so I actually went into my room to say the words out loud to myself, "THIS from the kid who just POOPED all over himself and made his friend's mom clean it up?!!" I am a good audience, because I always agree with myself and laugh at my own jokes.

I just know that Karma dictates that this had to happen. At least a dozen times I have retrieved Johnny and Annie at playdates along with a plastic jewel bag of soiled clothes. And on one awful occasion picking up Johnny from a playdate, the front door was opened for me to reveal my precious boy in the background, standing at the top of the basement stairs with his pants around his ankles, urinating down the steps. His excuse was that he couldn't find the bathroom.

Johnny's first handout

Last night in the bathtub I hear "eeeewww! Mom!" I rush in from laying out pajamas in Johnny's room to find out the problem. Annie elaborated: "Mom, Johnny just threw a toot at me. He tooted on the washcloth and then threw it in my face!"

Complications

Isn't it funny how when you're thinking about something, it's like the universe knows it and sends you messages about just the thing you're thinking about. Or perhaps you're just better tuned into it. Anyway, I'd like to share a quote from the book I'm reading, Atonement. The quote is from Briony, a very intense little girl with a vivid imagination and an incredibly sensitive heart:

"Was everyone else really as alive as she was? Fore example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? Was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concelaed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it?...If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyone's thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone's claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no one was. One could drown in irrelevance. But if the answer was no, then Briony was surrounded by machines, intelligent and pleasant enough on the outside, but lacking the bright and private inside feeling she had." (p. 34)

As I wrote about a few days ago, the voice of my professor has been bouncing around in my head, "embrace life's complexities," and this quote from Atonement I think further explains this sentiment. To be fully mature, we must understand that there are two billion voices, histories, prejudices, hopes, needs all striving at the same time. And to be fully alive, we must not feel as though we might drown in irrelevance amidst all the voices, but rather stand tall and take our place beside them.

Obama

OBAMA WINS IOWA!!!!!!!!
This is a moment in history. I could be proved wrong, but I believe this guy is the inspirational character of our time, the person who will be known forever as changing the course of history. I remember when our friend Sophie invited us along to the election night party to see this still fairly unknown guy named Barack win the Senate election. Matt and I stood in awe of this guy who radiates charisma when he enters the room.

Every empire has its heyday, every empire falls when its hubris grows too large, it takes its favored status for granted, and becomes entangled in internal disputes rather than understanding its place in the world at large. ( I think this is the theory of one of the books that Matt recently read that I just pretend that I read also). I feel like we need saving from our empire falling. Barack can be our savior! No, but seriously, I think he could really help us reestablish our footing in the world as a respectable nation.

Some quotes from his website www.barackobama.com:
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The American prospect's Ezra Klein writes...

Obama's finest speeches do not excite... They elevate. They enmesh you in a grander moment, as if history has stopped flowing passively by, and, just for an instant, contracted around you, made you aware of its presence, and your role in it.

The New York times' David Brooks writes...

Barack Obama has won the Iowa caucuses. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel moved by this. An African-American man wins a closely fought campaign in a pivotal state. He beats two strong opponents, including the mighty Clinton machine. He does it in a system that favors rural voters. He does it by getting young voters to come out to the caucuses.

This is a huge moment. It’s one of those times when a movement that seemed ethereal and idealistic became a reality and took on political substance.

Iowa won’t settle the race, but the rest of the primary season is going to be colored by the glow of this result. Whatever their political affiliations, Americans are going to feel good about the Obama victory, which is a story of youth, possibility and unity through diversity — the primordial themes of the American experience.

And Americans are not going to want to see this stopped. When an African-American man is leading a juggernaut to the White House, do you want to be the one to stand up and say No?

Obama has achieved something remarkable. At first blush, his speeches are abstract, secular sermons of personal uplift — filled with disquisitions on the nature of hope and the contours of change.

He talks about erasing old categories like red and blue (and implicitly, black and white) and replacing them with new categories, of which the most important are new and old. He seems at first more preoccupied with changing thinking than changing legislation.

Yet over the course of his speeches and over the course of this campaign, he has persuaded many Iowans that there is substance here as well. He built a great organization and produced a tangible victory.

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And I can't help but feel like when he speaks, anything is possible, not just in our country, but in ourselves, in myself.

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