Big girl panties.

I make a big deal when the girls use the toilet. It's the little victories that really make a difference in the girls' lives. I wouldn't want their little girl feelings to shrivel up and dry out. There are a few rewards for using the toilet. Sometimes they get stickers, other times they get chocolate milk, but the one reward that they both like more than stickers and chocolate milk is getting to wear big girl panties.

Papi, me peed in the potty.

Say it the right way, Abigail.

Papi, me peed in the potty.

That's great, sweetheart, but it's, "I peed in the potty."

(Looking up at me with proud eyes)
Oh, good job, Papi. Are you wearing big girl panties?

I didn't have the fight in me to explain the grammar to her so I just left it alone. I'm certain she believes in her heart that I wear big girl panties.

Pig Roast '01

It was my first summer away from my parents and my roommate and I were determined to make it a good one. We had the idea to have a house party for the Fourth of July. The Fourth was a work day that year so we had to plan some prep beforehand. I woke up early the day before (I think it was a Thursday) and headed to the Clemson University Swine and Bovine Department where I met the man who would sell me my first pig. I drove a 1983 Toyota Corolla wagon back then and just planned on transporting the pig back to the house in the back of it. I threw some dirty laundry in the back and covered that with plastic bags so the pig wouldn't get my car dirty. I wasn't aware of the gross anatomy of the pig. It turns out that the pig's "pocket" (see the post about BOGO's pocket to understand that reference) is directly under the tail and it's contents exits horizontally before falling. All this meant that as I was driving down the highway to drop the pig off at the house before going to work, the pig was backing against the inside of my car smearing it's excrement all over the place. It smelled so bad that I remember passing a dead skunk and sticking my head out the window thinking, "Ah, fresh air!"

We killed the pig, put it on a spit, and roasted it all day and had a great Great GREAT house party.

Fast forward about 2 months.

Remember all those clothes I put in the back of my car under the plastic bags for the pig to have a comfy ride? I didn't. I forgot all about them after I got the pig home and bagged the clothes and put the bags in the shed. I noticed that some of my clothes were missing and even asked my roommate if he had borrowed them because I hadn't seen them in a while. He said he didn't know about them and then I remembered - they were in a big trash bag in the shed because they had pig poop on them. The next day I went to the shed to get my clothes and take them to the laundromat. I slowly opened the bag and took a hesitant whiff and, to my surprise, it wasn't too bad. It was still pig poop, but it wasn't fresh and that meant it wasn't too bad. I deemed it safe to take to a laundromat and headed down the street with my bag of clothes and box of detergent. Arriving at the laundromat at the same time was a couple of girls. Yes, they were cute and flirty looking and although I had zero interest in asking either of them out, I didn't want to look like a goober in front of cute girls. With that in mind, I grabbed the bottom of the trash bag my pig poop clothes were in and I quickly jerked it out and up thus inverting the pile of clothes and pulling off the bag in one move. Bad idea! Apparently in the 2 months that the clothes were in the bag in the shed, a crust had formed over the top which sealed the stench and by inverting the pile I had unleashed upon this laundromat the most foul, fermented pig poop, moldy dirty laundry smell imaginable. The smell was so strong that it filled the entire building immediately. There was no escape. The girls gagged, giggled, and ran out and I barely got my clothes loaded into the washers without barfing myself. It's impossible to be cool when your clothes smell like that.

Clean up, aisle 3

I had a hard time adjusting to having two kids. Not because she was a girl or because it meant twice as many diapers to change or even because that meant we would have to buy another set of baby accoutrement since Abigail was still young enough to need her crib, dresser, etc. No, I had a hard time adjusting because every time I held her she would barf on me. That's not an exaggeration. Ask around. My friends will vouch for me. Suzi would feed her and even hold her upright for a while before handing her to me, but as soon as I got Elise, she'd yack all over me. I got tired of smelling like sour milk so I even went a little while without even holding her. I'd play with her and talk to her while someone else was holding her. It's not like I wear cologne or deodorant that would irritate her gag reflux. I don't usually wear cologne and my deodorant is unscented because I don't even like the smell of most deodorants. Suzi holding her - fine. Me holding her - vomit fountain. Anyway, she grew out of it and every now and then while I'm cuddling with her I whisper in her ear, "Thank you for not puking on me in a long time." She tells me I'm welcome and smiles up at me. Sweet moment.

Then she goes and does something like this:

It was time to brush the dogs. I sat on the floor and was giving Nanuk a good brushing. He was enjoying all the attention as I brushed and the girls talked to him. It took a while since he has so much thick fur and I was trying to do a really good job. I don't know how long we were sitting on the floor, but it must have been longer than a little girl bladder can hold its water. Did I mention the girls had their diapers off due to an ongoing potty training seminar? All of the sudden I see Elise take a step toward me and I felt her touching my leg. "That's sweet," I thought. "She's happy and wants to touch me." Then I felt something that sort of felt warm and wet at the same time. That was odd. I looked at what could be making me feel that sensation and then I saw it. She's not touching me; she's peeing on me. I was in such shock that I didn't know what to do but to sit in shock for a second longer. Then Elise had the audacity to start to turn to walk away when she was done as if to say, "Ok. Thanks. Now I feel better." At least she doesn't hurl on me anymore.

Concerning communion

Is my quest for answers to my questions leading me down the same road along with the Pharisees? They wanted to know about murder, adultery, divorce...and Jesus essentially told them that they were asking the wrong questions. They should have been concerned with simply loving each other. I don't deny that learning what participating in the act of communion is about or what it means is important. What I have learned is that the nit-picky questions I have been asking, while valid, miss the mark. I'm dwelling on what kind of bread to eat and when/how often to eat it and all the while Jesus is saying, "Remember me." How do I remember Jesus and what is it that I remember about him?
I eat the bread and drink the juice and remember that death is not the end of the story.

I eat and drink and remember that the blood of Jesus is multilingual.

I eat and drink and remember that Jesus "went there" and "did that" and came out the other side absolutely perfect.

I remember Jesus by welcoming people to my inner circle without noticing their clothes or social status.

I remember Jesus by sharing stories of his life with my family.

I remember Jesus by blurring the line that separates family from friends.

God's gender

These are my thoughts. I'm not the final authority. Read this and work out your own answers. There, that's my disclaimer. Happy reading.

If God is everything, then does that mean that he is both genders as well? If he is both genders, then why do we mainly refer to him as a him? If God is female, does that change what I've been taught about women leading? These are all valid questions. I would have to do a ton more research to answer those questions with any semblance of authority. For now I will only concentrate on supporting evidence for God being both male and female. There seems to be a shift in gender between the testaments. He takes on feminine attributes in the Old Testament while in the New Testament he takes on more masculine attributes.

This is not to say that God is exclusively feminine in the Old Testament. We see several instances in the Old Testament of God's masculinity: God is "strong and mighty" (Ps. 24:7ff), God is a "punisher of the wicked" (Gen. 18:25). We also see, however, that there are many instances in the Old Testament where God is given feminine attributes. The writers describe God as a seamstress in Genesis (he made clothes for Adam and Eve); a mother in Isaiah 46:3 ("you have been borne by Me from birth"); a mother in Deuteronomy 32:18 ("...and forgot the God who gave you birth"); compared to a nursing woman in Isaiah 49:15 (as a woman forget her nursing child..."); compared to a mother bear in Hosea 13:6-8 ("...like a bear robbed of her cubs"). The bonus would be Matthew 23:37 where Jesus likens himself to a mother hen gathering her chicks.

In contrast to this feminine theme in the Old Testament, in the New Testament we see what appears to be a stark shift in gender assignment when referring to God. One of the first (and perhaps the most noticeable) difference we see is that God is rarely referred to alone or directly. Most of the time we read about Jesus rather than God. Jesus repeatedly refers to God as "father" (John 16:28- "I came from the Father...", John 6:57 - "...Father sent me...", Matthew 6:9 - "Our Father who is in heaven..."); Jesus is the son of God (1 John 5:10, 2 Corinthians 1:19, Mark 5:7). From my research (not exhaustive by any means) it seems that the hundreds of masculine pronouns used to describe God are meant to employ the secondary definition in much the same way as "man" or "mankind" can be used to refer to all of humanity and not just the males.

We are created in God's image. Understanding that God is not physical, what does this mean? Certainly we are not tiny carbon copies of God. God doesn't have a penis nor a vagina. What it means is that in the same way that God is a spiritual being, so too are we with the exception that our spirits are clothed with physical bodies crafted from the dust of the earth (Genesis 2:7). God's gender doesn't change the basis of my salvation. I file this topic in the category of "interesting but not crucial to understand." I hope this has been at least slightly interesting to you. You asked me a question and I wanted to be sure to answer with due diligence. Thanks for asking me and reading this far.

It's in their DNA.

Have you ever been in the car with your mother/girlfriend/wife and feel the urge to pull over and let her drive since she insists on telling you how to do what you're doing? It's ok, me too. Don't be too hard on her - she can't help it.

Exhibit 1: I was driving to St. Louis to meet up with some family for the occasion of my grandfather's funeral. Suzi had to work so she stayed home and I took the girls on the 6 hour drive by myself. We arrived in town after dark and were supposed to meet up with people at my father's aunt's house. I had never met this woman let alone been to her house so I called my father to get directions once I got close. It was dark, the windshield was fogged over, and I was in a town I knew nothing about. I got directions and was working on navigating through town repeating the directions aloud over and over so I wouldn't forget, and what do I hear from the backseat but, "No, no! Wrong way!" What? Is it? Wait, how would they know? "It's ok, girls. I know where I'm going. This is the right way." Wait, is it the right way? I quit repeating the directions when I got distracted by the backseat drivers.

Exhibit 2: We drive the same way to the church building each time we go so the girls have learned the route. They've started to recognize where we are and which way we need to go so when they notice us getting close, they shout out directions like, "Turn this way, Papi" or "Go that way." They think that because they tell me where to turn on Sundays and Wednesdays that I'll automatically turn where/when they tell me to every other day of the week. I don't. It's hard not to get frustrated when I get my driving critiqued by toddlers, but I guess it's ok. They can't help it. It's in their DNA.

Girls and hardware stores.

I enjoy DIY projects. I enjoy hardware stores. I enjoy wandering through aisles of tools comparing product specs and dreaming up projects that I could do with that tool so that I could be justified in buying it. Since I enjoy these things so much, when we made the decision for me to be the one to stay home with the kids, I thought it would make my life easier if I taught the kids to like the same things as I do. Starting with hardware stores.

It doesn’t really matter which hardware store. Lowe’s, Home Depot, Ace, Sutherlands, Atwood’s – they’re all good for wandering around to kill time and think about home projects. Even the AAA Rental Office is good for a quick fix. Knowing now how much I like hardware stores, it should be no surprise when I say that I take the girls to one almost on a daily basis. When it rains we don’t go to the mall, we go to Lowe’s. When it’s too hot in the summer we don’t go to a water park, we go to Home Depot. When it’s too cold to play outside in the winter we don’t park in front of the tv with sippy cups of hot chocolate, we go to Ace. And so on.

We go to Lowe’s and Home Depot so much, in fact, that the girls recognize the stores from the car. They say things like, “I want to go to that Blue Store (Lowe’s)” or “Let’s fix the house with the Orange Store (Home Depot).”

“Fix the house.” That’s what I tell them I’m doing when I work on a project at home. Replacing the kitchen faucet became “fixing Mami’s water” and replacing the broken bricks on the outside steps became “building [Abigail’s] steps”. But in general, working on a house project is “fixing the house.” That can be anything from tearing out and rebuilding the sunroom to hanging a picture.