(warning: yet another bodily function post!)

For many years in the U.S., American Catholic kids who attended public schools often turned to their parishes to provide religious education, usually referred to (sometimes incorrectly) as "CCD." My daughter attended religion classes at my parish for two years, beginning in kindergarden. She always seemed to enjoy it, as the classroom learning was supplemented with kid-friendly crafts, games, and songs. I always made sure she did her homework which never raised any objections from her.

This year, my parish made a radical change in "faith formation" education by eliminating all grade-level religion classes. Instead, the education model is "Intergenerational Chatechesis" - or basically all-ages learning sessions.

Without getting into a discussion of my feelings (or that of my peers and our children) about the new programming, I merely wish to introduce this notion, as it impacts the rest of the story.

The format of the once-per-month sessions is that the families (a group numbering around 200 people per session) gather together prior to the "learning" portion of the session to "share a meal." The meal is provided for us, although we never know what type of food we are going to get. On the whole, most of the food has been pretty good. But, with my kooky, unpredictable g.i. tract, eating and then being expected to engage in activites in a large group for another 2.5 hours is nervewracking.

The meal portion is "required" for attendees, and since we are attending immediately following Mass, we are all usually quite hungry (as we are expected to fast at least one hour prior to Mass.)

I was exceptionally hungry tonight. And of course, they fed us hot dogs, Italian beef sandwiches, chips and sodas.

Despite the tastiness of these Chicago-style delicacies, there is one MAJOR problem with this sort of meal combo: it REALLY give you GAS!! If the hot dog or beef sandwich (with "sport peppers" and pickled veggies known as gardiniera) doesn't repeat on you continually, then the soda you washed it down with will surely get the burps a-poppin'!

Instead of our typical post-meal learning session in the classrooms, tonight the planners organized a liturgy of reflection on the topics we have studied thus far. So that meant we were to sit (and stand, and sit and stand - we are Catholics - we do the pew olympics every week!) for an hour and a half. All the while that hot dog, diet pepsi and beef sandwich (I told you I was hungry!) was churning away in my guts, fermenting into some sort of witches brew in my duodenum. At one point, thankfully while sitting, I felt the first wave of gurgles make their way lower down the tract and *whoops!*

I had to clench it in as casually as I could. I was sandwiched between two people in the pew so I could not exit quietly and wait out the prayer session in the safety of the ladies' room. My daughter was sitting with my friend's son a few rows ahead. I turned to my friend and whispered, "Oh no, that dinner is giving me gas!"

She rejoined, "Ugh, me too!"

And with that we both began clutching our guts, in what would be a futile attempt to calm the inner workings of our church-bound bodies. The true test of my butt-stifling arrived when we were forced to stand and sing a hymn - not just one but all three verses!

Finally the service ended, I gathered up my daughter and our coats and we beelined to the car. As I hustled my daughter out the door, I shared, "Oh man, we have to hurry, I have such bad gas and had to hold it in the whole time we were in church!"

"Mom, me too! I had to hold in farts at least two times," she countered.

Finally getting into the car, the seatbelts clicked, doors locked, I heard the mightiest chain of windbreaking eminating from my little gal in the backseat!  A few blocks down the road, the spirit moved me - or at least the spirit of processed meats! - and I let go of those "tensions" that were causing me so much worry moments earlier.

The closing hymn used in the service had the following lyrics:

"I send you out, on a mission of love
I send you out, on a mission of love,
I send you out, on a mission of love,
and know that I am with you always,
until the end of the world."

My progeny and I, now relieved, began singing it, but with our own altered lyrics:

I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
and know that it is really stinky,
'cause it came out of my ass!

Yesterday I happened to run into my funny friend, Father Steve. We got to chatting and were talking about unfortunate coincidences of dates. For example, I noted that on my birthday I got a "card" from my doctor that said, "Its your anniversary - it's time for a colonoscopy!"

He noted that, "Yeah, one lady [presumably another parishioner] was complaining to me, 'It's my birthday and I got my period.' "

(insert sound of needle scratching across a record.)

I have zero issues with talk of bodily functions (as evidenced by the lurid tales of my GI tract)  but somehow, hearing a man referring to a complaint about Aunt Flo  BOTHERED me. I was aghast. Ok, granted, I brought up the colonoscopy joke but still...b*tching about periods is, to me, for the exclusive realm of women.

Secondly, I'm sure the woman he referred to (although not by name) wouldn't appreciate her cycles being broadcast to other parishioners.

I know guys complain ABOUT us, as in, "Ugh, she's being a real pain in the a** 'cause she's on her period."

But not try to empathize. Eww, again, that is just, somehow bothersome, and I'm not exactly sure why.

But then, this particular gent has been known to try to empathize with us women before (click and scroll to May 18th 2007 entry).

This stream of thought occurred to me as I was commenting on another blogger's entry today, as well as reading a recent entry from his wife.

My daughter has been exposed to a LOT of cussing/swearing/and general rated-R words in her lifetime. Most of them have been perpetrated by ME. Whoops. But, as I stated above, context is everything.

I don't say, "You are a piece of sh*t!"

I say, "Awww sh*t!"

I don't say, "Damn you, child!"

I say, "Awww dammit!"

I don't say, "I'm going to go f*** your dad right now, so you need to go in the other room and shut your door."

I say, "Awww F***!"

I have a short fuse and often the firecrackers that erupt are expletives directed at no one or nothing in particular. Just venting.

Yeah, I am  the same "religious" gal who goes to Mass each week, sometimes more often, takes scripture classes, and visits invalids and people in nursing homes to pray. I have actually tried to confess this bad habit a few times, and the priest dismisses it as no big thing. To be honest, I've heard some salty language, again in the same "venting" type of context, from my pastor! We're all human.

Along those lines, a few months ago, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, I flipped through our DVD selections and realized I had a GREAT choice for my 8-year old and I to watch together. The last time I saw it was on network tv, so I recall there was some mild language use, based on the (obvious) dubs like "Shoot!"

I had no recollection of something like 3 F's and 1 M-F in the movie. But, again, each was literally just a "venting" curse, not a directed, or used-in-the-context-of-its meaning naughty word. The only truly worrisome line was one guy saying, "I once knew a hooker named Minnie Mizzola." But it went right over her head.

After I heard the first "F" I peeked at the box. Whoops! It was rated R!!! But we were already pretty far into the film and my daughter was howling with delight at the car chase scenes, explosions, and great musical numbers. And of course there is NO blood, no sex; just lots of memorable lines and locations, especially to a Chicago-born kid like her. In fact, I think The Blues Brothers should be required viewing for all Chicagoland residents at some point in their lives.

Once the film ended, my daughter looked at me and exclaimed, "THAT WAS THE BEST MOVIE EVER!!!!!"

Now she's busy quoting Jake, Elwood and the gang to all of her friends every chance she gets (with no swears, of course.)

I just have to think up a good story to explain to other parents why their kids are begging to see a 1980's rated-R movie. Dammit!

A few weeks ago, my daughter brought home a packet of info from the PTA. It explains an annual service, sponsored by the PTA, that is provided for parents by a third party. This third party assembles into a kit all of the required school supplies for a student in a given grade (supply lists vary per year.) When the student arrives on the first day of school, if he/she bought (or, that is, his/her parent bought) a kit, it is sitting on their desk in their classroom.

I have been using this service the past few years because it is quite convenient and always seemed like a bargain. It was usually around $20 or so for all of the supplies, plus they throw in some personalized stickers, envelopes for lunch money, etc.

This year, as I browsed the list for third graders, I read the price: $40.72!!!!

WTF?

Are these kids getting Mont Blanc crayons? Cross pen & Pencil sets?

I'll probably write the check anyway, so as to avoid the lines and disappointment of sold-out items at my local Office Depot.

I am pleased to report that the contractor's bid on our recreational project was entirely out-of-control outrageous, more than double what we thought we might pay. I am RELIEVED that our potential project is off the docket.

Now, next week, another contractor who gave us a very REASONABLE bid is doing work on our Illinois property. After 10 years of living here, we are finally installing...

...an asphalt driveway!

Um, yeah, we've had a gravel drive all that time, which was fine until this recent extended winter when the excessive precipiation turned what was compressed stone into grey clay/mud - or rather, all of the mud and gravel dust oozed up to the top and of course made a huge mess when anyone walked into the house. Also, our improvise slab of walkway into the house literally cracked under pressure - from the insane wintry conditions it endured this year. So we are putting in nice, tidy blacktop from the apron to the door.

I need to remind my husband that we *still* need to get a snowblower to CLEAR our lovely new drive (which is 100 ft long - kind of tough to shovel that much!) when we get pummeled again next winter. It sucks to think about snowblowers in May...but per Abby's recent post, you never know when the snow will surprise you.

Today I served 1/2 of my sentence to  traffic safety school for that offense awhile back where I was speeding while driving holy communion to an invalid.

Anyway...

I wish I could have taken mug shots of each classmate and then posted comments about them.

I think the best moment was when we had a discussion of the senses we use to drive safely.

The instructor called on a fellow named Ken who replied, "Well, vision, of course."

"Very good," said the instructor. "What other senses are important for driving?"

He called on a young blonde woman named Laura to answer.

"Um, smell?" she replied.

I am SO glad I share the road with these people. *sigh*

This past weekend, my family went up to the cabin as a group for the first time this season. It was wonderful.

However...

We are thinking of diving into a project (big clue there) that would enhance the recreational nature of the property...and yet, as much as I want it, I really have a nagging apprehension about it in the back of my mind. I will have to see what the contractor comes back with as far as an estimate. I'm worried that it will be AFFORDABLE and thus just my "intuitive" cloudiness will be the reason we halt the endeavor.

I'm looking for clarity...and waiting for an email from the contractor that hopefully will provide it.

I was browsing political commentaries today, when I happened upon this 2005 pic of columnist Arianna Huffington. Is it me, or should she have worn a more stagelight-proof bra?? And possibly better deodorant? Maybe this has already been discussed  years ago across internetland, but its new to me, so I'm going to dish about it.

You can see nipple!  Luckily for her, she has a slamming figure, so she can get away with it. What appears to be a pit-stain might just be a shadow, but weigh in with your own comments.

Today I went shopping for summer clothes...and it bordered on feeling like a chore.

I was so glad that my husband was home from work today (he took me out for a long lunch for my birthday) so that he could watch the kiddo while I went up the road to a local shopping center. There is a larger chain store, a sort of discount yet "upscale" department store that I have never browsed and so I ventured there and was pleased with the selection and the prices. However, I was not pleased with how many of the items looked ON me once I got into the dressing room.

*sigh*

I suppose the good part of this, is that I end up buying only things that truly fit well, are comfortable, and make me feel confident. I have gotten quite fussy over the years in regards to fit and flattery of any given clothing item. As noted, the upside to the challenege of finding anything I like is that it keeps me on budget. The downside is that I find myself washing the same few items I do like over and over again so that I'll have SOMETHING to cover me to leave the house!

Add to my conundrum that I have figure flaws (as does virtually everyone) and I'm short (5'2") so many items are often out of proportion and the amont of tailoring that clothes off-the-rack need gets to be frustrating. I can hem pants (which I do.) I've even put darts into a pair of jeans that gapped in the waist. I have stitched closed some suplice necklines that were too generous in the cleavage department.

But I draw the line at hemming T-shirts. Yeah, tees. I tried this once on some modal tunic tees that were so long on me, they looked like nightgowns. The result was sloppy. Luckily they were inexpensive to begin with, so I didn't mind the "experiment."

So many cute tops that have wonderful "strategic" neck/waistline embellishments or "gimmicks" like knots, pleats, pintucks, etc, so as to camoflage the tummy area...but every single one I tried on today was so LONG. I also found ZERO tank tops with any kind cut that flattered. And can I just say: enough with the cropped cutesty-retro swing jackets already!!!



Suprisingly, I did find some shorts that fit nicely, although, as I was trying them on, the communicated a very important message to me: start using self-tanning lotion STAT!!!!

Since my supply of stealthily-obtained IBS meds has run out again, I thought I'd try once again to do without. My stomach has become increasingly bloated, my lower GI tract is cramping/siezing up again and none of my other "remedy" options seem to work. However, I was still feeling a bit uneasy about obtaining the necessary meds for wellness through the overseas pharmacy I have used in the past. Not that I have had problems with the company - their service has been stellar. I just question the morality of obtaining this medication (even though my doc says its totally legit) through the loophole of an overseas supplier (the particular med has been suspended for sales in the US indefinately.)

At mass yesterday, I sat in the pew, my lower GI feeling full and painful. I prayed after communion for some direction. Then they announced our recessional hymn: "Go."

I turned to my husband and whispered, "I think that must be the theme song for people with IBS!" As in , "I wish I could just GO! (me before meds)" "Ooh, I feel better 'cause I gotta GO.(me on meds)" "Oh dear, I better find a bathroom quick cause I gotta REALLy GO! (people with the OTHER form of IBS)"

To me, that unusual hymn selection was a pretty clear validation. I ordered the meds after we got home!