I'm going to steal a child

We were on vacation and took the girls down to the hotel pool for a swim.  There was a father there with his daughter and she quickly made friends with our girls.  Within minutes of seeing that our children were happily engaged with one another, he gave my husband and me a knowing look, and disappeared out the door before we could even blink back an S-O-S code of, “Wait!  What do we know?!”  Maybe it was a phone call, maybe a beer run, but he didn’t come back for half an hour.  It seemed exceptionally trusting.  Perhaps he was lulled into a sense of security by the fact that we apparently already had two little girls of our own, but we thought it would be funny to tell him that we had been collecting little girls at hotel pools from Davenport to Sioux Falls.

It amazes me how often young children befriend us at places like the playground and the zoo, with no apparent guardian in site.  They tell us their names, birthdays, phone numbers, and social security numbers with complete abandon.  When we play games with our kids, they beg for a turn; when we break out snacks, they sit down for their portion.  We wonder how far we could take it before someone would finally approach us and suggest that we give them back their child.

I know its prejudiced, but I usually, mentally, attribute these orphans to that guy hanging out in the shade by the shelter, talking loudly into his Bluetooth earpiece.  Even when they aren’t neglecting their kids, the guys at the playground with their Bluetooth sets bug the crap out of me.  What are you signaling your kids when you take them out to play with your phone attached to your ear?  “Hey, kids, let’s go have a great time together!  Unless, of course, someone calls my phone.  I won’t even have to look down and see who’s calling, because I already know I would rather talk to a telemarketer than play with you.”

Of course, I admit, I’m not perfectly attentive to my kids, every moment they’re at the playground.  I’m sure someone has at some time seen me checking to see if my witty status posted when I should have been commending my daughter for her exceptional cart-wheeling (or preventing her from cart-wheeling down some piece of equipment that could have killed her).  But I generally prefer spending time with my kids over beer runs, phone calls, or YouTube.  I hope that is what I generally communicate to them – and that you do the same for your kids.  Because someday one of these little playground orphans is going to be too darn adorable to cut loose, and I’m going to take him home.

When his parents found him, they were amazed. His mother said, "Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been very worried, and we have been searching for you!" Luke 2:48

It takes a Roethlisberger to make me a Cheesehead.

We usually have friends over for the Super Bowl, and I usually, at some point, find myself torn between football and entertaining. Since our Vikings never go to the Super Bowl, I like to take the part of the underdog, and always hope for an exciting game. I don’t know why I bother, though, because I end up chatting it up in the kitchen while I cut more celery sticks anyway.

This year, the Super Bowl is turning into a real drain on my sportsmanship. Instead of rooting for one team or the other, I’m tempted to root for injuries and wardrobe malfunctions. It may be the first time ever that I can spend the whole game refreshing the bean dip and playing Spoons without feeling like I’ve missed a thing. If there were a possible outcome where neither team won – I’d root for that.

Although I think Wisconsin is an exceptionally beautiful state, I can’t imagine living among Packer fans. There were actual tears from Cheeseheads at our 1998 Super Bowl party, when their presumed championship over the Broncos didn’t come to fruition. People who are so crazy for a team scare me. And irritate me. Between the ticket prices and the weather, I just don’t get it. One fan will spend enough on game day to feed a starving African village for a year. And who loves a football team with such earnest as to spend four hours out of doors in below zero weather – occasionally dropping the parka to show off their bikinis and body paint? Aside from the insanity of actual Packer fans, I find it most irritating that people who know as much about football as they do about nuclear physics, almost universally, claim a deep and abiding loyalty to the Packers. If they really don’t care, why not go out on a limb and be more original? Cheer for the Lions. No one around here ever jumps on the Lions’ bandwagon. Green Bay Packer fans lead me to seriously question whether the Midwest is really the center of common sense and down to earth good judgment that I’ve always believed it to be.

I could have probably, easily, taken the Steelers for Sunday’s game and rooted with fervor for them to pound the Pack. Could have – if only they weren’t quarterbacked by Ben Roethlisberger. In fairness, I did not presume to remember the details of the allegations against Big Ben, so I did a double-fact-check and remembered, once again, that if the guy is not a rapist, he is an attempted-rapist. These guys have ample opportunities to woo consenting women, who want their advances. Why drag a college girl into the bathroom of a club and force yourself on her?

If it is up to me, I’m rooting for Roethlisberger to get sidelined by a nasty groin injury. Then I can root for the Steelers. Otherwise, I will, reluctantly, suck it up and cheer for the Pack. Please understand, however, that is only if a team actually has to win this year. How many OT’s do they have to blow through to tie? I know. I’m a terrible sport; I need to leave the judging to God.

But Christ has no favorites! He will punish evil people, just as they deserve. Colossians 3:25

I don’t think Halloween is Evil.

I love the line in Goonies, where Data says he’s moving to Detroit, and Mouth informs him that it’s the murder capitol. That movie was made in 1985; the same year my family picked up and moved to the Detroit area. The other thing Detroit was famous for that year was rampant Devil’s Night arson, and sure enough, our mailbox got blown to bits with the day’s mail inside, the night of October 30th. That was the first time I’d heard of Devil’s Night or the suggestion that Halloween was something sinister. Since relocating to the heartland, I’ve found the “Beggar’s Night” tradition pretty amusing. Our fear of Halloween has us rescheduling Trick-or-Treating, to avoid the antics. If we aren’t going to Trick-or-Treat on Halloween anyway, why don’t we move Beggar’s Night to the nearest, convenient Friday night? Why still send the kids out on a school night? And why call it “Trick-or-Treat?” Shouldn’t it be “Candy Solicitation” or “Jokes for Junkfood?”

To me, Halloween isn’t about nasty pranks, serial killers, or ghoulish threats from beyond the grave. Halloween is about cowboys, princesses, and, most importantly, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. My big brother and I were actually cowboys pretty frequently, because it only required blue jeans and a bandana; something easily thrown together the morning before the school parade. My husband and I now promote family unity by coming up with silly themes that entertain and amuse our friends and neighbors. The girls were adorable as red riding hood and the big bad wolf (especially because the big bad wolf was a scary, little toddler) and Star Wars earned us a large picture in the city paper. Our masked wrestling theme last year made for a great Single Ladies Video, even though we didn’t make the cut for the big costume contest. We haven’t been a family of Undead yet, and I don’t plan on going there, but I have donned the pointy hat to complete the cast of The Wizard of Oz. And The Adams Family wouldn’t be out of the question.

The joy and the problem with Halloween, in my opinion, isn’t the scary movies or the fake blood. The problem is that evil is real every single day of the year. Every day, there are kids running around who would burn down your shed for fun. Every day, the Tempter is at work, enticing us to harm ourselves and one another. Rather than banning my children from the fun of Goosebumps and Harry Potter, rather than closing my door and plugging my ears on October 31st, I’m going to embrace the joy of exercising my imagination, getting little chills down my spine every now and then, and sharing a community experience on the streets of our neighborhood. I’m going to take this chance to connect with the kids on my block and find out what they value by their costume and joke choices. I’m going to fill their bags with Pop Rocks and hope their teenage years are joyful and fruitful enough to keep them off the streets and away from my mailbox.

More important, even than Peanut Butter Cups, I’m going to do my best to live my life, in the world, in a way that reflects the Savior and Creator, who made everything Good, who is more powerful than, and has already scored victory over, evil and the grave, rather than reject the world and isolate myself.  I will fear no evil, on Halloween or otherwise, for God is with me. I hope that if I raise my children immersed in the truth that Good is more powerful than Evil, a few sets of vampire fangs and one pointy hat won’t drive them to burn down my shed or dabble in Wicca.

You, LORD, are the light that keeps me safe. I am not afraid of anyone. You protect me, and I have no fears. Psalm 27:1

I Dined and Dashed

I could have spent the last decade in an Italian prison, instead of Middle America. The father of a high school friend once warned us before a day trip to Canada of the big loophole in foreign travel: they can hold you as long as they want before your trial. Two glasses of wine in Venice and I completely disregarded his sage advice.

I was fortunate, while teaching abroad, to be placed on the southern border of Austria, surrounded by beautiful mountains, and only a few hour's train ride from Venice, Italy. I planned a special trip with two of my most important visitors from home, to go to Venice for the first day the Venetians would begin appearing on the streets in their fantastic Carnival costumes. The pedestrian-only city, a web of alleys, canals, and stone bridges, is by itself a place that inspires the imagination. Adding these elaborate and elegant costumes made the whole place seem like a movie set or Wonderland.

One of the most striking costumes we saw.

We got lost in the sites, wandering the city until we realized it was late afternoon and we were getting really hungry. We found this pizza place situated right along a canal, with patio seating where we could bask in the sun, and marvel at the city around us. We ordered our pizza, and for a mere $6, added a carafe of red table wine. We were always surprised by the relative inferiority of Italian pizza, but the thin crust and cheese tasted great to our hungry palates, and the wine was the perfect splash to wash it down.

We had noticed the slight coldness we were getting from our waiter earlier, but it became most evident when we were ready for the check. It took quite a while to get his attention to even bring it. We were still enjoying the pleasant location and rehashing our morning, so we were pretty patient while we waited. Once we got the bill, we did our best to sort out who owed how much, and to put together the payment in Lira, along with a reasonable tip. Our bills didn't match up, and the result would have been a $15 tip for the waiter, whose kindness to us certainly wouldn't account for that much generosity. We waited for him to return so we could ask for change. And we waited. And we waited.

Note the empty table, the meal long-finished

It is really hard to guess how long we waited, because we had, after all, consumed a carafe of wine together. It felt like at least a half hour. The waiter never returned. Our afternoon in Venice was withering away. We could just leave, but we would have to make a choice whether to over-tip him substantially (especially by European standards), or under pay the bill by $5. We chose the latter and took off down the alley with the adrenalin-rush of young people who knew they were doing wrong. We could have just walked away, the waiter was obviously not going to come check our receipt with any urgency, but we were stealing and we didn't want to get caught.

We experienced some pretty lousy service at a stateside pizza joint last night, proving in some measure how universal it is that human beings don't really want to wait on one another. We had to beg for napkins, utensils, and refills. I'll give her credit, though. She was prompt with the bill. Wise woman.

Give everyone what you owe them: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor. Romans 13:7