Some answers to questions are so clear. And my answers are eloquent & to the point. For instance, when Connor hits me with this:
"Why doesn't Gracie have a penus?"(that's how he says it, so I spelled it like that on purpose).
"Because she's a girl."
"Why does Daddy have a gun?"
"To protect himself from bad guys when he's at work."
"We don't have a chimney. How can Santa come in our house?"
"Santa is magical & he always finds a way. If he can't fit into our little chimney, Daddy will let him in the front door while we are sleeping."
"Do I have school today?"
"YES!"
The list goes on & on. Relatively simple questions. Relatively simple answers. Answers I feel comfortable giving. Sometimes they are white lies that I hope I can forgive myself for telling at a later time. However......
Connor's question of Heaven.
Makes me want to run & hide.
Never to be seen again.
It means that I can't lie. But I think I do. I think.
I hear myself, as if I'm in a tunnel or a cave, regurgitate an answer. I feel my lips forming an answer something about angels, death.....long time from now.....very old......God.
It means that all of my doubts regarding my religion are placed before me. It means, in some respect, that I have to make a choice. A choice I've not yet fully made as an adult. And place my choice before my moldable, knowledge-hungry, answer-seeking child. And watch as he digests my answer, willingly. I suppose I am to feel satisfaction that he takes my answer as acceptable & walks away. As I wipe the sweat from my brow & calm my trembling hands and just thank God (if there is one) that the conversation is over.
For now.
It also means, as a mother, that I have to face my mortality. And my children's eventual mortality. It is an impossibility. It's something you can't begin to wrap your mind around & begins your descent down this twisting, spinning, sickening vortex.
And the only thing that can bring you back is to throw yourself at this innocent little being and cover them in kisses, squeeze them so hard that they squeal in pain & delight. And hope for the best.
And if you're really lucky, you have a clear-cut faith that is unfaltering that can lift you up & carry you through.
I don't think I'm that lucky.
"Why doesn't Gracie have a penus?"(that's how he says it, so I spelled it like that on purpose).
"Because she's a girl."
"Why does Daddy have a gun?"
"To protect himself from bad guys when he's at work."
"We don't have a chimney. How can Santa come in our house?"
"Santa is magical & he always finds a way. If he can't fit into our little chimney, Daddy will let him in the front door while we are sleeping."
"Do I have school today?"
"YES!"
The list goes on & on. Relatively simple questions. Relatively simple answers. Answers I feel comfortable giving. Sometimes they are white lies that I hope I can forgive myself for telling at a later time. However......
Connor's question of Heaven.
Makes me want to run & hide.
Never to be seen again.
It means that I can't lie. But I think I do. I think.
I hear myself, as if I'm in a tunnel or a cave, regurgitate an answer. I feel my lips forming an answer something about angels, death.....long time from now.....very old......God.
It means that all of my doubts regarding my religion are placed before me. It means, in some respect, that I have to make a choice. A choice I've not yet fully made as an adult. And place my choice before my moldable, knowledge-hungry, answer-seeking child. And watch as he digests my answer, willingly. I suppose I am to feel satisfaction that he takes my answer as acceptable & walks away. As I wipe the sweat from my brow & calm my trembling hands and just thank God (if there is one) that the conversation is over.
For now.
It also means, as a mother, that I have to face my mortality. And my children's eventual mortality. It is an impossibility. It's something you can't begin to wrap your mind around & begins your descent down this twisting, spinning, sickening vortex.
And the only thing that can bring you back is to throw yourself at this innocent little being and cover them in kisses, squeeze them so hard that they squeal in pain & delight. And hope for the best.
And if you're really lucky, you have a clear-cut faith that is unfaltering that can lift you up & carry you through.
I don't think I'm that lucky.
4 ripples in the pond:
Babe- Your faith is clear-cut. And just as important, it is strong enought to lift us all. Just because you may not practice things as others do, does not mean their faith is stronger or better than yours. God does not dwell in houses of stone and wood. And there is no "right" answer to some questions. Remember, that my heaven, and your heaven may be different than someone elses. And alway remember, "there's not a lot of bullshit in my heaven."
ah, i wish i was clearer and luckier too.
and i am totally hearting the rav-man right now. sounds like there is no bullshit in your house, either.
He is so cute!
I get questions like, "Why is that the sky?"
Huh?
How do I answer that?
That's a good question. Connor pointed at a picture and said, "Why's that a picture?" I hate to say it, but I answered back, "Because it is." It was before my morning cup of coffee & I was not ready to tackle it. When I feel really stumped, I think to myself, "What would Forrest Gump's mother say?"
Isn't that terrible?
I guess as far as the sky goes, I would say that the sky is what seperates us from space. That it helps us breathe and is like a window so we can look at the sun and moon.....Probably not the best answer..but that's what I would say if asked by one of these crazy kids!
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