The Debate That Mary Sparked

Once again the boys showed just how different they are. And yeah, it's painfully obvious that our parenting is severely lacking. Read on. I'd like to pull what my friend Erin calls the "Indian card" and just say hey, I'm Indian, what do I know about Jesus?

While listening to Christmas music on the radio, Bird was asking why all the songs were about Jesus. Gulp. If I said that on Twitter I'm betting I'd lose most of my followers. That song about "Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ" did him in. I was beaming with pride right about then. Yeah, oodles of it. I emphatically explained that the whole point of celebrating Christmas was the birth of Jesus Christ. I further covered my bases and explained that some people believe this, but we just respect their beliefs and embrace them. I babbled. And babbled.

Deal chimed in right about here as I was fiercely backpedaling, which is pretty difficult considering I don't even know how to ride a bike.

Deal: (flabbergasted) "Yeah Bird, Christmas is for Jesus! It's Jesus' birthday! Christmas is about Jesus!!!"

Bird: (very calmly) "No Deal, Christmas is about SANTA."

Sigh. Parenting fail.

And the Jesus Talk Continues

Deal, who is in vacation Bible school this week (I know, I know), comes home to tell us about his lessons every afternoon. We've heard all about Queen Esther and the Jews she saved. He was painting pictures of the Jews the other day, though I'm not convinced he even gets what means. Yesterday's tale was all about how Jesus rose from the dead. Deal told us all about how the guard fell asleep on the job.

I could see Bird's eyes and brain gears in full motion. He was doing all he could not to interrupt.

And then he burst.

"Jesus is a zombie because zombies are walking dead people!!! Jesus is a zombie, Deal!"

"NO HE ISN'T!!!"

"Yes, he is!!! Jesus isn't real!!!"

Screaming, tears and all, ensued.

God, help me.

Talking About God

What I love about having two children who are the same gender is seeing their differences unfold. Despite the fact that they are both boys and raised in the same house, they are distinctly different creatures. I've kept a little chart since Deal was born of how they have differed throughout their various growth spurts and stages. I'm nuts about charts and tables and pie charts (even though Professor Malthouse steered us away from pie charts, claiming they do not depict graphical excellence).

Both Bird and Deal attended the same Methodist preschool. They both went to chapel and had the same teachers. Bird still thinks "Jesus" is pronounced "Cheesus" and remarks how they must have a lot in common since he likes cheese too. I guess he figures since Mac Daddy is from Wisconsin this all clearly makes sense.

Deal wants to end every declarative statement with "Amen." He also wants a Jesus themed birthday party.

So take this recent exchange as an example:

Deal: Where does nature come from, Mommy?

Bird: It's Mother Nature, Deal. Mother Nature gives us the rain and stars and plants and snow.

Deal: NOOOOOO She doesn't!!! Mother Nature isn't real! Mommy is our only mother!

Bird: I SAID MOTHER NATURE MADE NATURE! That's why we call her that. MOTHER NATURE!!!

Exasperation beads in little sweat droplets on their upper lips at this point. Neck hairs are saluting, voices are quivering, fists are shaking.

Deal: God made nature. God did it. God did it. God did it. God did it...

This starts to sound like goddamn it after while, and I crack up.

Bird: Deal, I told you, there is no God!


I can't win. I don't necessarily agree with either one of them. I had no idea what to do. So I did what every mommy blogger would do. I fired up my laptop and let them fight while I captured a blog-worthy moment.

Amen.

The Church Quandary

I've been reluctant to post about religion because it is such a volatile subject matter. My friend Morningside Mom inspired me to take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and put my fingers to the keyboard and just write. Take a look here at what she wrote on the topic. She's way more eloquent than I.

Deep breath. Exhale. Blow it out now. Lather, rinse, repeat. Crunch of the knuckles. Ready to roll.

I wrote about my disdain for Sundays once before. Sunday is church day, only not for us. Since moving to North Carolina, I can't count how many people have asked if we've found our church family yet. WTF? I can barely stand dealing with the family I have so why do I need another one? Especially another one that has a gold medal in the guilt relay. And why is religion wracked with guilt in the first place?

I'm not going to wax on about various religions and pass judgment here. Well, I might pass judgment, but it's my prerogative. (Cue tune here. Tell me you don't think Bobby Brown any time you hear the word prerogative.). I'm no theologist, though I did take a whole mess of religion classes in college. Perhaps my searching started there.

My family is Hindu. I don't even know what that really means. I've read some of the stories and took some classes but I wasn't raised going to temple or anything. My mom had a little worship station in our house with little idols and stuff made out of ivory and marble. I used to cup those miniature deities in my hand and marvel at the smoothness of the stone when I was a kid. I waited patiently for her to say her prayers and make her offerings just so I could eat the sugar cube when she was done. That sugar was some sort of offering. Maybe I am indeed Hindu if the gods have such a sweet tooth.

I grew up going to mass with my friend Jenny's family after Saturday night sleepovers. I didn't really get much from it except for a headache from all that incense and a sore back from the constant kneeling and standing. I remember feeling so lost because I didn't understand the rituals and feeling a bit creeped out because the cacophony of all those voices saying prayers in unison sounded rote and lifeless. Plus, my kind of god isn't going to make me don nylons and heels just to worship. As I recall, her parents bitched a lot about changing out of comfy pajamas into a suit and tight high waisted skirt just for the one hour of mass. I'm pretty sure the god I believe in is at least a casual Friday kind of guy...or gal. And he (she?) is cool with me bringing in a cup of java to warm my body while the minister warms my soul.

Let me clear here. I do believe in god. The miracle of feeling those babies swim in my belly is testament to a power far higher than anything I can comprehend. And yes, I also believe in science. I get the whole sperm/egg thing that made those babies in the first place, but there must be something greater than that to have created the system in the first place, don't you think? Come on, god created babies as a result of sex! It could have just easily been from a high five, but god gave us mortals something really awesome instead. Rock on, god! Oh, and I realize I am not capitalizing "god" here. I believe in the concept of a god, just not a definitive one and only God. And is god Christian? Hindu? Neither? I dunno. I don't think I really care how god is categorized. Therein lies the problem.

And that's as far as I've gotten.

Not enough to teach my children about spirituality. By the way, being spiritual is possible without being religious. I'm not a fan of organized religion. Mac Daddy and I actually joined the Unitarian Church in town and really enjoyed the services for a while. The minister was a fabulous raconteuse who was inspirational, funny, and honest. Her candor about her shortcomings made her so damn human. I felt like I was learning something and getting a sense of peace each week; I never felt preached to. I left feeling centered and happy, not confused and guilty. Then she moved away, and the subsequent ministers sucked. A bad minister can kill a service just like a great teacher can make math exciting (Thanks, Mrs. Kovatch!).

Mac Daddy and I left the church soon after we had kids. Contrary to common practice, I know. We've been on sort of a hunt ever since. Well, not really an active hunt. It's been more a passing conversation when all our friends are at church and can't go bike riding with us on Sunday mornings. We would like to equip our boys with a sense of spirituality and teach them about both Hindu and Christian principles. The thing is, we're not really into teaching about Jesus and the Bible. Well, unless it's thumbs up Jesus. That Jesus from Dogma was way cool.

There, I said it. Commence the stone throwing now.

Oh, and let me go ahead and offer full disclosure. We do go to church (Unitarian) at Christmas. I just love the tradition of Christmas and the peacefulness and giving that goes along with it. Yeah, I know it's all about Jesus. But hey, even in India, the birthplace of Buddhism, Christmas is celebrated, embraced even. But baking a birthday cake for Jesus? That's too far for me, even if I did bake.

My kids go to chapel at their preschool, and it's been a wonderful experience. They are learning about universal principles that transcend religion. I hate to break it to you, but Christianity does not own the principles of honesty, patience, honor, and virtue. Am I a heathen because I believe in ending this disastrous, shameful war, because I want to preserve the earth, because I believe in equal rights regardless of gender, race, religious, or sexuality? I think not. The ten commandments are pretty good rules to live by, Christian or otherwise. Likewise for karma. Does the saying "what comes around goes around" sound familiar? One more thing, Republicans don't own religion. Being progressive and being spiritual are not mutually exclusive, my friends. Since when did liberalism = paganism. Just because I'm a Democrat doesn't mean I need to be saved. Just save me from the Bible beaters who lurk in my neck of the woods! Separation of church and state, people!

So, Bird and Deal are starting to ask questions about God. At the beach the boys asked me who made the ocean. I confidently answered, "Nature. Nature invented the ocean." "Oh, you mean God?" remarked Bird. I was stumped and pointed out the baby seagulls pecking at the scattered Kix cereal on the beach as a distraction. Let it be known that Bird still thinks Jesus' name is Cheesus. He says he has a lot in common with Cheesus because he loves cheese too (chalk that up to his Wisconsinite father). Mac Daddy and I roar with laughter at this but are a tish embarrassed when he says this stuff in the hallways of school around the other church going parents. Lighten up, I say! Is it just me or do the church going ilk often have their panties in a tizzy?

We do, however, owe it to our children to teach them about religion and equip them to find their own path. In a way I am envious of people who blindly and unequivocally Believe. It's like Polar Express except with Jesus standing in as Santa. A whole different ball of wax that I'm not about delve into. Mac Daddy and I want Bird and Deal to have a spiritual upbringing. The question is how to do so without bringing Jesus into the picture? Can't we just teach the parables from multiple religions? My hunch is that there are more similar moral standards and shared stories than dogma that separate us all. Is it possible to teach spiritual religion without a deity to worship? We thought the Unitarian route was the answer so maybe we'll give it a go again.

In the mean time, I'm considering home churching.

Come on, if people can take the entire curricula of K-12 and teach it from home with total acceptance and accredidation, why can't I do Sunday school from home? I'll start with the lesson of love thy mother. Do I have any takers?

I Don't Like Sundays

If Sunday were a person, he would need to be poked with a fondue fork to wake up from his drooling, deep sleep. Sunday is a bore; a poor conversationalist; the one person you would never invite to a dinner party. Ornery by nature and drab in style. Granted, Sunday lives in the shadow of his more gregarious, convivial sister Saturday. Sunday is arguably just a hair more palatable than his dreadful brother Monday. But just a hair.

And so it is that on Sundays we count the time pass breath by breath. As it is, time in our house is counted by how many hours until snack time, nap time, snack time again, dinner time, TV time, bath time, and finally the climax of the day...bed time. Whew. Time passes excrutiatingly slowly on Sundays. And yes, it is admittedly horrible to wish time away, but Sunday marks the end of a long week. Or is it the beginning of a new week? See, such quandaries must add to Sunday's total lack of charm. The thing with having little kids is that we get no time to ourselves to rejuvenate over the weekend, so Sunday is our last ditch effort, and it disappoints time after time. I fully realize, however, that in a blink my boys will be growling under the covers when I barge into their rooms with a chore list as punishment for breaking curfew again. Note that I'm in no way wishing away these years that they are small, affectionate, wily, and downright hysterical.

You see, we live in North Carolina, where Sunday is hallowed; everyone goes to church (excpet for a few kindred spirits who share our same disdain for Sunday). All we can do until lunch time is head to Target (darn, another excuse to buy $100 worth of household goodies we don't need!), Home Depot, or Harris Teeter (where we can't restock our wine and beer supply until after noon when church is out). My husband hates Sundays because all of our "entertainment" options mean adding to the Amex bill. By this time of the week we are all bored of our antics, toys, and make-believe games. We just need a change of scenery. And so it happens in the winter that Sunday takes out his inferiority complex on us.

Fair weather Sundays are glorious. Our family heads to the greenway with bikes, scooters, jogging stroller, and snacks galore in tow. We tell the children that the canopy of trees shading us from the warming sun and winding path are our church. The birds singing and creatures chirping our the choir, and the waving, smiling folks we pass are the congregation. We worship and bask in the glory of nature, cliche as it sounds. It is wonderful family time as we race, laugh, and watch our children's biking skills and confidence grow. I don't recall any moments like this from my childhood so I am proud to instill this family play time in my kids and hope these memories will be forever tattooed in their minds.

And so we still struggle with church, the garden variety steeple and stained glass edifice, not church as a metaphor. Our children go to a Christian preschool, and we love the lessons they learn. Deal is our little preacher who sings Happy Birthday Jesus and tells me all about the baby Jesus stories le learns in chapel. Chapel is his favorite part of school. Deal is a Believer. Bird, on the other hand, thinks Jesus' name is pronounced "Cheesus." His comment upon dropping him off one day at school was "Look, Mommy. There's Cheesus. I love chesse too!" Apparently we're not doing our job on the Jesus front at home. Back to the struggle...

Our children are old enough to ask why we don't go to church. So far we haven't come up with a reasonable answer and rely on the old distract-them-with-a-battery-operated-toy method. Are we doing a disservice to our kids? I believe we are. We do believe in some sort of higher being, not necessarily with a moniker, but a supreme being nonetheless. We want to teach our children about faith and spirituality, but the structured, worship by rote environment of a church doesn't feel right. The last thing we want is to be hypocrites. Perhaps we just haven't found the right place for our family and we are admittedly not actively looking. I'm not anti-religion, mind you. I do truly want to imbue a sense of faith in Bird and Deal. How to do it to adequately convey our own melting pot of beliefs and values is the $20,000 question.