OK, so two weeks ago was “The Great Blizzard of 2008.” Then, earlier this week, it rained.
I mean, it rained.
As in, gather the animals and build a boat.
OK, maybe not quite that bad, but bad enough that it flooded my back yard. In the 20+ years that I have lived either in this house or the one next door, the back yards have only flooded a few times. Once, it stayed flooded for somewhere around three months. While the water has receded a tiny bit in the past few days, this is still basically what I see when I look out of my living room window.
So maybe I’m not in for a plague of locusts but, if this water sticks around, it is going to be a crappy year for mosquitoes. And, of course, there is the problem with not being able to let the kids go outside and play on the swings. This water has got to go away. Soon.
Oh, since I’m making religious references, let me take this opportunity to go out of order and tell you about my latest hide-chapping incident.
A couple of days ago, I got an email from a guy that I had been really good friends with my freshman and sophomore years of high school (so, we’re talking 16 or 17 years ago). He had found me on MySpace quite awhile back and we had caught up a bit. The email this week, though, was the first I had heard from him since before I became pregnant with E~.
The email was brief. He basically asked me for my home address and said that he wanted to send me something. I sent him the address and he emailed again to say the package was in the mail. I came home from shopping today to find that the package had arrived.
Oh. My. Gosh.
His cover letter was benign enough. He talked about still caring about me as a friend. He talked about leaving his “secular ways” of his 20’s (yeah, um, and teens–I saw him through a lot of junk during our friendship) and finding God in his 30’s. He asked me to read what he sent in the spirit it was intended at this time to commemorate Christ’s death and resurrection.
I assumed it would be some sort of Easter message his church had sent out.
You know what they say about assuming, right?
It was a thick stack of anti-Mormon literature that he, apparently, scoured the internet to find and print out. What all did it say? I haven’t a clue–it went straight in the trash.
Honestly, aside from the extreme hubris involved in basically telling someone that you haven’t had a close relationship with since over half of their life ago that (basically) they are going to hell, did he honestly think that I would read it and go, “Oh, wow, that makes sense. Thanks!”?
Side note: When I was in 7th grade (before he and I were friends–he’s three years older than I am), I went to a mid-week church service with his sisters (who were my age, and I was friends with at the time). It turned out to be an actual service (I thought I was going to a youth activity). Their preacher made disparaging remarks about my religion on a few occasions throughout. When the service was over, they asked what I thought. I told them that I was Mormon, and I really didn’t appreciate some of the things that were said about my church. They drug me up to the preacher and told him I was Mormon. The man literally put his arm around me and said, “You poor child, we have to save you before you go to hell.” Yeah, um, thanks. I’ll be sure to write you letters when I get there. For pete’s sake, I was, what, twelve?!
So, anyhow, I’m annoyed. Really, you can disagree with my religion. You can even tell me that you disagree with my religion. I may disagree with yours, too.
But I would never do that to someone. I’m all for having intelligent discussions and seeking for further understanding. And I believe that there are good people–and truth–that can be found in just about any religion. I just sooooo do not believe in the “let me tell you why I’m right and you are totally wrong (and going to hell)” approach.
*Sigh* Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Moving on…
E’s umbilical cord fell off this week. This, unfortunately, has not stopped C~ from insisting that it is his penis. I have to admit, he has the most outie belly button that I have ever seen. Sean’s grandmother keeps insisting that it must be because they didn’t cut the cord short enough (um, explain that one to me…) and that they may have to clip his belly button to shorten it (a belly button-ectomy?). For the record, the pediatrician said that it probably had to do with how thick the chord was. Apparently, big, healthy chords can make for outie belly buttons.
Oh, and on the same note of people saying things about babies…I went shopping with Sean’s stepmother on Monday. She bought me a dress and shoes for my birthday.
Of course, my birthday wasn’t the only purpose for this trip. You see, we went shopping at the department store where she works. So a good portion of our trip was walking around and showing E~ off to her coworkers. At one point, a random non-coworker/shopper stopped to ask how old he was. I told her he was two weeks old, and she instantly felt it necessary to say something about hoping he doesn’t get the flu.
Why do people feel the urge to make comments like that? When N~ was born, I had to spend two weeks in another state waiting for paperwork to clear. We had to go out in public if we wanted to have diapers, eat, etc. When I came back, I instantly went to visit my dying grandmother in the hospital. By the time N~ was two-weeks-old, he had been to restaurants, mega-stores, and the intensive care unit. And he was fine. It’s not like I’m holding my newborns in the line of fire of every sniffling, snot-blowing person that I encounter.
Of course, I did have our waitress at the Chinese buffet pick E~ up and walk around with him the other day. Be still my stressed-out mommy heart. Sean and the boys go there with his brother every so often, and they always have the same waitress. She has taken to carrying C~ around when she’s not busy. I actually did try to tell her not to pick up E~. I don’t know if she truly didn’t understand me (like almost everyone else there, she is Chinese), or if it was more of a convenient form of not understanding. Either way, I had a hard time enjoying my food with my baby roaming the restaurant.