Mixed Geek Metaphors

It is May the Fourth.  For every geeky kid out there, playing with light sabers while wearing a bathrobe, today is your day. 

I have these children. I am these children. 

My son, if given his way in all things, would live to play baseball, Star Wars, and Legos, all while carrying around a pen and engineering-type notebook designing very complex video games with multi-player, multi-level actions sequences.  These sequences would revolve around baseball, Star Wars and Legos.  I think it is divine.  He is a second grader who can not only understand 6th grade math, but can teach this math to his sister, a 4th grader.  He builds miniature robots and droids out of whatever is around. Cardboard, painter's tape, spoons (yes, I have had to dismantle things so we could eat dinner), Legos (of course) and recently Q-Tips, popsicle sticks, and the arms and legs off of Barbies. (My daughter gave him permission to borrow them as long as no permanent markers or scissors were used, and he gave her a cash deposit.)  It has been adventure.

My daughter, if given her way in all things, would live to have her hair be like Princess Leah all the time, while simultaneously wearing one purple high top and one pink one, and carrying a copy of Harry Potter under one arm, and a diary under the other.  Her diary is a complex grouping of stories and friends and thoughts and poetry, and dreams.  I think it is divine.  She is a fourth grader who has no interest in boys, but understands almost intuitively the complexes of relationships.  She pays attention.  She knows from her heart when things are done with a mean intent, and calls people on it.  Her friends are drawn to her because she is quirky but confident, out-spoken but kind, independent but social.  She seems to do a great job on balancing the fine line between being funny and being weird.  She is honest, and I marvel at how intelligently she can speak about what she sees and feels.  She shares these insights with her brother, and they have come to an understanding somehow that she voices his concerns to the letter, and then defends him completely. 

Me, if given my way in all things, would live to write down every random thought that pops into my head.  I own a really nice fountain pen, but would prefer a whole bunch of gel pens in various shades of red.  I would write all day about how I see the world, what I have learned while sitting at the beach, and describe, in detail, the shape and color of seaglass collected on the many walks I would be taking.  I share these thoughts with my kids sometimes, who roll their eyes and sigh.  When I catch them using the seaglass from the big bowl we have of it sitting on the end table in the living room, I smile and know they are listening, and that I have done my job.  They are well on their way to thoughtful geekness, and I am proud.

If you have children, you might get some of this.  This overwhelming need to have your children be independent, and be exactly like you, at the same time.  My children look like me, and not at all like their dad.  Some days I wish they had inherited their father's denim blue eyes. But 99% of the time, I am glad there is no doubt who got the majority of the genes.  This works totally in my favor at places like the Tech Museum and the Exploratorium when I play, too, and can just blame it on my kids by just pointing and shrugging my shoulders.  They get to go off and teach me stuff from their areas of interest (like my son building a drawing bot, or my daughter using the CrazyCaptcha Hair camera site) and I get to show them how to make paper from gooey stuff and pieces of flowers.  It is a good match.

So this morning, when the May the Fourth thing was brought up, my kids both did something to "celebrate".  My son put on a Jedi Robe from the costume box over his Star Wars T-shirt.  My daughter asked me to help her put her hair up in two buns on the side of her head.  She is carrying a collapsible Barbie sized light saber in her backpack that she will NOT take out (the whole weapons at school rule she was quick to remind me) but will make her happy to know is there.  I changed my ring tone to the Star Wars theme song.

Then they asked for Reese's Pieces. (We have them for a penny out of an old gumball machine in our kitchen.) When I asked why, they said that they could use ET instead of Star Wars to celebrate if it meant getting candy, since there is no Star Wars food.  Yep, geek children.  I love it. Today is a great day.

I am with the Government. I am here to help.

So today, one of my employees (who also happens to be a friend) walks into my office regarding a tax withholding question.  It is my job to explain the leave and earning statement so I ask him to take a seat.  He says that it is not a question for him, but for a friend in the department.  I said I could answer general questions, but nothing specific for the person unless he or she wanted to bring in the right paperwork, but yes, I was willing to help.

This is what I got instead:  How could a woman who is married  to a man who was previously married and is in arrears in his child support make it so the government would not take their tax return to pay the debt?

It was all I could do not to take the baseball bat I keep under my desk out and smashing the employee’s head in.

Yeah, I said it.  I wanted to kill him.  I kept it together, but only just barely.  I told him that no, I could not help someone figure out how to defraud the District Attorneys’ Office out of the legally mandated way to collect due child support.  I told him that no, I did not know how to have the employee change her withholding so that none of “her” money would be considered in their joint tax return.  I told him that no, I could not recommend a good tax attorney or accountant, and that no, the tax center here could not help.

I gave him the brochure to the Employee Assistance Plan, and the links to the online pay site to share with the employee who did not come in.  Then, I asked him to close my office door.

***(Disclaimer:  Most of the serious profanity happened in my head.  Some slipped out, I am not saying which, but some did. The intent was loud and clear though.)***

I asked him if he knew if the other employee knew her husband had a child and was not paying his child support? (She does.)  I asked him if she knew that she, as his wife, was responsible for the debt if they filed joint tax returns? (She knows.)  I asked him if she was stupid to stay married to the husband? (He said “Probably, but she loves him.”)  I was angry, and let him know that while I can support a woman’s right to be with whatever prick they chose to be with, fucking with his kids from a former marriage was a total douche bag thing to do.  What the hell was she thinking when she whined about her tax return being seized?  What the fuck was she doing to get herself involved with, much less marrying  a guy who doesn’t care about his past responsibilities?  Why the fuck didn’t she pay, or make him pay, the child support all along?

My friend tried to defend her, saying she was a good person, the guy was being screwed in the custody, that they were poor… blah blah blah.  I wouldn’t have any of it.  I said that custody and support have nothing to do with each other, that children still need to eat.  I said that burying your head in the sand as you stand by and watch your man screw over his own children  makes you just as much of a worthless piece of shit.  I said that if she was doing nothing for his children and their tax return got taken, then good, they deserved it.  Fuck them.  I also asked him why it mattered to him at all.

This was about the time that the movie plot happened, and the phone rang, saving me from having to hurt him, and him having to lie about where he got his injuries.  I had been rolling the baseball bat around with my foot during the whole conversation.  I came back to my professional voice and when he stepped out of my office while I was on the phone I asked him to keep the door open.

About 15 minutes later I get an email from him apologizing for asking me about it.  I apologized for anything I said that was rude, and told him to please give the paperwork I had previously given him to his co-worker.  He wrote back and said he had already, and thanked me for the information.  We had lunch two hours later, and it was fine.  He got it, I got it, our friendship intact without apologies about stupid people.  The burrito was delicious. He paid my tab.

I know exactly why this whole thing angered me.  If you have read my blog you will know, too.  What I didn’t know until I started writing all this down is how strongly I feel about it.  My next step, I just realized, is that now I have to figure out what to do about it.  Simply being a woman who might periodically stand her ground, to a person who’s friendship quells the fire I was feeling, will not be enough.  Not in the long term.  So having now told the story, I will have to do something about it.  Damn.  Just when I think my life is on a smoother than usual path, the stupid path-less-traveled shows up.  More work.

Time to research agencies looking for people to help them empower women and children  even more.  I am soliciting mentors.  Any takers?

A little blogging on the side...

I am completely amazed (in that good kind of way) by my friends with blogs.

I have a friend who has been blogging for about 7 years. It is a family commentary, social connection kinda blog, with happy pictures of the kids and dogs. I don't go to the page often. Not that I don't want to hear about the kids and dog (I do, and I like the Christmas card newsletter once a year). It is more that it is a lot of exactly-the-same. The same trip to the pumpkin patch. The same kids on the swings. The same family portrait in front of the fire. Yes, there are the blogs about the dirt-mess that the kids created while hunting for lightning bugs. Yes, there are the blogs about inspirational bible passages. Yes, there are even blogs about volunteer efforts and good deeds. I am periodically inspired, but not enough to read it all the time. I don't have a life that is that routine, that captured in pictures, that similar to all the other once a year letters I have read. I suppose that shows happiness, and I can appreciate the need to have that spill over into the virtual world. I just can't do it.

I have another friend who just writes just poetry. Okay, not exactly *writes*. Sometimes the blog is just other people's poetry. Sometimes it is my friends’. Often it is awful. Periodically it is good. Rarely is it stellar. But the fact that it is out there is the part that impresses me. It is my friend’s expression. I love that. If I was going to write poetry, I suppose this would be my blog exactly. I don't write poetry. I write fiction. I also write a blog that I don't care if anyone reads. If I wrote poetry, I would want people to read it, and I guess that is why this friend posts the poetry to the blog. But since I don't, and I can't wrap my brain around the flowy or edgy or meaningful prose, I don't read it often.

I have a friend who has a blog all about fitness. It includes graphs and charts and links and advise and some calorie-counting-eat-this-not-that-protien-power-all-vegan-yoga-guru stuff. I have been there once in the last six months. Like my gym membership, I have let it lapse.

I have a friend with a world travel blog. I am too jealous to read it most of the time. I like the pictures.

I know a person who started out with a simple home-ec-how-to blog years ago. It was friendly, sweet, inspired. It was before Pinterest, but had a collection of links and recipes and likes. It was fun to look through and see what I could do in my bathroom or kitchen, and what was inspiring others as well. I stopped reading it the day the first ad went up.

I have one friend who puts herself out there in a way that scares and inspires me. She is able to say the work "fuck" better than anyone I have ever met. She even wrote a blog about that very topic. I love that she is fearless in a way I am not. I read her blog, both her new one and her old one, whenever I can. I am a fan. She is living her life in a fast lane, take no prisoners, no holds barred way that leaves me breathless. I want to be her. I also don't. Her writing is beautiful, and raw. It is scorched and edgy. If is flawless and in your face, and makes no apologies. I find both humor and sadness in her blatant honesty. I love that she is real, and I could have drinks with her. I will read what she writes. It makes me think.

So I wonder what my place is in the world of blogs? I don't think I will ever add advertisement to my sidelines, so if you are reading this now, rest assured I will not be bombarding your viewing screen with cat food ads or vacation planning services. I don't think I will ever care how many people are actually reading the blog, so don't expect a hit counter any time soon. I don't write poetry, so that is not likely to come up either. What I am creating for my place is a bit of both laziness and necessity.  This blog, to date, has been a place to vent my frustrations, share my happiness, energize my mind, and enrich my soul.  I hope I do not bore people who do read it, but mostly I hope that the stuff I have locked up in my head that keeps me from my real life has a place to be.  Sometimes quietly, often loudly, always with my truth. 

So keep reading.  Maybe something will inspire you to start your own.  Let me know, and I will stop by sometimes.

 

Guardrail Gratitude

I got another "I am human" moment to add to my list.

Last night, I ate terrible spaghetti, and even worse salad, all in the name of fundraising for my son's baseball league. I am not really complaining about the food here, it is always awful and I enjoy it anyway. I am even glad I went because it is sort of a yearly ritual that lets me see friends and be silly. I kinda love it. Here is the kicker for me though: my children's father and the woman he is currently married to decided that this would be a good time to be supportive and family oriented. Barf.

Now up here on my high road, I can be supportive of their decision to help fund youth sports. It is a public event, and well, they can spend their money and time anyway they want to. I can even be grateful that he shows up at all to anything involving my children, and don't hold any grudges at all about his/their participation. But, with that said, the phrase "Oh Hell NO, I am not fucking sitting with them!" passed through my head. Even when they sat with my parents. Even when they tried to hold my place in line. Even when my children sat with them. I mean, it was his visitation night, he purchased their dinner, and the kids sitting with him was exactly what I expected. Did that mean I had to sit with them, and play nice? In my mind I don't think so.

So I didn't. I didn't sit with my parents. I didn't sit with my kids. I sat, instead, with my friends and fellow baseball parents, many of whom I had known for years, even some since childhood. I had a great time, laughing, joking, catching up. It was fun. I paid absolutely no attention to my ex, his wife, or, consequently, my parents and children for about an hour. It was fine.

What happened on the way home is my "less-than-super-mom" moment. My daughter said she didn't eat dinner. I was surprised since I had seen her in line to get food, had seen her sit down with the same plate of food in front of her, and had watched as she threw her plate in the garbage. I asked her why? She said she waited for me to come sit next to her and everyone, and that when I didn't she didn't eat. I told her, with a soft tone at first, that I was not going to come sit with her dad and his wife, ever, and that I was fine that she did, and she could have eaten her dinner without me. She wanted to know why I wouldn't come sit with them, since she (the wife) was not being mean right then. This is when I lost it. I said that I can't pretend and play nice with a woman who called me a fucking worthless bitch in front of my kids, and then told me I deserved to have my baby die in a follow up email.

My daughter was floored. My son was silent. I was pissed. So I went on a bit of a rant. I told them that I don't really care how "not mean" the ex's wife was being right then. She had already shown me who she is, and I don't want to be near her. I didn't care if she turned out to receive the Nobel Peace prize for her amazing work with the sick and homeless. I didn't care if she was angelic and nominated for sainthood. My experience of her is that she is vile and cruel. And that I never, not ever ever ever wanted to be around her, hear her, interact with her, or otherwise be in any setting where she existed. That she had crossed a line by being so vicious to me on more than one occasion that the cease and desist letter that was sent through the Domestic Violence center telling her in very plain language that I wanted her to stay out of my life forever would be my M.O. for all time. I would treat her as a non-person, not in my field of vision, non-existent and not even worthy of my sitting at a table eating crappy spaghetti, even if it meant I missed out on something.

After my rant, I cried. I did not apologize, but I did cook my daughter some dinner. I spent another half hour texting friends, ratting myself out like some catholic school-girl, seeking validation, and a little understanding. I got it, so a shout-out goes to JB and RA and BE and SC for keeping me sane.

This morning the kids and I talked, some about my emotions, and a lot about how when people in your life show you who they are, you should believe them the first time. And that it was what I had done with their dad's current wife. We talked about being fake for show, and how that doesn't really count if you are still mean behind closed doors. They "got it" immediately because they visit their dad and his wife twice a month and had seen the real side just the same. We talked about picking who you respect, and about standing up for yourself, and about not being fake yourself just to put on a show for others. Yep, I might have been angry, but I was not going to play nice just to have other people feel better. I had done that for too long, and just don't feel up for it. We laughed a lot during the conversation because, of course, all of our important conversations happen while we are half naked trying to get out the door in the morning. It is amazing the things you learn over getting dressed, packing up homework, and apparently spaghetti.

So today, I am back on my high road. Happy for a guard rail, and willing to take the hit for my momentary exit. One of my friends helped me by saying "Stay Real. The kids will find their own path." That is where I am at today. I am good with it.

A birthday of sorts: This blog turns ONE.

In just a little over 2 weeks, my blog turns ONE. A whole year of rants and raves and revelations that you may, or may not, have been reading and enjoying and sharing. I don't usually follow the counts, since I write for myself, and once in a while might have someone else read it. But today I could not resist, and I looked at the total. WOW, 1200 page views. Is that normal? What could I possibly be saying that has made 1200 people stop and at least read the title?

Here is what I have been saying from my year-out point of view:

1) Put myself out there. Take the opportunity to challenge myself, my perception of myself, and possibly other people's perception of me. I may be great. I may suck. But I own it, I am it, and I make it known. Being who I am takes some practice. Putting myself out there just gives me some accountability, even if just to myself.

2) Be fearless. Tell the truth, as I see it. I don't apologize, sentimentalize, or compartmentalize. I don't let anyone tell me that what I write is not worth the reading. I remind them they have every right to not read my stuff, and then I ignore them. I might lose some people, but they probably wouldn't be my support group anyway. I don't fear what "they" may think. They don't like it? Tough Shit. I don't write for them, and I don't lie.

3) Treat myself kindly. You know those people up there on item 2? The ones who were giving me grief for speaking my truth? Yeah, I don't want to be one of them, and I remember to give myself heaps of praise for everything, especially for putting myself out there to begin with.

4) Rant when I need to. It is totally necessary for me to let go of whatever is spinning in my head making me a little bit "touched". Maybe it is about my ex. Maybe it is about my parents. Maybe it is about my kids. Maybe it is about myself, and my lack of willpower over chocolate. Maybe it is about my world in general. Whatever it is, I need to get it out. Making that big old mess all over the place is allowed. This is my blog, and I feel free to use it for whatever the hell I need to.

5) History is all perception. I have written about my mother. I have written about my relationships with men no longer in my life. I have written about religion. I have written about my children, my wishes for them, and my fears as I have seen them. The trouble with that is that I don't don't get to decide how the history of all that makes one damn bit of difference. Ask my kids about the last year, and I am sure their history of it is very different from mine. Did they notice the supplements on the counter that helped their mom move away from depression? Did they hear me crying at night? Or did they, as I hope, just see the only mom they have being their mom, normal and weird all at the same time. Will they write a blog about it some day?

6) I am a real person. I am sexy and stupid and beautiful and silly and wonderful and mean and friendly and frail and logical and needy and lovely and shy and gregarious and evil and amazing and forgetful and studious and jealous and brilliant. I am amazing in all the different ways I can be while making huge mistakes in the process. I am okay with that.

7) I have a story to tell. I am writing this story here. It is my story of love and loss and being open to change while fighting it a the same time. I am also writing a novel (something I don't think I have admitted to in this blog until now, and yes, it is a shameless promotion for if/when it gets published). I have learned that I like my story, I like telling my story for the few (could that be 12oo? hee hee) others to read, and that I will continue to do it, so stay tuned.


So happy year ONE. Thank you for joining me on my journey.

A garage full of possibilities.

My kids are off on the first week of Spring Break this week. They get two weeks, so next week, when they are back home hanging with me is when we will do all the fun stuff. This week belongs to the Spring-cleaning Fairy known as Mom.

Okay, Mom is not fair. I will not be tackling my children's rooms at all in their absence. Truth is, we do enough reduce, reuse, recycle all year to not need the giant clean-out that comes with the month of March. We have established the "lost sock basket" for all those socks that mysteriously have no mates at the end of the dryer cycle; the "too small box" for all clothes that show too much belly, too much ass, too much ankle, or too much forearm but not a big enough neck; and an "I hate this" bag for all the clothes that are stained, torn, never did fit quite right, or have changed shape because of general wear and wash. Toys have a similar life cycle.

So no, not Mom, but instead, I am doing the garage. My stuff, stashed for keeping or hoarded for projects that have just been collecting. I found a box of preschool-teaching materials (I will tell you about my adventures as a Child Development Center Director some other time) that I used with my children before they started pre-school and have long since outgrown. I have been lugging these boxes around for years and years, full of art projects, and math games, and letter writing supplies. There is an entire program on Money and Time-telling. There are bulletin board cutouts. There are mini-report card/congratulations/graduation/completion/you-made-it forms and buttons. There are actual mimeograph stencil papers for use on those old (wonderful smelling) copy-turn-drum machines. What the heck did I still need all this stuff for?

Yes, I will do the right thing, and post it to Freecycle now that it is off my shelves and out of boxes, and let some homeschooler or kindergarten teacher have it all. It will get a new good home, or at least on that is not in my garage, thank you very much.

But, I also found the art supplies. I found glitter. I found glue sticks. I found string. I found PeopleColor pens and paint. I found origami paper. I knew I had origami paper somewhere. I wished I could have found it when my son was reading "The Strange Case of Origami Yoda" and "Darth Paper Strikes Back" but that might be worth a bed time story or two next week. I found stick-on jewels, and colorful plastic shapey thingys. I found my craft box full of paper edgers and punches and wavy/curly/zig zaggy scissors. I found jewelry supplies. All hidden behind-and-around-and-in-back-of. I had forgotten all about them. I think I am in heaven.

Yes, I started organizing all of it on the table and trying to decide how to create an art area so that none of it just ends up back in boxes and in the back of shelves. Having moved some of the teaching materials out of the way, I think I have the perfect spot for everything, too. I got tired last night, and realized that the excitement I was feeling at 10pm was not the same at 1am, and I had better get some sleep. Work and all that, you know. So when I go home, and it is still daylight, I will see what progress I have made.

I want it to hold the same magic I felt last night, and that I can share with my kids when I have the art area in a usable space. That will happen rather quickly now that I am motivated. I will get back some of the preschool magic, and get to play. I will also open back up the world I have been missing.

I had an art area once. In a basement. In a house. I lived there for 10 years with those art supplies at hand and ready to share with my then very young children. I wasn't allowed to use them because they were messy, and I had responsibilities to keep the "borrowed" space clean in case someone else needed it. It wasn't mine, and it never occurred to me that it was never going to be until I left.

Until I wrote that just now, I didn't realize just how afraid that made me, the idea of having a space to create but it not belonging to me. How someone could take it away, judge it, belittle it, and so I hid it. It is like my writing, and my parents expectations. And how since then, for over a year in my own house, I have not created that space. Sigh.. revelations.

It just became a mission. Damn, I love when I work things out by writing them down! I will get to work on the art area, and that creative part. I will share it with my kids, and hopefully be messy and spontaneous in the process. Spring cleaning just got better! Clean a garage, a past, and some old expectations in one fell swoop. Who knew having my kids be gone would be so productive for me? Spring. Bring it! I will write more about what I create, what we create. I am excited. I can't wait to go home.

How pillow fights are a God thing...

I am reading a wonderful work of fiction right now. It is about a relationship between girls who become women over the course of a decade and a half of their lives. Money vs. working class. Well-traveled vs. hometown. Divorce vs. parents who stay together, and the complications of each. It is about choices, freedom, sexuality, exploration and discovering who you are and how you fit into the world of morality and acceptance.

The central theme though revolves around religion. One is Jewish. One is Christian. There is a line in the story during one of the girls' conversations that sorta sets a tone for many more of their discussions. They are walking in a cemetery, drinking beer and dancing around with their teen-age summer boyfriends, and they come to the Hebrew portion of the cemetery, all walled off. The Jewish-faithed girl says "Hey, I could be buried here." And, as teenagers who are drunk walking through graveyards do, she lays down on one of the graves. Her friend, laying down next to her so they can look at stars together says "If there is only one God, what difference does it make to Him what part of the ground you are buried in?"

I haven't finished the book yet, so I can't tell you what the author wants us to figure out. What I do know is that it was heavy enough on my mind that I asked my kids about how they see religion in their world.

To give you some background, I am a former Catholic. My mother is still Catholic, and attends mass weekly. My father is an un-baptised Baptist who grew up with Jesus, but no church. I, at one point in my confusion-about-what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up phase, studied to take Catholic Order Novitiate vows. They would have worked for me, until a priest told me during one of my lessons that all women, and especially nuns, would be subservient to ALL men, not just priests, as all men are closer to God than women could or would ever be. Yeah, that was about the time I realized I was going to be okay with poverty and chastity, but would have a huge huge problem with the vow of obedience. I decided wearing a habit really wasn't going to work for me after all. I also decided that being Catholic was not gong to work for me, either.

I explored several "religions and churches" for a while, especially during college, always coming to the same conclusion: The religion wanted me to follow their rules without question and never, not once, ever have my own thoughts and communion with God without their guidance. I was not a good fit for any of them. I wanted to know the Whys, and the What-fors, and be able to seek what I wanted in my home, and through the sanctity of everything.

So come to today, and I am feeling more sure about my choices than ever. I had a five minute (age appropriate) conversation with my kids. What I had been teaching them about critical thinking, self understanding, and not needing a group to tell you what to do had been sinking it. They don't like going to the church their father insists they attend with his new wife. They call it baby church, like a bunch of people who don't really know what they want or what to believe, so they get together and light a Christ candle, and sing songs from Broadway musicals, and eat cheese slices and apple wedges in the common room. I have checked out their service and kid program, and it is all very fluffy. A little bit of you, a little bit of me, while claiming Christianity as it's umbrella. Wusses. My kids whine about going, but when made to, eat cheese and paint in the playroom. I think this is funny.

I bring this ideal to them: that God is not a person up in the sky moving the actions of humans in judgment like chess pieces. I tell them if you really want to know self-spirituality, question everything. Make the choices that work for you. Everything is sacred, and nothing is. Respect the uses of the world, not so that you can get into heaven, but so that living in THIS world is not hell. And that you leave more than what you took. And treat everyone the way you want to be treated. And that what you send out is what you get back. Three-fold in both blessings and in fear. And that there are many books that can help you, and friends that can speak to your heart. A little Buddha, a little Jesus, a little Mohammad, a little Dr. Seuss, a little Harry Potter, a little girl who sits on the other side of the classroom, a little cloud floating by, a little good sleep, a little 70's sitcoms, a little stream in the woods, a little cotton candy. It is all good, and can be all bad. It is how YOU make it out to be that makes all the difference. Oh yeah, and more than a little LOVE is probably the best thing anyone's got going on.

So from the a story plot-point asking about if there is only one God, who cares about burial plots, all the way to that my kids get love demonstrated for them everyday, I figure that was a pretty good way to have the morning before Spring Break start off. That, and the hysterical laughing fit we had when Haysten decided that God could be found in hitting his sister with a pillow. Yes, my life is good.

I will let you know what happens with the characters in the story. I hope the author figures it out for them, since I think I am doing pretty good in my world.