Projects

I am clearing up today, running around, bending, heaving, shoving...yes, just some lite cleaning. I'm preparing for a visit by Kevin's mother and grandparents, just trying to get some last minute decor done.
When people visit, it gives me great motivation to clean up. And to finish those decorating projects I've just lacked the energy to do without a deadline.

Other than that, life has been ticking along with regularity. I have always been one who revels in the comfort of a routine, like cats roll in the sun.

Kevin and I recently celebrated our two year anniversary of marriage, by meandering around on Elmwood and picking up our gifts for one another, and going out for Mexican. A vastly better Mexican experience this time than last time- but I think that might be another post. I should start a resteraunt review series. I should review a whole bunch of things, like movies and recipes. Oh well.

But, of all the things I'd love to talk about, there is one for sure I'd like to throw out, test the waters, run up the flagpole see who salutes it...Whatever metaphor you want.

Of late, I have been thinking over the concept of generational sin. I was raised with the idea that generational sin was some kind of poorly defined largely mystical sense of sins in your family that seem to run in your blood. In my family, it was always lust. People just couldn't seem to keep their pants on, despite the hurt they did to themselves. (Interestingly, no one committed adultery that I know of. Considering how easily they told me about bed-hopping, I doubt they'd leave out wife-stealing.) This idea was that in my blood was a ferocious predilection towards lust.

I have come to decide that this is not true. The article listed above does justify me in this. You know what I think generational sin REALLY is? I think Philip Larkin said it best.

This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.



Whike I thoroughly disagree with the last two lines, I think the man had a better concept of generational sin than most pastors today.

So the question is, how to two very damaged people raise a child without their particular brand of damage?

I think I know- do you?

a few photos

lots going on, lots of daily life. Will be updating very soon- be ready for terminal cuteness on my son's part.

Growing up: the Christmas edition.

So, I married a man whose family celebrates holidays and birthdays with gusto. On his birthday, my Fuzzy got a phone call from each immediate family member (not that exciting, but wait, there's more) SINGING at the top of their lungs happy birthday. No preamble, no hello, every person just started hollering. Oh, I'm not knocking it, it's tremendously cute. But for someone who grew up refusing birthday parties and not calling or getting calls, this is very...festivious. (I just made that up on the spot. Good, huh?) We call every cousin and aunt, every possible relative, and sing into ears, voice mails, whatever. I gamely join in, but this is just weird to me. I had to be pinned up against a wall in Hong Kong for my team members to get to sing to me, and I was not pleased.
My idea of a good birthday party is one where no one pays attention to me, but mingles and has a blast all on their own. I would like to be the kind of hostess that Deists believe God is. He's here, He started it, but He's not really commanding the whole thing. That's the hostess I'd like to be. Keep this in mind as we discuss Christmas.

I'm sending out Christmas cards. No, Really, I am. To all Fuzzy's family, to some of mine, to our friends. I am notorious for failing to get any kind of card out on time. Especially thank you cards. (On this note, I'm glad I'm married, because if my mother had anything to say about what went on my tombstone, it would probably be Beloved daughter, wife, mother, and ingrate.)
This is the beginning of a transformation, my friends. I am choosing to-gasp- participate! All for my husband! What would the feminist agenda think of me?

But seriously, folks. It's really about setting up new traditions as a new family, and that's something I believe in. Up til now, I had no good reason to really celebrate Christmas. I never really wanted to get gifts, I loved giving them, don't get me wrong. They were super fun to give- the challenge of getting just the right one. My favorite kind of gift is something not on the person's list, something so rightly them that it was almost too obvious to see. Yeah, I like that.

So here's to all my young couple friends who are doing the same. Setting up a new family means getting to set up new family traditions, or keep old ones, or do a little mixing. I see it as my chance to honor old traditions, welcome those from my husband's family, and set a new standard with our own. Casting off what doesn't work in favor of building what does from scratch. Who cares if it's a little crooked? It's homemade.