4/15/09

We're Going on a Bear Hunt



Remember that book/rhyme/game? We probably all played or read some form of it as kids. Well, my son has never read that book for some reason. But he has his own version of the bear hunt...it's called (and I quote) "Jungle Hunt". It involves E and his meek mama creeping creepily through his room, stopping frequently to comment in awed tones on various toys that have morphed into either statues or robots or treasure. 'Robots?' you say. Yes, robots. There are robots in this jungle. And they periodically come to life and chase any unsuspecting jungle travelers, forcing us to run for the trees (aka his upper bunk) and hide under the covers, clutching whatever supplies we may have packed in our trusty jungle pack close to our bosoms. It's ridiculous. And he gets a huge thrill out of it, to where it's our "special game". Probably because it's the only game Mommy's apparently any good at.

Yesterday, we played this game. And everything was going fine and dandy as usual (we found an "ancient sword" and the "ancient hands of a giant" and a mini version of said giant that cast a reddish glow and looked suspiciously like someone who would say "you won't like me when I'm angry") until the robots came to life and chased us to our treetop haven. Whereupon the game suddenly morphed to involve Bakugans.

Bakugans are currently E's favorite toy. If you don't know what the little devils are, they are literally small balls that have a magnet in them, so when you roll/pass them over special magnetized cards (one in every package!), the balls pop open to reveal tiny little anime creatures. Like Transformers, but tiny and magnetized and in balls. And more Japanese. He's obsessed, and there is apparently some form of card-trading game where exchanges of "G's" and various "powers" are made. Unfortunately, this game is unimaginably complicated when described by a five-year-old who likes to make up his own rules when the game starts going against him... Anyway, most of our games recently have been involving Bakugan (Bakugans? Bakugani?) and I was looking forward to a respite. But oh no. There we were, in our airy sanctuary, and the darn things make their appearance.

The next thing I knew, E told me we were making a "virus", which involved some ridiculous ritual of mixing the cards up, casting some spells, picking out the cards that were miraculously turned upside-down, and throwing them down on the floor while yelling "Evackirate!" at the tops of our lungs and then adding up points on the cards. This somehow equaled making a virus.

I can't explain him. I'm just there for the show.

I'd like to dedicate this post to my friend Fenny, who made me laugh with a recent blog post on the impossibilities of playing with your kids. While E and I were playing this game, I was thinking to myself "some other kid would be so much better at this than I am. I have NO idea when it's appropriate to celebrate because I've created a virus, or be scared because I've uncovered the ancient sword." So here's to us, Fenny, and our attempts to fit into their magical worlds. I don't remember how to live there, but I can watch through the windows.

4/9/09

Healing

Disclaimer: I'm feeling religious this evening, so don't read this if you are in the mood to roll your eyes.  Or do, because I'll provide fodder or something.  But hey, if you can't write about religion during Lent, when can you?

I went to Mass this evening, because it's Holy Thursday.  While there, I was thinking about why I've remained Catholic, in the face of all the bad rep and/or influence out there.  I was thinking about why I hate to miss Mass on Sundays, on why I drag my husband kicking and screaming, on why I do my best to bring up my son with a healthy respect for why we go to church every weekend without fail.

For me, it goes beyond wanting to please my mother any more.  Something goes missing in my weekly life when I don't make it to Mass, and something feels incomplete for the rest of the week until I can go again.

I think it is because Mass is a haven for me.  No one at Mass is judging me (at least where I can hear them) and no one is asking anything of me.  I don't have to be the perfect medical student, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect daughter.  I don't have to interact with anyone else, don't have to present a front to the world.  I get to interact with my faith and my God only.  I get to just be me, in the silence and stillness of my own soul.  I get to reflect only on me and the positioning of my life for one precious hour.  I get the chance to voice all of my joys, my worries, my concerns, my secret fears, my sins to a God who I truly believe listens to me, even if only with half an ear (He's busy, after all, I cut Him some slack...).  In a life of unscheduled, spontaneous chaos, where my days revolve around the wishes of so many other people, the Mass is highly structured, with no uncertainty and no surprises.  It's such a relief to spend an entire hour doing something so ritualistic, something that has been the same for my entire life, for hundreds of years, something that in essence never changes and hopefully never will change. A girl likes a little stability in her life.

And in the end, I truly feel so lucky/blessed/happily predestined/whatever in this life.  I feel as if I have so much joy that I could never possibly deserve.  And if I choose to attribute that joy to a higher being, to something larger than chance, and if I choose to be grateful for that joy, what better way than to give an hour of my week over to reflecting on that gratitude?  It's only an hour.  And I receive so very much in return.
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