To Baptize or not to Baptize?

First let me state that I am not sure if I am still a Christian or not. During my childhood I attended a broad spectrum of Protestant churches, from Unitarian to Southern Baptist. I even had a brief encounter with true fundamentalism (as in people speaking in tongues, or drunk from the communion wine, or perhaps both). I went to a fairly conservative Christian high school, participated in Mission trips to Mexico (all the while wondering why the people we were helping seemed far more content than me, but perhaps that was the diarrhea speaking) and attempted to pray on a daily basis. Then I went off to college at a public University, met lots of amazing people from various belief systems, and quickly crawled out of my close-minded little box. I suspect this happens to 50% of devout adolescents. The other 50% get married at age 18 in order to avoid premarital sex and begin a process of copious breeding. Not that there is anything wrong with that [pregnant pause].

Since that time I've migrated further and further away from identifying myself as a
"Christian". Yet I still love Jesus. The problem is, I also love Buddha, mother nature, Yahweh, and the many amazing people in my life who follow these "beings". I don't want to get into a theological diatribe (mainly because I have little knowledge to back it up) but I simply cannot believe in a God who would send non-Christians to Hell or view loving gay unions as a sin. And in my VERY humble opinion, true religious "faith" emerges from the instincts in your gut that tell you things like "wait, if God is so loving, why is he sending a large portion of the people he created to hell?". And if you have to force your gut to believe something that just seems wrong on many levels, then perhaps you've migrated into brainwashing territory. For me, that territory was the Mexican desert, when I tried to go through the motions of being "born again" on mission trips but just could NOT get the hang of it. It was like being constipated (except for the aforementioned diarrhea).

And so my gut (i.e. my faith) has led me believe in a Higher Power who is far greater and far more mysterious than a single human belief system. I find this Higher Power in places like Franz Biebl's Ave Maria (to hear, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVBsNUXg_YM) and Rachmaninoff's Vespers. The problem is, I'm not sure how to expose my son to this Higher Power. How do you educate your child about something that you yourself find to be a complete but beautiful mystery? Do you arbitrarily choose a favorite church based on superficial factors ("hey this church has good communion wine and a choir that sings in tune, let's join!")? Do you expose your child to lots of churches, or no churches at all? Do you volunteer on Sundays, go hiking to pristine spots, and take him to hear divine music instead of subjecting him to organized religion? As much as I love the idea of letting Elliot figure it out for himself, I would like to play a small and humble role in exposing him to the wonders that I have found from my faith.

This brings me to the question of baptism. We have the honor of serving as Godparents to the baby girl of our good friends this Sunday when she is baptized into the Catholic faith of her family. We attended a class and rehearsal on the baptism process, and I was surprised to find myself yearning for a way to offer Elliot a similar blessing. As Rob and I now ponder how to include spirituality in our parenting of this miraculous little boy, we are faced with an abundance of questions. Perhaps teaching Elliot to question, wonder, and maintain an open heart is the best blessing we can offer him. But a little dash of water and beautiful ritual won't hurt, will it?

I HATE bras. And other fashion challenges.

As I sit here clad in balloon-like linen pants which are at least a foot too long and never cease to trip me, I reflect upon the greatest mysteries of human existence...why are we here? what does infinity really mean? What kind of bra should I wear under this ill-fitting blouse? Can I get away with wearing a form-fitting yoga tank top INSTEAD of a bra? What will the people of Egypt do with their hard-won freedom? You know, the usual deep stuff.

I think I am far more likely to answer the infinity question than the bra question. Because despite a few sputtering and futile attempts to become stylish, I just don't understand fashion and I never will. I say this not to complain, but to state a fact, and to also offer fair warning to anyone who may see me and wonder whether I'm wearing a bra. If in doubt: assume I'm not.

It all began when, as a hippi child in San Jose, CA, I refused to wear clothing. It's true. I have plentiful photo evidence, which I would post if a) I could figure out how to hook up the scanner I received for Christmas or b)I was not afraid of getting flagged by the cast of Criminal Minds as a person who posts pictures of children for less wholesome reasons. My poor mother made some half-hearted attempts to enforce the "cover up your body with clothing" rule, but she had no luck. At least in the nude I was safe from the disastrous fashion choices that marred my 1st grade social life. As a stubborn 6 year old, I was convinced that one should wear pants underneath their dresses. Twenty years later the pants under dress look did become a short-lived fashion trend, but sadly I cannot claim that I was ahead of my time. I really just didn't feel like crossing my legs during floor time.

And it wasn't just about clothing. For example, I didn't experience the joy of brow waxing or pedicures until I was in my mid-twenties. Who knew that the black caterpillars residing on my brow line could be tamed into graceful lines that accentuated, rather than hid, the eyes beneath? Or that you can actually pay a very modest amount to have someone (usually not from this country) transform your toes from rotting stumps into little pink petite fours (or should I say petite fives...snicker snicker)? Thankfully, through the years I was visited by a few fashion fairies who bestowed their great wisdom upon me, by way of subtle hints and mandatory makeover sessions.

But even with my new found ability to schedule pedicures and brow waxes, I still find myself mystified by some of the primary rules of fashion. Just to name a few:
1) layering. WHY ON EARTH would you buy 3 separate garments when you can be just as warm in 1? And how do you get the garments to complement each other without exposing various rolls?
2) earrings. They're small, they're easy to lose, and they never cease to turn my ear lobes into red flaming crustaceans. Not pretty.
3) skinny jeans. Enough said.
4) Stripes. Enough said.
5) Shoe collecting. I just don't get it. What's wrong with having 2 or 3 good comfy pairs of shoes which you wear for years, until their aroma causes crowds to part like the red sea? I try to act sympathetic when my girlfriends vent about how they just can't resist buying more shoes. But really I am thinking "I could have bought an entire layer-free outfit for the cost of 1 of your shoes".

So I've come to the conclusion that I will never be fashion-savvy. And I am OK with this for multiple reasons. As a mom, even my "nice" clothing winds up splattered with baby prunes and baby poo anyway. Plus, Rob never complains about my unique style (or lack thereof). Although come to think of it, he is the one who pointed out that my pants were balloon-like.

Ode to Grandmas and coconut bras.

As I prepared for the joys of motherhood, I was frequently cautioned about the dangers of the grandma who lends too much advice. So great was my trepidation that I diligently prepared a mental speech, which I would boldly deliver in the event of a grandma-advice-overdose. The speech basically stated: "I know what I'm doing, so shove off!".

I have yet to feel the need to deliver this eloquent speech, because what I didn't realize is how incredibly LUCKY I would feel to have a number of loving parental units in a 20 mile radius, all eager to help with Elliot in any way they can! How many children can say they have six grandparents who they see on a regular basis? And yes, they may offer advice from time to time. But most of the time it's good advice! In fact, sometimes I even (drumroll) seek out their input. Countless times I have called a mom-figure in tears, trying to figure out how to mend whatever was wrong with Elliot (usually gas). And during the reflux JULY FROM HELL (see earlier blog post about tubing) my wonderful mother stopped by my house almost everyday and kept me company while I sat on the couch in tears, desperately trying to get my baby to eat.

Disclaimer #1: this does not lend you Grandmas free license to unleash those bits of wisdom you've been patiently storing in your head while watching Rob and I fumble our way through our first year of parenthood.

Disclaimer #2: I may have jokingly implemented a daily advice quota for my own mom, which she frequently surpasses. But all I have to say is "quota alert!" and she usually moves on to a new topic..

I say this not to brag about how lucky I am. Because I'd have to be a complete asshole to do that (keep the jokes to yourselves, readers). My true intention is to commend all of you parents who are traversing the rough terrain of new parenthood without much family support. Whether it's due to career-related distances or family rifts, many new parents these days aren't graced with the blessing of family help. And to all of you in this situation, I offer a big fat salute!

This does lead me to question why so many parents seem to be going it alone these days (as compared to the days of yore???). The biggest factor I can identify, via the very scientific method of thinking about our circle of friends for 2 minutes, is career. People move away from family to pursue their careers, because they are passionate about what they do. And my fortunate family situation is largely due to the fact that Rob and I haven't prioritized our careers. For example, Rob would make an excellent fireman, and this has always been his dream. If career were his top priority, he would apply all over the country for positions, instead of localizing his search to the very competitive Seattle area. Sometimes we think about what could have been (especially when I imagine how hot Rob would look in a fireman uniform) or bemoan the fact that we don't have the incomes that our career-focused friends do. But when it comes down to it, we are happy with the choices we've made, because we are richer for the tremendous family support we have at our doorstep.

I do not think this is the right choice for everyone, however. Being closely knit with one's family does have its, erm, challenges. And some family situations are so dysfunctional that a 1k+ distance between grandparents and children is the best thing for everyone involved. However, I do have to say that there's something appealing about the idea of communal family child-rearing. (Parents: please take a moment to visualize yourself, your parental units, and your child/children living together in a large communal dwelling, wearing grass skirts and coconuts on your breasts for some reason. Sounds kinda nice, doesn't it?). But for those of you who have chosen your career or sanity over a communal hut in your homeland, may you find community and support in other ways, including visits from your friend Lana. I promise not to wear a coconut bra. But I can't make any promises about the grass skirt.