Sunday, September 21, 2008

I Have No Response To That

So here's a weird thing that I've noticed.  Back when I was pregnant or had a newborn baby I noticed that random women in public felt like they could confide in me.  They would tell me bizarre snippets of their personal lives while waiting in line or washing hands in a public restroom.  I began to notice the signs of these odd interactions: the woman will make sidelong eye contact with you and appear to be smiling at something right next to you (hesitant to make eye contact).  She will continue to be close to you even though you try to sidle away.  Finally, she will full-on confront you with some bizarre little piece of personal information.

Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with women who are nostalgic about their own child-bearing days and offer comments like, "When are you due?" or "How old is he?" or "Is it a boy or a girl?"  Those are sweet and thoughtful comments, and the women are usually happy to see a baby.  The women I'm talking about make random comments that have nothing to do with the child in your belly or on your hip.  My son was probably only 8 weeks old when once I was standing behind one of these women while she was trying to make correct change for a clerk.  She couldn't find it and kept smiling, looking at me, and making excuses (while looking at me, not the clerk).  When she finally found it she looked at me and said, "He always takes the checkbook!  Don't you hate it when he does that?"  I had never seen this woman before in my entire life.

Here's another example.  When I was largely pregnant with my second I was washing my hands in a public restroom.  Another woman was next to me, casting those odd sidelong smiles again.  Here it comes.  "You know, he just doesn't keep in contact with me like he used to!"  She stated emphatically, now with the guts to look me in the face.  "You would think at least a letter!"  After a polite smile and nod I darted out of that bathroom ASAP.

An interesting note is that this never happens when I have toddlers or young kids in tow.  These women for the most part seem to have disappeared.  Still, now that I have a large boot on my foot and a limp in my step, I have noticed another instance where these women accost me: when I'm injured.

Shortly after I broke my toe I had to run out to Safeway.  I noticed the woman behind me was casting those weird smiles and manuevering to get behind me in line.  I thought I had ditched her as I limped through the parking lot, but as I pushed my unlocking mechanism on my car I heard giggles behind me. "I just love those lights you have, they're so cute!"  I have no response to that.

My pastor's wife has suggested faking injuries just to attract these women.  When they start in on their personal life snippets, it may be appropriate to hand out a tract and invite them to church.  Clever!  And it's easier to fake an injury then a baby!

Friday, September 19, 2008

We Girls Can Do Anything! Right, Barbie?

The above line was probably my most cherished slogan song from childhood.  I didn't really get what it meant, I just liked Barbie dolls.  Now I get the irony (at least in connection to Barbie dolls): girls can do whatever they want, but they will most likely never look like a Barbie!

This was the type of feminism I saw as a child.  It was like the American dream--you can do anything you set your mind to--tailored for elementary-age girls.  As I got older I realized that there were other types of women who were called "feminists" and they looked nothing like Barbie!  Stereotypically they were about despising what would be considered "traditional" female rolls.  I did some reading by the founding feminists, including some of Simone de Beauvoir, who was essentially an existentialist (Jean-Paul Sartre was her lifelong boyfriend).  Most modern, university professor-type feminists would point to her or someone closely associated to her as the founder of feminism.  My mother-in-law, a self-described feminist, says that de Beauvoir is one of her favorite authors (and she is also a former university professor).

De Beauvoir clearly despises women's traditional roles, and for the most part, ends up despising women, but it seems as though feminism has changed a lot in the last 60 years or so since her writing.  When I had my firstborn son, my mother-in-law (and her feminist friends) fiercely defended my right to be a stay-at-home mom--because of their feminism!  This was definitely the last place I had expected to be supported in my convictions, but that's because feminism has become a Barbie feminism--girls can do whatever they want.  If I want to be a stay-at-home mom, then I should.  If I want to be CEO of a company, then I should.

Is this feminism anymore?  I think in their denunciations of Sarah Palin, liberal feminists are revealing their true positions.  They don't like her using the "feminist" label because she's not a secular liberal.  All this really shows is that feminism is quite dead.  There is no place for a woman anymore to despise her biology and still claim to speak for women (even Hillary Clinton is a mom)!  However, secular liberalism is most definitely not dead--although it is terminally ill.  Current feminists claim that their label can only be used for those women who also subscribe to a liberal, secular social policy--those are the only real feminists.

So, ladies, take heart!  Although the smaller idol of feminism has been toppled, the larger idol of secular humanism is about to fall--even now the axe is laid to the foot of it!  This has the worshippers worried and they are crying out louder to their god, cutting themselves and moaning like the priests of Baal.  What an encouragement to continue in our works as godly women, not wearying of doing good.  God is blessing the work of our hands, and as David knew, it doesn't matter that Goliath is big--he just makes a louder noise when he falls!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Unidentified Flying Object

So here is a fun game to play.  Do you see the small, shiny twirly thing in the picture below?  It was flying over our house on Sunday and is quite literally a UFO (unidentified flying object).  Now it could mean that Aptos will soon be invaded by alien creatures, or possibly a child's shiny balloon broke free.  What do you think it is?  Before you judge to quickly, it did do an amazing 90 degree turn in the air and headed off back in the same direction it came.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Simple Things for Simple Minds

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary

8:00 am - Dog food!  My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride!  My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park!  My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted!  My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch!  My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard!  My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail!  My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk Bones!  My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball!  My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed!  My favorite thing!

Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary...

Day 983 of my captivity...

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.  They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.  Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.  The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.  In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.  Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.  However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.  Jerks.  There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight.  I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.  However, I could hear the noises and smell the food.  I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies."  I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking.  I must try this again tomorrow--but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.  The dog receives special privileges.  He is regularly released--and seems to be more than willing to return.  He is obviously retarded.  The bird has got to be an informant.  I observe him communicating with the guards regularly.  I am certain that he reports my every move.  My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

For now...

Monday, September 15, 2008

Grouches of the World Unite

So after a rough weekend of sicknesses and broken toes we watched an old favorite movie with the kids.  It opened with a sequence that I had nearly forgotten about, but really enjoyed, and ended up convicting me of my attitude.

Why don't they make kids' shows like this anymore?

Blood and Guts Everywhere

So here's an entertaining little story of injury and mayhem.

Saturday night I was in the kitchen after telling my boys to clean up the books in their room before bedtime.  I then heard the tell-tale BANG!! and then intense screams.  I dropped what I was doing and ran to their bedroom, but while rounding the corner, slid on the hardwood floors and smashed my foot into the wall!  It hurt like nothing else, but I continued hopping on one leg to respond to the screams and wails coming from my boys' room.  As I thought, my youngest had fallen off the bunkbed stairs and bonked his head.  I grabbed him, wanting to scream myself because my foot hurt so bad, and we both laid on the bed and cried.  As usual, he was better in about 30 seconds, but I was realizing that my foot hurt worse now than it did when the injury occurred.  Hmmm....thought I....that's a bad sign.  The next morning my baby toe was 3 times it's normal size and black, blue, and purple.  My sons thought it was cool, but it is broken.  I never realized how much you need your baby toe, until you can't use it!

All in all it reminded me of that episode of The Office--one of my favorites--where Michael Scott burns his foot on the George Foreman grill.  My son is Michael Scott.  I am Dwight K. Schrute who hurtles out the door to be the savior and in the process crashes my car, throws up everywhere, and continues on to save my boss--oops!  I mean son--than I'm the one who ends up with the concussion.

Monday, September 8, 2008


So, who remembers this character from cartoon history?

Yep, that's Jeanette, Simon's girlfriend from Alvin and the Chipmunks. Now, am I the only one who's noticed her uncanny resemblance to...

Look long. Look hard. Isn't it amazing?? I can't figure out any symbolism here, but now that I've noticed it I don't think that I can ever look at Sarah Palin the same way again!

The Gateway to Literacy

My oldest son has begun to read!  I just had to share this bit of personal news with my blogger friends.  He now has the gateway to literacy opened by one small word.  Drum roll please......

Yes, that's it.  The first word my son ever read on his own was the word "Costco."  Guess where we were when he read it?

I bet Shakespeare's just around the corner!

Thursday, September 4, 2008

And In Case You Thought I was Biased...

If this doesn't get you to vote Republican, than absolutely nothing will.

Bring On The Bucket

OK.  You can watch this, but make sure your food is properly digested.  Or have a bucket handy.

Did you make it through that one?  Good!  Now you can try this!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

A Quiverful

I've been doing some reading and thinking a lot about men's and women's--and ultimately--boy's and girl's roles.  Of course I only have sons, but I am a daughter, so I do have some experience with both.

I was raised basically to enjoy boy things.  I played sports, hunted and gutted animals, and fished and backpacked.  I was expected not to get emotional and to be able to do things without assistance.  I never despised the state of motherhood, I just didn't think about it very often.

Going to college I encountered wonderful teachings on femininity, and initially it repulsed me.  I thought being feminine meant being silly or frilly or emotional and I wanted nothing to do with it.  However, those who taught me godly femininity were none of those things.  They were beautiful, intelligent, highly-educated women, who intimidated any weasel-like attentions that they got from men.  They also were (or soon became) wonderful mothers.  They taught their children well, shared the gospel wherever they went, and frightened most of the unbelievers around them!

Their testimony definitely swayed my heart to a belief in true, godly femininity, and I repented of my previous attitudes.  However, I have occasionally seen some who supposedly triumph Biblical femininity denigrating or limiting what there is for their girls to do in the world.  My heart would react against that, although my mind knew not why, until I read something Doug Wilson said where he called boys "conquerors" and girls "conqueror-bearers."

Psalms 127:5 says "As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are the children of the youth.  Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate."  All children are represented as weapons--and not only the boys!  

So, then, what exactly is a women's battleground?  I ask, where did those arrows come from?  The one fashioning and shaping those weapons, gently placing them into the quiver of her husband, is the wife--the bearer of conquerors.  The wife is in charge of the artillery.

I should also mention that this does not mean that a woman without children cannot bear conquerors.  There are multiple Biblical examples of childless women being triumphant against the seed of the serpent.  Sarah (for most of her life), Deborah, and Esther just to name a few.  St. Augustine once said that to know what God wills for your life you should love Him, and then do as you please.  All of these ladies were conquerors by loving God, honoring their husbands, and then doing as they pleased.