Family bed weirdness

I’ve never slept with accessories.

Teddy bears, blankies, dolls. Nope.

I always used to wonder, growing up, what it would be like to sleep naked. I never did, because I was chicken. I heard stories about people who turned up at the dorms in college and had roommates who pranced around au natural and slept totally in the buff.

Yeah, I didn’t have that. I did have one roommate, Amanda, who left some ravioli in a dish by the sink until it grew like three inches of mold. I like to think it was an experiment. My friend Katie came over to visit my room one night and was so horrified by the ravioli project that she set about sanitizing the bathroom area.

Katie ended up being my next roommate, and she decorated for every holiday. Every. Not just a knickknack here and there or a cling on the window, no…she had legit decor for every holiday. Valentines. Easter. St. Patrick’s Day. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas, for months and months. It was festive and nice and totally a good memory, although Katie pretty much thinks I’m the devil or something. My point is that my roommates definitely kept their clothes on. And I don’t think either of them slept with any accessories, either. Amanda liked the radio and Katie always made her bed. End of odd.


So while I’ve never slept with accessories other than my iPhone since it came into existence and, you know, my husband, I do now.

Her name is Lucy and she pokes me in the eyes, pees on me routinely, and sometimes smacks me in her sleep.

I never slept with my kids. Max slept really well in his own bed by the time he was a week or two old, and Ava only slept in my bed in the mornings when she’d sometimes snuggle for a while.

When Lucy came along (because you might not know since I’ve never really mentioned it more than ten or twenty times but I live in a house with every person I’ve ever known), she pretty much refused to sleep anywhere except right next to me. And I know, I know, we should have let her cry for a while and made her get used to sleeping on her own, but her crying stresses Josh out a lot since he wants her world to be perfect and without misery. And she wakes up the whole house. And there’s really not room for a crib in our room anyway.

And maybe I like it that she’s snuggly. If you tickle me, do I not laugh?

Except she’s sixteen months old and she still doesn’t sleep through the night, and she’s kind of an obnoxious bed hog.

Things won’t change as far as our sleeping arrangements for a while, at least until we move, which will be…you know, time.

So I’m not asking for diatribes about how I am doing her a disservice by keeping her in my bed.

I just wanted to bitch for a minute.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m overdue for some hair pulling and milk breath.

This is probably offensive

As many of you know, for a while I worked in a church.

It was a great job and I enjoyed the work, and I even enjoyed the liturgical calendar and the specific precise nuances that went along with it all.

I grew up in church, too, albeit a different denomination altogether. Basically the only resemblance between the two was the whole Jesus dying on a cross thing.

Anyway, these days the only religion I have is the prayers I send up when Lucy won’t go to sleep at 3 am.

That probably appalls my mother.

This is Holy Week, or it was. It’s pretty much over, seeing as tomorrow is Easter Sunday. I feel pretty much zero desire to honor this Sunday as anything extraordinary, and I’m really not sure why. Chocolate eggs and Easter bunnies don’t offend me at all, and if I’m honest, they’re the best candy of the year.

The entire concept of the church disgusts me. There, I said it. Having been intimately involved in the workings of one of the only truly good churches I’ve ever encountered, I’ve come to the conclusion that Jesus wouldn’t have wanted churches or people to spend so much time focusing on coffee bars, spectacles, and how many people pledge their pocket lining or sign a commitment card.

So that’s something, that’s an issue. People are fickle and hypocritical and….well, human.

The Baptipalian in me wants to answer that statement with, “but you can’t lump God in with the way people behave, people are fallible and hey hey that’s what Jesus was for.”

But shouldn’t something stand out? If being churchly and holyish is such a wonderful thing, then how come church gatherings are significantly more stressful and obligated than going to the new Harry Potter movie?

I know that there are cool, fun, happening churches/worship centers. And hey, if that’s what you go for, great.

I just don’t see being Godly and good as something that has to go along with a church setting.

If I want to worship, I can be quiet and contemplative in my backyard. As a matter of fact, I think that’s what Jesus might do.