Tag Archives: religion

Practicing Speech and Speaking of Religion in Our House

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Gbot: “Now I have all my cards, so I am ready to go.” Mbot: “Now we are pretty like you, Mom.”

I’m thinking that if our revolutionary brothers had just broken into the queen’s powder room and stolen her lipstick and credit cards two hundred and forty-four years ago, she might have laughed and said, “You go, boys.” Of course, her credit limit was substantially higher than mine, so maybe not.

Due to things like pinatas (Mbot’s) and death (Nora’s), I’ve been neglecting to share stories of daily life and conversations in our household. And so, in celebration of American Independence, I will briefly wallow here in the splendor of the rights provided by Amendment One of the Constitution of the United States as practiced in our house. (If you need a refresher, here it is: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

In our household, although I wish we assembled peacefully more often, and although often a redress of grievances results in a time out anyway, we take full advantage of our other rights. On Sunday, Mbot asked, about Nora Ephron, “Does she have a ladder so she can climb down from Heaven?”

I was able to reply, without breaking any laws: ”Moon Pie, every essay she wrote and movie she made is a rung in that ladder.”

And this morning, from the breakfast table:

Mbot: “I’m NOT going to marry you, Gbot.”

Gbot: “But you HAVE to marry me.”

Mbot: “I’m not going to. I’m going to marry Ybot.”

Although it’s still illegal–in the U.S. for one good reason, in the state of Arizona for one bad reason–at least they won’t get thrown in the stocks for talking about it.

Later,  when I told Mbot we WERE going to the Y, whether he wanted to or not: ”You’re a bad mommy. I don’t like you.”

Instead of getting tossed in the dungeon, he got a hug. Although we went to the Y anyway.

I do admit to cronyism with my biggest corporate affiliate (Husbot), and I know I get it wrong sometimes. But I’d like to think I’m a kind and benevolent dictator with the best interests of my subjects at the fore. The U.S. government gets a LOT wrong. (Don’t get me started. There is a reason this is a mommyblog, not a political blog.) But it gets a lot right, too.

Here’s to US.

The Octoped Goes Into Space at the Stomach Center

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Image taken by the Hubble telescope of a "baby star nursery." http://www.emol.org

Yesterday we went to the Arizona Stomach Center. Which is what Mbot calls the Arizona Science Center, because of the giant plastic stomach in the permanent exhibition about the body. Mbot has a love-hate relationship with the stomach. He loves to talk about it, looks forward to seeing it, remembers it rapturously…but when we are actually within visual contact of the giant stomach, he is terrified of it. The giant stomach grumbles, groans, and gurgles. The last time it belched, Mbot shot out of it like a flu bug into the toilet.

It was our first family outing to ASC sans wheels. We were a walking family unit, an octoped. And what was more, I wasn’t carrying anyone, so I actually had a chance to put on lipstick. We were an eight-footed being with makeup on. It was a momentous occasion on all fronts. It was a good change. The kind of change I like, instead of a bad change, the kind I fear.

Before we left home, I bought us a family annual pass online. It almost paid for itself in one visit.

When we got there, it was to find that the Van Gogh Alive! exhibition and the IMAX movies were $8 and $6 extra, respectively. I didn’t mind paying the extra, although by midafternoon, the Bots made it abundantly clear that they would prefer to return to Van Gogh in not less than ten years.

We always try to include an IMAX movie–partly because they are fabulous, and partly because they give me forty-five minutes to sit down. I cherish such moments of stillness. Yesterday, “Hubble 3-D” was in town. We bought a supply of water, caffeine, and peanut M&Ms, and grabbed four pairs of giant 3D glasses.

The lights went down. Gbot laid back in Husbot’s arms, both of them limp as overcooked stringbeans, Gbot looking like a miniature Elton John. As the first strains of the overly loud, overdramatic soundtrack filled the theater, Mbot bolted into my lap. “Can we go now?” he asked. Over and over again for the next forty-five minutes, he asked this. I held him tight, tried to distract him with M&Ms, and assured him that we could go right after the next rocket went into space. (And the next, and the next.)

Meanwhile, I stared awestruck over his shoulder at the images of space clouds trillions of miles across, the birthplace of stars. Scientists had christened the shining pinpoints of new light “tadpoles,” because the solar wind caused by their formation blows so hard it gives them a tail. Computer visualization brought the still shots of embryonic stars and galaxies to whirling life.

At the end, Mbot expressed relief that no one in the movie got hurt. The ominous music had led him to expect a monstery plot. He announced that he liked the movie, and opened up his hand to reveal a palmful of half-melted M&Ms that he was now relaxed enough to enjoy. I whipped out a wipie.

This morning, Mbot asked, “Why does the Earth not stop turning?”

My mind groped in emptiness. “Because we were born in motion,” I said, rather helplessly. I was thinking of the images of those stars, all that matter, rotating into being. I was thinking that motion was as much a part of them as the mass that was in motion.

In that moment, I think I found religion.

Ever since reading Chinua Achebe‘s “Things Fall Apart” as a college freshman, I have understood that change is a constant. Chemistry class confirmed it.

But I have always hoped that it can be different.

I always thought that if I did the right thing, if I were careful enough, I could trump change.

But this morning, in those six words I said without even thinking, I really understood it. We are born in space, we are born in time, we are born in flesh, we are born in motion. If you want to groove, you gotta move. I’m not on the ride. I’m in the ride. I am the ride. And no, I didn’t buy mind-altering drugs along with the M&Ms.

Somehow, I’m not as afraid of change now.

Not bad, for some taxpayer dollars, six bucks, and a wipie.