Archive for April, 2009

The ex-Communicated

Monday, April 27th, 2009
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I have been playing at the Lutheran church for over three years. The congregation is small and gets smaller by the season because the older members pass away and are not replaced with newer members. There are families that move away and are not replaced with new family memberships.

The pastor’s wife, daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren make up about a third of the active members. Every once in a while, a new family will come in from out of town, looking for a Missouri Synod Lutheran congregation, but they don’t come back. I think that it has to do with the pastor’s thick accent and 45-minute sermons. Albeit, the pastor’s daughter has brought in two families from her school (she is a preschool teacher) in the past three years who stay and become members.

I play the piano for this group. I was first hired to play five hymns and a short offering song. But during Communion, I thought that it was awkwardly quiet, so I began playing pieces, either Bach inventions or instrumental versions of the hymns that coordinated with the pastor’s sermon. One of the members is a retired school teacher who taught middle school band for twenty years. He asks me to play a piece of music at the end of each service simply because he likes music. I oblige. During the chosen hymns, I add grace notes, trills, and variations to keep the music from being too predictable, a side effect of four-part harmonies. About six months ago, the woman who choses the music started writing in six hymns to sing: An extra hymn was to be played and sung after the sermon.

With the exception of one Sunday morning, many months ago, I habitually arrive several minutes before the beginning of service to warm up and prelude the congregation. That one particular morning, I walked into the church, and they had started singing the first hymn a cappella. When I started playing for the church, the service started at 10 am. They voted to change the start time to 10:30 am because some of the members lived far away and were finding it difficult to be prompt.

The pastor’s son-in-law writes the checks. Half the time, he remembers to bring the checkbook to pay me. The other half, he forgets the checkbook, doesn’t come to the service at all, doesn’t send the check with a messenger, or doesn’t send the check during the week by mail. The next Sunday, he’ll give me two checks. So this church isn’t on my “Accounts Receivables” list for long. I do get paid if it is a week or two or three late.

Last Sunday, the son-in-law was out of town. I asked the pastor’s wife if he had sent a check with her. She didn’t have one, neither did the eldest grandson. On Monday afternoon, I called the pastor’s daughter to ask if her husband would mail my check. The rest of the week, I waited for my check in mail in vain.

Today, I took our five children to the service with me for many reasons: Dad was busy in the kitchen and asked me to take them, but mainly, I took them to make a point to the Lutherans that I have a family to feed and rely on that check each week to put funds in our bank account. It was a pleasant visit. The three eldest behaved very well as they participated in Sunday School, and the babies were quiet and sweet as always. As we were leaving, the pastor’s son-in-law was writing both checks. As he was handing me these checks, he asked me, “Do you practice at all?”
“Excuse me?”
“Some of the members approached me about the music, wondering if you practice. And about coming in late.”
I was confused as fuck at this point, couldn’t believe my ears. “Coming in late? Do you mean my coming in late?” I come from a different universe.

It had been a great visit to the church, but the man’s comments and tone upset me. The children and I arrived at home. I was clearly in a sour mood, and Dad and I decided that those jerks must be replaced.

I don’t get paid to arrive early to warm up and play preludes before service. I don’t get paid to play during communion. I don’t get paid to be friendly with the congregation. I get paid to play five hymns. So that’s what I’ll do and ALL I’ll do until I can acquire more work outside of the church and finally be rid of that crowd.

“Peace of the Lord be with you? Piss off.”

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To Health, Food, and Taste

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009
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The babies are eating more and more kinds of food. Now that they are nine months old, they can tolerate new foods better than when they were four months old. When they did turn four months, a lot of moms were telling me that I can start feeding them regular food. Food at four months? That’s crazy to me. With our first child, we followed what the books (Doctor Spock, Babywise, et cetera) were preaching to us. But trying to feed a four month old who can barely sit up and is continuing to make a mess with his sloppy food was frustrating. “Give it time. He’ll get used to it.” More crazy talk. So with our second, I waited until he was six months to feed him. It was easier, but I still did not feel that I was doing the very best for him. One mom told me that she exclusively breastfed her baby until the baby was almost one year old. “Can babies survive on breastmilk for one year?” Well, God made my mammary glands to make the milk that provides nutrition. This nurse-for-a-year concept didn’t seem as ridiculous as giving a baby slop at four months. It was like being taught a strategy and slapping one’s own forehead for not realizing the simplicity! I took our third baby to work with me for ten months, and she nursed exclusively because we were attached to the hip, which is where babies are supposed to be: attached to their mother. I know that it’s nearly impossible for a modern mother to be with her baby 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the first 45 weeks, but we made it happen.

So at nine months, both babies can confidently sit up and tolerate new foods. This morning, I mixed in two table spoons of cow’s milk into their cereal, which is barley and breastmilk. They didn’t seem to notice the change in taste, and two hours later, they are not looking like they’ve reacted with allergy. I think we should try goat’s milk because it is supposed to have a composition similar to breastmilk.

A few nights ago, Dad made a delicious soup with white beans, pork, onions, celery, and carrots. I mixed their cereal not with breastmilk but with the stock. The cereal disappeared from the bowl faster than you can say, “Bob’s yer uncle.” They liked the taste of taste! Not that they think that breastmilk is bland, but it kicked the jarred Garbar junk in the derriere.

I’m aware that some might think that I am being over-protective about the babies’ intestinal flora. If I had the choice of being over-protective or unaware, I’d chose the former. There was a police officer who made the news recently for going out of his way to save a choking two-year-old girl. The girl was feverish, so her mother gave her meat. Meat. With a fever! When my children have fevers, they get breastmilk, even if they are two years old.

Posted in Kendall, Mom Wisdom, Talon | 1 Comment »

What Ty just told me…

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009
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I have been sitting here talking with Ty about life and such. We were talking about moving to the Country and Ty tells me that we will have to be “strong” to make this happen. He is six. I ask him how he knows this. “God tells me, in my dreams, in the morning before I wake up.” I now know we will make it to the Country one way or another…by being “strong”. Dad

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Kyle Finished Lap Five!

Friday, April 3rd, 2009
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Kyle turned five about ten days ago. We started the day with happy birthday wishes and the opening of presents. He got a James train (from Thomas and Friends) and a Spiderman book. After breakfast, we went to the park to continue our Fifth Birthday Tradition. We walked the nature trail and bumped into a man who was photographing some migratory birds. We tried to keep quiet so as not to chase the birds away. Down the canal, we saw a duck and her three ducklings, various water birds, jumping fish, and a gazillion tadpoles. As we walked toward the building that houses a few of the native species, we saw the photographer again. It’s ironic that we are all quiet until it’s time to really be quiet. We walked into the building and learned about the animals that we saw in the canal and nature trail. I learned that we live in the only “pine rockland” on Earth. That’s awesome.

We walked to the playground after using the restrooms and drinking water. I placed the babies in the shade of an oak tree to sit. The children ran toward the slide. There was a little boy who looked to be about two years old who was with his nanny. Ty said, “Good morning!” and Kyle and Taylor followed suit. The nanny replied, “No English.” Nice. Quickly, the Sleppy children organized a game of tag. Twenty minutes later, we drank more water and walked to the van and went home.

In the evening, Grandma came over with gifts. After dinner, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Kyle and ate the “hand” cake that is part of the Fifth Birthday Tradition. Kyle got armor, a shield, a helm, a sword, and a scabbard.

That Saturday, we had a little party. We invited the regular crowd: Bonnie, Karina, Natalie (who was born 15 months ago), Mike, and Skyler. We had a good time, drank beer, ate finger foods, sang “Happy Birthday,” ate cake, played with party friends, talked, and had a good conversation that afternoon. Dad and his buddy Mike watched the space shuttle landing on the NASA website. Jo, Mike’s wife, showed up with her mom toward the end of the party. The men went outside to play with the children. The women stayed indoors to chat. Jo and Bonnie have been friends for three decades, so I was listening to them talking about old friends that they found on facebook.

We heard some shrieking from the backyard. Jo, who acts really concerned about her only son, stood up in worry. I stated that it sounded like laughing, and the dads were out there, too. I wasn’t worried. A while later, we saw Skyler coming into the house, crying. He didn’t look at any of us. He just walked really fast toward the front door and left.

And left. He’s six.

His really concerned mom ran out to chase him. The rest of us ladies continued out conversation because this is normal behavior. Really, it is. After a minute or two, Jo came back in the house looking angry. “What happened?” we asked.

“Skyler said that he got kicked in the nuts harder than he kicked someone else in the nuts.”

(Now, I’ve never been kicked in the gonads because they are tucked away, deep inside my torso. But I’ve seen my brothers and their friends having been kicked, and they don’t get up and run out of the house. They lie and roll on their backs. I’m just sayin’.)

She started yelling at her husband in my living room. I couldn’t understand why she was yelling at him; she ought to have been yelling at her son for kicking. But her reasoning is that the kid’s father was out there, and he should have been protecting his son.

Skyler’s victim walked in. “I asked him to stop kicking me. He did it several times. Mike was there and didn’t say a thing.”

Jo’s mom was appalled. “You shouldn’t be kicking people.” This was not directed to Skyler but to Skyler’s victim. This comment got her ticket out of our house.

So everybody left. Bonnie stayed because her kids didn’t do anything wrong. She, Dad, and I debated about how to have handled the situation better. Dad and I agreed that it’s okay to kick someone when that person is kicking you and that boys have a lesson to learn when it comes to respecting other people’s nuts. She didn’t agree but did acknowledge that she doesn’t have her gonads on the outside and doesn’t know what it feels like to have them kicked.

Ah, well. Happy Birthday, Kyle! We’ll put up the picture of your “hand” cake as soon as we upgrade from dial-up. And thank you for NOT covering your ears and screaming while we sang you “Happy Birthday.”

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