Stop the Mommy Bus

(originally written in 2001)

What do you mean there aren’t any stops? Nobody told me that when I got on this bus. I thought when the children reached a certain age we could get off for a while at least. But no; not only are there no stops, there are no doors either!

No wonder we have children when we are young. If we knew then what we knew now, we’d think a lot longer, plan more judiciously, and be a lot more certain before starting something that has no end.

In case you haven’t noticed, it just hit me that mommyhood is a terminal disease with no cure. We never stop being moms. It’s something we will be till the day we die. We never stop worrying about our offspring. It doesn’t matter if they live next door or 1200 miles away; all we have to do is hear that certain tone in their voices and WHAM! there we are again, being mom. The connection is never fully severed, no matter what anyone says. Heck, if a marriage fails you can get a divorce, but you can’t do that with your kids. You can ignore them, avoid them, not talk to them, even take them out of your will if you want, but the simple fact remains that they will always and forever be yours. They were inside your body for about 9 months, give or take depending on the child, and they will never totally leave it. It’s like they leave a piece of themselves inside when they are born, one guaranteed to pull at your heart when they hurt, or fall, or go through rough times.

You pour the best of all you have and know into them, hoping somehow to end up with contributing members of society. Interestingly enough, the things you like least about yourself are the things they emulate, and pick up on, and do…the annoying habits, the things you wish you could stop doing but can’t, the bad coping mechanisms you picked up from your own parents, the language, the attitudes…why can’t they just do what you tell them to? ~laughing~

It most certainly doesn’t help that no 2 of them are alike. What worked with Junior doesn’t touch little Jack’s heart one bit. He really doesn’t care about the starving kids in Africa. Hell, he’ll even share his oatmeal with them if you want him to. You look at Anna and she collapses in tears at the mere thought of displeasing you; you can put Ashley in the corner till you’re blue in the face and she doesn’t give a rip. You finally resort to spanking her little behind {waiting for the calls to protective services now}, and she dances off merrily to put the neighbor’s cat in the washer. You take them to church, and they become practicing pagans, lose their virginity early and experiment with every drug on the market; you never darken a church door and have a live-in housemate, and they want to go to Sunday School at 8 on a Sunday morning, for crying out loud, abstain from any form of sex till they are 35, and make straight A’s in school.

It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. They put us on this mommy-bus with our hormones all a-raging, listening to the sounds of our warped little biological clocks ticking away…and forget to tell us the clocks are really bombs.

{collapsing in laughter}

C.S. Lewis on Christmas

Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodotus

by C. S. Lewis

And beyond this there lies in the ocean, turned towards the west and north, the island of Niatirb which Hecataeus indeed declares to be the same size and shape as Sicily, but it is larger, though in calling it triangular a man would not miss the mark. It is densely inhabited by men who wear clothes not very different from the other barbarians who occupy the north western parts of Europe though they do not agree with them in language. These islanders, surpassing all the men of whom we know in patience and endurance, use the following customs.

In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card. But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival; guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the marketplace is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

But having bought as many as they suppose to be sufficient, they return to their houses and find there the like cards which others have sent to them. And when they find cards from any to whom they also have sent cards, they throw them away and give thanks to the gods that this labour at least is over for another year. But when they find cards from any to whom they have not sent, then they beat their breasts and wail and utter curses against the sender; and, having sufficiently lamented their misfortune, they put on their boots again and go out into the fog and rain and buy a card for him also. And let this account suffice about Exmas-cards.

They also send gifts to one another, suffering the same things about the gifts as about the cards, or even worse. For every citizen has to guess the value of the gift which every friend will send to him so that he may send one of equal value, whether he can afford it or not. And they buy as gifts for one another such things as no man ever bought for himself. For the sellers, understanding the custom, put forth all kinds of trumpery, and whatever, being useless and ridiculous, they have been unable to sell throughout the year they now sell as an Exmas gift. And though the Niatirbians profess themselves to lack sufficient necessary things, such as metal, leather, wood and paper, yet an incredible quantity of these things is wasted every year, being made into the gifts.

But during these fifty days the oldest, poorest, and most miserable of the citizens put on false beards and red robes and walk about the market-place; being disguised (in my opinion) as Cronos. And the sellers of gifts no less than the purchaser’s become pale and weary, because of the crowds and the fog, so that any man who came into a Niatirbian city at this season would think some great public calamity had fallen on Niatirb. This fifty days of preparation is called in their barbarian speech the Exmas Rush.

But when the day of the festival comes, then most of the citizens, being exhausted with the Rush, lie in bed till noon. But in the evening they eat five times as much supper as on other days and, crowning themselves with crowns of paper, they become intoxicated. And on the day after Exmas they are very grave, being internally disordered by the supper and the drinking and reckoning how much they have spent on gifts and on the wine. For wine is so dear among the Niatirbians that a man must swallow the worth of a talent before he is well intoxicated.

Such, then, are their customs about the Exmas. But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas, which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child. (The reason of these images is given in a certain sacred story which I know but do not repeat.)

But I myself conversed with a priest in one of these temples and asked him why they kept Crissmas on the same day as Exmas; for it appeared to me inconvenient. But the priest replied, “It is not lawful, O stranger, for us to change the date of Chrissmas, but would that Zeus would put it into the minds of the Niatirbians to keep Exmas at some other time or not to keep it at all. For Exmas and the Rush distract the minds even of the few from sacred things. And we indeed are glad that men should make merry at Crissmas; but in Exmas there is no merriment left.” And when I asked him why they endured the Rush, he replied, “It is, O Stranger, a racket”; using (as I suppose) the words of some oracle and speaking unintelligibly to me (for a racket is an instrument which the barbarians use in a game called tennis).

But what Hecataeus says, that Exmas and Crissmas are the same, is not credible. For first, the pictures which are stamped on the Exmas-cards have nothing to do with the sacred story which the priests tell about Crissmas. And secondly, the most part of the Niatirbians, not believing the religion of the few, nevertheless send the gifts and cards and participate in the Rush and drink, wearing paper caps. But it is not likely that men, even being barbarians, should suffer so many and great things in honour of a god they do not believe in. And now, enough about Niatirb.