jesus radicals

Little Children Pray
So Lucky Little Lamb is learning about God and Jesus (and Muhammad, and the Buddha, and Vishnu, and Krishna....we're Christians and Unitarians, and I majored in Religion in college....) We rad some bible stories and talked about God. Who is God? What does God look like? Those kind of questions. Then we talked about praying. Talking to God. Asking God to show us how we can be better people. I tell her when she prays she can ask God to help her to be able to keep herself out of harm, or to watch over her friends and family, or to give a little peace to others who live in danger or sadness...And Lamb says, "I have an idea." But she has to whisper it. And what's her idea? "Maybe we could ask God to turn the light on."

We have a theologian in our midst.

So the Ram came down with SACOB--severe acute crafting obsession/compulsion. For Lamb's birthday party I decided to make a fish-shaped cake using 2 round cakes. First I struggled with the whole Betty Crocker vs. from scratch thing, and decided Betty was just fine for a gaggle of 2-4 year olds. I used the kind with the pink and blue swirls. I baked two 9" rounds. When they cooled I cut a 3 inch wedge out of one (for the mouth), cut a smaller wedge out of the other and then cut it in half. Then I was stumped. So Ram looked at it, did some more cutting and sculpting, and viola! We had a bulge-eyed goldfish cake with a fancy tail. I started icing it, and Ram asked, "can I do some?" In 5 minutes the project was out of my hands. Ram did the rest of the decorating, although he did let me put the fish shaped sprinkles. It came out wicked cute, and much more detailed than I had planned! My mother (Madame Ewe?) tooka digital photo of it, so I'll post pictures soon. We'll see how long SACOB lasts.

Pirates of the Caribbean I am so looking forward to this movie. Better yet, I'm looking forward to seeing it at local drive-in. The drive-in is a blessing. We can all go out together, and Little Lamb is usually asleep by the time the (usually more adult) second feature starts. There's a playground, really good drive-in food, more fun than you can shake a stick at!

I've passed the climax of post semester. I don't have any homework, or studying or preparation for something. I just don't know what to do with myself. I actually went to a cafe and had breakfast and read a book twice this week, and got to work on time. And all I'm doing at work is filing and checking files and alphabetizing, and organizing and registering and listening to music--what else? oh yeah--and socializing. I have so much work to do at work and it's easy and I can day dream while I do it, and still get stuff done. I've been quite productive. I feel like a little office squirrel. All for $13+/hour plus 403(b), generous benefits, paid vacation (4 weeks/year, plus 4 personal days, holidays, and more sick time than I can shake a stick at. I love my job, my co-workers are all nice, my supervisor is cool, folks order Japanese food for lunch on a weekly and we all chat and eat together on a weekly basis. And it's only 17.5 hours a week. I love my job.

I think this weekend I'm going to find some wood and cut circles to fit in the bull's horns. So project #1 will be Gemshorns! woo hoo!

So I'm driving home yesterday, up 5 & 10, which is a two lane road, and the [asshole] driver in a an 18 wheeler truck coming the other way, spits out the window, and his nasty phlegmball splats on my windshield, most of which I can't wash off because it falls below the reach of the wipers. I was so grossed out I started gagging. I thought I was going to throw up. Just thinking about it makes me gag. You know, I can wipe up the nastiest crap that comes out of anyone's orofice, as long as I'm in a clinical setting with gloves at my disposal. And I've cleaned up my fair share of poopy diapers--gloveless. But in any other circumstance, like driving down the road, I cannot deal with other people's body fluids--not even on my windshield. What a way to start the week, huh?

Lucky Little Lamb was feeling most unlucky today. She had a simple visit with her NP to look at her ears. She refused to let her look into her ears with the otoscope. She only consented to the tympanometer (a painless thing, too) if she could hold the probe in her ears herself. Then on the way to her exam room again we ran into Becka, and she fell apart because she wanted Becka's muffin. She has yet to warm up to the whole health care thing. This weekend she fell and scraped both her knees in two separate incidents. I was surprised she let me take them off today. I did it after she'd bathed and they were pretty much falling off anyway. She is not one to be tricked or bargained or bribed into doing something she doesn't want to do. Frustrating as it is at times, I love her independence and willfullness. It will serve her well one day.

He shaved!
I'm done with exams and classes til the fall!
I can read non-nursing books!
I can stay up late even when I don't have insomnia!
I can go to the gym! I'm taking aerobics two days a week!
I can make gemshorns, knit, sew, and find all kinds of useless but beautiful or functional and beautiful things to make!
We can all go to the drive-in!
Our gas bill will be negligible instead of astronomical!
I can go without socks for weeks on end!

Life is good!

For some reason I get spammed daily by a porn website. Something about farm animals and farmer girls. I can't help but think it came from my blog or my email address. Well, in case anyone there was confused, Lucky Ram is not some bighorn sheep, he's a human man, and we have a human child, Lucky Little Lamb. Their nicknames have nothing to do with an unnatural affection for farm animals. It all began at Ram and my first Christmas together as a couple. We were walking in the woods making up alternative lyrics to Christmas songs. I was singing "The Little Drummer Boy", and when I got to the part about the little lamb, Ram stopped me and said, "I always thought they were saying something about a lucky little lamb." Well, we are easily amused, and found this quite humorous--for a really long time. Lucky Lamb seemed apropro in many aspects of our lives. We both have curly hair (we're "lamby", a phrase coined by another friend of mine). There's a religious connotation, Christ being a shepherd, the is Christian a lucky lamb. And then there's my whole inner conflict with eating meat. Lucky is the lamb who does not wind up on my plate, and I thank the lamb who does. Then there's the whole knitting, spinning, etc. connotation. I sold some knitted tams under the name Lucky Lamb. See? Totally innocent. So when I started this blog, I decided to make up silly nicknames for us. Lucky Ram--you know, he's a guy. Lucky Little Lamb is our little kid--oops, I mean lamb. Parthenia is not a sheep, and I'm not much of a shepherdess, but I just really dig the name. Lucky Ewe just sounded corny.

Anyway, my exam is tomorrow, and tomorrow night I have to hand in my Sociology paper which I will write tomorrow. Then I'm done for the summer, and can start making stuff.

Ram shaved his beard into a lamb chop-like design (another one!). I hate it. He looks like Duane Allman or someone from Lynard Skynard or Foghat. I like the Allman Brothers, but I certainly don't want one in my bed. He looks like a Confederate flag waving redneck, and it gives my flashbacks to some of the shadier folks I knew in Memphis. And Yankee that he is, I don't think he understands why I his facial hair deeply disturbs me. To top it off, for some reason he's taken to wearing one of my snoods, but he tends to push his hair all up to the front so it looks like he's wearing an Andy Capp hat. My otherwise handsome, fine, sexy husband looks like a weird freak. I want my hippie husband back, with his medieval hair and viking beard!