6 posts tagged “kids”
25 Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? 26 Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? 27 Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? 28 And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: 29 And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Matthew 6:25-29 (KJV)
I’d like to be crazy, sometimes. Crazy people are like the lilies of the field; it falls to God or others to take care of them. Notice how Matthew never mentions the industrious honey bee that ensures the lilies’ survival. Or the farmer who toils in the field to grow the grain the geese feast upon. Like it’s all manna from heaven…
But speaking of manna from heaven, if you ever run across grain that looks like coriander seed, is waxy-white in color, and tastes like fresh oil, eat it and be thankful. Smile, eat, and keep the retching down to a dull roar. Whatever you do, don’t ask for meat. Verily, that annoyeth the Lord.
…the LORD will give you flesh, and ye shall eat. 19 Ye shall not eat one day, nor two days, nor five days, neither ten days, nor twenty days; 20 But even a whole month, until it come out at your nostrils, and it be loathsome unto you: because that ye have despised the LORD which is among you, and have wept before him, saying, Why came we forth out of Egypt?
Numbers 11:18-20 (KJV)
Hmm. You give your kids the best of everything: fruits, vegetables, milk, bread - and still, they prefer McDonald’s. So you say, “Fine. Let’s go to Mickey D’s. But you know what? You’re getting to be a big kid, now, so let’s get you three double Quarter Pounders instead of that Happy Meal. In fact, you could probably use a side of chicken nuggets and a couple of large fries, couldn’t you?”
“Oooh, can I really get all that?”
“Can you eat it all?”
“Yes!” The kid’s chest puffs out. They’re feeling all grown up. You can almost hear the chest hairs sprouting.
“Sure, then. But you have to eat it all. No wasting food, okay? Deal?”
“Yay!!! Deal!”
You know how this goes, right? The kid’s eyes light up. He’s in McDonald’s heaven. About halfway through the first Quarter Pounder, he’s full - but he knows he can’t admit that to Mom or Dad. He dutifully finishes it off, picks at a few fries, looks up to see if anyone’s watching. They are. Reluctantly, he picks up the second Quarter Pounder… By the third, he’s about got Quarter Pounder coming out his nose and ears, and he’s turned a lovely shade of puke green.
Morals:
- Waste not, want not.
- Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.
- Don’t be a little ingrate, you snot-nosed brat. (God had His bad days as a parent, too. I now feel a little better about the time William and I had that battle over strained carrots and he somehow ended up with a spoonful of them dripping off the end of his nose. At least he didn’t have a nose dripping off his FACE… Playing the leprosy card seems a little harsh, even for God.)
5 And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. 6 But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly. 7 But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. 8 Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.
Matthew 6:5-8 (KJV)
Or, as my dad used to say, “Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back.” My closet is my head. My conversations with God, one-sided as they often are, are between Him and me. My prayers, more often than not, consist of things like, “Oooh, cool rainbow! Thank you for that,” or, “Gee, I appreciate the vote of confidence here, but they’re always saying you don’t ask us to carry burdens greater than we can bear, and I think I just heard three vertebrae pop…”
Really. My needs are few, and I’ve already been given the means and the ability to take care of most of them without having to ask for divine intervention at every turn. Thank you for that. I keep thinking that Divine intervention is for things like…Darfur. Iraq. And a culture where it’s becoming increasingly commonplace for people to kill their babies and dump them at the side of the road. My needs, such as they are, can wait.
Blame Redzilla...again.
I have never been a breastfeeding fanatic. I firmly believe that what's best for mom is best for baby; if breastfeeding doesn't work for you, so be it. I turned out just fine on Enfamil from day one. I had a great bond with my mom and managed to grow up tall, healthy, and smart.
But breastmilk is especially designed by Nature to meet each baby's unique needs. It doesn't get any better than that, if you're a healthy mother who can nurse an infant and wants to. It should be a right - and there shouldn't be any unreasonable restrictions as to when and where you can feed your child when he or she is hungry. If you wouldn't ban a bottle-fed child from eating at a particular place and time, then you shouldn't ban a breastfed one, either. Period.
You think God wouldn't want a woman baring her breasts in public? Then why didn't He, in His infinite wisdom, put the nipples on her fingertips? Hmm? Would the conservatives dare argue that God should have designed women better? Or was it some nefarious cosmic plot designed to prove that women shouldn't be allowed to leave the house, to work, to travel? I don't think so.
If the sight of a nursing breast offends you, don't look. How hard is that? I've long suspected that the only reason for requiring Muslim women to cover themselves head to toe is because men think men cannot control their animal lusts, and would somehow like to place the blame for that on us. Well, I know plenty of men who can exercise control over their lust - so I find this notion grossly insulting to real men. I know there are some men who can't, and they should probably be locked away somewhere. Women shouldn't be made to suffer because a man is weak-willed and undisciplined.
Back in November 2006, a woman was kicked off a Delta Airlines flight for discreetly breastfeeding her child. Here's an article on it: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15720339/?from=ET
That's just nuts. Sorry, but I recall a flight when my son was a year old - if I hadn't been "allowed" to breastfeed, I'm fairly sure they'd have thrown the screaming terror out the rear exit at 35,000 ft. Or stuffed him into an overhead compartment in the back, with an oxygen mask over his face to muffle the yelling. If I hadn't been his mother - and loved him dearly - I'd have been tempted. The only thing I could do to calm him was to nurse him. I'm surprised the other passengers didn't keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't stop. Believe me, I didn't plan on nursing my child until he was almost four years old. Comments from people who think that's "gross" or somehow inappropriate have no clue - let's face it, would you rather see moms doling out Valium to their tots? I didn't think so. Besides, breast milk is just so much more effective, anyway.
Ban a nursing mother from the plane? You've got to be kidding me. With all the complaints people make about crying babies on airplanes, you'd think they'd make mothers sign an agreement promising to nurse them on demand.
But oddly enough, it's usually other women who complain. I would be willing to bet this nursing mother didn't simply rip off her top or flop out a boob and go for it. I'd almost be willing to bet the other passengers couldn't see a darned thing that wouldn't be revealed in a low-cut top or bikini, if that. Why the sight of a mother breastfeeding her child in public bothers anyone is beyond me. I have never seen one who flopped out a boob and was anything but discreet.
I can't say that for all breastfed babies, of course. I do remember breastfeeding my son in the waiting room at NTB, once, while they kindly fixed yet-another-nail-hole in one of my tires (I lived in a construction zone, so I was a monthly customer for a while). He began to make what I liked to call "my compliments to the chef" noises. My son was anything but discreet in his vocal appreciation of fine mother's milk. Not my fault - no, I had on a nursing top, he was tucked completely into a sling, and I'd thrown a receiving blanket over us for good measure. Finally, the man sitting next to me couldn't take it anymore. He broke into a silly grin and said, "That must be a fine lunch. He really likes that."
I was a little taken aback at provoking comments from a stranger, but I looked the guy over and laughed. "You have kids, don't you?" I asked.
"Three of them, all grown now." He smiled, and went back to reading his magazine, a nostalgic grin on his face.
*SIGN THE PETITION TO SUPPORT BREASTFEEDING: http://www.momsrising.org/breastfeeding-petition
Join me in telling Delta Airlines to get a clue and be supportive of breastfeeding mothers; and also in telling Congress it's time to pass the Breastfeeding Promotion Act, which amends the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to protect breastfeeding mothers. Clearly this law is needed now!
If you doubt the power of action, see the update: http://www.momsrising.org/node/430?comments_per_page=50&page=38
And, I hope you'll also join me and tens of thousands of others in one of the most exciting grassroots movement on the Internet: MomsRising.org.
SIGN ON WITH MOMSRISING AT: http://www.democracyinaction.org/dia/organizationsORG/momsrising/signUp.jsp?key=1682&t=longsignup.dwt
MomsRising.org (http://www.momsrising.org) is working to build a massive grassroots movement big enough to impact the outcome of the 2008 elections and beyond. The time has come to break the logjam that's been holding back family-friendly legislation for decades. It's going to take all of us--and then some--working together to get there.
Thank you!
Snippet of a ridiculous conversation, wherein big sister K. (eighteen) attempts to explain to her little brother, W. (ten) "where babies come from." Fortunately, he already knows. "Now, you listen and straighten your sister out if necessary," I say.
We've reached the point in the story where the man and the woman are about to do the deed. K. remembers to mention the importance of condom use.
"You mean the glove?" W. asks, holding up his thumb and forefinger in a gesture that looks like he's indicating about an inch and a half.
"Oh, you poor boy - are you worried about size already?" K. starts giggling. "The man gets bigger--"
"How?" He looks so innocent. So sincere. Surely he's not baiting his beloved sister...?
Ooooh. Now she's struggling. Hard. Not to laugh. "Well, sometimes they read a book..."
"Read a book?" I blurt out. "Read a book? During se--"
"Shhh! Who's explaining this?" She gives me the stern, indignant look. I must be getting better at the look, because she's perfected it.
"But during sex? I have never heard of a guy reading a book during sex." I roll my eyes and mutter, sotto voce, "A woman, maybe..."
"Like your mother," K. says to her brother.
"I do not read books during sex!"
K. looks down her nose at me, disdainfully. "Hey, you read books at baseball games - I have to assume you'd read during sex." I wonder if she thinks tech writers read how-to manuals during the act.
Reminds me of the time it dawned on her that her father and I had (shhhhhhhhh...) had S - E - X. "But you only did it twice, right?" she asked, her eyes filled with horror at the thought.
"No, Sweetie," I confessed. "To have two such perfect children as you and your brother, we had to practice. Lots."
Muahahahahahahahaa...the look on her face was priceless.
How many bones have you broken? Yours or someone else's?
None. But back in Third Grade, I did reduce the class bully to tears by telling him he'd broken my finger back in First Grade. See, I'm "double jointed." No, that doesn't mean I can roll two joints with one hand, or be in two seedy dives at once. It means I have loose, overly flexible ligaments. In grade school, I could bend my index fingers backwards almost 90 degrees at the middle joint. Like this:
Only...more. Anyway, back in First Grade, Wes had grabbed my finger and pulled it backwards, towards my wrist, making me howl in pain. He and his friends thought it hilarious. I decided, then and there, that boys were mean. By Third Grade, we were all in for a lesson.
Wes saw my funny, flexible finger one day. He'd forgotten all about me and all about tormenting me in First Grade. I hadn't forgotten - the memory of that wrenching pain and humiliation was still fresh in my mind. "How do you do that?" he asked, staring at my rubbery finger with a mixture of horror and fascination.
"Well, it's not like I do it on purpose, Wesley," I said, mustering a tone that was both dejected and scornful. "You remember back in First Grade, when you grabbed my finger and bent it backwards? You broke it, Wes."
"I did?"
"Yes. And it never healed right. My family couldn't afford the doctor's bills, so my dad set it with an old pencil and some duct tape, but it healed crooked. See?" I held it up in front of Wesley's nose.
He stared at my finger. He looked at me. He looked back at my finger. "I'm so sorry!" he wailed. And suddenly, there were big tears spilling down Wesley's cheeks. Oh my G-d... Suddenly I knew what it was to bully the class bully, and I did not like it. You'd think I would enjoy the satisfaction of revenge, after all this time - making Wes cry right there in the middle of class, in front of his friends, making him suffer some of the guilt for some of the pain he'd caused me in First Grade, but I was the one who felt the full burden of guilt that day.
"Oh, forget it, Wes. My finger's fine." I showed him what I could do with the other nine fingers:
Wes sniffled. "Wow. Cool." He called some of his friends over. This was just gross enough that the boys found it fascinating. I was no longer an icky girl. I had talents they could respect and admire.
"I'm sorry, Wes."
"For what?"
"For lying. For making you think you broke my finger."
"Oh. Yeah, that was pretty mean," he said, smiling. Like he wished he'd thought of it first. "I'm sorry I bent your finger backwards in First Grade."
"Okay. I forgive you."
