The floor--AFTER

If you need a reminder of how it used to look, go here. 

The cats were all up in the new floor biz.

The other evening one of the cats upchucked in the dining room on the new floor.  It was almost a joy to clean it up.  No fuss, no muss.
I've got a neck ache from staring down at the wood as I walk around.

Lest you think I am really a heathen

Today is Easter, and when I checked FB this a.m., there were many updates related to Jesus' resurrection.  Being brought up Catholic, I know fairly well the story of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection.  I think it is a powerful story of despair, of fear, of faith, of hope, of mystery.  And I wish it meant something deep and profound to me, but it doesn't.  I have always believed in a god/higher power/something greater than all humans, but Jesus as the saving son....well, I just simply don't believe it.

On holidays, I have my moments when I think, "Am I doing a disservice to my children by not bringing them up in any religion?"  I hope I am not.  I can't help but think it would be far worse for me to half-heartedly take them to services or try to encourage them to believe in something that means little or nothing to me.  Kids know when their parents are full of shit.

In today's USA Weekend, there was an article about spirituality, and it made me feel a little better about my situation.   Because despite my inability to believe that Jesus died for my sins, there are some things I strongly believe in related to the spirit.

Like, I believe in treating others the way you want to be treated.  Helping the less fortunate.  Showing humility.  Forgiveness.

I believe in savoring the moments of my life as much as possible.  In reflecting on my actions in order to be a better person.

I believe that if you listen closely to your own heart, life will move you in the best direction.  I believe that the closest I have ever been to god is when I carried and gave birth to my children.  I expect the next times I will be as close to god is when I am with a loved one when he/she dies or when my grandchildren are born.

My hope is that by living my life trying to be kind and helpful and reflective is enough.  

That's my secular girl

Tonight we all went to my parents' house to celebrate a very casual Easter (hell, everything my family does is casual).  And by all I mean me, D, N, G, and M, as well as my brother, SIL and their 3 kids.

Before we ate, my 5-year-old nephew R was asked to say grace, which is tradition in my parents' house.  (Note: My brother and his brood are a mass-attending family, as are my parents, and if you know me in any way, shape or form, you know that we are not.)

R said grace very well, and we all said, "Good job, R" after he had finished.

Not to be outdone but having forgotten the before-meal prayer she learned in preschool, my dear girl N said, "Can I say the Pledge?"

And so she recited the Pledge of Allegiance very well, and we all said, "Good job, N."

Dinner commenced.

We are such a heathen family.

The spousal scapegoat

Even with his dumb-ass-ness, I have been thinking lately how glad I am to have D as my husband because he is a wonderful scapegoat for me. Especially as it concerns religion.

D wasn't raised in any religion, and I was raised Catholic.  He only rarely attended a church with his mom, and I attended mass every week of my childhood.  (Every.stinking.week. and sometimes more than once if there was a Holy Day of Obligation.)

Over the years I have sometimes found myself, when asked why our family doesn't practice a religion, saying, "Well my husband wasn't brought up in any religion so I'd have to take the kids myself blah, blah, blah," as if it is D's fault that I, or we, don't attend church.

But the truth is, I don't want to practice any religion.  And I'm glad D is the way he is and doesn't expect me to be religious or attend services or attend Bible studies.   Because I would feel stifled.  And angry.  And that wouldn't be good for our marriage.

So even though he buys the wrong lawnmower and opens the dishwasher at all the wrong times, I don't have to do things I don't want to do, believe in things I don't want to believe in, just to keep peace.

The other dumbass

When D saw the title of yesterday's blog he asked me if it was about him.  I said, "Surprisingly, no.  It's about me.  But I may write one about you."  And so here it is.

His most recent dumb-ass episode had to do with the dishwasher.  Our deal is I cook, he cleans up.  Given this, it would seem that he would start the dishwasher when he notices that it is full of dirty dishes.  But that rarely happens.  So in the evening, after my glass of milk, I usually turn it on so the dishes can dry overnight.

In the morning, it is not uncommon for D to open the dishwasher of now clean dishes, see it is full, and proceed to put a dirty spoon in the utensil tray.  Which makes me OCD head want to explode.

The other morning I couldn't stop the words before they flew out of my mouth when I saw that he had done this.  "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I asked.

So two nights ago I wrote a big honking note and taped it on the countertop:

The dishes in this here washer are clean.

If you open it and put a dirty dish in you are an 

idiot.  

He said we need to get a dishwasher with a lock, but somehow I think if those are available they are probably intended for children.  Not husbands.  But whatev.

Sorta a dumbass

You would think since I'd been around this block twice already I would have an inkling of what the fuck I'm doing.  But I don't.  I might as well be as dumb as I was 6 years ago when I was new to all this.

Part of my problem is that I simply cannot remember what N's and G's babyhoods were like....at least most of the specifics.  I remember that N started sleeping 8-12 hours a night at 4 weeks, but I don't remember what her daytime naps were like.  And I remember G didn't sleep through the night until he was 14 months old (save for those 5 times when he had ear infections), but I don't remember when he stopped nighttime nursing or what his naps were like either.

I've been bitching about my inability to find footed sleepers for M in size 12 months since I didn't have any in G's box of old clothes.  After a week or so of this, I finally remembered that I had the exact same problem with G---hence the reason he has all 18 month clothes.  Duh.

And for all my writing and journaling I've done for and about the kids these last few years, I left out all this minutiae which would be so helpful to me now.

Ya think that Dugger lady has a better handle on it since she's at 19?

One reason why I love my little boy

I'm going to let the pictures do all the talking.  

So.darn.cute.