Achtung, mama

This morning my alarm was a perfume sample giver-outer standing in my path at Macy's. She did not want to be ignored. Wake up. Take the sample. Acknowledge me. Or I will not stop. I acknowledged her. I got up at an hour that rhymes with hix o'flock.

I got up and spent some time in Exodus, chapter 3. God was just hanging out...in some shrubbery...on fire...just having a deep and meaningful with Moses.

God was like the perfume giver-outer. The one who's got something to give does not want to be ignored. Can ya dig it?

***

No one with the exception of Little Man was in a jocund mood this morning. Baby Girl was flexing herself into some petrified scorpion position when we were trying to get her dressed and ready for school. Tears ensued. There was no time to put on my cosmetic face. I believe more tears ensued for my students because of this.

***

Class went well despite a student showing us a propaganda video about how textbooks are for cavepeople and soon every baby will come into the world, his parents having registered for a baby iPad with the Dr. Seuss I Can Read series locked and loaded. Not really but that's what one could project.

***

I hung out with Little Man at the campus cafe while Loverpants attended a networking event. Little Man yelled MAMAMAMAMMMMAMAMAMAM? MAMA? MAMA! MAMAMAMAMAMA! even though I was standing right next to him. One of my students said she admired how whenever she runs into my husband or me, we are always with our children. I explained that this was both intentional and incidental. They are, for better or for worse, very much a part of every fabric of our lives. I appreciated that she recognized this, however, since I spent four years of college reading Steinem and Woolf and thinking that children were a great idea. If you liked having a really lame life. And a purse full of crusty Kleenex.

***

I then got an e-mail from a person who holds our financial future in his pocket and that sent me into a tailspin.

*** I then got angry with my husband because of this e-mail from the person who is not my husband.

I then told my husband that he should leave me alone because I was about to say something really mean.

I then went for a run in the rain.

I then ran up a hill in the rain and rolled my bad ankle and fell on the ground and scraped up my knees.

A woman came running to see if I was ok and offered to drive me home which was so nice.

But I walked down the hill because frankly I like pain and crying and limping and walking downhill in the rain.

*** I am now typing here with a bag of frozen vegetables on my swollen ankle. I think this is where I need to be. I think I have been anxious for nothing lately. I think God really wants my attention right now.

Happy sabbath.

A little honesty

Let's have some honesty about school Christmas concerts. And let's get real about bridal and baby showers. While we're at it, let's share our true feelings about graduations and fundraisers and wedding toasts rife with cliches. We? We do not like them. They're interminable. We would rather be sitting at home in our Forever Lazy watching an infomercial on cubing fruits. All speeches feel hackneyed, and you can only hyperventilate over so many gifts. But sometimes we just have to go watch the 3rd graders slide their trombones and mimic a pack of perishing elephants. And sometimes you just have to force a giggle over the bride-to-be forcing a smile over the fifth lacy neglige she has unwrapped today. Oh honey, if you only knew... Baby Girl's Christmas concert was the other night. Friends, of course I wanted to be there to swell with proud THAT'S MAH BABEH GIRL UP THEYARR! But you know how parents at these things are: like a whole swarm of hovering helicopters with their flipcams, or a bunch of honeybees bumping into one another, their gazes fixed on their iPhones. Those parents. Of course I was rebuked when I saw how precious the kids were, how proud they were to perform, how incredibly deliciously sweet their voices resounded in the church sanctuary. I am, however, also not going to pretend I was not glad that my kid is in pre-K and her class performed first, for a total of three whole minutes, and we got to leave right after. Concert began at 7:00, home by 7:25. Done and done. *** Sheeplets in the green room

Nativity

This has been the year of The Nativity, as interpreted by Baby Girl. Most days see a makeshift manger cropped together with blankets and stuffed animals in some cozy corner of our home. Giraffe, Lexi the Lamb, Bearista of Starbucks Merchandise fame? They're all attending to the Christ child, who is usually either a baby doll swaddled in pink or Curious George. I guess the Nativity story has always held fascination for me, so I can understand her obsession. It's pretty bizarro awesome when you think about it, isn't it? Angel visits teenage peasant girl, says, "Sup, Mary. You ready to have God's son? What's that? No husband? No worries! We've got you. Just make sure you call this babe Jesus, got that? Kay. Later." Baby Girl is especially fixated on Mary's fulfillment of this role. Did you know, for example, that Mary and Joseph had a midnight snack of s'mores? Labor makes a girl hungry, natch. Also, Mary oftentimes had to cut out and go to a ballet lesson (in order to get back to her pre-baby weight?). Joseph was totally down, though. He was happy to hang back at the crib with his new son. Finally, whatever notions you had about Mary's footwear being the buckle-up Jerusalem cruisers--well you can just put that nonsense away. Baby Girl has informed me that Mary wore high heels. I mean, what other lies have you believed about the REAL Holy Family, wardrobe and otherwise?

Now that we live in the Bible Belt, there are awfully much and many opportunities to encounter the most wonderful story ever told. Tonight Baby Girl and I went to a drive-thru Nativity. Twas awesome. You can see below the level of authenticity the actors and set designers were trying to achieve. Not pictured: Baptist preacher at exit asking me if I was 50, 75, or 100% sure I was going to Heaven. Also not pictured: Baby Girl asking me to read her the illustrated tract about salvation for the third time tonight. *** Stand up and be counted.

This is a donkey, isn't it? I said, "Wow! A real donkey!" but I'm just a city mouse.

The goat's name was Ginger. Isn't that adorbs? That is a goat, right?

And these? Are two little sheep.