Corn is shaped like a rocket, and the color of moonlight.
My firstborn son is a poet.
10.31.2006
10.30.2006
Imitation
Tembo has learned a lot from her "bubbas." Mostly that's a good thing. They've had quite a hand in teaching her to walk, and talk, and stack blocks, and play with trucks. All this is very wonderful... but alas, their influence isn't always quite so positive.
The other day, Isaiah and I were cuddled up on the couch, reading together. I don't recall what we were reading, but it was great fun. And Tembo wanted that book. There's no lack of fun picture books around here, but Tembo wanted that one. It would only be a few moments before Isaiah and I were ready to move on to a different book, but she wanted it right then.
Whining didn't get our little September-child what she wanted, so she tried a different strategy. Slowly and deliberately, she took her brother's foot into her mouth, and chomped down.
Et tu, Tembo?
Even as September has been learning from her older siblings, though, Isaiah has been learning from us. He didn't try to retaliate, didn't even show any anger. He simply raised one eyebrow, announced "Uh-oh, Timmo," and waited for me to remove the naughty little girl to her playpen.
All in all, I think I'm proud.
The other day, Isaiah and I were cuddled up on the couch, reading together. I don't recall what we were reading, but it was great fun. And Tembo wanted that book. There's no lack of fun picture books around here, but Tembo wanted that one. It would only be a few moments before Isaiah and I were ready to move on to a different book, but she wanted it right then.
Whining didn't get our little September-child what she wanted, so she tried a different strategy. Slowly and deliberately, she took her brother's foot into her mouth, and chomped down.
Et tu, Tembo?
Even as September has been learning from her older siblings, though, Isaiah has been learning from us. He didn't try to retaliate, didn't even show any anger. He simply raised one eyebrow, announced "Uh-oh, Timmo," and waited for me to remove the naughty little girl to her playpen.
All in all, I think I'm proud.
10.29.2006
Strike Two
When the grocers went on strike a while back, it didn't really affect me that much. I simply shopped at the same non-union store as always. It was a little more crowded than usual, but the extra business put the employees in especially good moods. And the strike provided excellent fodder for small talk with strangers in the grocery store. If Californians tend to be a bit aloof, I do believe it is because the weather is so terribly uninteresting around here.
Yes, the grocery strike was not so bad... for me personally, at any rate. I was very glad on behalf of everyone involved when the whole situation was finally resolved, but it just didn't have a whole lot to do with me.
The current situation is another story altogether.
When the garbage men go on strike...
...it stinks.
Yes, the grocery strike was not so bad... for me personally, at any rate. I was very glad on behalf of everyone involved when the whole situation was finally resolved, but it just didn't have a whole lot to do with me.
The current situation is another story altogether.
When the garbage men go on strike...
...it stinks.
10.28.2006
Two things I like, and one thing that annoys and confuses me.
Two things I like:
1. Household cleaners that come in concentrated formulas. Nice and efficient and frugal and all that.
2. Household cleaners that come in spray bottles. Very convenient.
One thing that annoys and confuses me:
Concentrated household cleaners that come in spray bottles. What in the world am I supposed to do with that?
1. Household cleaners that come in concentrated formulas. Nice and efficient and frugal and all that.
2. Household cleaners that come in spray bottles. Very convenient.
One thing that annoys and confuses me:
Concentrated household cleaners that come in spray bottles. What in the world am I supposed to do with that?
10.26.2006
Time Out.
Last night Andy had a bunch of calls to make for work.
Parents aren't always particularly thrilled to get a call from a total stranger, informing them that their child qualifies for state-funded remedial tutoring.
Although the news really isn't nearly so insulting as they might think... under the No Child Left Behind Act, schools can't afford to waste valuable resources on students in the bottom quartile.
At any rate, Andy suspected that calling over the dinner hour might not help matters, but it was 5:30, and the calls had to be made. He thought about waiting until 7, but I vehemently nixed that idea. We did not hire a babysitter so I could sit at Starbucks and twiddle my thums while he made Title I calls. Besides, there's a reason why telemarketers always call over dinner. They're more likely to be home.
So he really was looking a bit guilty when he shut himself into the boys' room to make the calls in peace.
That's certainly how Isaiah interpreted it anyway. As he heard the door click, he grinned up at me.
"Dadder uh-oh!"
Parents aren't always particularly thrilled to get a call from a total stranger, informing them that their child qualifies for state-funded remedial tutoring.
Although the news really isn't nearly so insulting as they might think... under the No Child Left Behind Act, schools can't afford to waste valuable resources on students in the bottom quartile.
At any rate, Andy suspected that calling over the dinner hour might not help matters, but it was 5:30, and the calls had to be made. He thought about waiting until 7, but I vehemently nixed that idea. We did not hire a babysitter so I could sit at Starbucks and twiddle my thums while he made Title I calls. Besides, there's a reason why telemarketers always call over dinner. They're more likely to be home.
So he really was looking a bit guilty when he shut himself into the boys' room to make the calls in peace.
That's certainly how Isaiah interpreted it anyway. As he heard the door click, he grinned up at me.
"Dadder uh-oh!"
10.23.2006
10.20.2006
10.19.2006
Perishables
Yesterday morning I glanced over at the bookshelf and saw a pile of things Andy had gathered up to take to work.
Whoops. So I put his grub in the fridge, and he came home for lunch.
When he opened up the refrigerator, and saw his pocket Latin dictionary on the second shelf, he just smiled and shrugged.
"Well, I guess it's a dead language. Wouldn't want it to spoil."
Whoops. So I put his grub in the fridge, and he came home for lunch.
When he opened up the refrigerator, and saw his pocket Latin dictionary on the second shelf, he just smiled and shrugged.
"Well, I guess it's a dead language. Wouldn't want it to spoil."
10.18.2006
Giver of Kisses
The other day I had a dental appointment. I'd carefully scheduled it for a Monday, because Monday's are Andy's prep day, and thus pretty flexible, and he could watch the wuggies for me.
Except that after I'd scheduled my appointment, Andy's bosses scheduled a meeting in Pasadena, so there goes that bright idea.
It all worked out fine, though, because Justy came with us, and pushed our big, beautiful Wuggy Buggy around shopping plaza. So while I got my teeth poked and prodded and x-rayed, they visited the pet store and big lots and the 99c store and the garage where they were working on bug cars. Bug cars! Nathan got a red truck. Isaiah got a blue truck. Tembo got a dolly. I got the news that I need four fillings and three wisdom tooth extractions, and that not only are they going to drill me, they're going to gouge me, too. (Over $1k for four fillings? Surely I can do better than that... anyone know a reasonable dentist in Anaheim?)
I think I got the rotten end of the deal.
Anyway, the boys like their trucks very much. It's a funny thing... I never would have gotten Nathan the red one and Isaiah the blue one, it's always the other way around in my mind. But oh, they are very happy with this particular ownership arrangement. As I was putting them down for their quiet time that afternoon, Isaiah's truck happened still to be out in the living room. So Nathan shared... for a little while. When he got his truck back, he sighed with pleasure, and announced, "Share the Bubba. But mine. Truck, like it!"
Tembo has been carrying around her little dolly, and oh, she's just as cute as can be. Dadders tried to teach her how to give Dolly huggies and snoofles and kisses, but she hasn't really caught on, and is quite content simply to carry her around in one hand.
Nevertheless, Tembo really does know how much Dolly needs affection. I was sitting on the couch when my baby brought her little baby up to me. Holding her by the feet, Tembo pressed the top of Dolly's head against my mouth, and made kissing noises. So I kissed Dolly's head just as I do Tembo's own, over and over all at once in a great cluster of kisses.
She giggled and giggled. Tembo was thrilled with the game, and I was thrilled with her delight. Because all those kisses that just pour right out of me, that I hardly think about, I just can't help them... it really does matter to her, and in her little mind, what a baby needs above all is kisses. Mama-kisses.
Someday soon she'll figure out that "mama" is a relationship, and she'll start playing mama herself with respect to her dollies. But for now, Mama is simply and only a person, and I am the giver of kisses.
Except that after I'd scheduled my appointment, Andy's bosses scheduled a meeting in Pasadena, so there goes that bright idea.
It all worked out fine, though, because Justy came with us, and pushed our big, beautiful Wuggy Buggy around shopping plaza. So while I got my teeth poked and prodded and x-rayed, they visited the pet store and big lots and the 99c store and the garage where they were working on bug cars. Bug cars! Nathan got a red truck. Isaiah got a blue truck. Tembo got a dolly. I got the news that I need four fillings and three wisdom tooth extractions, and that not only are they going to drill me, they're going to gouge me, too. (Over $1k for four fillings? Surely I can do better than that... anyone know a reasonable dentist in Anaheim?)
I think I got the rotten end of the deal.
Anyway, the boys like their trucks very much. It's a funny thing... I never would have gotten Nathan the red one and Isaiah the blue one, it's always the other way around in my mind. But oh, they are very happy with this particular ownership arrangement. As I was putting them down for their quiet time that afternoon, Isaiah's truck happened still to be out in the living room. So Nathan shared... for a little while. When he got his truck back, he sighed with pleasure, and announced, "Share the Bubba. But mine. Truck, like it!"
Tembo has been carrying around her little dolly, and oh, she's just as cute as can be. Dadders tried to teach her how to give Dolly huggies and snoofles and kisses, but she hasn't really caught on, and is quite content simply to carry her around in one hand.
Nevertheless, Tembo really does know how much Dolly needs affection. I was sitting on the couch when my baby brought her little baby up to me. Holding her by the feet, Tembo pressed the top of Dolly's head against my mouth, and made kissing noises. So I kissed Dolly's head just as I do Tembo's own, over and over all at once in a great cluster of kisses.
She giggled and giggled. Tembo was thrilled with the game, and I was thrilled with her delight. Because all those kisses that just pour right out of me, that I hardly think about, I just can't help them... it really does matter to her, and in her little mind, what a baby needs above all is kisses. Mama-kisses.
Someday soon she'll figure out that "mama" is a relationship, and she'll start playing mama herself with respect to her dollies. But for now, Mama is simply and only a person, and I am the giver of kisses.
10.14.2006
Productivity
Today I did a boatload of laundry, compared consumer reviews to decide upon the best blender and the best water filter for our money. I carefully planned out the menus for a weeks worth of nutritious, economical meals, and made out a meticulous shopping list.
But now that it's six o'clock, I remember what I haven't done.
Decided what's for dinner.
But now that it's six o'clock, I remember what I haven't done.
Decided what's for dinner.
Good news/Bad news: Is a tantruming toddler sufficient reason for using this emergency exit?
Last night, I had cause to discover first-hand just how very un-quadruple-stroller-friendly Barnes and Noble is.
That is the good news and the bad news all rolled into one, because despite it all, I still like Barnes and Noble, and I adore our new stroller.
And, well... I'm sure that the boys will love their slightly damaged Thomas the Train book.
Thank God it's not a slightly damaged American Girl doll.
Our next outing will be to the zoo.
That is the good news and the bad news all rolled into one, because despite it all, I still like Barnes and Noble, and I adore our new stroller.
And, well... I'm sure that the boys will love their slightly damaged Thomas the Train book.
Thank God it's not a slightly damaged American Girl doll.
Our next outing will be to the zoo.
10.11.2006
Contrariwise
Nathan has discovered the joys of "no."
Sometimes this is played out in the dreaded two-and-a-half tantrums, where he wants what he wants, but oh, not that way, no he doesn't want it that way, not at all, but he HAS to have it, NOOOOOOO! Nothing is satisfactory, short of altering the laws of the universe, maybe going back in time so he would have gone down for his nap earlier or a had little more excercise the previous day. We all feel like that sometimes, I think, and it's quite an enlightening experience to see the jumbled emotions of intense frustration laid out so openly and clearly, in the full glory of their irrationality.
Ah, yes. Tantrums.
But usually, no is a fun word, a delicious word. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes pedanting, but always matter of fact and measured and congenially decisive.
"Mama, I'm takin' a bath."
"Oh, really, Meepo? That's great!"
He raised one eyebrow at me, in a look of indulgent longsufferring patience.
"Mama," he repeated, this time nodding for emphasis between each word, "I'ma... takin'... a bath."
"Oh, so you're taking a bath?"
It was with triumphant dignity that he grinned up at me and pronounced, simply and definitively...
"No."
Sometimes this is played out in the dreaded two-and-a-half tantrums, where he wants what he wants, but oh, not that way, no he doesn't want it that way, not at all, but he HAS to have it, NOOOOOOO! Nothing is satisfactory, short of altering the laws of the universe, maybe going back in time so he would have gone down for his nap earlier or a had little more excercise the previous day. We all feel like that sometimes, I think, and it's quite an enlightening experience to see the jumbled emotions of intense frustration laid out so openly and clearly, in the full glory of their irrationality.
Ah, yes. Tantrums.
But usually, no is a fun word, a delicious word. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes pedanting, but always matter of fact and measured and congenially decisive.
"Mama, I'm takin' a bath."
"Oh, really, Meepo? That's great!"
He raised one eyebrow at me, in a look of indulgent longsufferring patience.
"Mama," he repeated, this time nodding for emphasis between each word, "I'ma... takin'... a bath."
"Oh, so you're taking a bath?"
It was with triumphant dignity that he grinned up at me and pronounced, simply and definitively...
"No."
Linkworthy
No sooner did my dear husband fix the keyboard, than we all caught the flu. Between the aches and the chills, I haven't had much to say beyond "sniffle, sniffle, cough, blech."
I'm getting better now (though Isaiah and September are coughing this morning) and the brain fog is slowly clearing up.
In the meantime, though, I'll simply leave you with some wise words from Sharon.
This is definitely worth a read.
I'm getting better now (though Isaiah and September are coughing this morning) and the brain fog is slowly clearing up.
In the meantime, though, I'll simply leave you with some wise words from Sharon.
This is definitely worth a read.
10.05.2006
NeedingSpace
MySpaceBarIsBroken.HenceThePaucityOfPosts.
InAttemptingToFixTheSpaceBar,IOnlyManagedToMakeTheLetters"M"and"C"NearlyImpossible.
ThankfullyOnlyNearlyOrIWouldn'tEvenBeAbleToSpellOut"SpaceBar"AndExplainMyPredicament.
InAttemptingToFixTheSpaceBar,IOnlyManagedToMakeTheLetters"M"and"C"NearlyImpossible.
ThankfullyOnlyNearlyOrIWouldn'tEvenBeAbleToSpellOut"SpaceBar"AndExplainMyPredicament.
10.04.2006
It wouldn't be so funny if it hadn't turned out okay...
Of course it's quite serious, a sobering reminder and all that... But oh, I can't stop laughing. Quite the mellow kid, eh?
..."There's a lesson here," Cannan said. "What an opportunity to tell parents to talk to their kids, and communicate with their caregivers. This young child was full of trust, and he sees an older, caring adult and just walked off with that person."
Yes, and maybe, just maybe...
introduce the babysitter to the kid?
..."There's a lesson here," Cannan said. "What an opportunity to tell parents to talk to their kids, and communicate with their caregivers. This young child was full of trust, and he sees an older, caring adult and just walked off with that person."
Yes, and maybe, just maybe...
introduce the babysitter to the kid?
9.30.2006
7-10 business days.
My life is about to get MUCH easier.
Ever since before September--my, but that's a delightfully ambiguous phrase!--I've been on the lookout for the perfect triple stroller.
This stroller would have two in the back, one in the front, and would fold up to fit in the back of the car.
This stroller does not exist.
Triple strollers come in two varieties. The long train variety that doesn't go around corners, and the side to side to side variety that doesn't go through doorways.
Neither variety really folds up very well, and both cost a small fortune.
Today, I have ordered a quad. Two in the front, two in the back. Five point harnesses for everyone, with room for a friend. And while it really is terribly expensive... believe it or not, it costs about half as much as the typical triple.
So... anyone want to go for a walk?
I am SO excited about this.
Ever since before September--my, but that's a delightfully ambiguous phrase!--I've been on the lookout for the perfect triple stroller.
This stroller would have two in the back, one in the front, and would fold up to fit in the back of the car.
This stroller does not exist.
Triple strollers come in two varieties. The long train variety that doesn't go around corners, and the side to side to side variety that doesn't go through doorways.
Neither variety really folds up very well, and both cost a small fortune.
Today, I have ordered a quad. Two in the front, two in the back. Five point harnesses for everyone, with room for a friend. And while it really is terribly expensive... believe it or not, it costs about half as much as the typical triple.
So... anyone want to go for a walk?
I am SO excited about this.
9.28.2006
Product Review, Take I: Measuring Spoons
Yesterday, I recieved a big box full of crinkly paper shreds. You know, the kind they use for packing boxes. It also had three 11oz bags of coffee, but for three out of five persons in this household, packing materials are ever so much more exciting than coffee. And what's exciting for them means excitement for everybody. Especially the one with the vaccum cleaner.
I was rather relieved that the box arrived during naptime. But never fear, oh story-hungry readers, our resourceful wuggies found it anyway.
Yes, it was just that sort of day. The sort of day where the boys strip down completely naked and run around like mad-pickles, screaming at the top of their lungs while jumping off of furniture and dismantling the mop... and I think to myself, at least they're getting the wiggles out. The sort of day where I'd contemplate moving to Australia, except that, well, that particular book (a favorite of mine, passed down from my own childhood) is now confetti, useful only as packing material.
So really, you have no reason at all to be glad that the boys found the box--although it really was awfully cute, the way Nathan brought a handful into our bedroom to show us, solemnly announcing "mess"... The day was blogworthy enough as it was. And anyway, this particular box would have resulted in a blog post in any case.
Folgers sent me some of their new Gourmet Selections coffee in exchange for an honest review here on The Wuggy Chronicles. So this morning, as I packed Andy's lunch, at far too early an hour for comfort, especially after a day like yesterday, decided to see if their breakfast blend could salvage the morning.
I know, I know. I should always pack his lunch the night before, on days where he commutes to Pasadena. But see, ever since I figured out how to make yummy mostly-whole-grain rolls, I decided that if I made his sandwiches on my own bread instead of Oroweat, I could save us some dough, so to speak.
Which meant that late last night, after the kids were down, and the babysitter dropped off at home, and I was really quite ready to fall asleep, I was not fixing sandwiches, but baking bread.
Anyway, I was very, very groggy this morning, as I dusted off the coffee machine, and opened up the bag of coffee. We generally like our coffee rather strong, but after a bit of waffling back and forth (I put way too much effort into minor decisions when I'm groggy!) I finally decided to make it as directed the first time, so as to give it a fair review.
I was still putting away the sandwich fixings when Andy came out and poured himself a bowl of cereal. So I hadn't tasted the coffee yet when I put a cup in front of him, and asked his opinion.
My usually opinionated husband had no opinion whatsoever on the taste.
After I took a sip, I knew why. There WAS no taste. It was incredibly, amazingly, insipidly weak. I had no idea what it tasted like, but I did know that next time, I was going to make it at least twice as strong.
Then I looked over at the measuring spoons on the counter, and saw that the tablespoon measure was quite clean, while the half-tablespoon measure was covered in coffee grounds.
And now I understand why most measuring spoon sets do not include half-tablespoon measures.
I was hoping to review some coffee, but unfortunately this morning's experience has only left me qualified to review measuring spoons. Half-tablespoon measures can be very convenient for any and all recipes calling for 1 1/2 tsp. of anything. But as they are easily mistaken for Tablespoon measures (do you have to capitalize the T when you write it out all the way?) the can be hazardous to your morning coffee.
But you know what? After my third cup, I guess maybe I'm starting to like really weak coffee.
Next time, though, I'll make it as directed.
I was rather relieved that the box arrived during naptime. But never fear, oh story-hungry readers, our resourceful wuggies found it anyway.
Yes, it was just that sort of day. The sort of day where the boys strip down completely naked and run around like mad-pickles, screaming at the top of their lungs while jumping off of furniture and dismantling the mop... and I think to myself, at least they're getting the wiggles out. The sort of day where I'd contemplate moving to Australia, except that, well, that particular book (a favorite of mine, passed down from my own childhood) is now confetti, useful only as packing material.
So really, you have no reason at all to be glad that the boys found the box--although it really was awfully cute, the way Nathan brought a handful into our bedroom to show us, solemnly announcing "mess"... The day was blogworthy enough as it was. And anyway, this particular box would have resulted in a blog post in any case.
Folgers sent me some of their new Gourmet Selections coffee in exchange for an honest review here on The Wuggy Chronicles. So this morning, as I packed Andy's lunch, at far too early an hour for comfort, especially after a day like yesterday, decided to see if their breakfast blend could salvage the morning.
I know, I know. I should always pack his lunch the night before, on days where he commutes to Pasadena. But see, ever since I figured out how to make yummy mostly-whole-grain rolls, I decided that if I made his sandwiches on my own bread instead of Oroweat, I could save us some dough, so to speak.
Which meant that late last night, after the kids were down, and the babysitter dropped off at home, and I was really quite ready to fall asleep, I was not fixing sandwiches, but baking bread.
Anyway, I was very, very groggy this morning, as I dusted off the coffee machine, and opened up the bag of coffee. We generally like our coffee rather strong, but after a bit of waffling back and forth (I put way too much effort into minor decisions when I'm groggy!) I finally decided to make it as directed the first time, so as to give it a fair review.
I was still putting away the sandwich fixings when Andy came out and poured himself a bowl of cereal. So I hadn't tasted the coffee yet when I put a cup in front of him, and asked his opinion.
My usually opinionated husband had no opinion whatsoever on the taste.
After I took a sip, I knew why. There WAS no taste. It was incredibly, amazingly, insipidly weak. I had no idea what it tasted like, but I did know that next time, I was going to make it at least twice as strong.
Then I looked over at the measuring spoons on the counter, and saw that the tablespoon measure was quite clean, while the half-tablespoon measure was covered in coffee grounds.
And now I understand why most measuring spoon sets do not include half-tablespoon measures.
I was hoping to review some coffee, but unfortunately this morning's experience has only left me qualified to review measuring spoons. Half-tablespoon measures can be very convenient for any and all recipes calling for 1 1/2 tsp. of anything. But as they are easily mistaken for Tablespoon measures (do you have to capitalize the T when you write it out all the way?) the can be hazardous to your morning coffee.
But you know what? After my third cup, I guess maybe I'm starting to like really weak coffee.
Next time, though, I'll make it as directed.
9.26.2006
Fruit Salad
Thanks to Jessica for the insight that frozen fruit makes a great automatic sauce for a fruit salad.
This little bit of improvisation went over very well at dinner tonight. It was just exactly enough to serve two adults and two toddlers.
Toss together in small serving bowl:
1 apple, cut into bite sized pieces
2 banannas, sliced
1 grapefruit, segmented, membranes removed
2 kiwi fruits, skinned and sliced
1/4 cup chopped walnuts
1 Tbsp. fresh mint, chopped
mix together in separate small bowl:
This little bit of improvisation went over very well at dinner tonight. It was just exactly enough to serve two adults and two toddlers.
Toss together in small serving bowl:
1 apple, cut into bite sized pieces
2 banannas, sliced
1 grapefruit, segmented, membranes removed
2 kiwi fruits, skinned and sliced
1/4 cup chopped walnuts
1 Tbsp. fresh mint, chopped
mix together in separate small bowl:
1/2 cup frozen strawberries, thawed and smooshed. (1 cup whole berries, smooshed into 1/2 cup)
2 tsp. maple syrup
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
Pour strawberry mixture over fruit. Enjoy.
This morning...
...over our morning "cereal in a bowl with milk at the table in chairs" (we're going through a "prepositional stage")...
...Nathan grinned at me an announced
"Mama's super!"
And my heart melted.
...Nathan grinned at me an announced
"Mama's super!"
And my heart melted.
Orthodoxy
Andy's very last assignment for his month-long diversity class was to go immerse himself for a few hours in an unfamiliar environment. Somewhere he could experience being "other." Where everyone differed from him, either in terms of race, ethnicity, class, or religion.
The Isamic Institute of Orange County is right down the street from us, so Andy thought that would be an obvious choice. The location was ideal, and even the timing was wonderful, since Friday afternoon was the first big slot of time Andy had available to work on this.
But it turned out that you cannot observe their services without first going through an orientation, and that just didn't fit into Andy's schedule, since, well, Friday afternoon was the first slot of time he had available to work on it.
Thus it was that on Sunday morning we trekked down to Garden Grove to visit an Antiochan Orthodox Church.
It was a very strange experience, and strangest of all in how strange it was not.
We came looking for the experience of being outsiders, very different from everyone else. Instead we found a bunch of people very much like us. Isaiah and September were little angels during the liturgy, but Nathan was quite noisy. I didn't mind waiting out in the narthex with him, though. You can't get angry when your little boy is chattering incessantly about all the crosses and how they remind us that Jesus loves us. And it was so good to spend time with all the other young mothers chasing around their little ones. Families like ours seem to be the norm around there. Young intellectual couples with lots of babies--two toddlers and a bulging belly seemed to be the average family size. Mothers breastfeeding three-year-olds. The gypsy-garbed young woman---adorned with tatoos, piercings... and a head covering---pointed Nathan out to her adorably dred-locked son, and whispered "Look! Another little boy with long hair!"
I felt so very, very normal.
Which is, to be perfectly honest, a rather strange experience for me.
The liturgy, too--the little I saw of it... I expected the beauty, expected the strangeness, but I was completely taken aback by how comfortable it all was.
There was so much beauty, and yet beauty was so obviously not an end in itself, all was meant to draw the mind to Christ, and anything that draws the mind to Christ cannot help but be very beautiful, almost as though by accident, it's that inherent.
The choir was at the back, singing so beautifully, but they stood at the back. They were not the point, they were simply worshipping together with us, facilitating our worship, sweeping us forward with their song, sweeping our souls toward Christ.
The large icons at the front, too, and the dozens upon dozens of smaller icons in clusers along the side walls... all were beautiful and golden and glowing... and decidedly two-dimensional. Which is true, of course, of all icons, lest they decieve the eye into seeing them as more than they truly are, and thus seeing less than there is. As windows to heaven, they must necessarily be flat.
I must say, though, that lovely as they are, I'm quite uncomfortable with the whole idea of icons. And flipping through their pamphlets did little to allay my discomfort. That an icon of Christ would actually share in certain properties of Christ Himself, and serve as a window by which the soul can glimpse heaven... the belief seems blasphemous.
But of course that is precisely what I firmly believe about art in general. When a work of art depicts something, it's really like the thing it depicts, and by participating in and isolating certain qualities of the object, it can teach our soul to see the object in a new way. But it is a very uncomfortable thing indeed think hard about great art about Jesus.
It is strange and disorienting to realize that coming to a reasoned, consistent disagreement with their stance on icons would require as big a shift in my thinking (if not a bigger) as to come to agree with them.
The emphasis on Mary is extremely uncomfortable indeed, though, and I see no potential resolution there.
As for their claims to truly be The Church, I have no basis on which to evaluate them. I was under the impression that the Orthodox Church believes that nobody else is saved. But from the little I've been learning, it does not sound like they deny the existence of true Christians outside Eastern Orthodoxy. They simply claim to be, here on earth, what Protestants believe only exists in heaven. They don't deny that Protestant churches are what they claim to be, they simply claim that the Orthodox Church is something more.
Which turns out to be a much bigger claim than I ever imagined.
In all its branches, Christianity is about both doctrine and practice. While Protestantism leans toward the doctrine side, Eastern Orthodoxy leans more to the practice side. There's a big emphasis on spiritual disciplines, and achieving mystic union with Christ. Christianity isn't just a set of doctrines, with practical applications, it's a skill that can only be learned through observation and mentoring. Suddenly apostolic succession becomes very, very important. You want to learn how to become like Jesus from someone who learned from someone else, who learned from someone else, who learned from Jesus himself.
It seems that it should be a theoretically simple thing to discover whether this claim is institutional only, or a vibrant, living reality. I don't really place a whole lot of stock in apostolic succession in the West, because it has passed through unholy hands. Whatever conclusion you may come to about the rightness of any particular branch of the faith, there is no Western church which you can trust on the basis of pedigree.
Is there a trustworthy pedigree in the East? I have no idea. I'm fairly familiar with the history of Western Christendom, but I know next to nothing about about the history of Eastern Orthodoxy. Does it share a rocky history much like our own? Or is it indeed an unbroken chain of holiness? The latter seems highly unlikely, aside from the profoundly miraculous work of the Holy Spirit.
But I really don't know a thing about it, so I'm quite eager to cast my eye over a few history books.
In the mean time, we're embedded in our own church at Blessed Sacrament, but I think we have much to gain in learning from these other followers of Jesus. So we just might be back Wednesday night.
The Isamic Institute of Orange County is right down the street from us, so Andy thought that would be an obvious choice. The location was ideal, and even the timing was wonderful, since Friday afternoon was the first big slot of time Andy had available to work on this.
But it turned out that you cannot observe their services without first going through an orientation, and that just didn't fit into Andy's schedule, since, well, Friday afternoon was the first slot of time he had available to work on it.
Thus it was that on Sunday morning we trekked down to Garden Grove to visit an Antiochan Orthodox Church.
It was a very strange experience, and strangest of all in how strange it was not.
We came looking for the experience of being outsiders, very different from everyone else. Instead we found a bunch of people very much like us. Isaiah and September were little angels during the liturgy, but Nathan was quite noisy. I didn't mind waiting out in the narthex with him, though. You can't get angry when your little boy is chattering incessantly about all the crosses and how they remind us that Jesus loves us. And it was so good to spend time with all the other young mothers chasing around their little ones. Families like ours seem to be the norm around there. Young intellectual couples with lots of babies--two toddlers and a bulging belly seemed to be the average family size. Mothers breastfeeding three-year-olds. The gypsy-garbed young woman---adorned with tatoos, piercings... and a head covering---pointed Nathan out to her adorably dred-locked son, and whispered "Look! Another little boy with long hair!"
I felt so very, very normal.
Which is, to be perfectly honest, a rather strange experience for me.
The liturgy, too--the little I saw of it... I expected the beauty, expected the strangeness, but I was completely taken aback by how comfortable it all was.
There was so much beauty, and yet beauty was so obviously not an end in itself, all was meant to draw the mind to Christ, and anything that draws the mind to Christ cannot help but be very beautiful, almost as though by accident, it's that inherent.
The choir was at the back, singing so beautifully, but they stood at the back. They were not the point, they were simply worshipping together with us, facilitating our worship, sweeping us forward with their song, sweeping our souls toward Christ.
The large icons at the front, too, and the dozens upon dozens of smaller icons in clusers along the side walls... all were beautiful and golden and glowing... and decidedly two-dimensional. Which is true, of course, of all icons, lest they decieve the eye into seeing them as more than they truly are, and thus seeing less than there is. As windows to heaven, they must necessarily be flat.
I must say, though, that lovely as they are, I'm quite uncomfortable with the whole idea of icons. And flipping through their pamphlets did little to allay my discomfort. That an icon of Christ would actually share in certain properties of Christ Himself, and serve as a window by which the soul can glimpse heaven... the belief seems blasphemous.
But of course that is precisely what I firmly believe about art in general. When a work of art depicts something, it's really like the thing it depicts, and by participating in and isolating certain qualities of the object, it can teach our soul to see the object in a new way. But it is a very uncomfortable thing indeed think hard about great art about Jesus.
It is strange and disorienting to realize that coming to a reasoned, consistent disagreement with their stance on icons would require as big a shift in my thinking (if not a bigger) as to come to agree with them.
The emphasis on Mary is extremely uncomfortable indeed, though, and I see no potential resolution there.
As for their claims to truly be The Church, I have no basis on which to evaluate them. I was under the impression that the Orthodox Church believes that nobody else is saved. But from the little I've been learning, it does not sound like they deny the existence of true Christians outside Eastern Orthodoxy. They simply claim to be, here on earth, what Protestants believe only exists in heaven. They don't deny that Protestant churches are what they claim to be, they simply claim that the Orthodox Church is something more.
Which turns out to be a much bigger claim than I ever imagined.
In all its branches, Christianity is about both doctrine and practice. While Protestantism leans toward the doctrine side, Eastern Orthodoxy leans more to the practice side. There's a big emphasis on spiritual disciplines, and achieving mystic union with Christ. Christianity isn't just a set of doctrines, with practical applications, it's a skill that can only be learned through observation and mentoring. Suddenly apostolic succession becomes very, very important. You want to learn how to become like Jesus from someone who learned from someone else, who learned from someone else, who learned from Jesus himself.
It seems that it should be a theoretically simple thing to discover whether this claim is institutional only, or a vibrant, living reality. I don't really place a whole lot of stock in apostolic succession in the West, because it has passed through unholy hands. Whatever conclusion you may come to about the rightness of any particular branch of the faith, there is no Western church which you can trust on the basis of pedigree.
Is there a trustworthy pedigree in the East? I have no idea. I'm fairly familiar with the history of Western Christendom, but I know next to nothing about about the history of Eastern Orthodoxy. Does it share a rocky history much like our own? Or is it indeed an unbroken chain of holiness? The latter seems highly unlikely, aside from the profoundly miraculous work of the Holy Spirit.
But I really don't know a thing about it, so I'm quite eager to cast my eye over a few history books.
In the mean time, we're embedded in our own church at Blessed Sacrament, but I think we have much to gain in learning from these other followers of Jesus. So we just might be back Wednesday night.
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