I'd stink at being a famous person. There's something inside me that doesn't want to be well-known. Every week, one of our worship services is broadcast on a local cable channel in town. Not everybody has that kind of cable, so our audience isn't all that broad. I'd guess if we had an Our Savior's Broadcast Fan Club, we'd be nearing the teens. But every now and then, I'll meet a stranger who has seen me on TV. I can't tell you how weird it feels to hear, "I watch you on TV!" I didn't major in broadcasting, I didn't sign up for game show, nor did I agree to appear on some reality show. I just went to seminary. They don't teach about local access cable fame in seminary. No lessons on choosing the right lipstick so you don't look like death warmed over on TV. No classes teaching you to tolerate the sound of your own goofy voice coming through TV speakers. No advice on how to gracefully and subtly tell your acolytes to stop using their cinctures like lassoes because the greater Beloit cable audience can see them.
One of the happiest days of my life was the day we got a different kind of cable, so we could no longer see ourselves on TV.
Sometimes I'm able to forget that people who I don't know, might know me. That is, until I'm evaluating my mayo options in the grocery store and a strange woman walks up to me and says, "Hi Jennifer! How are the girls? I'm so glad your husband is better. I watch you on TV every week!"
Sometimes I really enjoy being anonymous. I love going to a shopping mall and being fairly confident that nobody there will know me. There's a strange kind of freedom being somewhere where not a soul knows you. The girl at the pretzel stand has no idea if I'm a pastor or poker dealer or a barrel rider. The man in the shoe department has no clue that I can't fit all my shoes in my 3 shoe racks. The woman at the card store hasn't seen my successes or my failures, on camera or off. I can truly be nobody, and I like that. It's like hiding, in plain sight.
Don't get me wrong. I cherish the gifts of community, of being "where everybody knows your name." I think it's what many of us love about being part of a church. There are people there who know us and care about us in ways that nobody else does. I love that church people ask me how Sierra's liking 3rd grade and rat out Scarlett when she's hiding in the library with a bottle of grape juice from the communion fridge (this only happened once, by the way). I like being known within my faith community, because I know people care about me there, and I care about them. Our knowledge of one another is relatively mutual, which is different than the one-sided relationships with our cable fans. I'd love to know the people who watch me on TV as well as they seem to know me. I respect celebrities, who deal with this on a grand scale every day.
I love what I do. I love my congregation. I love that we're able to reach people who can't or don't come to church. But I'll probably always think it's a little weird that strangers know me. So I guess when I want to be anonymous or not be noticed, I'd better find an actual hiding place.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Banana Angels
A few weeks ago, I told you about my difficulty in quickly preparing myself for Scarlett to go to school full-day, instead of half-day, as we had expected. I believed it was very important for Scarlett to be in a structured classroom environment with other kids, but a big part of me still wanted her home with me, at least for part of the day.
Then Scarlett got sick. It started with the croup and likely turned into some other kind of virus. She had a terrible cough and a fever that went on. And on. And on. It only got scarily high a couple times, but it was persistent. We had sent her to school for half a day the first week, thinking she was better, but when we got her at lunchtime, she had a fever again. So we started realizing she would miss most of her first week of school. We never anticipated she'd miss her entire second week of school as well. Her fever just wouldn't let up, so she got to know the Nickelodeon and Disney Channels' line-ups really well. She played lots of games on the computer. We read oodles of books. We played many games. We made bread and jello, just for fun.
And I suppose, in an ironic Murphy's Law sort of way, I got what I wished for. I had Scarlett home with me, for 2 whole weeks. Erik and I took turns staying home with her, with some help from friends. But each day, I wondered what she was missing and whether the kids in her class would even care when she came back. I had mini-meltdowns about her not being able to go to school, just like I'd had mini-meltdowns about her going to school a few weeks earlier. Be careful what you wish for, right?
The doctor was pretty concerned about how long this supposed virus was lasting, so she ordered some tests last week. I'll spare you the details of the experience of holding a 4-year-old during nasal flu tests and blood tests. In the end, everything seemed normal. And finally, 3 days later, Scarlett's temperature had gone back to normal, and she started to look like her normal perky self again.
I think I knew Scarlett was all better the other day when she was eating a banana for breakfast. She had peeled down the sides and was shaking the whole thing up and down. I asked what she was doing. She said, "Look! It's an angel!" as the flapped the banana peel wings. I asked, "What do angels do?" to which she replied matter-of-factly, "They fly around. And they watch over me." I smiled at my imaginative daughter and her fantastic banana angel, and thanked God that she's finally well again and able to go to school.
I'll handle it just fine, because when I start missing her, there's a whole bunch of bananas I can peel to watch over me too.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
FOMO
It's been a tough week. I mentioned last week that our 4-year-old, Scarlett, got the croup on the day before school started, so she missed the first day of school. I was excited to send her to school on the 2nd day, but when we picked her up after lunch (to ease her into the school routine), she had a fever again. The fever continued all week and all weekend. I didn't think there was a chance she'd miss any school this week, and it's turned out that she's missed every day. When we saw the doctor on Monday, she said it was likely a slow-moving virus. Other than a cough, she feels pretty good, so she's her usual good-natured self, just unable to go to school. She'll head back to the doctor today, and hopefully they can give us some hope or some kind of treatment to bring her back to her healthy, happy, active self.
I know Scarlett will be okay. I just don't know when, and it's driving me crazy. She's a bright kid and one of the oldest kids in her 4-year-old kindergarten class. So I don't worry about her missing the academic part of school. But I keep thinking about how her classmates all know each other's names now and have made friends in the 2 weeks she's been gone, and she's been cooped up at home.
A friend introduced me to the term FOMO, which stands for "Fear of missing out." I think we all have FOMO attacks every now and then. I remember as a kid, having to go to bed while my parents had friends over. I'd lie in bed, listening to their muffled laughter downstairs, wondering what fun I was missing out on. Sometimes, I've gone to events I wasn't particularly interested in, just because I feared that something interesting would happen, and I'd miss it.
Scarlett's been a real trooper. Though she knows she's missed a lot of fun things in the last 2 weeks, she doesn't complain about missing school or swim lessons or Sunday School or Kids' Club. But I think I've got some FOMO on her behalf. I wonder what her class is doing each day, the things they giggle about, the routines they're getting used to while she gets better acquainted with Elmo and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I wonder which kids will be her friends when they finally get to know her. I know in a few weeks, this frustrating fortnight will be just a distant memory. I pray she returns to health very soon, because I can't wait to hear the stories she'll have to tell of all the new friends she's making at school. And after she's back at school, I can deal with FOMO for different reasons. :)
I know Scarlett will be okay. I just don't know when, and it's driving me crazy. She's a bright kid and one of the oldest kids in her 4-year-old kindergarten class. So I don't worry about her missing the academic part of school. But I keep thinking about how her classmates all know each other's names now and have made friends in the 2 weeks she's been gone, and she's been cooped up at home.
A friend introduced me to the term FOMO, which stands for "Fear of missing out." I think we all have FOMO attacks every now and then. I remember as a kid, having to go to bed while my parents had friends over. I'd lie in bed, listening to their muffled laughter downstairs, wondering what fun I was missing out on. Sometimes, I've gone to events I wasn't particularly interested in, just because I feared that something interesting would happen, and I'd miss it.
Scarlett's been a real trooper. Though she knows she's missed a lot of fun things in the last 2 weeks, she doesn't complain about missing school or swim lessons or Sunday School or Kids' Club. But I think I've got some FOMO on her behalf. I wonder what her class is doing each day, the things they giggle about, the routines they're getting used to while she gets better acquainted with Elmo and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I wonder which kids will be her friends when they finally get to know her. I know in a few weeks, this frustrating fortnight will be just a distant memory. I pray she returns to health very soon, because I can't wait to hear the stories she'll have to tell of all the new friends she's making at school. And after she's back at school, I can deal with FOMO for different reasons. :)
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Best-laid plans...
"The best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray." Incidentally, that's from a Robert Burns poem called, "To a Mouse." That's right, you've come to the right place for useless trivia.
As long as I'm on useless trivia, here's more. We learned in a tour of London, that long ago, when folks were condemned to death there, they were put on a wagon to be delivered to the site of their hanging or beheading. On the way, they were allowed to get off the wagon to enjoy one last alcoholic beverage. If they rejected their last drink, the guard would shout to the driver, "This one's on the wagon!" So apparently, the terms, "on the wagon" and "falling off the wagon" come from that colorful time in British history.
But back to the best-laid plans. Parenting has taught me that best-laid plans oft go astray. You buy a kid a fancy toy, and she'd much rather play with the box. You put your baby in a fancy dress to show her off, and she poops through it all, causing you to put her in a stained sleeper from the diaper bag. I've spent the last month trying to quickly get used to the idea that Scarlett would be in school full-time this year, rather than just during the mornings. It's been a little tough. But I finally came to accept it. I prepared myself, so I knew exactly what to expect. So Monday night, I went to bed, prepared to get up early, get Scarlett dressed in her new school outfit, take her first first-day-of-school picture on the porch, standing next to her sister, then I'd take my baby to school for her first day, after which I'd cry, then I'd go to work. But best laid plans...
Scarlett woke up 10 minutes later, gasping for air. She was crying and sort of croaking, and we couldn't get her to settle down. We did the hot steam thing, but in the end, I took her to the ER at 10:30 p.m. By the time we arrived, she had settled down, though her breathing was still labored. The ER folks were wonderful. They gave her several treatments, and she was finally able to breathe without so much difficulty. The Dr. said it was probably the croup. What? Other than a slight sore throat before bed, she'd been fine. The Dr. said it can come on fast. "Fast" is an understatement. So as they treated her, I watched the clock hit 11:00 p.m., 11:30 p.m., 12:00 a.m. And I started to see my best-laid plans unravel. Even if she was all better by the morning (highly unlikely), she would be much too exhausted to go to school. It started to hit me that the first-day picture wouldn't be what I expected. Sierra would again stand solo on the porch, while Scarlett's new outfit still hung on her closet door, her new backpack hung on the coat rack, and Scarlett laid on the couch. I'd have to explain that she would miss the first day of school, I feared her disappointment, and I realized my disappointment that there would be no first-day-of-4K stories that night.
But in the end, everything went okay. Scarlett spent the day healing, and Sierra had a great first day. My expectations and plans had gone astray, but as they say, "Life is what happens when you were making other plans." And today, Scarlett stood on the porch in her new outfit, her new backpack threatening to topple her little body over, and a big smile on her face. When her teacher came outside to get her class, she jumped up and down with excitement. I think her first day will be even better than she expected, because she had one more day to get excited about it. And maybe it's easier for me, since I had one more day to prepare. So now I need to figure out how to spend some extra hours in my week. But I don't think I'll make any firm plans soon, because we know what happens to those.
As long as I'm on useless trivia, here's more. We learned in a tour of London, that long ago, when folks were condemned to death there, they were put on a wagon to be delivered to the site of their hanging or beheading. On the way, they were allowed to get off the wagon to enjoy one last alcoholic beverage. If they rejected their last drink, the guard would shout to the driver, "This one's on the wagon!" So apparently, the terms, "on the wagon" and "falling off the wagon" come from that colorful time in British history.
But back to the best-laid plans. Parenting has taught me that best-laid plans oft go astray. You buy a kid a fancy toy, and she'd much rather play with the box. You put your baby in a fancy dress to show her off, and she poops through it all, causing you to put her in a stained sleeper from the diaper bag. I've spent the last month trying to quickly get used to the idea that Scarlett would be in school full-time this year, rather than just during the mornings. It's been a little tough. But I finally came to accept it. I prepared myself, so I knew exactly what to expect. So Monday night, I went to bed, prepared to get up early, get Scarlett dressed in her new school outfit, take her first first-day-of-school picture on the porch, standing next to her sister, then I'd take my baby to school for her first day, after which I'd cry, then I'd go to work. But best laid plans...
Scarlett woke up 10 minutes later, gasping for air. She was crying and sort of croaking, and we couldn't get her to settle down. We did the hot steam thing, but in the end, I took her to the ER at 10:30 p.m. By the time we arrived, she had settled down, though her breathing was still labored. The ER folks were wonderful. They gave her several treatments, and she was finally able to breathe without so much difficulty. The Dr. said it was probably the croup. What? Other than a slight sore throat before bed, she'd been fine. The Dr. said it can come on fast. "Fast" is an understatement. So as they treated her, I watched the clock hit 11:00 p.m., 11:30 p.m., 12:00 a.m. And I started to see my best-laid plans unravel. Even if she was all better by the morning (highly unlikely), she would be much too exhausted to go to school. It started to hit me that the first-day picture wouldn't be what I expected. Sierra would again stand solo on the porch, while Scarlett's new outfit still hung on her closet door, her new backpack hung on the coat rack, and Scarlett laid on the couch. I'd have to explain that she would miss the first day of school, I feared her disappointment, and I realized my disappointment that there would be no first-day-of-4K stories that night.
But in the end, everything went okay. Scarlett spent the day healing, and Sierra had a great first day. My expectations and plans had gone astray, but as they say, "Life is what happens when you were making other plans." And today, Scarlett stood on the porch in her new outfit, her new backpack threatening to topple her little body over, and a big smile on her face. When her teacher came outside to get her class, she jumped up and down with excitement. I think her first day will be even better than she expected, because she had one more day to get excited about it. And maybe it's easier for me, since I had one more day to prepare. So now I need to figure out how to spend some extra hours in my week. But I don't think I'll make any firm plans soon, because we know what happens to those.
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