Teenie’s Gift

What we are is God’s gift to us.  What we become is our gift to God. ~Eleanor Powell

I have returned from beneath the blankets on my bed. I’d like thank both Avitable, Nina and Karen for guest posting while I was recuperating from Chemo - Round 2.

Now that I have resurfaced and returned to normal life I’m preparing for a meeting at the Catholic Church with the Monsignor. True to my word, I called the church after I said we should Call the Pope. I explained the situation and was asked to come down to the church right away to get the process started.

On my way home from the church I stopped at an old friends house. I pass her house all of the time and for the past few years it’s bothered me that we haven’t been in touch. After Dude and I separated seven years ago the friendship between her and I completely fell apart and part of me felt as if she was judging me. I totally understood that.

What’s really killed me is that Teenie was named after two of my friends who both share the same name…this is the other friend. For the past eight years of Teenie’s life I felt as if she took no interest in her life and as if it didn’t matter to her that this child existed. I never once considered her side of the story.

Eight years ago I had asked my friend and her husband to be the godparents of Teenie and Cam.

Something inside of me made me put down the gauntlet, swallow my pride and go talk to my girlfriend. I explained to her what was going on, that I was sick and that my children needed to get baptized. She must have thought I was a crazed lunatic at first. I mean nothing says “crazy” better than a woman on your doorstep wearing a turban touting her sudden urge to make things right with God for her children.

CRAZY!

We sat outside on her porch for about two hours catching up on each other’s lives. It turns out that things haven’t been as great for her as I thought they have been. It turns out that it wasn’t that she was mad at me but that she was wrapped up in her own problems and perhaps that if I had swallowed my pride a few years ago I could have been there for her.

Dude and I asked her and her husband if they would consider being the godparents of our children, just as they accepted our request eight years ago. We always felt that their devotion to the church was something our children could look up to. It also didn’t feel right to ask anyone else because we chose them for a reason although I was prepared for them to say “no”.

Thankfully they have agreed. Now we just have to set the date. In the meantime I’ve been able to reconnect with a friend I’ve missed out on a lot of time with…time we can’t get back.

My youngest daughter has often told me that she feels as if she if a child of God. We all are however she says she feels as if she is supposed to serve God in some way. At eight years old I’m not sure how she knows that but she seems to be doing a good job so far.

Call the Pope!

God made so many different kinds of people. Why would he allow only one way to serve him? ~Martin Buber

For the past few days I’ve found myself a bit introspective, a bit sad and maybe even depressed. Although yesterday I had a Mexican lunch with my friend Dave…which rocked! I hate to admit when I’m struggling but it is what it is. Before you even ask or suggest it, yes, I’m talking to someone professionally because geez, how the hell do you face something on this scale without professional help?

I’ve even thought of seeking spiritual guidance however finding it at church just isn’t the way to go for me. My religious background is worse than a mixed breed mutt that you’d find at the local humane society. I was baptized in the Catholic Church and often went to the Catholic Church with my nana, my great-grandmother, as a young child. Sometimes I went to the Methodist Church with my father’s mother and got a dose of what the Protestants were dishing out.

My parents divorced by the time I was about five and both remarried. My mother converted to Judaism and started sending me to Hebrew school. That’s when I started attending services at the Temple with my step-grandmother every Saturday. I have fond memories of her Jewish apple cake, gefilte fish and challah bread with cream cheese. There were many weekends when I went to Temple on Saturday and the Methodist Church on Sunday. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I didn’t know if Jesus was in or if Jesus was out.

Needless to say at age six and seven I found it very confusing to read a bible in one direction on a Saturday and then read it the opposite direction on a Sunday. Just one more reason for calling this blog Clusterfook.

I remember receiving my first Torah and how I coveted it’s scrolls and gold covering. I loved the Temple and all the Jewish holidays. I always thought it was cool how I got to take days off from school for Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah early in the school year while the rest of the kids had to go to school. Back then I was the only “Jewish” kid. I loved the ceremonious celebration that went with each holiday as well.

Things got confusing though because we also celebrated the Christian holidays in our house. My mother loved Christmas and I guess she didn’t want to deny me the Christmas tree or the presents so we always had a tree in the living room…which was across the room from the Menorah. I know I received a fuckton of presents.

The same thing with Easter. I always had an Easter basket and it seemed as if Easter and Passover were forever crossing with each other causing total conflict. I’d spend the week with my mother and step-father listening to the kosher rules of no HAM, PORK, BACON or HOT DOGS. Then I’d go spend Easter weekend with my dad and step-mother…who would serve a fat ass ham.

It’s no wonder I needed years of therapy.

Now here I am as an adult with no religion but I have a lot of faith in a higher power. And I have children with no structured religion. I have one child with a very Catholic name who has a strong desire to go to the Catholic Church and be baptized. Teenie is only eight but she’s adamant about being baptized…in the Catholic Church.

Her grandmother, Dude’s mother, used to take her to church almost every Saturday evening…Saturday mass at the Catholic Church. So, those are Teenie’s memories of her grandmother and her impression of church just like my childhood memories of the Temple. I’m most comfortable in the Temple because of my childhood memories so why wouldn’t Teenie be most comfortable in the Catholic Church?

For once in my life I have to set aside what I know and what I believe. I have to put myself in Teenie’s shoes and do the right thing and I have to do it now. Like yesterday. After I post this I need to call the church and find out exactly what we need to do to get that child baptized IMMEDIATELY based on my circumstances. If they have to call the Pope to break some rules…then call the Pope.

Oh come on, you know it’s so like me to demand that they call the Pope…and I’ll rally you to call him too if we can’t get this child baptized.

Over the Tracks

He’s good. She’s good. He’s just Duckie. ~Pretty In Pink

Remember the movie “Pretty In Pink” where Andie Walsh, played by Molly Ringwald is from the other side of the tracks and is constantly taunted by the rich girls? Well, this scene has been constantly playing over and over in my head for the past week. Just for the record…I loved that movie and dyed my hair the same color as Molly Ringwald’s hair. I even started wearing a ton of pink too.

The difference between Andie Walsh and I was that I grew up in an upper-middle class neighborhood. I had everything I needed and everything I wanted. At the time it never occurred to me what side of the tracks I lived on because I didn’t see people that way. Looking back I can know see that the friends I had were also from upper-middle class families. Perhaps we were just all in the same school classes or after school clubs. Or maybe subconsciously I did see a difference.

Last week my daughter went to a science camp that was held at one of the middle schools in our school district. The same school district where I went to high school. Every day when we went to pick her up I noticed we passed some HUGE homes.

I also took notice to the very fancy and luxurious cars of the parents picking up their children that were in the parking lot. It’s not that Dude or I drive beat up, old cars. He drives a Toyota and I drive a Honda…both pretty nice cars, but they are not a Lexxus or Mercedes of which I saw many. I also noticed the way the other parents were dressed. Again, we don’t dress like paupers but when people are wealthy they tend to dress that way. There was an obvious difference between us and them.

On the last day of camp there was an open house for the children to show off the experiments and projects they worked on all week. At the open house I ran into an old friend I went to high school with. In high school we lived in the same neighborhood but I remember she was pretty poor compared to the rest of us. In fact I remember that she had to borrow a prom gown one year because she couldn’t afford one.

I said, “hello” and was pretty excited to see her. Then she asked me where I lived. That’s when the conversation went south quickly because I apparently live on the wrong side of the tracks. She, on the other hand lives in one of the wealthy new developments on the right side of the tracks. SERIOUSLY.

It never occurred to me that the railroad tracks…and river…were the class dividing line in our school district. It also never occurred to me that I was considered as part of the lower class for living on this side of the tracks.

Me? Low class? There is no way.

So now my kids have been labeled as low class because they are from the other side of the tracks. My oldest one starts middle school in September and she is starting out like Andie Walsh…Pretty In Pink…because pink is her favorite color. Now if I could only find her a friend like Duckie.

It was never my intention to stay in this neighborhood. I went back to school in 2002 so that I could get a better job. I never thought I’d get cancer and I never thought the economy would be this bad six years later. Unfortunately things drastically changed.

I had a long talk with my children about living in such a small house and living in this neighborhood. They told me that they love this house. They told me that they don’t want a big house. Teenie told me that one of her friends has a big house and her friend’s father is always at work, making money to pay for the house.

They both told me that they don’t care what other people think. They both told me that they would rather have two parents at home who love them than have two parents constantly working to put a BIG roof over their heads.

My little neighborhood is far from low class. We are the working class just like most of the United States. I’m not sure how my town got labeled the way it did but how fortunate am I that I have kids who think the way they do? That will get them very far in life. So perhaps I screwed up my master plan to get us out of this neighborhood and over to the other side of the tracks but I must have done something right with those kids of mine.

So why can’t I get the theme song from “Pretty In Pink” out of my head? Duckie???

Why Teenie Hates China

Products made in China are cheap through the exploitation of the workforce. Every time we shop, we are driving the nail further into the coffin of American manufacturing jobs. ~Joe Baca

I’m done with China. I’m done with anything made in China. I’m done. Seriously, this will make you cringe.

All week Teenie has been bugging me to go to Michael’s Craft Store because she wanted to buy some pussy willow branches. I’m linking Michael’s Craft Store because they should be absolutely ashamed to be a part of this story…ASHAMED!

Since all four of us needed things we decided to go out together and stop at several different stores. Once we were all in Michael’s Craft Store we separated. Dude was with the girls and I went off on my own.

I found a great Disney scrapbook I can use for our trip and God help me, I just became one of those scary scrapbooking mothers. WTF?

As I was saying…

Michael’s Craft Store doesn’t sell real pussy willow branches grown right here in the United States however they have horrible, plastic, fake reproductions made in China. That’s right, we have to import pussy willow branches that look bad. My daughter was crushed but that’s not the bad part of this story.

Teenie found some stickers that she wanted and Dude took her to the cashier. As they stood in line she saw all of the “impulse” items. You know, all that little crap you don’t need but grab just because you are standing in line. Well Michael’s Craft Store, a craft store, sells candy. It’s not candy you can use for crafting either but crap candy made in China.

China. Candy made in China. Except Dude didn’t realize the candy our eight year old daughter chose was made in China until we were in the car and I started the Spanish Inquisition.

She started spraying liquid into her mouth and I was like, WTF?

“TEENIE! What do you HAVE???”

“Fruitt Squirt, Mommy…you squirt it!”

“Teenie, gimme that NOW!”

So, I discovered it was made in China but that wasn’t the worst thing. The ingredient warning was the most alarming.

Allergy information: This product may contain traces of dairy, egg, gluten, soy, peanuts, treenuts, fish and seed.

Back the truck up. FISH? FISH in candy? Chinese fish in my child’s candy? Chinese eggs in my child’s candy? Seeds??? Seeds in liquid spray candy?

Where the hell are they making this crap that there could possibly be traces of fish, eggs and seeds in a fruit flavored spray candy? I totally flipped out and threw a fit in the car.

When we got home I went to the web site listed on the label and damn near had a seizure. Kids Brands Inc. distributes this crap not only to Michael’s Craft Store but to Toys R Us too. Someone needs to choke the crap out of the webmaster of Kids Brands Inc. Please tell me you didn’t come close to having a mental breakdown too.

Meanwhile, I had to break Teenie’s heart by taking her candy away and giving her $2.oo back.

Her response was classic, “I hate China!”

I told her that “hate” is a very strong word and emotion and she said,

“Well I’m never buying anything made in China ever again!!!

She may be eight, but she’s very wise. Imagine if we all followed her lead…