Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Heather: On the Da Vinci Code...
I've read the plot summary and a review or two, but no, I haven't read the book. I'm afraid someone will see it in my hands and breathe fire. I wonder, though, if it has one of those disclaimers. You know, the one that says the people and events are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental. I'll bet a fair share of folks could use a reminder of the definition of fiction. Like those who are taking it as catechesis.

If someone were to write The Booth Code, about how Mrs. Abraham Lincoln actually hired John Wilkes Booth to assassinate ol' Abe because he was philandering, I don't think ABC would have had a documentary on it. (Note: I don't think Abe was. It's a hypothetical example.)
If some hack were to write The Aldren Code, about how our government faked the moon landing and Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldren weren't even real people but androids of some kind, it would automatically be dismissed as fringe fanatic fiction.

The fact that this book is getting so much attention is a symptom of two things: one, the abysmal ignorance of the seatwarmers in the pews and two, that anti-Catholicism is alive and well in America.
Okay, I probably shouldn't call my fellow pew occupants "seatwarmers." It's an apt description for a fair share, though; those who are too apathetic to sing "Gather Us In" or endorse liturgical movement or who wonder why we're kneeling all of a sudden again.
And given the publicity regarding the Scandal in the past few years, you'd think every priest is a child molester. I don't mean to downplay the trauma the victims have gone through at all, but how often would you like to be reminded of such a thing on the evening news?
It seems lately, for the past few entries/months, I've been the one posting on this board. Dale has his forum, which I hesitate to call a locker room. He vents too much about the Church for that moniker.

These two blogs seem to reflect what goes on in reality. He goes out daily and slays the corporate dragon, making the world equal for employees everywhere (okay, just in Michigan). He surfs the 'Net and has commentary on current events, sports, the Church, modern cinema... (I could post links, but I'll let you explore on your own if you haven't already). Something new and interesting, if brief, almost daily. Great Issues are introduced, discussed, sometimes resolved. Important Things come to light and are bandied about.
His is the world of flesh-tone bandages, so as not to call attention to a small wound. It would be a potential sign of childishness or immaturity, inappropriate in the adult world of business and professionals.

I, however, stay home with our offspring, where every day or week is very like the next--or the last. So it seems, anyway. I'm awash in a world of diaper changes, household chores, naps, and snacks. I don't bother to close the door of the bathroom most of the time because that guarantees that either a) it will be flung open by a toddler or b) an apparent trauma will be undergone by an infant. Or both.
I'm here, dancing to the rhythm of two small children. The very mundanity is its saving grace--and biggest flaw. The pressure is cyclical and constant and sometimes crushing; there is no walking away to get a fresh perspective. Usually no Great Issues but a lot of thinking on my feet and improvisation.
Most days the biggest question is what to serve us for our post-nap snack, and the biggest catastrophe is simultaneous poopy diapers. The highlights of my day are the times I hear, "Mama, I yub you so much!" or his gurgle when he wakes beside me. The really good days are Mommy Sandwich days, those stolen naps when she has padded in, still groggy, and falls back to sleep beside me. I usually can't bear to fall back to sleep and miss a moment like that, when I lay between the two most beautiful human beings I know.
Mine is a place where I don't mind cartoon bandages; they are a reminder that I have two reasons to own them. Honestly, too, sometimes they're the only bandages we've got.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Once upon a time, Dale had to pick me up from work. He stopped along the way and got Madeleine, too. Since we were running quite late that day, we decided to let someone else cook. We needed a sippy cup for Madeleine, so we stopped at the baby equipment emporium en route to the chosen restaurant.
While we were at aforementioned emporium, Maddie fell in love with this little pull bear--parents, you know of what I write. One of those things you tie to the crib, you pull down, and as it retracts it plays some sort of lullaby. This one also says a prayer: Now I lay me down to sleep. Maddie could reach a yellow one, pulled it off the rack, and we could not wrest it from her grasp. It was tricky getting it scanned at the register, even.
She has since dubbed that toy Baby Bear.

Fast-forward to yesterday evening. She was rooting through her toy box for something else and she came upon Baby Bear. "Mama, open Baby Bear," she said, bringing it to me. She wanted me to pull it to hear the music. I complied. Mind you, this routine can go on interminably.
She then proceeded to sit in her rocking chair, holding Baby Bear in the crook of her arm, gazing at its sleeping face adoringly. "I feedin Baby Bear," she said. "I feedin him."
"Ssss, he's seepin," she whispered a minute later. She then stood up and lay the toy down with gentleness appropriate for a Ming vase... or a newborn baby. "He's aseep."

I wonder where she got that.

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