What Others Have to Say About Me is None of My Business

I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and opened the shower curtain. I was startled by the oldest boy who was quietly sitting on the toilet, and he got a kick out of my surprised squeal.  Apparently he had been sitting there a while and I did not realize it.  This is just one of the benefits of being Mom; you are never alone.  While stepping out of the shower I teased the boy that he scared me and I didn't know he was there.  Why can't they be this quiet when I want them to be?

I am drying off as I step out of the shower and he hits me with it.  "Why do you have a tattoo on your butt Mommy?"  In an attempt to stall the answer, I remind Mr. Observant that I have another one...right there.  Like many other times I am caught off guard by a question by one of the boys, I simply fly by the seat of my pants. "Why do you ask buddy, do you not like Mommy's tattoo?".

This is one of those many times one of the boys teaches me something.  They are constantly making me stop and reflect on myself and my beliefs, making me a better person. My little man, wise beyond his years, looks at me and says "Mommy, it doesn't matter if I like it.  It only matters if you like it.".

All I could do was smile with pride.  Where does this kid get it?  I know he does not get it from me, and Daddy is less open minded than I am.  Little Man then proceeds to tell me about a picture he drew at school that one of his classmates did not like, and evidently was not shy about sharing her opinion.  The incident with the picture at school had made an impact on Little Man.  He told me he liked the picture and did not care if others felt differently. YOU GO BOY!

I am not sure how long he was sitting there, waiting for me.  After my schooling on confidence and what others have to say about  me, he got up and walked out like nothing happened.  If he only knew.

What Genitals and Religion Have in Common

Stick with me here folks.  I will hopefully make sense soon enough.

My parents taught me a lot of things.  Most of you have heard similar statements from your parents including, but not limited to:

• Don't point.


• Don't talk with your mouth full.


• Cloth shoes are for evening wear.


• The olive in a martini DOES count as a veggie serving.


• If you don't have something nice to say, keep your mouth shut.


• You get what you give.

Although my parents divorced when I was eight years old, they agreed on one thing.  Don't force others to see things your way.  Your way is not the only way.  This did backfire on them as I got older, when I could use the argument against them.  At that point, their work was done.  They had taught me to think for myself and allow others to do the same thing.

You might be asking yourself at this point, "Hey Red, what does this have to do with my God or my junk?".  Patience is a virtue my one lonely reader.  I am getting there.

As my mother's health declined over the last couple of years, I noticed her relationship with her God got stronger than ever.  My mother was a big believer in the power of prayer and believed her God answered every prayer.  Some will say those  fighting terminal illnesses tend to gravitate towards religion.  They need something, anything, in which they can believe.  I, on the other hand believe my mother already had a strong faith.  It was in this time of need that she was able to find solace in her faith.  She never ran around waving a self righteous flag.  She didn't have to, her God knew her heart.

I grew up near the church.  I don't mean it was down the street.  I mean that I asked Jesus to be my Lord and Savior a long time ago. I was baptized and forgiven for my sins.  We did not attend church every Sunday and Wednesday though.  I did not wear my faith on my shoulder.  My faith is something I consider to be very personal and private.  It is mine.  The other reason for my privacy with my faith is, frankly I did not want to be grouped with some of the zealots I have met on the road to redemption.  Most so-called Christians I have met in all my 34 years are the most judgmental and unforgiving souls I have ever met.  I found it ironic that the religion founded on forgiveness seems to be the least.  These people know a different God than I do.

My step-dad was a deacon in his church for years.  I listen to his stories about his time serving God in this capacity and I hear the cynicism in his voice.  He too, had a similar viewpoint as I do.  Too bad.  The church lost another good follower. His faith is still strong.  He and my mom walked together and shared their faith.  Funny thing though, I never saw him waving a flag either.

My father is a non-believer.  He was raised in a large Catholic  family and has his reasons for his viewpoint.  I don't try to convince him of my way and he gives me the same respect.  He does not mock the cross I wear around my neck and I do not tell him he is going to hell.  On the contrary, one day when our time comes, he will save me a seat in heaven and be the first to pass me a Schlafly.

I took the boys to church last Sunday.  No, I don't go every Sunday and that does not make me less of a Christian than those that do.  Hell, going to church makes you as much of a Christina as hanging out in the garage makes you a car. While are church, the boys enjoyed children's church while I listened to a sermon that could not have been timed more appropriatly.  Why does it turn out that when I finally show up, I hear exactly what I need to hear?  Do I make the sermon work for me or is God doin his job?  I will go with the latter...might make me go again.  I will continue to take the boys to church on occasion and educate them on all religions, not just Christianity.  Information is power and my boys will make their own diecisions.

Oh, and I will let them wear jeans when we go.  I am such a heathen.

You might still be wondering about your junk. Your religion is like your genitalia.  Don't shove either down anyone's throats please.  The world will be a much better place.