Over the river and through the woods...

We are headed to my in laws' place in a couple of hours.

We're having dinner at Jim's Uncle's house and then we'll spend the night at his parents' place.

I'm really lucky in that I get along with Jim's parents better than most people I know get along with their in laws. Sure they do stuff that makes me wince sometimes (give the kids WAY too much junk food, for example), but they usually learn their lesson without me having to resort to being a hag about it (getting puked on, for example).

Jim's family is really different than mine in a lot of ways. My family gathers, eats, chats a bit, and gets the hell out of dodge. His family likes to come early and stay late. My family is kind of quiet for the most part. His family is loud and raucous. My family's gatherings are strictly "dry" affairs. The wine and beer (and when we're really celebrating, bourbon) flows with abandon on his side of the family.

Every year, Christmas at my in laws' is like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting. The tree is real, but has been manicured to such perfection that is looks fake. There is a toy train (from Jim's Dad's youth) riding around a tree that would make Martha Stewart blush with envy. Little puffs of smoke trail out of the train as it rounds the tiny vintage village nestled where the presents usually sit. We've been going over there for over a decade and every year I still find something new under there.

We always have the same breakfast on Christmas morning: sausage and homemade buttermilk pancakes. It is always delicious and I always eat too many pancakes. I can't help it. They are just that good.

The tree and gifties are in the basement. The lights are dimmed just so, giving off a warm cozy feeling. After the Christmas music is put on, we all claim a spot and start doling out the loot. The fire crackles, the kids run around too excited to sit still, and we all drink his Mom's ridiculously strong coffee.

Even the way the gifts are wrapped are a work of art. It's not just the beautiful paper she wraps everything in. She adds baubles and real ribbon and berries and wreaths to everything. Sometimes I feel bad ripping into them they are so pretty.

I let the girls pick a few toys to get out of the packing to play with. I try to stash some of it because I know we will end up forgetting a piece to something if I don't. Usually we'll watch a movie, but this year we are going to bring our new Wii. Should be fun.

I always enjoy the holidays at their house. It's just so different that how I grew up. Sure we did the usual Christmas stuff at my house, but Jim's parents take it to a whole new level. Tradition is tradition over there. Nothing else will do.

Normally I'm all for bucking the status quo, but there is something so comforting about the way everything is like a made for tv movie over there.

I know how much they enjoy doing all of this especially now that they have grandkids to share it with. I hope they know how much I appreciate it.

Weird

Tonight is the last night we will be sleeping in this house.

The movers are coming tomorrow to take all of our furniture, including our beds, to the new house. We'll be back through the next week or so to get the rest of the little stuff (that we probably don't even need at the new house, but have to get out of here anyway), but we won't be living here after tonight.

I've moved so many times in my life, but this time it's different. This was my first house. Literally my first as my parents didn't own a property until I moved away from home.

I was so excited to be a homeowner when we purchased this place. I had never lived anywhere that I could paint the walls any color I wanted to--that I had my own fenced yard, my own washer and dryer, my own garage.

My children were conceived, brought home from the hospital and raised all their short little lives in this place. Hell, even my dogs don't know any other place as home.

Am I crazy for feeling like I am betraying "old house"? I'm not completely loony. I know houses don't have feelings. It just seems like I've been in such a rush to get the hell out of here that I'm not appreciating what this house has meant to me--warts and all.

It's going to take me a while to get used to sleeping, showering, cooking and just living in a whole new set up. I think I'll feel like I am visiting for a while, or housesitting maybe, until it all really sinks in that the new house is home.

I was putting all our ktichen stuff away today and it felt so strange to see all this familiar stuff in such a foreign environment. I almost felt panicked--like I had to have it all "just so", as if I couldn't change it once it's been placed. I think I just need everything to be back to normal right this second, or I'm going to fall apart.

My inlaws were in town today and my Father in law helped my husband put up some new curtains in the living room. My Mother in law kept asking me to come in there to "tell them how I want them". Fuck, how about left to right? I don't care. Just hang 'em straight, ferchrissakes.

I don't want to make any more decisions. I don't want to paint anymore. I don't want to spend any more money at Lowes, Bed Bath and Beyond or Target.

I just want to move in, lay down on my same broken in, dog hair-covered couch and watch a rerun of a show I love.

Christ on a Cracker

"Jesus is the sun" my five year old randomly tossed out in the car on the way to her swim class last night.

I know where she got this little gem--my Dad.

I know when my parents have the kids for the weekend, they read my kids bible stories at bedtime and probably pray before they eat. I know they've taken the girls to church a few times too. I don't mind. I'm not a crazyhatefulfuckyoujesus kind of Atheist. If they get a little exposure here and there to religion, it will better help them later when they decide for themselves which way the wind blows in that arena.

When my first kid was born I fretted over what I would tell my parents when they asked about baptism. I knew it would come up sooner or later, and I wanted no part in it. Finally I realized that if it made them feel better to dress her up in a foofy frock and sprinkle some tap water on her head, it wasn't going to make any difference one way or the other. Maybe they would have a party afterwards. I remembered that people get really excited about these types of things and like to write congratulatory checks to mark the occasion-checks that could buy diapers...and beer.

Surprisingly, it never came up. Even my Catholic in laws made no mention of dedicating my sweet innocent baby to the Lord. I thought I was getting off easy. Sadly, the best/worst was yet to come.

"Honey, who told you Jesus was the sun?" (I knew the answer, but needed a jumping off point here).

"PaPa told me. Jesus is the sun in the sky. I told my friends at school, but they didn't believe me."

Fuck. This was getting out of hand.

"I think what PaPa meant was that Jesus is an S-O-N. You are mine and Daddy's daughter and Jesus is the son of his Daddy and Mommy."

Cut to her ever-growing exasperation with her clearly deluded mother....

"NO, MAMA! Jesus is the sun in the sky. Papa told me and he's right."

I tried to explain it again, but really was more concerned that she was proselytizing to her class which happens to be 90% Indian. The preschool even makes a special effort to include other, non-Christian holidays in their celebrations because the majority of students there don't normally celebrate Christmas, et al. What would be worse: Having to apologize for my apparent missionary-in-training daughter or having to explain that we are in fact godless heathens and have no idea where this all came from?

I tried to explain that not everyone believes the way Papa believes. She wouldn't hear it.

"Yes they do, Mama. We do...right?"

If this conversation was taking place five years from now, and she was ten instead of five, things would have gone down in a completely different way. If she was older, I could better explain how some people have religion and some don't. I wasn't ready to have this conversation with her yet. We don't go to church, but her grandparents do. What if she wanted to know why we don't go to church?

I knew that I could either tell her the truth or bullshit her.

If I told her that I don't believe the same way her grandpa does, I was opening up a landmine. She would be confused. The next time she was staying with my parents, she would out my "evil ways". I don't discuss these things with my parents. It would break their hearts if they knew the daughter they worked so hard to raise in the church turned her back on the effort.

If I didn't tell her the truth, I was passing up a prime opportunity to instill a great life lesson. Sometimes people who love each other don't agree on the fundamentals of life. Would she get it? She seemed awful pissy that I alluded to the fact that the almighty Papa could be wrong. How would she react if I told her I thought Papa was full of shit?

I waited and mulled it over in my head for a moment.

She spoke up again from the backseat. The best part is, though I know this is something my husband has said in front of her, she attributed it to her grandfather,

"Mama, Papa says the Bible is a book of fairytales."

"That's right, baby. Because Papa said so."

Haves vs. Have Nots

The state of health care in our nation is a real tragedy. Nowhere is this more apparent than women's health.

My inlaws live in Peoria, once rumored to be the "Teen Pregnancy Capitol of the Nation". My husband grew up there, and assures me that it isn't just a rumor.

I drove there this past weekend and noticed a prime example of the proverbial shaft lower income citizens get in the way of ob/gyn services. There are several women's health care centers up and down Knoxville. From what I can gather, the end my inlaws live on is quite nice. Nearer to the interstate, the demographic changes as does the apparent quality of doctor's offices.

8245 Knoxville
Wexler and Feinstein OB/Gyn and Day Spa
"Blue Cross/Blue Shield covers our manicures!"

6497 Knoxville
Loving Womb Midwifery and Doula Service
"You can do it. We can help."

4300 Knoxville
Planned Parenthood
"We haven't been picketed since 1993!"

2654 Knoxville
Women's Health Care Center
"Enter through Rear"

833 Knoxville
Uncle Todd's Pawn Shop and Discount Abortionarium
"You make 'em, we scrape 'em."


I think I need to write my state representative.