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May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life’s passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours!
Happy New Year, folks!
My Dad is a huge fan of The Who.
Therefore, I grew up as a fan. Somethings can’t be helped ;)
Tonight they were honored by The Kennedy Center, and damn if it wasn’t the second best performance of Baba O’Riley/Teenage Wasteland that I’ve ever seen. Second only to the time the band performed it for the 9/11 tribute concert.
The last minute of the video includes 100+ FDNY and NYPD folks. It’s worth the watch, even if you’re not familiar with the band.
Who knew I could be moved to tears by a 60′s British rock song?
So Randolph Mantooth is the keynote speaker at the local EMS conference that’s coming up in February.
I’d rather listen to AD or Steve Berry, but beggars can’t be choosers. And he IS Johnny from Emergency…
My question is… I realize he’s doing the EMS conference circuit (he was at the Michigan Expo close to two years ago), is he worth the cash?
I just figured out that I don’t need the CE’s that I’d get from the conference. But I’d still pay some to see him speak if it was worth it.
I didn’t mean to break the law… I really didn’t.
I was 15 months pregnant with FC.
Okay, I was 8.5 months along, but it felt like 15 months. It was my second to last day on the job before I was to go on Maternity leave. I was pretty excited about that, believe me. I had grand plans that consisted of sleeping, followed by more sleeping, followed by watching soap operas and eating bon-bon’s, and sleeping some more.
I was working for a subcontractor to the State of Ohio. My job was to install and maintain the computer equipment used to conduct Food Stamp purchases in grocery stores and carry outs. And I rocked at my job. It took me into many of the same neighborhoods that I found myself in working EMS. In many ways it prepared me for my (as yet unknown) upcoming career change.
I was toned out… Er… Paged out for a call at a VERY inner city convenience store/carry-out/corner store for a broken printer. The equivalent of most of the routine dialysis runs we get. Most of the time it’s in and out… Sometimes… It’s not.
As I’m approaching the carry-out/convenience store/corner store (sorry, I realize there’s significantly less humor involved when it’s not in reference to an actual emergency or EMS post…), I notice that there’s a rather large group of men gathered at the corner directly across the street from the store I’m about to waddle into. And I’m an intersection away from one of the less than attractive public housing complexes (The projects) in Toledo. Music is blasting from a radio in a car parked nearby. The Guys are talking loudly.
I instantly rub my very pregnant belly protectively. The truth is… I’m a little nervous even though I had been raised in the same neighborhood. I probably went to school with half of the guys who now scare the hell out of me.
I pull as close to the building as I can get. And at the same time, the group of young men I had been leery of ran directly in to the store I was to be entering in a scant few minutes. As if on cue, a police car pulls up to the corner I’m parked at.
It was like they had radar.
I didn’t realize that I was pulling in to a bus zone. As in… NO, you can’t park here. Not even if you’re VERY pregnant and afraid for your silly little life.
I exited my craptastic vehicle and gathered the supplies I would need. A new printer and cables… and walked confidently into the corner store.
Because the Law was there.
Surely I was safe. Right? I waddled into the store and found it… well… overcrowded.
It was New Years Eve, nine years ago. Shortly before the incident I wrote about last night where I puked in my mouth a little :) Clearly it wasn’t the best day for me.
The fifteen or so extra customers in the already cramped store were situated towards the rear. I went directly to the counter where the register (and my broken equipment) was located. My hands shook as I simultaneously replaced the broken printer and kept an eye on the group at the rear of the store.
“Scene safety” was not a phrase in my vocabulary yet. I just wanted to know where the TPD was. Surely they saw the large group sprint towards the store.
Within seconds six Police Officers entered the building. About that time all hell broke loose.
Well, to my novice backside, anyway. Okay, fine, so it was a box of Froot Loops that might have flown through the air.
In the end, four of them were arrested. And I had five more gray hairs.
When I finally left, I found out what it was that delayed Toledo’s Finest from entering the store.
They wrote me a ticket.
For parking in a Bus Zone.
Let me set the scene. It’s New Years Eve, 1999. I’m newly married and extremely pregnant. (And yes, for the record, I can do the math.)
And I have a very weak stomach.
(Oh, and you can thank Ms. NinjaMedic for inspiring this little peak into my past.)
We’re driving to my Mother’s house for the Annual New Years Eve Party. Hell, it’s fixin to flip to the year 2000, and truthfully, Mr. Epi and I are kind of curious to see if the the whole world is going to collapse into itself when the calendar flips to 01/01/00.
I’m riding alongside him in the Little-S-10-That-Could when there’s a noise that escapes from Mr. Epi’s backside. Something similar to what a duck would sound like while quacking.
And being sat on at the same time.
Instantly the cab is filled with what I can only describe as the most foul odor I had ever smelled. Keep in mind that I hadn’t worked in EMS yet, so it was nothing compared to some of the things I’ve smelled since then, but to my virgin nose, it was pretty rank.
As I had mentioned, I wasn’t working EMS yet. Hell, I wasn’t even a parent yet. So the rule about breathing through ones mouth had not been introduced to me at that point.
The first inhale told me that something was dead. And in the truck.
The second sniff told me that whatever it was had been dead for weeks. Having a weak stomach, a VERY weak stomach, I instantly vomited. Into my mouth.
Very classy, yeah?
What the HELL is that smell???? Jesus, did that come from HIM?
The giggle that he was trying to hide gave him away instantly. That bastard.
I frantically tried to roll down the window to get rid of the bile in my mouth when I couldn’t take it any more. I spit out the window, but missed. Vomit covered the interior of the window and the passenger side door.
Ewww. Yeah, I know.
He wasn’t impressed either. He spent half an hour cleaning out the truck when we finally managed to pull over.
And he never did it again :)
Meet my desktop.
What, you were expecting something a little cheerier? A large sunflower perhaps? :) (Photo credit goes to Rev Medic, btw) I didn’t put much thought into what my kids would think of it. My son has seen worse while thumbing through my Medic textbook. My three year old, however…
“MomMom?”
“Yes Sis?” I was checking my email while she constructed pancakes from her new playdoh set nearby. She was now standing next to me, staring at my desktop.
“He has an owwchie?” Her head was cocked sideways, she was pointing at the gentleman in the picture with her chubby finger.
Oh Jesus I’m scarring my kid for life. I quickly opened a firefox window to cover up the offending picture.
“Yes, honey, he has an owwchie. But he’s okay. Let’s go play with the playdoh, okay?” I reached for a
“No, MomMom. Move the picture.”
She wants to see it? Really? Do I distract her, turn the computer off, or… Let her look at it? I let her look. It’s not a particularly gruesome pic, just some blood. “He’s okay, Sis, see? They’re taking care of him.”
“The Pawamedics? He goes inna ammulance?”
“Yep, the EMT’s and the Paramedics are taking care of him. He’s going to go to the hospital in an ambulance. He’s going to be just fine, don’t you worry.”
“Okay. He goes inna ammulance. No helicopter.”
*snort* I just shook my head. Where in the HELL did she get that from?
“No, sweetheart, no helicopter.”
I was digging through some pictures when I came across a couple of pictures that I hadn’t put up…
Some of you might remember Sleepy Partner.
Talk about resplendent digs, yeah?
A coworker offered me ten bucks to stick a teddy bear next to him. I couldn’t do it.
It’s been a couple of months since I’ve talked to him, I might have to give him a call soon. I almost miss him :) He’s in PA school now, something he really will rock at.
If he can stay awake in class :))
Did you know that it’s possible to be lonely even when surrounded by friends and family?
This time of year has always been my favorite. This year, however, has been a little different. A conversation with my Dad (not the most stable adult in my life, but I love him anyway. He’s still my Father) spurred some old memories.
My Grandparents. His parents. The only Grandparents I ever really knew.
My Mother’s parents… Well, her Mother abandoned her and her sisters at a very young age to run away to Seattle. While I love Seattle, I can’t imagine leaving two children under the age of four to go live there. I’ve had very sporadic contact with her over the years and to be honest, I wouldn’t know her if she approached me on the street. My Grandpa (her Father) died of a massive MI when I was two. He was babysitting me at the time. I have no memory of him.
So my Dad’s parents were it as far as Grandparents when growing up. They were some hardcore people too, farmers and owners of a tractor dealership, they were the salt of the earth types that you don’t come across so much anymore. Real country folk.
My life was different out there.
My water at home came through pipes that snaked through the city I lived in. Theirs came from a well and tasted funny. When I had eggs for breakfast, my Mom purchased them from the local grocer. The eggs (and milk) I had at my Grandparents came from the farm. I’m sure my Mom (a “City Girl” according to my Grandma, her Mother-In-Law) must have lost her mind every time that Grandma gave me unpasteurized milk when I was younger. For excitement I played hide and go seek at home, between houses that were feet apart. On the farm I played hide and go seek, but hid in a hopper wagon filled with soybeans or a hayloft. I can still hear the grownups yelling at us to “GET OUT OF THE BEANS!”.
My point. I had one, I swear.
My Grandparents were the two of the three people in my younger years who really taught me what it was to be grateful for what I have. And for every single thing that I was fortunate enough to receive. (My Mother was the first of the three, for the record.)
When the tractor franchise that my they proudly owned (and that employed most of that side of the family) closed up because Allis Chalmers decided to sell off their farm equipment division, no one complained. No one threw themselves on the floor and had a woe-is-me moment. They just moved on. I was FC’s age at that point. And the example they set stuck with me. Even 25 years later.
I worshiped the ground that my Grandparents walked on, even though I only spent alternating weekends with them. While my Dad was out getting drunk, I was busy learning life lesson from Grandma J and Grandpa H on the farm.
When my Grandpa was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, they never let on in front of the Grandchildren. My Mother tried to prepare my ten-year-old mind for it, but there was nothing she could say without scaring the hell out of me, which she was determined to not do. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.
Mom: “Epi… Come sit with me. We need to have a little talk.”
I remember sitting down next to her. Her serious voice was one that she didn’t use very often. Like telling me that she was leaving my Dad.
Mom: “We need to talk about Grandpa… You know he’s pretty sick.”
I nodded. “He’ll get better.”
Mom: “Epi, we all hope he gets better. But… He’s probably not going to get better. He’s VERY sick.”
I remember trying to process what she was telling me. I mean, I got sick two or three times a year. And sometimes I even threw up (the ULTIMATE sickness to the average kid). I always got better. People get better, right? I told her that. I remember her voice catching and that she started to cry.
Mom: “Honey, we all hope he gets better, but he probably wont. He could die, Epi.” She was trying to not scare me, but she knew that I was an extremely sensitive kid, and that I adored him. And she really tried to prepare me for the fact that he wasn’t going to get better.
It was almost a year later and Grandpa was still doing fairly well. My Dad decided that the family vacation he had worked so hard to pay for could still happen. He packaged up his blended family, including us five children, and we headed to Niagara Falls to spend a week camping.
It was the only trip I’ve ever taken with my Father after my parents divorced. We went on the Maid of the Mist. We did the Cave of Winds. Niagara Falls was breathtaking, even to a ten year old. On the drive home I remember everyone being crashed out in the van but my Father and I. We pulled over to the side of the highway so he could stretch his legs and looked up at the stars. He pointed out the different constellations. It was the last time that I remember my Father being truly happy.
We pulled up to Dad and K’s house the next morning, to the news that my Grandpa had passed away three days before. The funeral was that morning. My Grandma had actually convinced the New York State Police to put an APB out on our van in an effort to find us before it was too late. It almost was. The funeral was held two hours after we got home.
I didn’t handle it well. I cried for close to a week.
All I could think about were the times that Grandpa had tickled me until I begged for mercy. Or the times he yelled at us (his nine Grandchildren) to “Quit Holler’in!” Or all the times he would be sitting in his recliner and he’d trap me between his legs and not release me until I would “Say the magic word”… Grandpa H was tough. He was the strongest man I knew.
And to my young mind, strong men didn’t die. Adults didn’t die. People I love don’t die.
My Grandma and my Father soldiered on. Us Grandkids soldiered on. Eventually life returned to some semblance of normal.
The Grandkids grew up into adults.
Life went on. Some of us got married and had children. Some of us went on to college, or the military. Some of us stayed at home and worked the farm. All of us remained attached to our Grandma J.
She was so tough. She was determined to move on. The business was gone, her Soulmate was gone, but she still had us. She watched five of us get married, and became a Great-Grandma. Twice. She became the babysitter to those little ones and loved it.
She even found a special someone to spend her time with.
He wasn’t my Grandpa, however. And it began to take a toll on her.
You see, my Grandma wasn’t perfect. She had a problem and it revolved around a bottle. She was a recovering alcoholic, and even twenty years of sobriety wasn’t enough to keep her from relapsing when she realized that my Grandfather was really gone. It was about the time that “The Shop” burned down (the building that the long closed tractor dealership had occupied), almost ten years after my Grandpa died, that we really knew there was a problem.
**********
While this has been extremely theraputic for me, it’s also been a bit exhausting. I’m heading to bed. The conclusion will be up tomorrow or Tuesday. I promise. :)
And while I was feeling a bit lonely at the beginning of putting this together, I’m not feeling that way any more. No worries.
It’s a tradition in my family to visit the Toledo Zoo to see the Christmas lights. Typically we try to go the first chance we get (translation: the first non freezing night) between Thanksgiving and Christmas. This year temperatures kept us from doing that, and the kids let me know that they were less than pleased with that fact.
On December 26th, the clouds parted and the local Meteorologist informed us that the temperature was going to reach 65 degrees. In late December. We made plans to go see the million plus lights that adorn the trees (and just about every other surface) in the Zoo.
The kids rejoyced.
Well, FC rejoyced, anyway.
The other one really didn’t want anything to do with any of us. Or Christmas lights.
And to think, it all started with a woodchuck in a box at Walbridge Park.
We stumbled across this really neat exhibit in the Amphibians section. Aparently these itty bitty little frogs, the Kihansi Spray Toad actually, are completely extinct in the wild thanks to the construction of a hydroelectric dam built in the African gorge where they resided. Half of their total population is at the Toledo Zoo, the other half is in the Bronx Zoo. Both Zoos are building a successful breeding program with the goal of reestablishing the breed back in the wild.
An interesting fact: The Kihansi Spray Toad is a rare example of a toad that gives birth to fully formed offspring instead of laying eggs. I’ll be storing that tidbit away for the next time it comes up on Jeopardy or in Trivial Pursuit. :)
The toads were cute. But the kids weren’t really all that interested in toads. They wanted to see the bugs.
*sigh*
I’ve mentioned that I hate bugs, haven’t I? I really, really, hate bugs.
So… yeah. I didn’t like the bug exhibit. Or the spider exhibit. Or the slimy creepy crawly things exhibit. It was time to beat a path back out to see the lights. Now that the sun had crept below the horizon, anyway.
And the lights… They were fantastic. Draped from limb to limb. I don’t know for certain when the staff starts putting the lights up, I can tell you that when we were visiting for the Boo at the Zoo event there were already lights hanging. Good Lord I’m glad I’m not saddled with that job.
This is my favorite tree, this picture really doesn’t do it justice. It glows like a beacon, you can see it from the Trail every time you pass the zoo. It’s a brilliant bright blue color.
Taken from under the tree, looking up.
The long line of zoo traffic waiting on the Anthony Wayne Trail. I’ve never seen it as busy as it was. Not even on a concert night. People were stacked up ten deep to see any exhibit.
You don’t want to know what I had to do to get close enough to get a shot at the Bald Eagles.
In the end we emerged relatively unscathed despite the crowds and the beginning of a light sprinkle. (That’s my little girl trying to bribe me into buying a second bag of cotton candy with a kiss. Nice try kiddo.) It was the perfect night for the trip, and a nice ending to a solid week of Christmas.
I hope that you all had a great Christmas Day/Hanukkah/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Festivus/Thursday. I hope that you found yourself surrounded by those closest to you. (Or if you actually celebrate Festivus, I hope that you aired all your grievances and rocked the whole Feats of Strength thing).
As for myself, I was fortunate enough to witness what I can only call shock and awe spill out of my Son when he opened something he has been asking for for two years. It was the only thing he really wanted for Christmas.
I might have led him to believe he wasn’t going to be getting the DS this year.
He was so happy and genuinely grateful that he had tears in his eyes. That’s my Boy. He remembered to thank everyone for everything that he received without prompting. He was even more excited to pass out the presents he purchased and watch his family members open them. It was a cool thing to watch and I was extremely proud of him.
The little Princess was not so well behaved. I can only blame it on the fact that she didn’t get enough sleep, and was hopped up on sugar for three days straight (courtesy of three different sets of grandparents). Oh, and she’s three. Certainly not because I might give in to her demands a little too often.
I’m working on that.
She sure is cute in those pj’s, though.
A little over a week ago I mentioned that it was a wee bit chilly outside. I might have put up a screen grab from weather.com that looked like this:
Nine days and another screen grab later:
It’s the end of December. In Ohio. And it’s fixin’ to hit 65 degrees.
Merry Christmas… Happy Holidays… I hope that you get to spend some time with those the closest to you.
When you get excited over a set of Calphalon Pots and Pans. Merry Christmas to Epi!
I’ve hit the Motherlode, folks. I’m in my happy place. And it is gooood.
Just wanted to put that out there. Anyone want to come cook me up an omelette?
Completely and totally stolen from LawDog. (Ninja, you might want to grab those tissues.)
For all of my Brother’s and Sisters out there, wearing the Uniform so that my family doesn’t have to. My body may not be out there with you, but my heart and my head is.
Merry Christmas. And thank you.
I have a fantastic family. I have a Mother who believes I can conquer the world if I set my mind to it. I have a Brother who loves me more than life itself and just wants my happiness. He’s one of my best friends.
They’re the ones closest to me.
So when they tag teamed me the other night, I didn’t see it coming.
We were at a restaurant celebrating my beautiful Sister-In-Law’s recently achieved Master’s degree in education. (I’m extremely proud of her, by the way, Rock ON, SIL!) We were talking about her license, the renewal process, CE’s, etc.
It was my much younger and much-adored cousin who inadvertently sparked the firestorm. It was an innocent enough question. “Epi, do you have to go to classes to keep your license?”
He’s the only member of my family who has ever had any interest in anything related to EMS. He wants to be a Firefighter. Or a Paramedic. Or both. He’s 20-years-old, and despite his sometimes abrasive demeanor, I know this guy, and he would rock at either of those careers. Or both.
“Yeah, I do. And it’s killing me because I have a certification in two states and the continuing education requirements are different. I’m kind of scrambling to find a place to do my credits that count for Michigan. Ohio isn’t so difficult, but I’m going to be busy for the next several weeks if I want to keep both certifications.” I heard a gasp escape my Mom’s lips.
My Mother and my Brother’s jaws dropped simultaneously. “What’s this obsession with EMS that you have? You’re not actually considering working in that environment again, are you?” I don’t remember who said what for sure, but that was what I heard.
Let me back up a step. I haven’t worked EMS in a few months. The opportunities in NW Ohio just aren’t what they used to be, and while I LOVE this job, this career, this path I’ve chosen in life… My opportunities to actually do what I LOVE to do, have lately been few and far between.
I know what some of you out there are thinking. I know, because I’m hearing it on a daily basis from some of my current and former coworkers.
“But Epi. The transfers! They bore the shit out of me. The pay is horrible!!! The hours suck! I don’t see my kids as much as I want to! I’m cold, and wet, and my back really hurts and why in the hell do people keep calling 911 for these bullshit reasons???”
Here’s my answer to you. And to my Mother. And to my Brother. And to anyone out there who is in the same boat. Anyone who loves me and wonders why I just don’t go out and become a Nurse. (Italicized only because that seems to be what my family and friends believe I’m destined to be.) Or why I don’t just become a legal secretary, or… Anything but an EMT. (And for the record, this response is from me. Your loved ones might believe something completely different.)
First of all, I love Nurses. I have nothing but respect for Nurses (up to a certain point, but that’s another post entirely). But right now, I don’t want to be a Nurse. I want to be an EMT/Paramedic. No, it’s not a job that will ever allow me to live in a mansion. I’ll probably never own a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s. (Hell, I’m tall enough already!) And you know what? Everyone I know has had their back really hurt at one point or another. We ALL miss our families.
Sometimes we’re cranky, sometimes we complain about our jobs. You might even see us cry. You know what? We’re HUMAN. Surely you’ve been frustrated from time to time.
But there’s those moments. Those moments when you KNOW that simply by you being there you made a difference. Those are the times that make up for the rest. The time that you piled another blanket on the routine dialysis transfer, and they thanked you and meant it. The terrified and very pregnant MVA patient who’s hand you held (or who’s baby you delivered, even if they didn’t name the little one after you.) The patient having the big one. And you caught it in spite of the screaming from the family and the sirens and the pot-holed roads that lined the path between their home and the hospital. Oh, and it was right-sided. Sometimes it’s the camaraderie we feel with our Brother’s and Sisters. There’s nothing like it.
Sometimes it’s just a “Thank You”. Sometimes it’s just knowing that you made a difference. It’s not sexy, it’s not glamorous, but it’s the job I love. Hell, in a few short years it’s become the only job I want to do. It’s the only thing I know how to do well. It’s my passion.
Most of the time anyway. But that’s no different than you, right? Are you that fortunate?
I hope you are.
Girl, this is for you. And for the record, I think the female Drill Sergeants are significantly scarier than the male DS’s.
Oh, and never call a Colonel, Corporal. They really really hate that.
It’s that cold.
Have I mentioned before that I live in the wrong climate?
Welcome, Winter.
Uhm… Seriously?
Apparently my lil blog shows up as number 78 on google when you search for Best Boob Blog.
Heh.
It’s amazing what you can find out by looking at Google Webmaster Tools.
1. What is a nickname a former (or present) lover gave you?
Hrmmm… I’ve been given a few nicknames, my favorite is one I can’t bring myself to type out. I did have an ex who called me Grasshopper and another who called me Baby Girl, even though I was three years older than him.
2. How do you style your hair? If you just would say “cut” what style is it?
I have naturally curly hair. If I’m working EMS it’s always pulled up in a pony tail. If I’m going out I tend to straighten it.
3. What’s your least favorite Christmas song?
Least favorite Christmas song… Sheesh. What kinda Scrooge wrote this? I’d have to say Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Something about her voice.
4. How many colors are you wearing now?
Navy Blue sweatshirt, blue jeans, white socks. Two?
5. Are you an introvert or extrovert?
Extrovert most of the time.
6. What was the last book you read?
I just reread the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I needed a good laugh :)
7. What’s one piece of fiction that changed your life?
A piece of fiction that changed my life? I’ll have to think about that one and get back to you.
8. If you are attracted to someone who is already in a relationship (or married), what might do you do?
Well since I’m a shameless hussy I’d probably do everything in my power to end that relationship. Yeah, that’s me. /end sarcasm
9. Is there anything that has made you unhappy recently?
Maybe a few things, but in general I’m doing my best to not let it get the best of me.
10. What’s your favorite dessert?
Sugar free jello pudding. That’s about the extent of my desert intake.
11. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
What am I getting ready for? Work? 45 minutes. Unless my alarm clock didn’t go off, then I’ve been known to jump into a uniform, throw on some makeup, pull my hair back, brush my teeth and pee in a mere five minutes.
12. Name one website that you visit daily. Why do you read it?
Toledoblade.com. I typically check the weather and the obituaries.
13. What was your last job before either you are at home or at another job??
Wow, that’s some hellacious grammar. My last job was working as an EMT.
14. Do you like to clean?
Not particularly, but I do love a clean house so it’s kind of a necessary evil.
15. What was the last song to get stuck in your head?
Roll With Me by Montgomery Gentry. God I dig that song.
16. What’s the last movie you saw?
Watching PS I Love You as I type this.
17. Pirates or Ninjas?
NINJAS BABY!!!!
18. What is your least favorite thing to do that you have to do everyday?
Getting the kids to go to sleep.
9. Best time of your life?
The time I spent in Seattle. I’ll never forget it.
20. What are you most looking forward to in the coming year?
Getting to put the last year behind me. It’s time for a new start.
Given some recent posts by some friends of mine, NinjaMedic and Chris specifically (Wow, that sounded very Soprano’s like), I’ve been thinking quite a bit about religion. Organized religion.
I think I might have mentioned before that I was raised Catholic. I attended Catholic school for nine long years. Two of the people I love and respect the most, my Mom, and my Father-In-Law are devout Catholics. I consider myself Catholic-Light. Extremely light.
I’ve found that I don’t necessarily believe in the drill and ceremony involved in a Catholic Service anymore.
Genuflect here. Kneel here. Make the Sign of the Cross here. I did it for so long that I found I wasn’t putting any thought into it. It was like I was auto-pilot the moment I would walk into church. It didn’t seem right.
And the Saints, don’t even get me started on the Saints.
This Saint will protect you from people breaking into your house, this Saint will help you find the set of keys that you’ve lost for the fifth time this month, this Saint will protect you from the plague of fruit flies that are sure to invade your kitchen if you don’t throw that moldy apple out immediately… That’s never made sense to me. If the first Commandment states (more or less) that God is God and that we shouldn’t pray to false God’s, then why are we praying to St. What’s-His-Name to help us find our way to Hamtramck?
Eventually, my weekly attendance at Mass dwindled down to twice a year on average, Easter and Christmas and that’s mostly to keep my Mother happy. When I’m there I spend most of that hour trying not to giggle while my younger Brother makes up lyrics to the Hymns we’re supposed to be singing. In Polish. (Real mature, right?)
I do, however, live my life according to many of the beliefs of Catholicism. I pray to God. And only God. I believe that everything was created by Him. I try not to lie, I don’t cheat, I don’t steal, I believe in most cases killing someone is a bad thing (on purpose anyway)… I believe that when you do something bad, you should apologize and mean it… Basically “Do your best to be a good person” kinda stuff. I’ve raised my children the same way. They may know jack squat about sacraments and saints, but they sure as hell know that lying, stealing, cheating and hurting people is not right. They go to Church on average twice a year less than I do. As in… They don’t go.
When I was FC’s age I had already been Baptized, made my First Communion and Reconciliation, had been to Church a couple of hundred times, and had just as many Religion classes under my belt. And at the tender age of eight, I had more guilt than any third grader should ever have.
By comparison, FC’s a little behind. And I’m okay with that.
This really bothers my Mom, and it flared up last night during a conversation on whether or not my kids should attend Mass on Christmas Eve. She wants them to go. I don’t see the point. My little girl is three. If I took her I’d wind up bribing her to stay quiet with cereal. My Son does not go to a Catholic grade school, nor does he go to Catechism. I don’t have a problem with either of them going to Mass, I just think that taking them when they’re bouncing off the walls in anticipation over Christmas presents and expecting them to be able to sit still and pay attention might be asking a bit much.
Then she brought up the fact that FC should have made his First Communion a year ago, somehow hinting that he was less of a wonderful child in God’s eyes because he hadn’t… And that I, as a Good Catholic Girl should at the very least have him in Catechism.
I got a little upset.
I’ve been working on teaching him the basics. He might not be able to recite any of the Catholic prayers, but he knows he can talk to God any time he wants to. That’s something that even adults struggle with at times.
I stormed off… Determined to have a conversation with FC that would allow me to feel better about everything.
“FC?”
“Uhm, yeah Mom?” His nose was buried in a book.
“Are you excited about Christmas?”
“I can’t wait!”
“I bet you can’t… Hey, FC, let me ask you a question… Can you put the book down for a second?”
“Sure, Mom. Am I in trouble?”
“No, that’s not it. What do you know about Christmas? Do you know what we’re celebrating on Christmas Day?”
“Uhmmm…” The silence was deafening. He had no idea.
Epic Fail for Epi.
“Well, you know about Jesus, right?”
FC’s eyes light up. “I know he was on crutches, right?”
Now it was my turn to look completely confused. “Err… Crutches?”
“Yeah, he was on crutches.”
“Honey, he wasn’t on crutches… Where did you get that Jesus was on crutches?”
“On that show, the one they show at Christmastime. He walks around with a crutch.”
“FC, are you talking about the movie with the ghosts of Christmas, and the cranky guy, Scrooge?”
“Yeah, that’s the one!”
Under my breath I mumble, “Oh dear. I have some work to do.”
“What Mom?”
“We’ll talk later, FC.”
Last night I braved the ice covered streets in an effort to find the last remaining item on my Santa’s Christmas shopping list. Bakugan. Good luck finding them, by the way. I I mean Santa might have purchased the last set in the city of Toledo. While wandering around the 7th level of hell (also known as Toys R Us), I came across this little gem:
Are you SERIOUS? A PINK Ouija board???
“Ask the Questions Girls Want to Know”
“Ages 8+”
It even comes with a pink carrying case, bubble letters on the board, and… get this. Question cards.
QUESTION CARDS!
“The best job I will ever have will be….” “Who has a crush on me?” “Which animal best describes my personality?”
“Am I really talking to Azazel?” (Okay, I threw that one in).
Wait… Huh? What… the Eff. This is so wrong on so many different levels. I’m beyond disturbed.
You know… I was raised Catholic and attended a Catholic grade school. I can remember having discussions about Ouija boards in class, and the general consensus was they were a bad thing. Not something to play with. I can remember our sixth grade teacher telling us that she didn’t necessarily believe that they opened a portal to hell, but that sometimes your mind can play some pretty significant tricks on you. And that can be scary for a kid. Hell, it can be scary for an adult.
They’re marketing this to little girls. *sigh*
When it comes to Christmas lights… There’s three kinds of houses. The ones that make an attempt at decorating (above).
Then we have Joe down the street who really likes to put the lights up… Unless it starts snowing on him or the something. Then he just does the porch. And everything on the porch.
And then…
You have the overachiever. Notice the lights on the roof, glowing from under a few inches of snow and ice.
If you look closely at the snow on the ground you’ll see that the entire lawn is also covered in Christmas lights. It glows blue. It’s something else. Every inch of the house is covered in lights.
Even their driveway. (You can really see the lights under the snow on the lawn in this one). Unbelievable. Could you imagine living across the street from this house? It’s been featured on Good Morning America the last few years.
For comparison… Here’s a shot of the same house from last year. I can just imagine what their electricity meter looks like. I bet it’s glowing red from spinning so fast.
When your icicles have icicles.
Seriously.
It’s cold. And like Strong One, I also had to chip a ridiculous amount of ice off of my car tonight before being able to enter.
The last day before Christmas break and the entire city is closing down. We’ve only had a little more than an inch of snow, it’s the equal amount of ice that is making folks a little skiddish.
Wonderful. My car is encased in at least an inch thick shell of ice.
Well, at least the boy’s school had the good sense to cancel (along with everything else within two hours of Toledo. If you happen to be flying out of Detroit today you might want to check to make sure that’s still happening. I have a feeling it’s not. Particularly given the salt shortage.
The HSMSHS prompt is glow… Given the time of year it is, my first thought was Christmas lights.
So I searched through the hundreds of pictures I’ve taken over the last month for Christmas lights. They were all blah. But then I stumbled across this shot:
Taken Thanksgiving afternoon. Everything was taking too long. The turkey wasn’t cooking as quickly as anyone had anticipated. One Aunt had been at the house since ten am. The other Aunt wasn’t answering her phone and was an hour late. We were famished, and we were cranky.
Then my Mom pulled the rolls out. And the clouds parted, and the sun shone through. It was like God himself pointed at the golden biscuits of buttery goodness and proclaimed, “I have created these so that you may quit your bitching and eat. Please… Eat them. Seriously.“
And yes, I’m sure that God says “seriously”.
And yes, they really are glowing.
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