Tick, Tick, Tick

Remember the movie "My Cousin Vinny"?
My family and I love that movie; it's got some bad language, but it's hilarious.
One scene in particular cracks me up: Marisa Tomei's character rants about her "ticking biological clock."





It's funny, right?

Until it happens to YOU.

Now, I knew biological changes happen to all of us throughout life.  But the idea of a biological clock inside women that goes off to tell them it's time to have babies...well, I always thought that was a humorous prop used by TV & movie writers.  Wasn't it just a myth?

I don't have a definitive answer (wikipedia, anyone? Web MD?) but now that I'm gettting...ahem...older, I am starting to understand what Marissa Tomei was talking about.  A little.

Because I have worked with children in some format almost non-stop the past decade, I think of myself as generally immune to kiddie cravings.  I have an outlet for my love for kids, and the bonus is I get to send them home at the end of the day.  And babies have never really been my age group.  They're too young to talk, they have diapers that need to be changed, and what do you do with them when they won't stop crying??  In fact, the other day i was thinking that if I ever do get around to having kids, maybe I'll just adopt.  After all, there are a lot of kids who need a home.  And I've heard that older kids have a harder time getting adopted, because most people prefer babies.  Not me,  thought to myself.  I'd like to skip that stage!  Nine months of discomfort, painful labor, sleepless nights, constant attentiveness...no thanks.

Then Sunday happened.  This past Sunday was mother's day.  I woke up that morning with a dream drifting out of memory--but the one thing I recalled is that in my dream, I had been pregnant.  And, I'd been HAPPY about it.  Then I went to church, which was all about Motherhood, of course.  And there were all thes baby pictures on the screen, and real babies in their mommy's arms in the congregation, and it happened.


I had a baby craving.

It kind of freaked me out.

I don't want to turn into a Tina Fey caricature of a woman who suddenly sees nothing but babies and can't seem to think about anything else!  But maybe that was my biological clock, ticking!  Letting me know time is running out!!!

I'm kidding, mostly, though that really did happen to me.  I'm not freaking out about it, though.  Not anymore.  I realize that we are biologically wired a certain way--and most women at some point have a biological desire to have children.  Heck, even Brennan on Bones softened up and realized she might want a kid someday!

I had my first "I'm pregnant"/"I have a baby" dream in high school, I think.  I looked up the meaning in a dream symbols dictionary, and it said that babies & being pregnant can also symbolize having an idea--like a creative, artistic idea.  So, of course, I though it was about my stories.  I mean, I always have ideas for stories.  But I don't always dream about having babies.

Image by J. M. Richards via Flickr

I sort of feel a little like Joe Pesci in that scene above, kind of like, I have plenty of other things to be worrying about right now instead of babies.  And for ten years, I just sort of thought that  eventually, the timing would be right.  There would be a Guy.  There would be a Wedding.  And after a while, THEN there would be babies.  Cravings or not, I need to realize things might not go down that way at all.  If not, would I be willing to go the route of Tina Fey's character in "Baby Mama" or something?  Who knows!

Right now I'm living in my brother's dining room, so it's not like I'm exactly in the right place to be a mother.  Right now, I am a mommy/teacher/counselor/big sister to around fifty kids every day after school.  Right now, that's still enough for me.  My mental and emotional clocks are not ticking quite so loud.

I just wish they'd tell that to my biological clock. 

Spoiled

I don't know how parents do it. I only watch kids for 2 and a half hours, and they were driving me crazy today. Don't get me wrong, my After School Program is not a bad job. Most of the time, I like it. But days like today...

The kids couldn't go outside during recess today because of the snow (yes, snow). And I didn't take them out, either (maybe I should have!). I've noticed that days like that, the kids just kind of go stir crazy. But the worst part was, they were so whiny.

I don't tell this story to rag on my kids. It just seemed like a good illustration of how I am most of the time. I don't know what it is about human nature that makes us each expect to get things our way. I've worked with kids for years, and I have had some real spoiled brats at times.

But what does it mean to be spoiled? Contextual definition seems to be someone who expects to always have his or her own way, an expectation generally reinforced by surroundings and upbringing. People who are spoiled can't stand any inconvenience or thwarting of his or her will. And they generally have no idea what it is like to be deprived of anything.

I know people say things like this a lot, especially in a shaming way, but Americans are spoiled.

I am spoiled.

I'm not even talking financially. I'm talking about religious freedom.

I've been doing some research lately for a 'party' I'm throwing (ask me about it!). It's been opening--re-opening, really--my eyes to just how much I take for granted. Last Sunday was the International Day of Prayer--a day that was created to give us in America a clearer picture of what our Brothers and Sisters around the world experience as a result of their faith.

I don't mean to sound all preachy and high-horsed about this. I'm just as guilty as anyone. But when I read something that says the Bible is illegal in 52 countries...that just gets to me. I just counted, and I have at least nine copies of the Bible right here in my apartment. Ten, if you count the digital one on my palm. Not to mention the oh-so-accessible Biblegateway.com. And I hardly take the time read any of them. But I am blessed--when I get frustrated or anxious, I can flip to the Psalms and find comfort. Unlike many of my Brothers and Sisters, some of whom share ONE with their entire church. At least they appreciate what they have!

Anyway. I'm still mulling a lot of this over...what it means for me, and how I'm going to let it change me. Especially my attitude. It's Thanksgiving time, and I want to have a thankful heart for the good things that I DO have, and not be whiny about the things I don't.

Let me shout God's name with a praising song,
Let me tell his greatness in a prayer of thanks.
(Psalm 69: 30, The Message)

Trials and a New Toy

So, I got a new phone last week. It’s pretty cool. It’s one of those ones you’ve seen on Verizon commercials, where they play music for someone. Yes. It plays music. It is very cool. I do not have any kind of MP3 player yet, so I’m enjoying the three songs I’ve downloaded. I’ve spent the better part of my free time this week just exploring the coolness of my new phone.

I love when I get something new, and the newness is part of its appeal, and I spend many hours admiring my new thing—whatever it may be: a haircut, a pair of shoes, a CD…. I am also not one of those people who see in evil in new technology. Take the internet, for example. The internet has become something of a tragedy, at least morally, because of i-porn. Yet the ease of communicating with people all over the world, and the amount of knowledge contained on virtually any and every subject, makes it a worthwhile tool.

Technology is like anything else man-made: it has the potential to be used for good, and an equal (perhaps some would argue greater) potential to be used for evil. Telephones—and cell phones—allow us to talk to people all over the world. But they also interrupt our lives with sales calls, and keep us occupied when we ought to be focusing on the world in front of us instead of the person on the other end of the line (*ahem! Drivers! ahem!*). Still, I know that I would have been pretty lost these last few years if I hadn’t been able to communicate—by cell phone—with my best friends from college. Who all live several states away.

Even though I have been pretty occupied with my new “toy,” and enjoying it very much (my default ringtone is the chorus of David Crowder’s “Turkish Delight”!!!) I still have had other things on my mind this week.

One is, I recently had the most challenging day of Lent so far. I was at my Pregnancy Care Centers job, working, I might add, on a major database transfer, because we are switching programs, when we decided to take a tiny break and go take a peek at the yard sale that was going on just around the corner and up a flight of stairs from our office (which you may remember is located in the same church building where my dad works). I was looking around at all the stuff—typical yard sale stuff: stuffed animals, old happy meal toys, mismatched glasses and plates, etc. Then I saw the table of—you guessed it—books. I was immediately drawn to it, thinking surely it couldn’t hurt to look and see what they had. I hadn’t brought any money up with me, so I didn’t get anything—then.

But there was a book called “Colourful England” with pictures of old buildings (my boss showed it to me) that I wanted to come back for. She offered to spot me the money to get it, anmd I should have let her, because when I came back to get it, I ended up with an armful of books. Fourteen, to be exact. (But I got them all for $3.00!!) And as I’d stood there, pawing through the bins, glancing at the titles and occiasonlly the back blurbs, I suddenly got a sense of what it was I’d committed to for the Lenten season.

I bought a boxful of books that I cannot read, not for another twenty-eight days. I thought for the first couple of weeks that this would be no big deal, because even if I was giving up books, there were still movies to be watched. And there were always things to read in magazines, and in articles online; I hadn’t given those up. But being at that yard sale was a challenge: it was like making dinner for everyone, and tasting a tiny bit to make sure it was okay, but not eating any yourself.

I was challenged again, later that night, at the Chinese Church. It was, of course, St. Patrick’s Day, and I brought a little book to help them understand who he really was and why we have a day to celebrate him. I consulted with God on the way there if it would be okay to read it to them. But once there, I asked if anyone else would be willing to read it to the class. Several of my students took turns. (This was very hard for me because I love reading books like that to kids, and you know how children read.) When I had to help Stephen pronounce an Irish word (“shillelagh”) a couple of my kids reminded me that I was not supposed to be reading books.

Just before Lent started, I had been reading “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” to the PCC kids. They were a little dismayed when I told them of my vow to give up reading books for the next forty-seven days. So that later, on the same night I’ve been describing, I asked if anyone else would like to read a chapter to the class. No one did. I asked them if they still wanted to hear some of it. They did. I asked them if they thought it would be okay for me to read a few pages to them. They did. So I read a chapter. I’m not sure if I ought to feel terrible about this; after all, it was only a chapter, and it wasn’t for me, it was for the kids.

But reading is so…part of me. I had to remind myself this morning of why it was that I gave it up in the first place. I’m not going to exaggerate and tell you that this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done; it’s not. Even though I am surrounded by books that I would normally have no qualms about snatching up and reading for several hours, it’s been nearly no trouble at all finding other ways to fill up my time. I have a sneaking suspicion that quitting the TV would be much harder, and that worries me just a little.

Well, this post is long enough for now, even despite the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve written. If you happen to see someone reading, perhaps you could offer up a quick prayer for me, that I’m learning what I’m supposed to be learning through this time. Thanks! 

Rainbow Garden

There’s this little Chinese Food place that my family and I go to when we get the craving. It’s not far from us, and it’s so much better than the big buffet-style places. As you can probably guess, it’s called Rainbow Garden. Their food is good, and they are very nice.

In fact, the lady who works there now knows my order without me having to say a word; I always get the almond chicken. It’s so good. She also knows my mom (shrimp with garlic sauce).

My mom and I stopped by there for dinner tonight after Community Worship and before we went grocery shopping—you know how dangerous it is to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach!—and we decided to eat in.

It’s a fairly small place, with about four tables, enough room to seat maybe 16 people. The woman who runs the place has a son who is almost always there, usually watching cartoons on video on a little TV. One time he was watching old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons and I wanted to laugh because it was such a blast from the past. Another time he was watching Star Wars (IV, A New Hope) and he had never seen it before.

So this kid sits at the table next to my mother and I as we’re eating. He’s not watching TV this time; he’s playing with play dough. And since we were in such close proximity, he struck up a conversation with us.

Benson’s—that’s his name—favorite game is “guess.” Remember those days? He said he was in first grade and then wanted us to guess how old he was (8, he just had a birthday). Then he asked how old we were. <grinning mischievously> I told him to guess.

“Give me a hint,” he said. So I told him it started with a 2. “Twenty-something,” he murmured. “Stand up,” he said next. So I did, wondering how that was going to help him. After a couple minutes of looking at me rather intently and muttering to himself, he said, “twenty-six.”

I was shocked. That is my age. Kids never guess that, not right away. In fact I had a whole class full of kids trying to guess my age last night. Some were wayyy off. Surprised, I asked him how he knew, and he told me, “I counted.” I have no idea what he meant, and couldn’t bring myself to ask. Sometimes those explanations are best left unsaid.

Nonetheless, it was an encounter that left both my mother and I chuckling. I find kids hilarious most of the time anyway; you just never know what they are going to say. Before we left, Benson asked us when we were coming back. And you know, I’m tempted to go by there again this week just to chat with him! “You can pick a day when you get home,” he told us helpfully.

Well, that’s all I have to say today. Just a (hopefully) amusing story. I probably could have blogged about the British guy who came in for coffee (and a “biscuit”) the other day, but you really don’t want to hear me go all Britophile on here. It’s so sad. But it did reinforce the daydream I have to move to Scotland one day, and continue my search for Mr. Right on a different continent. One that has British accents. *Ahem!* Anyway, that’s all for now. Go and enjoy life with the wonder of a small child…make someone “guess” something today. 

A Change of Clothes

Every Friday night I go to the Pittsburgh Chinese Church. For the past two years or so I’ve been teaching a class there—no, not English—a Bible class for Kindergarten to Second Graders. They’re good kids. (And, as you can tell, they really like it when I pull out my camera phone.)

The girls are really sweet and affectionate and always want to sit by me. They even went so far as to start bringing water bottles to class because I am notorious for bringing one every where I go.

The boys, on the other hand…I feel like I’m always telling them stop. Stop talking, stop running, stop hitting…you get the idea. It’s not that they’re bad: they’re just really energetic. And I just know that if I could keep their attention for more than thirty seconds, they might learn something. They are very smart. (In all fairness, I have to ask the girls to stop talking just as frequently. They just obey quicker.)

These boys are also really funny. I think some of them have secret aspirations for being stand-up comedians. They each like to try to crack everyone up. And more than once in a while, they end up cracking me up, too.

This week I was giving a lesson on telling the truth and how truth is important. For an illustration, I had a paper doll named “Joe.” On one side, Joe was frowning because he told his mom a lie. To emphasize his sad state, I colored his shirt blue and gray (not that I have anything against those colors; it’s just that sometimes my artsy, symbolic side gets carried away) and gave him green cords. On the other side, Joe is smiling because Jesus has set him free from sin. This time I colored his shirt bright yellow and orange—again, for emphasis—and put him in blue jeans.

Well, when I “freed” Joe (he was stuck in a “sin” envelope) I showed the class the happy side. I asked them why Joe was happy now.

And Andrew (who is in second grade) said: “Because he got a new shirt and new pants.”

Now Andrew is a very smart kid, and I know he knew the “right” answer. But I have to tell you, after a surprised pause, I burst out laughing.

“Well,” Andrew explained, “I like his new clothes better. I don’t really like green pants.” I laughed even harder. I had to borrow a scrap of paper from Joie, the girl next to me, so I could write it down that instant. It may not sound as funny now, but take my word for it. It’s just one of those things that happens in my class.

I shouldn’t be, but I’m always surprised when they come out with things like that. I’m not surprised when Andrew gives me the “Sunday School” answer; he goes to a Christian school and Sunday School and his parents are active in the church—in fact, Mandy, his mom, coordinates the Friday evening classes for the kids and teaches as well.

The truth is, though, if you ask kids a question, especially in a bible class they will either give you the “God” answer, or the most obvious answer. Most of my kids know the “Jesus” answers, so I usually try to get them to dig a little deeper and think a little more personally about it. I don’t know that I really succeed; they are, after all, only about six or seven.

I don’t get frustrated with them if they don’t use their reasoning skills. I just try to challenge them. But sometimes it’s nice to be reminded that not everything is deep. I mean, I’m big into symbolism and meaning, and I’m sure I could use the anecdote for a sermonette about how when we come to Christ, we do in a sense get change of clothes; we are told to put on things like humility and love like garments.

But that’s not what Andrew meant. He was speaking form that gut-level simplicity and honesty that somehow, I find myself admiring. The truth is, I wouldn’t really want to wear bright green pants, either. That’s probably why I found it so funny. He looked past my symbolism and got to what really mattered to him.

I don’t really want to go into the whole “child-like faith” thing. Even though I really believe it and it’s a big part of why I love working with kids, it’s become a bit cliché to bring that up when sharing a funny kid anecdote. That’s not really what this is about, anyway. It’s really about how funny kids are, and how refreshing their simplicity can be. It’s funny because we think we have the world in better perspective when we’re older and understand the “real world.”

I just think that sometimes, maybe it’s the other way around, and kids have the better perspective. Of course something more important happened to Joe than a change of clothes. But come on, now. Would you want to be wearing a blue and gray shirt with kelly green corduroy pants? Especially after such a special and spiritual experience like Joe’s? I didn’t think so.