One of the great things about kids is that they don't ever really think before they speak. And even if they did, it probably still wouldn't change what they say, because they don't really process the same way we grown-ups do. Children are so driven by emotion, and the funny thing is, so are adults. The difference is the fine-tuned (or, let's be honest, not so fine-tuned) reformation that happens through the school years, teaching us a little thing called tact. Or, as I sometimes refer to it, lying. I know you'll say, "no...it's not lying..." but think about it. Picture it: your co-worker comes in sporting a pair of tight, white capri pants, it's after Labor Day, and she's, um, not skinny. To top it off, she's wearing pink polka dot underpants. Obviously. She saunters past your desk, obviously looking for you to compliment her. Your automatic reaction, because you're so very "trained" in your etiquette, is: "Oh, Janice! What cute pants, where'd you get 'em?" You mean: "Holy crap, Janice. I can see that you thought you were 13 this morning, not just because your pants came from the junior's section, but also because your underwear are screaming Tiger Beat, and by the way, it's almost October."
So, in essence, didn't you lie? Nah...it was tact. Let's keep telling ourselves that.
Kids, however, don't have that filter.
Here's a scenario: I put on a hot pink (you can only say "hot pink" if you lived through the 80's, by the way), long sleeved tee this morning. My sons were out in the kitchen, eating cinnamon rolls. Which I cannot eat for breakfast, I've discovered, because if I do, by about 11 a.m., I am in a diabetic coma. And I don't have diabetes.
But I regress.
So, hot pink shirt, jeans and my slippers. Standard attire. Admittedly, the hot pink shirt is a little form-fitting. It shrunk in the washer, but I still like the color. Anyway. I walk out into the kitchen and ask the boys how their breakfast is going. Gabe, the little one, starts giggling. "Mommy," he says, "yo shirt wooks wike Santa Claus." What!? It's not red, it's hot pink! Isaac says "Well, maybe a girl Santa Claus. I think he means your belly is jolly. Gabie, she has a bowl full of jelly in there!" I am never feeding them again. I stood there in shock, not even knowing what to say. See, as adults, since we've been trained to use this tact thing, we also have a delayed response when it comes to handling a situation that isn't tactful. Isaac decided to break the silence: "Okay, mom. It'll be fine. I just think you should literally go put a different shirt on. Seriously."
Seriously? Literally? You're five. Since when did you become a mini-Tim Gunn? I'm never feeding you again.
So that's how my day started. I now have a much baggier, cover-every-inch of my upper-half gray, drab, hooded shirt on now. The hood is there as a safety, just in case I need to cover my hair, should it become raucous and, I don't know, leprechaun-like. I've been put back in my place: mommyhood. Boring, frumpy, stay-at-home mommyhood.
As an honorable mention, I should note that my dear mother, love-her-to-death, is one of the few adults I know who won't mince words. I mean, to me or my sister, she won't. She has told us when we've looked downright hideous, when we've done something dumb (which, to her, wouldn't be called dumb, it'd be more dramatic, like asinine), and for me, she even proof-reads my blogs, free of charge! Most people just read along, and ignore it if I misspell something or use improper grammar. You're reading for content, right? You realize I probably do know how to spell, and I generally make good grammatical choices, but I also do have three kids here and sometimes it's tough to edit everything in my five-minute window of time to blog. My mom, however, reads through with her very critical eye, and calls me as soon as she spots my mistakes. "Do you not know the proper usage of the word hear, moron? You hear music, but you are sitting here." I love my mother, she means well. And the good news is, she'd never do it to anyone else. She'd lie. I mean, she'd use tact.

I Am...

I am a child, inside. I would love it if I could run and play all day, and I often reminisce about the days when I did. I have a terrific imagination. I am a daydreamer, to the extent of forgetting what I am actually supposed to be doing. I didn’t have a lot of boys to play with when I was growing up, so now that I have little boys, I am being introduced to the games they play. I now know how to build a few things with Legos, and I can make excellent train and semi-truck noises. I am still afraid of the dark. I have an occasional temper-tantrum. I don’t like it when things don’t work, and I really don’t like it when someone else can make something work and I cannot. I like naps, and I like them even more when I have my blankie. Simple things like warm cookies and cold milk, and some kind words from a friend are enough to make my entire day. Actually, if my mom says something nice to me, it makes everything better. I am fond of reading children’s books. I like to look at the pictures.

I am a mother. I have carried and given birth to three beautiful children. They are not perfect, but they are perfect to me. I am not perfect either, by the way. My children are full of life and light. They are quirky. They are loud, and sometimes, I am louder. At least the kids come by it honestly. I am fierce when it comes to my children. I would lay down my life for them. I would, however, insist that they face their punishment if punishment were due. I am not willing to fight all of their battles. My children make me weak and strong, all at the same time. Their tears make me feel small and helpless, grasping for something to make it better, but their laughter makes my heart stronger. I am learning from them, every day. I am proud of myself, as their mother. I think I am doing a good job, overall. I think I still have a lot to learn, but I think that nothing happens overnight. I am hoping that someday they will say “thanks” and they will admit, albeit a tough admission, that I was not the “worst mommy in the world.” I am home with my children all day and all night. It’s what I wanted to do, for now, anyway. I can ascertain that the job is not glamorous. It takes a strong will, a strong back, and sometimes, a strong stomach. Motherhood is not a fairytale, but rather, an adventure.

I am a woman. I am tough on my exterior, and a bowl full of noodles inside. I hide my emotions when I need to. I reach a boiling point, and I let them out, usually on the people I love the most. I love wearing high heels, but I find myself with fewer reasons and places to wear them. I am working on becoming more introspective and less judgmental. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I don’t know where I’d be without my faith. I don’t like trying to prove things, because of that. Why bother with faith if you can prove it? I don’t have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but I find it hard to trust. I realize that is not a good thing. I am a bit of a hypochondriac. I worry about my health. I used to live a lot more recklessly, but now that I have children, I suppose I think it’s important that I am here for them. I am afraid to die. I suppose this is why you can’t have too much faith. I am self-conscious. I am convinced that I am not pretty, and I don’t think that conviction will change. If you catch me looking in the mirror, it is not to admire myself, it is to judge. I fight myself about my weight. I am confident in my knowledge, however. I am a reader, and I actually prefer a book to any television show. I am vulnerable. I know that the wrong words in the right place will break me, but I also know that I probably won’t show it outwardly. I am in love with love. I am convinced that there is a special someone for everyone, and that someone will feel as necessary as oxygen and as comfortable as your oldest pair of jeans. I want to be loved, and I want to be somebody’s world. I think I am. I think I am three peoples’ worlds. I struggle with contentment. I struggle to wrap my mind around life, and the thought that this is “all there is.” I am ashamed to even admit that, because I really do have a lot. It’s just that I pictured so many things: I was going to be a singer at the Metropolitan Opera House, I was going to be a veterinarian, I was going to travel the world and see everything. I have to slow down and appreciate more. I am a great cook; I will eat most anything I make. See the above section where I mention the battle with weight. I am an animal lover. I am fairly certain I have more animals than I need, but I don’t worry about it. Animals love without boundaries. I have a terrific and dysfunctional family, and I am a firm believer in dysfunction as normality. I am independent. I do not like others to tell me what to do. Some may call that stubborn. I suppose it’s possible. Nah, I doubt it. I am not patient. I share well. It’s something I learned in childhood. I miss my grandmother terribly. I am hoping I am like her someday. I am slowly learning that life is comprised of peaks and valleys. When I am in a valley, I know I just have to do the very best I can in that valley until the next peak comes into view. I am trying.

It's come to a point when I am surpassed by technology. Sure, as I sit here, I am staring at a computer screen and "blogging," which is a term I still don't particularly understand. I prefer to say that I'm "typing in my journal." There, that's better. My cell phone is not fancy. I would prefer not to have one, and, if you asked any close acquaintances of mine, they'd tell you it's pointless for me to have one, considering I never answer it or check its voicemail. I have no idea what its features are, either. I know it can call, I know I can answer, and I know it can text. Although I am not good at texting, nor do I plan to become better.
I have caught myself saying, more than a few times: "not to be old-fashioned, but..." and I realize that perhaps I just am a little old-fashioned.
I believe people should respect each other, not one-up each other. One-upping leads to greed, and I know you're all smart enough to know where greed leads. I believe children should be encouraged to imagine, and parents should not allow video games and television to pollute that imagination. Equally, I believe that animal children and people children should be viewed as similar: they love to play and they love to run, and they love to be outside. Let them. There is plenty of time for seriousness later, God knows.
Speaking of serious, perhaps it's time we stop and take a serious look at what we've (we being mankind) created. We have created more than we can handle, in my opinion. The character in the 1995 movie Powder made the quote that he believed technology was surpassing humanity. I believe that too. Just look how easy it is, and how comfortable we've become, sending an email rather than making a phone call or writing a letter. It is also apparent that it is easier to talk in exaggeration or with a hint of deception, rather than to ever reveal oneself in truth.
A friend of mine expressed concern lately about teenage drinking, and how it is a favorite pastime of youth, to drink beyond oblivion, to not remember where they've been or how they got there. I mentioned my disbelief for a sign outside a Planned Parenthood that read: Birth control without pelvic exam, free STD testing, morning after pill $38. You may say it's my "old-fashionedness" coming out, but, really? Is that okay to advertise now? Why not just get a bigger sign and say this: "Text your boyfriend, and his friends, and his friend's friends, because in reality, he's going to text them all anyway and tell them truth or not what you did last night. Let him know you're headed here for a free STD screen and a quick morning-after pill. You'll let him know how it all goes. If he could contribute half to the pill, that'd be cool. If not, no biggie, right? Responsibility is so overrated anyway." In The Case for Christianity, C.S. Lewis said "Human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and can't really get rid of it." Obviously.
Immanuel Kant was a Western-philosopher who challenged utilitarianism, and I have to challenge it too. Our society has just become too okay with "whatever feels good, looks good, and gets me there the fastest." I fear for my childrens' understanding of this, because it is all-too easy to become one who believes this, and the media targets our children relentlessly. Simply put, the utilitarian belief is that human beings are not necessarily responsible for their actions, and that the world has just influenced them to behave a certain way, and justify it. Likewise, punishment should be lenient, if at all. In reality, utilitarians think that we (society) owes it to people to help them, change them. Sounds great, right? At first glance, yes. Everyone wins, everyone receives the help they need, regardless of their offense. It even sounds like the Christian thing to do. But wait a minute.
Kantians believe differently. They believe in responsibility. They believe that humans are generally rational beings, and must be held accountable for their actions. They don't believe that we should be handed a "get out of jail free" card, but rather, learn from our mistakes and own up to them. They believe that if you created it, you must be able to control it, because, as my kid likes to say "no take backs." Sounds harsh, maybe. Sounds un-Christian. Hmmm...in many religions we confess our sins to God, whether it's in a tiny booth and in the presence of a priest, or a moment of silence in prayer. And didn't God tell us that we should live a certain way, in responsibility to Him? Didn't he make it clear that He sent His son to die for our sins, and that the only way to the kingdom of heaven is through His son? We can't justify our own sins, friends. We can't make them okay, and no one here on earth can, either. We can seek counseling, we can seek spiritual guidance, we can have the warm-fuzzy hug of a utilitarian thinker who says "it'll all end up okay." And hopefully, it will. I'm not saying we shouldn't help each other realize what's right. But somewhere down the line, we have to take ownership for the way our own lives are unfolding. We have to halt the madness of advancement and realize it isn't always for "a greater good." Sometimes the flashiest "things" come with the worst implications. It sort of reminds me of a time that I took a picture of myself in the mirror. The flash of the camera blocked my face in the photograph. It was as if I wasn't even there; like this bright light covered up who I am. Might be a bad analogy, but it makes sense to me.
I realize this is preachy and abstract. It's just a brief culmination of the things floating around my head lately. Perhaps it isn't for you, and that's alright. But since I have this nifty "blog" I can record my own thoughts and review them later, just as you can.I do have to insert, also, that I am not, by any means, perfect and didn't write this with the intention to make you think so. It's just another one of those little realizations that has dug a hole deep within me; one that I can't let go of but don't know exactly how to resolve it, either. I leave you with another C.S. Lewis quote. On some days, this quote makes me feel anxious, and on other days, it makes me feel assurance: "Now is our chance to choose the right side. God is holding back to give us that chance. It won't last forever. We must take it or leave it."

Lewis, C.S. (1996). The case for christianity. 1st ed. Touchstone Books.