single mom in the city

I understand taking care of children.  But I don’t like to do it by myself.  I’m really good at being by myself — as long as I can be with HIM for awhile and HE’S helping me with the kids. But I don’t like the idea of taking care of three children by myself for an extended period of time — and you know, I’m flying solo for the next two weeks.  I know you don’t feel sorry for me.  Why should you?  How about the fact that I work full-time, cook, clean and all that.  No?  You suspect I have help like Angelina or one of those coddled stars?  Nope, I don’t.  OK then. I’m solo. I get no breaks.  Unless the break is going out of your mind.  So how do you raise kids by YOURSELF without going out of your mind?

a dark night overseas

High above the Atlantic, my husband of 17 years and my 12-year-old son, a blonde, lanky soccer-bound boy with a cool haircut, are bound for the U.K.   I’m in Nashville flying solo for the next two weeks with our three other kids. Stew and Noah had a fast-and-furious, skin-of-the-teeth departure narrowly making the flight, so we really didn’t get to have the loving goodbye I wanted to have.  Feeling kind of mopey, we all went to my office for a while and then I christened my new four-member family unit with an afternoon showing of Wall•e complete with popcorn, soda and candy.  I was salving my sense of missing my other two.  We loved Wall•e and drove home chatting together about the beautiful sky, clouds and sun breaking through.  Only a few days ago, my husband said in a quick, hushed passing, “What do I do if the Arabs get me?”  Irritated that he’d even raised the subject, and irritated that there were so many odds and ends to complete before I could send them off, I retorted, “Well, I’d say you’d be cooked!”

It’s too bad that kind of thought is embedded in me today. In all of us.  And it will continue to be.  Even with faith there’s an asterik when it comes to flying today.

it’s a dark day for the dark knight

The desensitization of our youngest children — already numb from the Teen and Mature video games many parents blindly allow them to play (which set them on a sort of addict’s quest for more, give me more, and make it really cool this time, come on, make it better than before!) continues jarringly along in The Dark Knight, a continually violent film which doesn’t need a drop of blood for its horror to seep in.  Yes, Heath is amazing, licking those stinging, puss-filled lips.  Yes, his is a performance adults can really relish in. Yes, the film is an astonishing display of cinematic style and brilliance— but WHERE oh WHERE is the sense in taking children to see a movie as dark as this?  When did PG-13 become so maniacally dangerous?  Every 10-year-old in my neighborhood wants to see this film and only tight-lipped moms will say no.  So sitting in the Green Hill’s movie theater with my 10-, 12- and 14-year-olds I worried about my youngest one the most — he’s most likely to be influenced for better or worse. His face riveted forward, more than once I put my hand on his chest to feel his heart pounding hard in his chest.  He was loving the Joker.  I don’t want the world to be so romantic about villains.  I don’t want to take my kids to movies like this.  I didn’t know it would be so glaringly dark. I mean look, it ended up destroying Heath Ledger.  And as far as I’m concerned, we need to keep the innocence in our children’s world longer and stop feeding them content they can’t say no to.  Come on!

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