Why We are Going to Hell

Bubble Boy asked me, "what state does God live in?" We had just gotten back home after visiting relatives out of state for Easter. We had traveled through three states, and the kids always get excited to cross the borders. Bubble Boy knows his grandparents live in Indiana and he has cousins living in various states. Naturally, he wondered in what state God resides.

I told him God doesn't live in a state or even on Earth. Most people believe God lives in a place called heaven, and that might be in outer space, but no one really knows where heaven is. At least, that is my belief. "But, you will see him some day," I told him.

"When I'm dead?"

"Yes."

He put his head down, and I noticed he was crying. I asked him, "what's the matter- you really want to see God?"

"Uh-huh."

"Would you like to start going to church so you can learn more about God?" We never go to church, but always say we will start going someday.

"Uh-huh." He is feeling better now.

Is this mere curiosity or is he missing something in his life? People usually seek out God when they need fulfilling of some sort. He's four. What fulfilling could he need? All kids are curious about God, but do they cry when they can't see him?

As parents, I believe we are guides for our children. We can impart upon them our wisdom and beliefs, but should also allow them to explore other beliefs on their own, hopefully with our guidance (we are the guides after all). We haven't been going to church, and I feel we are denying our children an experience. Perhaps we aren't church goers because we don't feel it is crucial to our well-being. What if it is crucial to our children's well-being?

Here is this little wide-eyed four-year-old who wants to know God. As Christians, it feels sinful to not make this happen. However, even an atheist should allow her children to explore religion. A child should learn about the world for himself and not just from what his parents tell him.

In any case, the former Baptist in me says we better set the alarm clock next Sunday, or we parents are really going to HELL.

Please See Attendant

I'm over the pee in the trash can, the pee on the shower curtain, the pee behind the door, stepping in pee, pee anywhere it can be in the bathroom (except the toilet bowl) and not to mention pee on the seat, of course.



I don't use the kids' bathroom anymore. Ambercutie calls it the "gas station bathroom" because that's how bad it is. It smells like a gas station bathroom in which the door knob is missing and stuffed with toilet paper, there is no soap, the walls are plywood, and you look for hidden cameras. That type.



Where did I go wrong in my toilet training of my boys? I better learn now, because it's only going to get worse. We have four boys (well, three boys and one man) "using" the toilet now, and I still have one to train. I will probably have two more to train if this little one in my womb is a boy (who am I kidding, we KNOW it will be a boy- all of hubby's girl sperm swam away to better families).



I have decided to do another session of toilet training. Potty Training 102. I will stick a sign on the bathroom doors that says, "Please See Attendant." The doors will be locked, so the boys must summon me, the attendant, to unlock them. I will then supervise the visit. The pee better land in the bowl. Put the seat and lid down (ah, how wonderful to not have baby splashing away in the toilet bowl). Flush. Good boy. Now wash your hands! Towel hangs back up. Very nice. I'll put a sticker on your chart.



It should all work out very nicely. Yeah right. Men's restrooms are gross, and I've got one in my very own home. I should just deal with it. Ambercutie and I will go to the nice "women's room" to do our business. Maybe we'll get a little couch or a make-up counter with lights...

Land of Bribes

Like most families, we rely on bribery from time to time to get our children to cooperate. Here's a piece of gum for not waking the baby or a soft drink for helping the little brother wash his hands. Sugar works. That's one of the reasons we are so stingy with it. That and we want the chocolate all to ourselves.

Lately the bribery has extended to the grown-ups. Steve will go buy some ice cream if I will make the baby stop crying (if I knew how, he wouldn't be crying!). Tonight I bribed him with a "special treat" if he would just take screaming Bubble Boy outside.

We have begun a new chapter. How often will bribes imprint themselves on the pages of our lives? Will this be a satisfying, funny thing or an annoying, "wish we hadn't started that" thing?

I'd give five dollars to know.

Tomorrow I Will not Yell

I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.
I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.
I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.

I am now clicking my imaginary ruby red slippers together while shutting my eyes tight.

I will report back to tell you if this works.

The Girl I Used to Be

I don't want to BE the girl I used to be; I want to HIRE that girl to load my dishwasher.

I used to be organized, with my towels straight and cans lined up a la Sleeping with the Enemy. I used to be on time, showered, and dressed. I used to wear make-up. I used to clean. Now I am not that girl anymore. Now I am a woman with a family, not big by Dugger standards, but sizable. The woman I am now doesn't have time to do the aforementioned things because I am too busy looking for lost Bionicles, fastening Spiderman masks, and making cinnamon play dough. These are things that are more important to me now than cleaning and preening. The woman I am now would rather look for Bionicles than dust bunnies. However, when the kids start naming the dust bunnies, I know I need the girl I used to be.

Sure, I enlist the children to help with the dust bunnies and Mount Laundry. They all have chores, and this is part of parenting. It is good for the kids, but for me it is like an itch in the center of my back that I can't quite reach. It only gets a little scratched. Well, the kids only get the house a little clean.

That's why I want to clone myself, but not my current self. I want the self who doesn't feel guilty about scrubbing, folding, and filing. She doesn't feel guilty because she doesn't have any kids to feed/bathe/read to/teach. She is a clean freak, an organizer from the Martha Stewart school, and she still has time to read and look pretty. She can do all my household errands and chores while I have time to be the woman I am now, a mom.