Archive for the Category » Opinionated much? «

Thursday, September 02nd, 2010 | Author: Erika

fight-club-soapIt’s no secret that I love the movie Fight Club.  In fact, if someone asked me to name the salient influences that have shaped the person I am today, Fight Club would be among the top three.

Why?  It’s not because of Brad Pitt’s abs, and it’s not because I like watching people pound one another into cookie dough or giggle at the phrase “all-singing all-dancing crap of the world.”

No, it’s because of the deep undercurrent running though the movie/book.  The message that our present society, with its obsessive drive to consume and beautify, is hollow and rotting from the inside out.

A McMansion in the suburbs with an SUV in the driveway and a vacation every year sure looks nice, but it’s really not if lurking underneath it all is crippling debt and an all-consuming dissatisfaction.  With everything.  Because the minute you buy something it’s out of date, and therefore you need to start obsessing about the newer version of it, until you can wrap your hands around it and start longing for something else.

I first saw Fight Club when I was in high school, at Wes’ recommendation.  The movie blew my mind.  The violence skittered away into the background for me, and the resounding idea I walked away with is summed up in this one quote: “The things you own end up owning you.”

It is that short phrase right there that helped shape the person I am today.  It’s the reason I wasn’t dissatisfied during the years when Wes and barely scraped by and I couldn’t afford to buy socks so I just wore the ones I had until they were literally dissolving beneath my feet.  It’s the reason I don’t care that my house doesn’t have marble countertops, or that my wardrobe only has four pairs of shoes, or that nearly everything we have for our baby is secondhand.

It’s because I know that what really counts can’t really be bought.  If my house burned to the ground, I’d be annoyed to have to replace birth certificates and clothes and stuff, but I probably wouldn’t be terribly bothered.  So long as the three of us made it out ok, I’d have everything that matters to me.

Wes and I do not live a fancy life.  Our couches are falling apart, our clothes are old and unfashionable, and we get our hair cuts at Great Clips.  But.  But!  We are so happy, you guys.  We’re content with nearly everything about our life.  Because what we value can’t be ordered from Amazon.

That quote from Fight Club, which I internalized in high school, helped me figure out that cultivating contentness or contentitude or whatever you want to call it separate of whatever stuff you happen to accrue is one of the most important things you can learn.

The reason Christianity is in the title is that Wes and I were discussing this topic on the way to church last Sunday, and then when we got to church Wes’ Dad was preaching about this very thing.  He didn’t bring Fight Club into it, but he did elaborate on the idea that, for believers in Christ, our treasure isn’t down here anyway.

He explained how God provides for His children what they need, and that to be anxious about finances or to be panicking at the recession is not really necessary.  Chasing money isn’t why we’re here, we’re here to serve God.  Wes’ Dad was much more eloquent and concise than I am, but that’s why he’s a pastor and I’m a blogger.

What about you?  What have been the salient influences in your life?  Do they have anything to do with Brad Pitt’s abs?

Category: Opinionated much?  | 2 Comments
Wednesday, August 25th, 2010 | Author: Erika

I was chatting with Wes’ little sister today, and she asked me how my labor experience with Aidan was.  And I couldn’t answer her right away.  Truthfully, I’m not entirely certain how to answer that question.

My first inclination was to say that I had fun, and would totally do it again.  But, as my mother in law pointed out (she was there when Aidan was born), I most certainly was not having fun.  Contractions hurt, and there is no way, had you asked me while I was in labor, that I would have said I was having fun.

As for totally doing it again, that is true.  I am still as passionate about natural childbirth as I was before I experienced it, though maybe for different reasons than I was before.  Before, it was all hypothetical and I had no real idea what to expect, I just thought I could do it.

Now, well now I just suppose I know I can do it, and would prefer not to have to mess around with a hospital and anesthesia.  I’m hoping my next birth (whenever that is) will involve less bleeding and less tearing, so that I can genuinely just bask in the afterglow and not have to mess around with lame stuff like IV’s and stitches.

So, getting back to original question, in answering the question of how my labor experience was, it was…And there we go again.  I can recount the details of the day, but how was it?  How do I qualify the experience?

Even six months later I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around it.  I suppose the best way to describe the whole shooting match is to liken it to a marathon.  I can guarantee you that come mile 24, none of those marathoners are enjoying themselves and thinking about how much fun they’re having.  Their knees hurt, their muscles ache, they have to pee, and their lungs burn.

But then they see the finish line in the hazy distance, and they feel a spurt of adrenaline that carries them across the line.  And then they stop running, and it is that moment right there that makes them glad they ran the marathon.  It’s not those middle miles that feel interminable, it’s not the training that leads up to it.

It’s that endorphin-soaked moment at the end that makes them feel proud and exhausted and accomplished and absolutely victorious, even if they didn’t finish first.  Because they finished.  Because they did it, something that not many people have done and that a lot of people think is crazy.  And they are crazy, but maybe not in the way that people think.

Granted, I’ve never run a marathon.  I doubt I’ve ever even run more than a mile at once.  But I can imagine that this might be what it’s like.

So maybe that’s how I’ll answer that question in the future.  I’ll liken it to a marathon, and just say that it was hard but so worth it.  I won’t try to explain why it was worth it (because I’m not sure most people care why) and maybe I’ll try to stop saying it was fun.  Because it wasn’t fun in the traditional sense, and it wasn’t really fun in the nontraditional sense.  But it definitely was, and I’d definitely do it again.

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Tuesday, August 10th, 2010 | Author: Erika

I’ve mentioned it on here perhaps a dozen times, but only in passing so I wouldn’t be surprised if longtime readers don’t remember.  Don’t remember what, you ask?  Why, that Wes and I have been trying to get our mortgage modified for the better part of two years, that’s what.

A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the thought of a modified mortgage used to make me smile…

A couple years ago, our job situation got all shaken up and our income was seriously reduced.  This was a problem, because we were one of the hapless millions who bought homes they, strictly speaking, couldn’t really afford.  Our mortgage gobbed up as much as 60% of our income at times, and sensible lending practices dictate that your mortgage should account for no more than 30% of your income.

Still, we made the payments.  We scrimped, never went on dates (seriously, there was one year when we went on two dates.  Total.  Both of which were paid for by gift certificates) and kept our house so frigid that we wore three layers of clothing and huddled under blankets during the winter.  We considered living la vida poverty worthwhile because we had a house.  A house, we were assured, was the best investment you could make.

Until it wasn’t.  It turns out we bought our house at the apex of the housing market, and when the housing prices began self-correcting, we were dismayed to find that our house was worth far less than we had paid for it.  So now we had an income-gobbling mortgage on a house we had no hope of selling.

All this would have been fine, except for the issue of the house itself.  This house is a fine starter house, and is perfectly sufficient for two adults and a baby.  There is, however, no room for a second baby.  There wouldn’t even be room for a dog, and a baby.  We have a little over 1000 square feet, a washer and dryer that live in the garage (where they freeze and become useless in the winter), and no pantry.  There is really no way we can stay here indefinitely.

So, we pursued a mortgage modification.  Supposedly our bank, Wells Fargo, would be motivated to modify our mortgage rather than risk us foreclosing on our house.  Well, they’re either too stupid to put those pieces together or unfazed by the idea of a foreclosure, because it’s taken us two years to get a modification proposal from them.

We received the proposal yesterday.  I opened the envelope with incredulity, which quickly turned to dismay when I realize what they were proposing.  Their proposal was to turn our 5 Year ARM into a 30 Year Fixed mortgage…And increase our monthly payments by a little over $500 per month.

Wells Fargo mortgage modification specialist.

Wells Fargo mortgage modification specialist.

That’s right.  Increase.

All I can say to that is, WTF, WF?  I mean, in what kind of perpetual opposite-day must they be living to think that, if we’re having trouble with our current mortgage payment, increasing it by $500 per month is going to help?

I mean, even if all things remain equal, our interest rate will change when our ARM is up in a year so we’re still screwed.  Now we have some serious negotiating to do with our (pigheaded, idiotic, dumb dumb dumb) bank.  If they’re unwilling to offer something that’s even vaguely realistic, we’re facing some big decisions.

Lucky for me, I have the perfect antidote to big decisions: baby cuddles.  Aidan’s in this really great phase where he falls asleep while eating, thereby enabling me to cuddle his sweetly sleeping self for as long as I want.  Yeah, I forsee a great many cuddles in the near future.

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010 | Author: Erika

I love Dan Brown novels.  Dan Brown novels make me want to tear my hair out.  I enjoy learning academic esoterica from Dan Brown’s novels.  If Dan Brown gets any more blatant with the subtext in his novels, he may as well skip the story part and just keep trying to convince everyone to agree with him.

Such is my love/hate relationship with Dan Brown.  The author of The Da Vinci Code, Angels and Demons, and a few others.

I’ve been reading Dan Brown’s novels since I was in high school.  I own three of his books, actually.  His earlier work had a fun way of interspersing interesting facts with the story, so I always felt like I walked away from the book having learned something (I also felt this way when I was on my Tom Clancy kick awhile back).

I finished his new book, The Lost Symbol, this weekend and I have to say…I’m disappointed.  The story was a ton of fun, and I learned a lot about Washington D.C. and the Freemasons, but he should have stopped writing that book about 30 pages before he did.

The story wraps up, and then he goes on for another 30 pages with his personal religious views and how the established religious authorities have got it all wrong.  He quotes the Bible numerous times, but only ridiculously out of context, and the whole thing ends up just being really obnoxious.

I know a lot of Christians rose up in outrage over the things Dan Brown wrote about in The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.  To be honest, I was never one of them because I didn’t really know enough at the time to know whether or not I should be outraged.  I just enjoyed the stories.

Either I know more now, or he’s getting increasingly ham-handed with his attempts to stir controversy, but the ending of The Lost Symbol just annoyed me.  It’s fine if he doesn’t agree with Christianity, or want to be a Christian.  I’m not about to brow-beat anyone for disagreeing with me.

But, he takes it too far when he quotes the Bible out of context so egregiously that I wonder if he even understands what he’s doing.  For him to try to put Jesus on a par with Buddha or Mohammad is laughable because Jesus left no room for Himself to be anything other than the Son of God.  He’s either the Messiah or He’s a lunatic, but there’s no way He was just some wise dude who left us a good example like so many other wise dudes.

Dan Brown is just so silly when he says the religious establishment has gotten the teachings of the Bible all wrong by asserting that their way is the only way to get to Heaven.  When Jesus says in John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the father except through me” He isn’t being coy.  He’s laying it out on the table, and there’s really no way to misunderstand that.

So this may be the end of the line for me.  If Dan Brown wants to write stories, I will read them.  If he’s going to keep getting up on increasingly larger soap boxes in an attempt to convince me that we are all gods, well, no thank you very much.  This mere human isn’t buying what he’s selling.

Thursday, July 01st, 2010 | Author: Erika

Oooh, I just know I’m going to get tomatoes thrown at me for this post, but this is another one of those posts I feel that it’s important to write.  If only so that other moms in similar situations won’t feel like they’re alone.

Well, there’s nothing for it but to just rip the Band-Aid off, so here goes: I am referring to letting your baby cry it out.

First, I’ll start with some back story.  Since he was about 1.5 weeks old, he’s always been a fantastic nighttime sleeper (I credit the miraculous swing for that).  Daytime sleeping, however?  Not his cup of tea.

Difficult to get him to sleep in the first place (despite heavy eyes and fussing, he’d always assure me a nap wasn’t necessary), and he’d inevitably wake up every 15-30 minutes, and take another 20 minutes of shushing, rocking, swaying, bouncing, and walking around to get him back down.

What should have been a three hour nap (he’s always needed a one hour nap in the morning, and a three hour nap in the afternoon, I’m so lucky!) would stretch into five hours of exhausting soothing on my part, exhausted wailing on his part.  Wes would come home and find me with a sore back and frayed nerves.

He wasn’t getting much rest (how can you get any good sleep when you’re awake every 30 minutes?) and I was starting to feel like I was going to lose it.  I dreaded every afternoon nap, especially when I started to feel like he was just manipulating me.  I’d walk into his room when I heard him screaming, and the minute he saw my face he’d stop screaming and give me big, goofy smiles.

That was when I decided to do some research.  I started asking a bunch of moms I know what they would do, and the answer was nearly unanimous: Let him cry it out.

Now, crying it out has such a bad reputation on the Internet.  This post, which I read while I was researching crying it out, was particularly condemning.  For every article or post I saw that warned against the method, however, I saw hundreds of other posts from parents saying that with a loving approach it was great.

I weighed the pros and cons, and decided to try it for a week, starting when he was four months old and using the original Ferber method, not just locking Aidan in a room and letting him cry for as long as it took.  When I knew Aidan was tired, I would make sure his diaper was fresh, make sure his belly was full, and then rock and cuddle him until he was nearly asleep.

Then, I put him in his crib, tucked him in with his blanket, and closed the door.  He’d immediately start crying, so I went in after one minute and shushed and held his hands, then left the room again.  He’d start crying again, so I went in after two minutes.  Wash, rinse, repeat at increasing one minute intervals until he was asleep.

After about a week of this, he started putting himself to sleep, and self-soothing himself back to sleep during his daytime naps.  He stopped waking up every 15-30 minutes, and waking up from his naps happier and better rested.  The amount of time he spent crying before each nap decreased, to the point we’re at today, where he grumbles for about a minute before falling right to sleep.

I’m certain that crying it out isn’t best for every parent and baby, but I just thought I’d throw this out so that if you want to try it you won’t feel like your child will become a sociopath because of it.  I asked a bunch of moms, and of the ones who did it, none of their kids seemed to me to be less secure, less empathetic, or more aloof.

So there we go.  Let the tomato throwing commence.