I was going to post about finding a disgustingly long hair on my chin, and write a funny, self-deprecating post about how I'm turning into my grandmother at the tender age of 22. I cannot bring myself to write that this evening.
On my profile, I list that I work for a nonprofit. The specific field is child abuse prevention. The agency I work for has a crisis/respite nursery for parents who feel in danger of harming their children. We often receive calls from parents who feel at the end of their rope. Sometimes the only thing they need is a day off to clean the house and do the grocery shopping without children running around being kids. We are happy to help them. Sometimes the circumstances are far more serious. These more serious calls break my heart.
Children the world over are suffering from child abuse. Low-income levels, substance abuse, multiple children, single parents, domestic violence--these are all triggers that cause parents to react in violence to their own children. My city is the methamphetamine capital of the United States. With meth use often comes poverty, and with poverty and drug use, there is a high level of child abuse. My agency exists to stop parents from harming their children.
I hate the days when I get calls about parents referred to our various programs. I wish that they would decide to come to us before hurting their children. I wish that there was an end in sight to the problem of child abuse.
There is no end in sight. Yes, my agency makes a difference in the lives of the families we serve, but for every family we serve, three others are out there not being served. It is a gargantuan task. Seeing changes in families makes my job worthwhile, and causes me to continue to hope. However, as a Christian, I understand that I live in a fallen world. Sin is ever-present. There will never be a day when my agency is not needed. This saddens me and makes my heart ache for the thousands of children who live in fear of their own parents--the very people they are most supposed to trust and respect.
Please join with me in praying for these children and their parents. It is only the work of Christ in the world that will put an end to this problem.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Babies "R" a Scam
The Geek and I do not yet have any children. We like it that way. Don't get me wrong, we would love to have kids someday, but I need to get over something before that can happen. My problem: Babies "R" Us gives me panic attacks.
I have two friends who are currently pregnant. Of course, pregnancy usually inspires baby showers. Since I am friends with these two, I was invited to said showers. This requires a trip to Babies "R" Us to pick up gifts from their registries. Having no children of my own, I am entirely reliant on registries to determine appropriate gifts. If it were left to me, I would probably purchase an outfit or shoes, entirely impractical, unsuitable, and most likely the wrong size.
I approached this evening's shopping excursion with trepidation. The last time I had to do this, I had only one registry to work with and even that caused me to hyperventilate. Two was more than I could take. However, I was determined to prevail. I grabbed those bright yellow lists and went out into the wide baby world. I then realized that I knew nothing about baby supplies. So, in my limited knowledge, I began to wonder up and down the aisles, looking in vain for things that might possibly be on the list.
My mystified expression must have incited pity, for a salesperson soon came up to me and asked what I was looking for. I said stupidly, "A baby shower gift." She looked at me like I was an idiot, and then asked what item from I thought I might like to buy. I pointed to "POP Daisy Sheet." Confession, I picked this item only because it had the word "daisy" in it, and daisies are my favorite flower. She took me over to the appropriate aisle and pointed out a crib sheet. I didn't want to buy that, so I feigned interest, and then when the salesperson wasn't looking, I ran across the store to another section.
I wish I had bought the crib sheet. What awaited me on the other side of the store was an array of bottles and pacifiers which almost put me into heart failure. Out of 1 million different varieties, how was I supposed to find "2PK SZ1 NUK SIL BUTTON PACI"? Did you know that there are different sizes of pacifiers? I didn't. There are three sizes, dependent on age, two nipple designs (one of which is orthodontist-approved), two materials (silicon and latex), two kinds of handles, and an array of other custom features. These are all mixed into every possible permutation of pacifier available. And, don't even get me started on the "designer" pacifiers. There are ones with rhinestones, sayings ("Who's your daddy?" anyone?), and pictures of every Disney Channel character ever created.
Needless to say, I gave up on pacifiers, and settled for an easy gift, bottles (almost as complicated as pacifiers), burp cloths, and bath towels. I at least know that these are all useful and necessary gifts. I sheepishly took my purchase to the register and made a hasty exit, my head hanging in shame and my woeful ignorance. I then called the Geek in terror and informed him that I am never, ever going into that store alone again. Ever. I also told him that if having children required a trip to that terrifying store, I would never be having children. Ever.
This leads me to my point. Why, really is there a baby superstore? I'm sure that babies do not require customized pacifiers. I'm sure having two material options (silicon and latex) is important with allergies and all, but why everything else? I think the baby market, like most markets, has gotten completely out of hand. When I need a guide just to purchase a baby shower gift, then something about babies has gone seriously wrong.
The Geek is aware that I will not be entering that store by myself anytime soon, and he is ok with that. Perhaps, once I am initiated into the realms of motherhood, I will treat with joy a trip to the Mecca of babyville. Until then, I will continue to search in vain for "VINYL ZIP MATT COVERS."
OCD
I have two friends who are currently pregnant. Of course, pregnancy usually inspires baby showers. Since I am friends with these two, I was invited to said showers. This requires a trip to Babies "R" Us to pick up gifts from their registries. Having no children of my own, I am entirely reliant on registries to determine appropriate gifts. If it were left to me, I would probably purchase an outfit or shoes, entirely impractical, unsuitable, and most likely the wrong size.
I approached this evening's shopping excursion with trepidation. The last time I had to do this, I had only one registry to work with and even that caused me to hyperventilate. Two was more than I could take. However, I was determined to prevail. I grabbed those bright yellow lists and went out into the wide baby world. I then realized that I knew nothing about baby supplies. So, in my limited knowledge, I began to wonder up and down the aisles, looking in vain for things that might possibly be on the list.
My mystified expression must have incited pity, for a salesperson soon came up to me and asked what I was looking for. I said stupidly, "A baby shower gift." She looked at me like I was an idiot, and then asked what item from I thought I might like to buy. I pointed to "POP Daisy Sheet." Confession, I picked this item only because it had the word "daisy" in it, and daisies are my favorite flower. She took me over to the appropriate aisle and pointed out a crib sheet. I didn't want to buy that, so I feigned interest, and then when the salesperson wasn't looking, I ran across the store to another section.
I wish I had bought the crib sheet. What awaited me on the other side of the store was an array of bottles and pacifiers which almost put me into heart failure. Out of 1 million different varieties, how was I supposed to find "2PK SZ1 NUK SIL BUTTON PACI"? Did you know that there are different sizes of pacifiers? I didn't. There are three sizes, dependent on age, two nipple designs (one of which is orthodontist-approved), two materials (silicon and latex), two kinds of handles, and an array of other custom features. These are all mixed into every possible permutation of pacifier available. And, don't even get me started on the "designer" pacifiers. There are ones with rhinestones, sayings ("Who's your daddy?" anyone?), and pictures of every Disney Channel character ever created.
Needless to say, I gave up on pacifiers, and settled for an easy gift, bottles (almost as complicated as pacifiers), burp cloths, and bath towels. I at least know that these are all useful and necessary gifts. I sheepishly took my purchase to the register and made a hasty exit, my head hanging in shame and my woeful ignorance. I then called the Geek in terror and informed him that I am never, ever going into that store alone again. Ever. I also told him that if having children required a trip to that terrifying store, I would never be having children. Ever.
This leads me to my point. Why, really is there a baby superstore? I'm sure that babies do not require customized pacifiers. I'm sure having two material options (silicon and latex) is important with allergies and all, but why everything else? I think the baby market, like most markets, has gotten completely out of hand. When I need a guide just to purchase a baby shower gift, then something about babies has gone seriously wrong.
The Geek is aware that I will not be entering that store by myself anytime soon, and he is ok with that. Perhaps, once I am initiated into the realms of motherhood, I will treat with joy a trip to the Mecca of babyville. Until then, I will continue to search in vain for "VINYL ZIP MATT COVERS."
OCD
Saturday, February 16, 2008
And so it begins
I have become increasingly aware of the American need to be involved in a project of some kind. In the past several months, I have read two books about people undertaking a one-year project in order to find some sort of meaning to life—to preserve for posterity some form of accomplishment unique to themselves. The first of these books was Julie and Julia by Julie Powell. In this memoir, Ms. Powell writes about her yearlong quest to cook all of the recipes contained in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The second such book was The Know-It-All: One Man’s Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World by A.J. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs, again in a memoir style, writes of his journey through the complete Encyclopædia Britannica over the period of one year. These books were fascinating reads, and as all fascinating reads are wont to do in me, inspired a project of my own.
While reading the above books, I became envious of these two. I do not have an all-encompassing, year-long project to toil through. I will not, at the end of this next year, have achieved meaning and be awarded a publishing contract. So, of course, in response, I am doing the next-best thing—I’m beginning a blog. I am carving out my little piece of cyberspace which will hopefully be the point at which I may pontificate further about our project-obsessed society.
I cannot decry the American need to be involved in a project without condemning myself as well. The creation of this blog serves as proof that I too often fall into this trap. In addition to the newly-created blog, I have a great many other plans. I have always desired to be well-versed in as many differing fields as possible. This translates into a long string of unfinished projects, begun in great earnest, with great dedication. As soon as I mastered the skill enough to be conversant in it, I would abandon the project, having added another experience to my supposed vast fields of knowledge.
The only problem with this pattern is that my little OCD heart shudders mightily at the thought of those loose ends. I have boxes and bags and closets full of projects I have begun, mastered, and never completed. I don't want to finish them. I have the knowledge; that's all I was in it for.
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