"Let's talk about God baby...Let's talk about you and me..."

In keeping with the title of my blog (Postulates & Pasttimes), today's entry is more along the line of Postulates--the religious kind to be more precise. Come, walk with me and let us talk about this religious stuff...

I was raised in a Pentecostal-based church. We moved around from Church of God organizations to Assembly of God organizations because basically they believe the same thing. In fact, I'm not sure what the difference is, once you stop concerning yourself with how they govern themselves. Although, the Assemblies of God do have a better Web site, so one point for AoG.

Among other things that Pentecostals believe, is the fact that as babies, we are born sinners and unless one repents of his or her sins, he or she cannot go to heaven. Now, there is a grace period that all babies and children get; meaning that if a child were to die before a certain age of awareness, then they automatically go to heaven. This core belief is fundamental and pretty much set in stone. You can go from one church to another and hear the same thing.

Another belief that is set in stone is the idea that Jesus will one day suddenly come back to earth, surprising everyone. He'll then collect his people ("..in the blink of an eye..."), persecute the rest for a very long time, then basically bring heaven back down to earth where folks will live in peace for a while. Oh, also during this time, the Devil will be loosed back on earth in a last-ditch effort at turning folks and then he'll be banned for all time. Even as a child, I found flaws in this belief. My biggest "oh right" is the idea that the Devil will be given a chance to convert people who are living in "Heaven on Earth." Now, why would anyone who is in "Heaven" possibly follow the devil? Whatever...moving on.
(Note: If you're really interested in this stuff, read Revelations.)

However, one area that there appears to be some gray area around, is what happens after you repent of your "original sin". I've heard it preached that if I ask for forgiveness and I turn around and sin one time, and if after having sinned, and before I ask forgiveness again, the Lord should happen to come or I die in some horrific accident, then I'm doomed to suffer on earth until Judement Day.

Now, though I've never heard it specifically said, I've heard others hint at the idea that simply accepting Jesus as your savior and asking for his forgiveness is enough to get you into heaven as long as you strive to be good from there on out. This idea obviously holds more appeal for most people, which may be why the churches as a rule are integrating this into their theology, albeit unofficially.

So what does all this have to do with my blog entry you ask? Well, I'll tell you...If scenario A (first one above) is true, then if the Lord comes while I'm typing this up, then I'm going to hell.

Yes, according to Pentecostal belief, I have sinned and "...come short of the glory of God."

See, my wife is out of town and I've been watching the boys the last couple of nights. Monday night was fine. Both went to bed normally and the baby only woke up once.

Last night, however, was a different story. My eldest went to bed fine, but my youngest woke up four times during the night. On top of that, I have come down with a nasty little cold--in fact, all three of us have--and when you couple no sleep with being sick, well, let's just say I would have fit right in with a compliment of sailors last night...and no, I haven't asked for forgiveness yet.

Sleep well...

"And we drink and drink and drink and drink and drink and drink...and then we puke and puke..."

Last night's menu:

- Grilled chicken breasts "hand rubbed" with olive oil, Old Bay seasoning and garlic powder
- Grilled asparagus marinated in a lime juice, olive oil and sea salt marinade
- Mashed potatoes topped with a generous spoonful of butter
- Big Fat Yeast Roll
- Beverage of Choice (mine was a vodka and iced-tea mix)

As I was plating the food, my eldest announced he needed to poop. Now, my son suffers from "holditin-itus" and thus, anytime he needs to poop, you can pretty much bet he needs to poop. This led to a 30-minute exercise in family-dining-futility as I held the baby and dropped copious amounts of food on my lap and the floor (family dog was in heaven), while my wife sat on the stool in front of my enthroned son and read books. By the time she got to the meal, it was cold and lifeless.

Which is a shame too because it was really delicious, especially with the hot sauce/bar-b-que sauce mixture I made to go along with it.

This is about the 4th straight day of poopage for my eldest, which is somewhat of a record. This morning though, he complained of cramping, so perhaps its time to dial down the laxative (Miralax) again. Only, last time we did that, five days later it was "out with the suppository" AGAIN!

But what really startled me is how thin my son is now. I mean, he looks like a growing boy who gets a lot of exercise (which he does/is) rather than a slightly chubby 3-year old who does nothing but sits on the couch (which he doesn't/isn't). I can actually see his little ribs and tummy muscles, which I haven't been able to see in a long while. Makes me wonder how long some of that stuff has been in there...yuck.

For the record, we do have a Dr.'s appt. scheduled with a GI doc since our Pediatricians seem to think his only problem is that we don't force feed him enough bran muffins and water. Like they've ever had kids...

Oh to be loved...

Dads hold special places in the hearts of their children, or so I like to believe. Being the disciplinarian in our family, I understand why my "eldest" typically prefers mom, over dad, for most playtime activities, and generally for anything else whenever we are both around. Which I'm fine with. I grew up an only child for the most part, so my imagination skills are somewhat lacking (when I was a kid, my idea of "fun" by myself was putting on old 45 records of "Jerry Clower" and reciting the jokes along with him); plus I get restless sitting on the floor moving little Thomas the Tank Engine wooden trains around the tracks for an hour. Call me crazy.

Last night was not unlike any other night. I cooked dinner (breakfast food, yum!) and my wife and I sat down with the baby at the table and my eldest son, who hasn't pooped in like 4 days, decided he didn't care to join us, yet again. I, attempting to bring back the "family" in "family dinner" told my son to come to the table and sit with us even if he didn't want to eat--"Dammit!" (OK, I didn't actually say the word, but my tone pretty much did)

Eldest Son, "NO! I want you to go to work."

Whaddya gonna do? I finally got him to the table under threat of both a spanking (Gasp! Yes, folks, I DO spank my children), and at the risk of his losing a happy face, which means that getting that new train he's been wanting has to wait yet another day until some random point in the future.

After dinner, I went out to water plants. My wife comes out the door, then my son and she says, "What were you going to tell daddy?"
Son: "I'm sowwy daddy for huwting yow feewings."

How can you stay mad at that? I know, I know, SUCKER!

Guilty as charged.

Yearly Check Ups

Not mine thank you...the kids. In a moment of what could only be described as insanity, I volunteered to take both boys (simulatneously) to the Dr's. office for their yearly checkup. Ethan was due for his yearly and Aiden for his monthly.

We arrived at the scheduled time of 8:30 as we were supposed to, and were behind probably 4-5 others who were there with their sick kids, ranging in age from infant up to at least 15. This one mother, acted as I imagine my adopted mom would have if suddenly faced with actually having to care for a child. She didn't have a clue. I mean, come on, anyone who goes to the doctor knows the routine right?

...you walk in...you sign in...they give you a chart to fill out and you hand them your insurance card...sometimes you immediately pay your co-pay, and you get the heck outta the way. Not so, this mom. She fumbled, she mumbled, she SET HER PURSE ON THE FLOOR TO LOOK FOR HER INSURANCE CARD. And then...and then, when all that was done, she just stood there in front of the sign-in sheet and wouldn't move. The kicker was that her kid was a teenager and here she is acting like it's the first time she's been to the Dr. Lay off the Prozac lady and plug into reality. (Dear Lord, please forgive me. I'm sorry for making fun of people with mental instability and those pygmies over in New Guinnea...")

Here I am, holding a not-too-light infant and carrier, while trying to herd my older son away from the sick kids and into the "Well children" side of the office.

Luckily, before there was an evisceration, the lady finally moved and things proceeded as normally. We were called back...well, actually my youngest son was called back and then when I explained they both had appointmentes, well...I think I just completely threw her for a loop. She placed us in a room while they "sort it all out." (with a sickly sweet smile that makes you just want to say, "Don't bother, I'll find another pediatrition." Which I won't because it's way too difficult a proposition.")

So finally about 20 minutes later, two ladies come in to tag-team us and they proceed to ask for my oldest son's cooperation, and in response he stuck his finger up his nose and proceeded to hide behind a chair. Now normally, this is where I'd grab an arm and drag him out kicking and screaming all the while threatening a spanking, but I'm in pubic, so instead I use the old, "You won't got to the train show today unless you do this" argument. And it works a little; at least enough that they do what they need to do. My youngest son was easy...all they had to do was remove his clothes and he was ready to go.

So, when they left, they told me to take off all my oldest son's clothes down to his underwear (you mean diaper?) and wait for el doctor. Thirty minutes later, I'm out of soothing bottle for the infant, my oldest son has run through his gamut of toys and I'm getting steamed. I stick my head out the door and start complaining to the first lackey I could find, who actually stood her ground fairly well, until I used the, "I don't care how many sick kids came in ahead of me, we had an appointment. If you can't staff enough to meet your obligations, then don't make any." There was nothing she could say to that really, so I win!

Finally the doctor came in, one of the few we really like there, and that really saved the day. The kids are healthy, the Dr. used his authority to tell my older son that "Picking your nose is an ugly habit," and "You should use the potty ALL the time." We'll see how well that works.

At any rate, I got out with my sanity (just barely) and major brownie points with my wife, which is really worth gold in these days of precious few moments of "me" time. So, alls well that ends well, at least until next year.