Fundamorphosis–Without this book my kid wouldn’t exist

I cannot wait to read this book!

You can hear Robb talking about his journey out of fundamentalism and the book he wrote by downloading This Podcast of his radio interview on The Ragamuffin Show.

This journey that Robb took has shaped my life so greatly. My world would be completely unrecognizable if he hadn’t taken this journey that led him to a new kind of faith. Which led him to Fayetteville and the to creation of Vintage Fellowship.  If his journey had ended differently or had never begun, my faith would take a different shape than it does today. My friends would be different people. Most definitely not as talented and inspiring as the ones I have now.  I might not even still live in Fayetteville. I wouldn’t be married to my perfect match and best friend because we met and got to know each other through Vintage. Someone else would have our Sweetie Wheatie, and her name probably wouldn’t be Luna Lovegood.

How depressing would my life be without these two?

Even though Robb didn’t know it at the time and neither did I, the transformation that was going on in Robb’s world and in his heart are the reason I am who and where I am today. Basically, it’s my pastor’s fault I’m pregnant right now. I bet that brings in some interesting hits from Google.

 

That’s weird. The elections are over and the world still exists.

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m currently incubating a small human. It came along today when its Daddy and I voted. I really wanted to be cheesy and put my “I voted” sticker on my belly but our polling location never gives stickers. Bummer of the day.

Later in the evening we went to Vintage for election night communion. How beautiful it was to sing together about turning our focus to Jesus when there are so many things pulling us in other directions lately. It’s so easy to get sucked into the political bickering. It’s kind of fun and we want to be right, don’t we? Tonight I came together with my church family to rest in the knowledge that, no matter how the elections ended up, I believe that God is sovereign and where our focus needs to be. Jesus didn’t call us to convince everyone we know to vote the way we want them to. He called us to LOVE.  We gathered together tonight as a group that represented pretty much every bubble on the Arkansas ballots.  There was no tension or arguments. Just the joy of being together. A feeling of love and trust that our votes do not separate us in any real ways. And the knowledge that no election results will change any of that.

Back to the tiny human-shaped critter currently giving me killer heartburn.

I have no memories of a time without MTV. It may be lame now, but it does still exist. This little one will come into a world with an African American as the elected leader of the USA. He or she will probably never know a world where it’s a big deal. Maybe our kid will grow up and just not be able to stand Barack Obama and think “I hate that my least favorite President was in office when I was born!” But, while I hope we will have instilled in them an understanding of the importance of the step forward, they won’t have any memories of Americans electing a non-white President being any big dang deal.

That makes me so happy.

I didn’t get that, though I wanted it so badly growing up. I seriously felt like a 60’s era civil rights activist in a little 7 year old body. I was an odd kid.  I know that I can’t truly understand the experience of growing up a person of color in this country. I’m a white woman who grew up in a home with both parents and, no matter how tough times got, I never had to worry about a roof over my head or dinner on the table. Maybe my parents worried about it at some point, but I never did. I was and am a child of privilege. I married  a white man. We have good educations and good jobs and a roof over our heads. I have had great prenatal care from before this baby was even sparked into existence. It was a child of privilege the moment it began to grow. Still, I am so happy that it will have a privilege that I didn’t have. The privilege of always living in a world where a black man got elected to the presidency of the United States. Twice. No matter what his politics are, that is such a joy to me.

I got into a lot of fights as a kids about race. I’m not sure how much of it was my personality and how much of it was something my parents did early on, but I was never shy about standing up for issues I felt strongly about. It might have stemmed from me finally figuring out the whole “color” thing.  See, I had two bi-racial cousins when I was a little kid. I knew their white mom (also my cousin) but she remarried a white man before I was old enough to remember anything else.  So, in my infinite 4 year-old wisdom, I put two and two together and decided I knew how it all worked. Let me explain genetics to you through a Pre-Ker’s eyes.  Before you have any kids you don’t know what race they will be.  Then you have your first one and you find out.  My cousin had her first baby and she was black. So obviously the second one was too.  Thus, when we went to visit her to see her new baby with her new husband I was very confused and, frankly, pissed off that her baby was…white.  What the crap? What business did that baby have being white? Once my mom explained the situation I was pretty ticked because I had been really looking forward to finding out what kind of babies I was going to have. Also, now that meant I was probably NOT related to Ozzie Smith, after all.  I think that just made me extra sensitive to the whole issue of race at an early age. So I noticed a lot more than most other kids around me when the grown-ups talked about it or it was the subject of a tv show or movie.

In Kindergarten we had one of those worksheets where they tell you what color to use on each area. Like a paint by numbers only with crayons.  The worksheet was a picture of a Native American (only we still called them Indians back in the early 80’s and sat “Indian Style” instead of “Criss-Cross Applesauce.”) My teacher instructed me to color my “Indian” Red. I don’t remember if I hesitated. I just remember refusing to do it.  I told her “Indians aren’t red. They are kind of brown” It wasn’t a political statement. I just thought it was stupid. Why would she be trying to force me to color a person a color that didn’t actually match them? I never did color my picture red. Usually I would have gotten in trouble for talking back to a teacher but I think my parents were actually pretty proud. It never occurred to me after that to adapt to fit the norms around me when it came to something I felt was right or wrong.  A lot of self-confidence came out of that one moment of not getting in trouble for sassing.

When we moved from Kentucky to Missouri I was 10 and in for a big shock. I had only heard the “N” word a few times before that. I started hearing it a lot more. I heard it within the first few weeks when my mom put my ponytail in a bunch of tiny braids and sent me to school. I could wear that hair-do for a week and then I’d have wonderful crimps when it came down. Hey, it was cool at the time. That first day a boy came up to me and asked me if I was a “Some kind of N—– lover or something?” I was so very shocked. I never ever come up with good comebacks so I’m pretty proud of my 10 year-old response of “I love all people. Except for jerks like you.” Smooth, tiny blond girl. Smooth. I did adjust to my surroundings there.  I stopped calling everything “Coke” after a while and switched to “soda pop.” I stopped using “ma’am”  and “sir” when speaking to adults because my entire 5th grade class laughed at me my first day when I said “Yes ma’am” to our teacher. But that particular trait, the horrible bigoted racist one, never rubbed off on me.

Again, I just want to reiterate that I don’t think my experiences are anything in comparison to kids who dealt with racism directed at them. Mine was 3rd party indignation. I could step outside of the sadness and hurt I felt. When I had a teacher in 6th grade who continually made racist remarks about property values and black neighbors and Michael Jackson being glad he was “turning white” I was angry but it did not affect my self esteem in the ways that I’m sure it could/would have an African American kid. I’m  not comparing my experiences with those kids.  But my experiences will be comparable to the little human I’m cooking right now. And I want so much more for her/him than we had. The election four years ago and the one tonight made sure there is at least one thing that will be different for this new generation. I am so glad for that.

PS–I’m not forgetting the awesome results tonight where women were elected to various offices for the first time EVER. It’s just really past my bedtime and I’ve already rambled enough for one post. Maybe I’ll revisit it later.

 

Sabbathing even when you didn’t mean to

Boring post today because all I do is eat, whine about feeling crummy and sleep. I am clearly NOT blog-worthy but I said I’d actually do this National Blog Posting Month thing this year all the way through November and that means a lot of extra lame posts. Sorry in advance.

Usually we make it a point to do nothing on Sundays after church and lunch with friends.  We feel that we are called to take a day of rest for a reason and that it increases our productivity during the rest of the week to be recharged and rested.  Sometimes I still get things done during my Sabbath but it is usually something that inspires me or boosts my energy. Sometimes I just feel crafty and want to sew things so that’s how I’ll spend my Sabbath. That’s what I had planned for today. Well, that and making dog biscuits.  The problem is, for weeks now I have underestimated the amount of energy I go through on Sundays. Getting around and being at church early to set up the day’s kids church lesson and sometimes for Daniel to practice with the band followed by church and then eating out somewhere with friends really wears me out these days! The past couple of weeks I’ve come home and immediately fallen asleep. Last week I dozed on the couch for almost 5 hours while we had cheesy “scary” movies on in the background in honor of Halloween. Today I crashed on our new-to-us cozy recliner (Thanks Aunt Jan!) and was asleep before Daniel got back in from taking Luna outside.

Every time I plan on getting something done I end up sleepy or sick or something. So I give up. No more planning, at least for Sunday afternoons. Maybe I’ll feel super motivated tomorrow evening to get a lot of sewing done. I am SO close to finishing up the quilt I’m making for Daniel’s grandma for Christmas and I need to get a move on because I have so many more presents to make for this Christmas. But, for the next 25 weeks I will not be planning to do anything on Sundays other than relax. If I get an energy burst and want to get something done it will just  be a nice surprise. Otherwise I will not feel guilty anymore for not getting anything done on Sundays.

 

I didn’t throw up today and everybody clapped

Everybody lies. Bunch of liars.

The books lie. TheBump.com lies.  “Oh, you’ll feel much better after the first 12 weeks.”  LIES LIES LIES. When I went to my Dr. appointment at 12 weeks the Dr. said, “I’m sure you’ll feel better around 14 or 15 weeks.”  She said that about 12 weeks when I was there the month before.  Here we are at 15 weeks and this whole being pregnant thing is still kicking my butt. It’s pretty exhausting to be nauseated just about every moment of the day for almost 4 months. I feel like it’s never going to end. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be hanging out at this kid’s high school graduation trying not to barf.

If somebody asked me how my day was, I’d say it was OK. I did have to stop multiple times and just breath and try really hard not to lose my previous meal but I was successful all day. At our end of the week meeting at work today someone asked for wins of the week. I said I hadn’t puked all day. The entire office applauded.  No lie.  They were legitimately excited for me.  How sad is that? If I really thought it would be over soon I would be OK with a day being classified as “good” if I was only feeling on the brink of puking all day and fighting heartburn that would fell a trucker. But I’m really nervous that it’s not going to end and I’m going to feel this way until April. I’m not sure I can handle that. I mean, I know I’ll survive it physically but I’m afraid I will lose my sanity completely.

Everyone also says it will be worth it once the baby gets here. They better not be lying about that too. Do you hear that, baby? You better not be a dud. You better be awesome.

The Dr. and his Tardis

When I first started dating Daniel I would go over to his apartment to hang out and when I got there he would often be watching the cheesiest shows I had ever seen. One of them had some goofy guy with a magic flashlight or something who always saved the day against really goofy villains. I, of course, would make fun of him.

A funny thing happened after a few years.  Somehow he talked me into watching one of those goofy shows when the new season started. I was hooked from the first adventure of the Dr. with sweet Amy Pond.  Just like that, I gave in and entered the nerd-world of Dr. Who. I even went back and watched all of the episode with the previous 10th Doctor.

This year for Halloween I thought it would be great to dress up as something from this show that we both enjoy so much together. Instead of going with the standby of being one of the Dr’s and his companion I decided it would be extra fun to dress up as the Tardis. The Tardis is Dr. Who’s space ship. The Tardis (Time and Relative Dimension in Space) is the Dr.’s space ship. It is stuck in the shape of a 1960’s British Police Phone Box. I made my costume with some random blue fabric I had around the house. My hat even lit up, which I was pretty proud of.  I also made Daniel’s bow-tie. A feat that made us late for our Halloween party, but I finally got it down on the 2nd try.

The Tardis

Someday our little one will ask where babies come from  and I will say “One day Daddy pointed his Sonic Screwdriver at Mommy’s tummy and then some wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff happened and there you were!”

We started talking about our costumes early this year so Daniel had plenty of time to start growing his hair out long to make a more convincing 11th Dr. I adore his commitment to authenticity and also, I dig the longer locks 🙂

Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but I feel pretty shmoopy about our costume choice. It was great to dress up in a couples costume that reflected something we both really enjoy and I had a lot of fun sewing for both.

Happy Halloween!

How to prepare for your pregnancy announcement a year and a half in advance.

I am a procrastinator, it’s true, but I am also a planner. I have compiled my 9 easy steps to preparing for your pregnancy announcement a year and a half (or more) in advance. Why not 10? Because there are only 9, that’s why.

It’s easy, really.

  1. Get engaged.
  2. Make an appointment with  a photographer for engagement photos. We used Northwest Arkansas Wedding Photographer Cherron of Raining Light Photography. We chose the Dickson Street Bookshop as our main location because we both love books and spent many a Saturday afternoon being adorable and giggly in those stacks while we were dating.
  3. Take photos with as many funny titles as you can find.  Book category labels work too, “This way to Horror” for instance. Make sure the arrow is pointing to one of the engaged people. The cheesier the better. +10 if it makes a dirty joke.
  4. Make your way to the “Expecting” section and find a book that clearly calls out “I am currently growing a human.” This will be the lady-prop. Actually, it might be a really amusing gentleman-prop.  Crap. We should have thought of that.
  5. Hide this photo. Do not include it in the photo book you make to use as your wedding guest book. Because, seriously, who wants to feel obligated for ever and ever to keep a little white puffy-covered book that has only the first few pages filled with people’s signatures? You’ll want to throw it out because it takes up space. But it’s from your wedding! No, thank you.
  6. Get married. (Or don’t. That’s fine too. I don’t care. But, if you don’t, you just ruined step 5 and now there aren’t 9 steps anymore. Did you even think about that? You have ruined my 9 easy steps. Ruined them. Do you really want to be that kind of person?)
  7. Steel yourself for the coming onslaught of everyone you know demanding that you begin procreating immediately. In fact, because you have included the photo of the bride looking shocked next to the “Sex” section label, the groom’s mother will write something about hurrying up with that already and get her some grandbabies. It won’t be awkward at all. (That’s a total lie by the way. It will be very, very awkward. And it’s in your guestbook/photo album. FOREVER.) Just ignore them all or ask them really personal and embarrassing questions in response. Because, basically asking someone “Are you having unprotected sex?” is pretty dang personal.
  8. Whenever you are ready, go for the gold. Don’t tell anyone if you don’t want to. I told my mother if she asked me when I was going to get pregnant one more time I would not answer the phone anymore. I am not a walking, talking uterus. I also garden and knit.
  9. When the time is right, bust out your carefully prepared photo.

Like so:The Big Announcement

Voila! You I have executed a perfectly planned pregnancy announcement.

Definitely leave me a link if you decide to try it out.

I wrote this post at my favorite pub, Tanglewood Branch, where I did not order a beer.  April seems like a long way away right now.  *sigh*