Somewhere between Plymouth Rock and Vegas

Lately, our Sunday routine has gone like this: try a church, try a breakfast, look at open houses. I really enjoy this routine because we need to find a church, we need to know who in town has the best breakfast, and I am nosy and like open houses. Oh, and we need one of those too.

Anyway, I want to focus on churches here. Of course, we have kind of a short list of possibilities. It would almost be easier if we had both been raised in the same denomination and that denomination was one that teaches that they are IT. Thou shalt not attend any other brand of church but me. Well, ok, it wouldn't actually be easier because I couldn't belong to a church like that, because, well, darn, the whole thing is cyclical, and that leads to the list of qualifications:

Must be completely ecumenical. Must be accepting of all lifestyles and leave the judging to God. Must offer communion every week. Must have lots of young children. Must like children.

Must like children? What kind of church wouldn't like kids? Well...

So, a couple weeks ago we tried an Uberchurch that people just rave about. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like contemporary praise worship, it's just, well--I'll get there in a bit.

So, there is special parking for "1st and 2nd time visitors only." Ok. Nice--except someone met us, literally, in the parking space to usher us inside and show us around. Some would say this is welcoming and helpful. Others might think it's a tad over the top. I guess it depends on whether you like to stand out as a first-time visitor in a crowded auditorium (I'm sorry, I mean Worship Center, not sanctuary) of 1000+ people, or if you prefer to be somewhat anonymous, but our guide was very nice and friendly. He showed us where to sign Ainslie into the children's center and obtain a security number for her. The only shadow passed over our guide's face when we said Ainslie would sit with us, this first time, because that is what she is used to. He quickly showed us the cry room, just in case.

Once we sat down with our glossy brochure (not a mere bulletin) we understood. On the back it states that, "Main worship is not designed for children." Hmmmm.

Ok. Soon, the lights were dimmed and the show began. So here's where I get into the whole Praise thing. I like it. Within reason. Our current church in Chicago offers a choice of traditional or praise services and we attend both. I don't think, however, that a show, in which people are constantly just *performing* is the spiritual experience we are looking for. It also really bothers me when church is held in a Worship Center that looks remarkably like a theater (and that was my major so I'm pretty keen on what one looks like) and has NO CROSS visible. That really bugged us. I mean, what is the POINT?

Then, the kids issue. Worship is not designed for children? On a purely practical nature, how do little ones learn what is expected of them if you don't take them places? Ainslie is certainly not perfectly quiet in church, but she's pretty good for a 2-yr old (most of the time) because we've always taken her. On a more important note, though, HELLO? No kids allowed? Craig thinks it is because the actors and singers don't want their show interrupted. One more thing on the kids. I'm too Protestant to be a proponent of infant baptism, but that is another post. I do, however, like the idea of Baby Dedications. So, this couple comes down with their infant (don't know how they got the kid through security) and the pastor basically says, "Welcome to parenthood. Now sit back down." Of course, he was probably tired after his 40 minute one-man show--sermon. No "Let us welcome this child into our fellowship." No, "Let us guide this child..." etc.

Anyway. Not a great fit for the Wilson family.

This leads me to something else I've been thinking about for a few years. Is the whole Christian Experience different for someone who finds God as an adult than for someone who is brought up in faith? It seems like people I hear speak who find God later in life are more full of wonder, or something, and I think that is great. I guess when you grow up knowing Bible stories and understanding who Jesus is, it maybe isn't as exciting as discovering Him later? Not that my faith isn't renewed, tested, and twisted from time to time, but I just have been thinking about this. The part of this that bugs me though, is the claim of being a Born Again Christian. By baptism, we are all born again, and I don't think there is any special distinction for being more born again than someone else. That just bugs me.

Ok, so I will close with a genuinely happy thought, and I'm not being sarcastic. I have always thought it a particulary neat trick of God's that He gave us minds, and therefore we *can't* really all worship Him in the same exact manner. I do think it's great that we are able to find Him and worship Him in a way that is meaningful for each of us.

Meanwhile, for Craig, Ainslie and I, back to the short list.

You know it's going to be a long day when...

"Mommy! My toes are pink!"

These are the first words I heard from Ainslie yesterday morning. I thought she said her nose was pink, so I rushed across the hall, thinking maybe she was having a nosebleed. Nope. She had somehow reached a little makeup bag that I keep in that room (I like the light and she can play while I get ready) and had painted her fingernails, toenails, arms, legs and nightgown OPI Bubble Bath.

She also drained a liquid eyeshadow, painted the case to my blush and unscrewed the lid to my mascara. Mercifully, she didn't actually open the mascara. I didn't know whether to punish her or laugh, she looked so proud of herself, yet she had that gleam. Of course she knew better. As for how she reached the darned thing, I still can't figure it out. Apparently she's been watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The worst part is, for a 2-yr old, she did a pretty decent job on her nails.

The killer was, when we went downstairs, she told her grandpa, very seriously, "Grandpa, I'm a mess."

Where are the Olympics in 2020?

If you avoid reading blogs where people brag about their kids without restraint or respect for basic decency, you'll want to skip this one.

Ainslie is so STRONG. Seriously. She is the best in her gymnastics class (and the youngest, by half a year from the next youngest kid), and today, we made up Tuesday's class since we were all recouping from the ER nightmare on Tuesday and guess what? She's the best in this class too.

In Chicago, her class was mostly large motor play with some gymnastics thrown in; this one is much more focused on actual gymnastics skills. At first I was put off and was all set to try another place here in town that seemed to do more of the singing and games and stuf, but she loves this class.

Today on floor, they worked on forward and backward rolls and straddle rolls. Ainslie does forward rolls by herself all over the house, she does the backward ones with just a little push, and although they do the straddles on a wedge in class, she just needs a little push. They also worked on handstands (aka Donkey Kicks) and again, Ainslie kicks up high and understands supporting herself with her arms. She is the only one who will start from a standing position, arms over her head.

On beam, she is the only one who can walk forward and sideways with no help, and today they did forward rolls on the beam. Of course they were heavily spotted (ok, carried, lol), but Ainslie was the only one who was Beaming after her turns. She is also the only one the teacher lets 'dismount' (ok, jump off the end of a practice beam) all by herself.

On bars, once she is jumped up and hanging from the bar, she can swing her own feet up, either in a pike or a straddle, and she will swing herself. The teacher counts while the kids hang and Ainslie hangs way longer than the others (like 4-5 seconds longer) AND she counts with the teacher, lol.

My favorite thing, though, is that she is getting better at participating in the class. This is the one area where she has certainly acted like the youngest, but this morning, she only had one outburst of wanting to do something *else*, she mostly listened and did what she was supposed to do.

I'm just so proud. I've been blessed with a child who is strong and smart (and gorgeous!) and good at everything she's tried so far. I hope we can encourage her the right way to be the best at the things she really likes.

If you are about to gag on all this bragging, let me temper this whole nauseating post by saying that we went to the Y afterward and my Super Pottytrained Child had a poop blowout in her new unitard, and had to wear some yucky left-in-the-nursery-at-the-Y donated dress and a Buzz Lightyear Pullup home. Nobody's perfect.

When the Dog Bites

Well, I can still say we haven't had an ear infection yet, but I can't say we've never been to the emergency room. Devid bit Ainslie last night. He was unprovoked, just irritable.
She is fine, and there should be no scarring. He got her right under the eyebrow, a nice deep puncture on the upper cheek and tore a little flap on the top of her ear. Devid will no longer be living here.

Ugh. I held her in the car (flame if you want, I'd do it again), and told her that the doctor was going to fix her boo boos. She told me "My ace urts" a few times and then started singing, "I'm Not Perfect." Made me cry. Oh, Lord, Thank You for this not being worse, thank you for her eye not being torn. I carried my bloody child (I didn't realize I had dried blood down my face and neck too) into the ER wearing only her underpants (I did have clothes for her in the diaper bag, thank goodness) and other people in line to check in let us go ahead--I guess we looked pretty pathetic.

Once they got her vitals, we were put in a little ER room and the wait began. By now, the wounds were pretty dried, and Ainslie was enjoying the bed "ride", going up and down. As doctors and nurses came in to check her, she spoke up and was such a little trooper. One funny moment was when a nurse asked if she could see her ear, and Ainslie pointed to her ear, and said, "it's right Here!"

Finally, she was wheeled into a suture room and this is where it got hard for everyone. My poor girl had to be IV'd and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and then they gave her morphine and some other stuff to knock her out. Too bad these medical professionals didn't know who they were dealing with. Ainslie doesn't go to sleep until she's good and ready to go to sleep, and despite all the drugs (and the local she was given) she didn't go to sleep until after we got home.

One funny thing we learned, and that is that Ainslie is a loving drunk. We had to wait an hour after the stiches to be released so her vitals could be monitored and my little 2 year old was high as a kite. As she lounged in my arms, she told me she loved me, then she told Grandma she loved her (Daddy was out getting the Rx for the antibiotic filled), then a man wandered through on his way to another room and Ainslie says, "I love you, Man!" I told her she was loopy and she says, "I love loopy." Frankly, I could use some loopy right about now.

Today she is fine. Everyone else's nerves are pretty shot, but she is fine. Thank God. I realized that I don't love dogs all that much. I've decided that once Lily is gone (and Lily wouldn't know how to bite someone) there will be no more dogs in our nuclear family until all kids are at least 10 or 12 years old. I'm not going to listen to another small child scream, "Mommy! Mommy!" so pitifully while they are having holes in their face stitched up.

File under: Everyone Should Be More Like Me

Last I checked, air conditioning was invented to keep people more comfortable during hot summer months, not to kill them slowly during the summer by causing their bodies to adjust to a metabolic rate found only in hibernating bears. Don't get me wrong, having grown up in the middle of the midwest, I would never buy a house without central air (or a basement, but that's another post) but ple--ease. It seems the further south you go, the colder people keep the AC. I've noticed, being a whopping 200 miles south of Chicago, people in Springfield seem to favor a temperature in restaurants that completely negates the concept of a hot meal. I'll admit, I'm a Woman Who is Always a Little Cold, but Craig, who is always warmer than I am, had his winter pajama pants out the other night. We went to our Vacation Home in Chicago last weekend and revelled in the thermostat set at 76.

I was in Florida last week and really, people, must you overcompensate so? My hotel room's thermostat was set at 60. I LIKE summer. If I liked being that cold, I'd move north, where they don't have central air.

In Honor of Jacob

It keeps hitting me. Something is terribly wrong today. A friend whom I’ve never met in person, yet feel so much love and empathy for, is going through the worst thing I can imagine today, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. This isn’t one of those “oh, how horrible” things that you hear about and then forget, this is truly the most frightening and incredibly unfair ordeal I’ve ever had a friend experience.

The only reason I’m even writing about this today is because I feel I must somehow mark the day, although nothing I write will come anywhere close to expressing the grief I feel, and the overwhelming darkness of days I know are to come for her and her husband.

Saying “I’m sorry” sounds so woefully inadequate. “It’s God’s will” isn’t what anyone wants to hear today. I honestly don’t think there are words that can make it even a little bit better today. Maybe in days to come, but not today. There simply are no words.

Jules and Brian, I hold your sorrow as my own as you welcome sweet Jacob Daniel briefly into this world, as you hold him and love him, and wipe your tears. If love could fix it, he would be healthy and whole and with you the rest of your life.

Everything I need to know I learned from my Trike

As Ainslie and I were outside riding bikes this morning, I thought to myself that many of life's lessons are learned through learning to ride a bike: protect your head, turn toward the direction you want to go, and push hard over the bumps. As I was standing there, pleased with my profound thought, Ainslie was what seemed like miles in front of me, peddling, laughing and yelling, "Byebye, Mommy, A-nee go byebye by my Elf!"

Why am I teaching her these things again? So she can go byebye by herself? I don't think we'll be riding bikes much more. She's far too young. :-)