Talking to Goddie

My daughter has an imaginary friend. Well, two actually but for now we'll focus on Goddie (sounds like gawdy). She was just in the bathroom talking to Goddie.
She was telling he/she that he/she could go and stamp while she was in the potty.
"Go ahead" she yelled. As though Goddie were in the dining room with me.

It's odd really. I don't particularly care for her pretend friends. They are always telling her she can't do something or have something and they have on more than one occasion, contradicted me.

And Maya seems to listen to them.

I am not at all sure what to make of this. Tim thinks it's funny that she chose Goddie as a name.

We don't talk about God in our home. We don't pray. Jesus Christ is just a curse I feel okay saying in front of my 3 year old.

Yesterday when I was leaving daycare the new teacher told Maya to be a good girl.
"Go home, eat dinner, have a bath, and pray and go to bed."

I wasn't sure what upset me more, her conviction that we pray (because clearly everyone does) or the fact that she assumes that we give our children baths every night...

But Maya is sick. And when I called in to check on her, I got one of the daycare owners on the phone, by chance. And so I mentioned it. Assuring her that I was not at all angry, I just wanted her to mention it to the teacher so that I didn't have to worry about her talking about God and religion to my child.

And here's the thing.

I am not at all angry. I am sure that there will be many more instances when people assume things about me, my daughter, and my family (like the common mistake that we are all Italian). I just want to let my daughter make these choices by herself, when she is ready. I want her to go to temple with her jewish friends(one of my favorite religions by the way), and Christmas mass with her Catholic friends, or celebrate with her muslim friends (first she'll need to make some). I want her to explore and learn on her own.

I want her to realize that I am not making this decision for her. I want to guide her as little as I can while she is still so young that she takes everything I say as gospel (forgive the pun).

I don't want to say things like "well we don't believe in praying".

And I know that I am over analyzing this and that everyone, every person, finds their own path here, in their own way. And I know that I can have high hopes for my daughter and her quest for knowledge. And maybe it won't matter. And maybe she won't care.

Or maybe she'll learn what I did.

No matter what the religion, it is the people that matter. Whether you are a good christian, muslim, jew, or other, you must first be a good person.

That is what I want to raise.

(oh and I would like her to be happy, healthy, well adjusted and like me enough when she is out of the house to call at least once a week...)

To Do Lists

So I am proud to say that I have been ticking items off of my to-do list like a mad woman lately. And boy am I tired.

My tire that I have been putting off taking to the shop did indeed have a nail in it. Fixed. My duvet managed to make it off my bed and to the laundromat. It is now sweet smelling and clean. I sent off the massive amounts of paper I needed to compile to change my name on my passport in time for my trip to Mexico. What a Pain in the Ass (but I am SO sure it will be worth it)!

I am traveling a LOT. And not all for business so I am partially to blame for the state of my home and the fact that I have thrown out more of my CSA vegetables than I have eaten this year...

BUT

This week I chaperoned my first school event and got the pleasure of spending two hours in a movie theater with my daughter and her friends. I will chaperon again. I loved the extra time with her. And she was giddy that I was a part of her field trip.

We had an opportunity for some more mom and Maya time last night.

Let me first say that I love musicals. They are a part of my make up. My parents took me to see Annie when I was approx 7 and I have been hooked ever since. I love the fantasy and the production. I marvel at the lyrics, the costumes, the lights. I listen to the soundtracks and sing along when ever no one is listening, and sometimes when they are. So, one of my "first chance I get" things I wanted to do with my daughter (and really so that I will have someone to go with) was to take her to a musical.

So we went to a Summer Stage production of Seussical the Musical last night.

At first she was a little scared. She covered her ears and asked to sit on my lap. And I have to admit that there were A LOT of kids on that stage. It was a little intimidating. But she was clapping after every song and smiling along with the production as it moved on it's merry way. I am betting that she didn't understand most of what was going on but she seemed to be having fun.

Because I love musicals I want Maya to like them too. Not with any kind of desperation, but in a wouldn't it be nice kind of way. Or at least that's what I thought.

Until about 45 minutes into the play when she tugged on my sleeve, her eyes still fixed on the stage, and whispered:

"mommy can I do that when I get bigger?"

And I got teary.

Such a drama queen.

Power

Here is my boy. The last of the mohicans. Tim is so pleased with himself.

Dean looks more like my sister-in-law than he does me. She could easily have been his mom.
If she were still alive I might be jealous. But as she will never have the chance to have children of her own, Dean is hers, to a certain degree. I see her when I look at him and I love him even more for that (if that's possible).

My SIL, Vicki, took her own life. She sat down in a chair with a plastic bag and a cannister of helium and never stood back up. She was 27, I think. It was 4 months after my wedding, almost 6 years ago now.

Yesterday my mother in law sent me an email to let me know that the monster that molested her eight year old daughter, died in his sleep on July 17th.

I don't really believe in afterlife. Heaven or hell.

But I am sure that this man's soul is burning.

I am not a very vengeful person.

But he got away with so much in life, never having to pay, never having to answer for his crimes. Vicki battled with what happened to her her entire life. And in the end, she lost.

I hope he burns and I hope it hurts.

And I hope that my husband will survive this last reminder without building up so much anger that he explodes, or implodes.

If my little mohican loves his sister only half as much as Tim loves Vicki, she is one lucky girl.