Worst blogger ever

After one too many creeptastic search terms that generated views to my blog, I took a hiatus. I continued to post the daily exploits of Stumps and Beans, but on the much less threatening facebook, where I know all 500ish people who have access to read about my children in real life.  I will backward blog the highlights into the archives to fill in the past three months soon. In the meantime, nothing motivates me to de-lurk out of blog sabbatical more enthusiastically than a ridiculously age-inappropriate Biblical-themed picture colored by one of my tiny daughters at their church preschool.

Don’t worry sweetie. Very few of our nightmares actually come true. And in truth, I hear that being violently impaled by a spear is actually a surprisingly peaceful way to die.

stumpsgiant

 

Demulletting

The only thing Beanie hates more than boundaries enforced by her loved ones to ensure her well-being is having her picture taken.

Which is why I had to snap pictures of her fresh shearing and deshagging while she  stuffed her face.

I give you a sweet bob on a sweet rotten baby:

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Regarding the crap mountain situation that may or may not be occurring on my sofa in the background of these shots:

1) Pretty certain there is a note in the Bible about being sin-free to cast stones at hoarderific suburban glass houses. Or something. Judgy McJudgerpants, God totally disapproves of your judging and critical ways.

1) I posted the majority of the pictures in sepia so I maintain that Crap Mountain is cleverly camoflaged and almost completely invisible. What pile of not-yet-folded laundry, cast-off-outerwear, and shit my children dragged home from daycare? I have no idea what you are talking about.

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In 1776 when our founding fathers declared our independence by stating “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men (and I would venture to add, “women”) are created equal…” I think they were onto something.

While I myself am probably not Christian, I have a young daughter who most certainly is. Whether I buy into it all 100% or not, this post from Momastery represents everything that I could not myself properly articulate, but truly and sincerely agree with and believe.

If it were mandatory to take a class before becoming a parent (and in a perfect world, it probably would be), and I were the instructor (let’s pretend for a moment that I would be anything other than laughably unqualified to teach such a class), Glennon’s hypothetical letter to her son would be required reading.

Her soul may evolve to be very confused but her future SAT score will completely blow your mind.

“Mommy do you remember when the really bad men spit at Jesus?”

Hmmm… is she assuming I was there when that happened? Kid I’m only thirty-freakin’-two!

Whatever.

“Yes Stumps.”

“That was really really mean! And they called Him names and they threw things at Him and spit on Him!”

“Yes sweetie. It was really terrible and Jesus did not deserve it and they were really mean.”

“They did those bad things because He loves us!”

Sure okay. Yeessss… Sort of like that. But not exactly… More like He loves us in spite of those horrible things that they didthat we did…  that we do…. Er, how does an optimistically agnostic mommy explain this to a Christian four year old again?

“And Mommy spitting on Jesus is very very unbespectful!”

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Oh Em Gee.

Shut The Front Door.

Did my preschooler just use attempt to use “disrespectful” in a sentence in a way that was more-or-less contextually accurate??

I can’t really discern any age-appropriate digestible way to break down for her the fall of man, but I couldn’t be more proud of Stumps’ growing vocabulary!

The only creature more honest than a 4 year old is an 84 year old

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, last night I took Stumps to a youth dinner theater at a friend’s church in town. Stumps and I were seated beside a nice couple who introduced themselves and welcomed us as soon as we sat down. The wife mentioned that they were in their eighties and had no grandchildren of their own, so they loved coming to the annual youth group musical. Also joining us at the table were the very friendly parents of one of the teenage performers.

Throughout dinner, it became somewhat evident that the older man at the table very likely had a touch of dementia. He asked me numerous times when my husband would be there (Husband stayed home with Beans), and where our family attended church (we typically spend Sunday mornings in our pajamas worshipping DVRed episodes of WonderPets.)

As my dear grandfather, Big Papa, died a few months ago after a heartbreaking decline into dementia, I found this all pretty endearing. If I closed my eyes, it was almost as if Big Papa was with us yesterday evening.

The dinner preceded the play, and after dinner the teens started the show. We each had programs at our placesetting, and approximately every 10 minutes, the man would hold up his program, gesture to his wife, and very loudly and conspicuously say “What is the name of the kid with no talent? I want to know his name!” To take the utter awkwardness of the situation to a stratospheric level, his wife was a bit hard of hearing, so he just kept getting louder.

All of the kids were great by the way – I thought the play was really cute and as I blogged about yesterday, my four year old LOVED IT. Loved it so much, in fact, that she wanted to ditch me at the end of the night and go home with the cast (Shameless groupie. Has she no self-respect?)

Anyway, all of that to say, I have no idea which kid he had in mind, but since he was saying this throughout the play, and the cast of characters completely changed with each scene, I think my seatmate was just somewhat disoriented and confused. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with the other family at our table though, whose high school student was up on stage performing.

This is so completely something my own crabby and beloved Big Papa would have done in his last couple of years with us. A New Yorker by birth and lifelong lover of all things musical theater, I like to think that was just his cantankerous spirit dropping in to join us for dinner and a show. It was obvious that this particular elderly couple was absolutely beloved by everyone in the fellowship hall last night, so I am sure his questionably appropriate behavior didn’t even raise an eyebrow. And that makes me very happy. God bless those who suffer through their latter years with dementia. And even moreso, dare I say it…  God bless those who are brave enough to venture out with those folks in public when their filters are decidedly turned off!

I miss you terribly Big Papa. It was nice to catch a glimpse of you last night and hear you giving all of those adolescent amateurs a piece of your mind. Please join us for a meal and a little bit of hellraising again soon :’)

What on earth are we teaching our little girls?

Somewhat surprisingly and entirely sweetly, Stumps’ favorite book is currently the Bible. Specifically a version she received as a gift called The Children’s Discovery Bible. She asks us to read stories from her Bible every night, and we are happy to do so.

I have blogged about this before, but for a little bit of background, I was raised by a Methodist-turned-atheist and a nonpracticing-Jew. When I fill out standardized forms, I am always slightly disappointed that there is no Religious Denomination checkbox for “Confused & Skeptical, but Optimistic.” I pray all the time; I believe in a benevolent Creator that loves all of us entirely flawed individuals like His or Her children… but beyond that I really have no clue. And I am okay with that.

Husband was raised Southern Baptist. Incidentally he is completely obsessed with the show “Ancient Aliens”, and says that he is pretty certain Jesus was one of our (apparently in Husband’s opinion, many) visitors from other galaxies. I am not entirely certain that he is kidding, either.

Anyway, all of that to say, we do whatever we can to support and indulge Stumps’ budding faith, in hopes that she will grow up to become at least slightly less jaded and cynical than we both apparently are.

Tonight, one of the Bible stories she chose was called “Esther Saves Her People”. The story, which I was mostly unfamiliar with before storytime this evening, tells the tale of a kind and beautiful young woman, Esther, who is pursued by and eventually married to an older King. Fair enough.

A murderer is on the loose in the kingdom and is intent on killing all of the nearby Jews. Genocide for a four year old? I am skeptical of what Stumps’ takeaways may be, but continue the story. Esther is tasked with informing the King, her husband, that the people are in danger. From this point, here is an excerpt of how the story progresses:

“Esther was afraid. She knew that even the queen couldn’t see the king whenever she wanted to. It was against the law for anyone to see the king without being invited. If he was unhappy that Esther came, the king could have her put to death.”

Wait a minute. What?

“Esther fixed her hair and put on her best dress. Then she headed off to see her husband, the king. King Xerxes was surprised to see his wife. ‘Esther looks lovely’, the king said to himself. ‘But why would she risk her life by coming to see me without being called?'”

Now I realize that I don’t know Aramaic. And I realize that this is is a story that has been translated countless times throughout the past two or three millenia, and then reworded for a children’s book. But what messages are we sending our little girls?!? That if you speak to your spouse out of turn, even if you fix your hair and makeup and ensure that you look attractive, pretty, and presentable as is a {insert very blatant eyeroll here} woman’s duty, he will have to use every ounce of his self-control not to kill you??

I just don’t think I can keep reading Stumps stories like this in clear conscience. My inner-feminist died a bit inside tonight while I finished the chapter. Tomorrow at bedtime we will read Maya Angelou poems, watch Oprah reruns, and learn about Hillary Clinton instead.