Camping

Camping was awesome! Asa ran himself ragged, I got to chill by the fire, and we all enjoyed marshmellows. But it got me thinking-why do I love to camp? I never sleep well, I hate being dirty and smelly, and the work of getting all packed up, and then unpacked when you get home, can be daunting. Sometimes it almost feels like self-torture. What brings me joy however, is a campfire at night. Sitting around the ol' flames, looking up at the stars, and talking with friends seems to be what draws me again and again. It is magical at night as the sparks fly up to join their brethern, the twinkly stars. Of course this being Oregon, the twinkly stars can be few and far between but I love the concept, and it makes me happy when it actually happens. Camping also gives us a chance to sit back and take a breather from daily life. There are few people that love tv more than me. I could actually zone out by it all day long and not even blink. But the thought of my ass growing to the dimensions of a couch cushion scare me, and I do not want my son to know the lyrics to "Friends" before he can sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Camping makes us interact in ways we don't have the opportunity to at home. For example, this weekend at our campsite, they had a little museum we went to and learned about history. At 18 months, Asa did not read all the signs. But he had great fun playing with the giant boat steerer thingy (that's latin, trust me) and he touched different animal furs. We learned about "soft". We also learned about the heat of a campfire but that experience was a little more scary. And mommy re-learns what's really important. As much as we love the luxuries of our home, the reality is we can live without a lot. I DON"T WANT TOO LIVE WITHOUT A LOT. I like my soft bed, instant heat, flushable toilet, and constant warm water. But it is always good to remember that things are luxuries, and if my ancestors could live without them, so could I if I had too. I want my son to know this too-as much as our home is a joy, we need to remember how lucky we are to have all the wonderful things that we do. I don't know if he got all that this weekend, but at 18 mos. it was enough to hear mommy giggle when he got ketchup all over himself and chase him with a washcloth. Those little legs can sure hustle when he wants them too!

Mom's

As the mother of an 18 month old, it is impossible to not at least think about Mother's Day. In all honesty, it isn't my favorite holiday-still! Dying flowers and fattening chocolates are not my cup o' tea. However, it does make me pause to think about the type of mother I want to be. This is a serious question-I could be raising the next Matahami Gandhi or Pauley Shore. Guess which one I want to be associated with? After some serious poindering, I am pretty sure I want to be the type of mother that is thought highly of by my son's FRIENDS.
In college, I thought I was pretty much a nerd and this distressed me. Now, big whoop. I get excited over drool free jeans. But when you are 18, 19, 20 years old this can sting. Everyone would talk about going over to friend's homes, and I never went to anyone's home. It seemed like everyone else had a buddy whose home they could go hang, or "chill", and I never got to go anywhere and "chill". The travesty of it all. But with the hindsight that comes with adulthood I see now that the reason I never got invited over "there" is because everyone was coming to my house. My boring old home, where the dog stank, badly, and there was always cold coke in the fridge, was the place to meet.
My mom never called our ideas stupid, although a couple times she asked us if that was really how we wanted things to turn out. She never complained we stayed out to late, went someplace questionable, or hung out with too many members of the opposite sex. She encouraged every single one of my friends to reach for their dreams (it helped that she worked at the college), and even let a few them stay over night when it was too dangerous for them to go home. She demanded in return that we respect her policies and ideas, let her know where we would be so she didn't have to wonder, and to be safe. Above all else, be safe. It's funny-youth is suppose to balk at restrictions but no one ever complained about having to "report" to my mom. Respect isn't hard to give when you are getting it back.
Let's not get confused here-my mom is not perfect. And we recently had a discussion about what I wish she had differently and what she wishes she had done differently. But since neither my sister nor I are running around emulating Paris Hilton or Britney Spears, I would say she did a pretty fair job. And the highest compliment of all- friends who tell me that my mom is their role model as a parent. That makes me sad, because they should be able to use their own families and can't. But it makes me glad that they were able to find a positive role model elsewhere, even if it is my mom.
So when my son reaches "that age", I hope we are the house that has a million teenagers haning about making to much noise, playing their music to loud, and blocking my driveway. Not only will I know where my son is, but it means his friends feel safe at our house, and every kid should have a place they feel safe. Plus, I might be able to annoy any neighbors I don't like!
Everyone enjoy the weekend!

Surviving

Well, it finally happened. Asa had his first bout with illness. I am not sure which is worse-that mommy was gone on her annual scout trip and daddy got stuck with the worst of the bodily fluids, or that Asa had to be sick without mommy present! There is something about mommies when we are sick, no matter how old we get. My male doctor said that when his college freshman son got sick at school, it was mom he called and NOT dad!
Asa has survived to whine another day, but he is haggard looking and has a new found fondness for my knees. He is a little clingy. But this has certainly given me pause and a word of thankful prayer that we are a fortunate family not to be touched by serious health issues. As scary as it is to watch your young son suffer from projectile diarhhea (my eyes are scarred for life with that sight), it is even scarier I am sure to watch them have a surgical procedure and hope for the best possible outcome. I am grateful we got off so easy, and will continue to pray for good health.
Now we turn our attnetion to this weekend as we get ready to go camping. A rarity in Oregon in May-it is suppose to be nice ALL weekend! I can already taste the burnt marshmellows (the only way to eat them) and the dirt on my hotdog!

Okay, I have tried to put it out of my mind but apparently I am scarred for life. I did a very scary thing last Saturday and the unfortnate thing is one day I will have to do it again. I went shopping for pants. I have never had a problem with this before and I don't know if I am getting old or what but $70 for something that defies gravity and rides up my butt doesn't cut it for me. The others made me look like a stereotypical plummer, riding down so I was close to showing crack. I didn't even pull those pair off the rack-if I had a spare $70 I'd be in the bookstore sniffing Mark Twain like an addict. But why are those the major options-way up or way down? So I looked at the cheaper pairs, and saw lots of stuff someone's grandmother would wear with relish. Why is there no inbetween? I am not asking for world peace or equality for all. I just want a nice looking pair of pants that I am not embarassed to be seen in! In the end I settled. After going through every store I could think of (and wasting a rare nice day in the mall) I got a few decent pairs of pants for just a little too much money. I won't get looks from cute boys, but my husband won't look like he found me on a street corner. I guess that is the best I can hope for. But now I know why I see girls walking around in what look like pajama bottoms-that is probably what they are! At a third of the cost jammies don't threaten to fall down during an inopportune sneeze or help hold my boobs up with stiff waist band. Add this to the list of things that will change if I ever become supreme leader of Earth-pants for all!

Well, modern technology escapes me-2 weeks of trying to remember how to get into my blog to post and all I had to do is sign in. Good thing I never pretended to be a genius-I would have been discovered a liar this past week.
This afternoon I was working on my crossword puzzle and I came across this clue: where worship occurs". I am not good at these crossword puzzles but my first thought was: "in the heart." No, that did not fit but it felt right to me, even it is a little sappy.
When my husband's grandma(Madka) was dying of cancer, she asked us to go to church with her but when the day arrived she was to sick to go and we attended without her. One person, I can't remember who, looked at me, a nice Jewish girl and said "I am surprised you came to a Catholic Church." Even though Madka prayed in a church, and used Latin as her base, I am pretty sure her prayers for her family and safety were similar to my Hebrew ones. There are differences to be sure in every religion and I am just as proud to be Jewish as Madka was to be Catholic. But when the sun set at the end of the day, we hoped for the same things, prayed to the same God, and cried the same tears over sad things.
I truly believe that the different religions of the world are one of God's greatest gifts to us. Just as He does not expect us to look the same, or act the same (although we all have to play nice), He also knows that we need different avenues of prayer and when my Good Christian friend attends Easter service, I smile and feel good for her knowing she has does something that made her happy. Now when I take over the world and rule supreme, you know what to expect.