Reality Bites

With the recent violence in Aurora and Wisconsin, the secular community has once again come under attack for our godlessness and our insistent stance on separating church from state.  Congressmen and women have claimed that "god is angry" with America because the "atheists" have taken "god out of schools and our lives".  The always jovial and friendly televangelist Pat Robertson, you know, the guy who spews this kind of crap constantly, has now blamed "satanic atheists" for all that's going on.



Lovely right?

And, of course, the Twitterverse and Facebookland are filled with the whole "it was probably an atheist that committed those crimes because they don't have any morals or ethics and they eat babies and hate god and punch old ladies and kick puppies and think killing is awesome".  Maybe not in so many words but that is the general gist of the comments and conversations I have been witness to.

The most common statement I have come across lately is the "how easy it is to be an atheist because you just don't care about anything and don't have to worry about god judging you".  To this statement, I cry a loud and resounding "BULLSHIT".  Being an atheist is fracking hard and trust me when I tell you that I have tried with every ounce of my body to "believe" but simply cannot find the logic behind it.

"Ha!"You say. "The atheist wants to believe because deep down they know there is a god!" No. Sadly, deep down inside I am 99.999999999999% sure there isn't.  There reason I try to believe is because, face it, reality bites sometimes and I don't have the lovely cushion of security and comfort religion provides.  When a 6 year old is gunned down in a movie theater I don't have that "she's with Jesus now" mentality.  I have reality telling me that a 6 YEAR OLD is dead and her parents will never see her again. She will never grow up. She will never have a boyfriend, smile, eat, play, hug or kiss anyone, and she will never have the luxury of being alive that everyone seems to take advantage of.  The theist has the blissful advantage of being sad for this tragedy, but then actually believing that this little girl is now crowned with a halo and fluttering around Heaven with Jesus and all of her dead relatives and pets.  Her parents are comforted in their beliefs that when they die, they'll "meet up" again and everything is hunky dory.  How nice.  Really, I don't mean that in a snotty way.  There is no snark behind that statement.  To have that belief that someone you love is "waiting for you" in the next life, makes these horrible things well, a little less horrible.

Let me tell you. If one of my children were killed or died of a disease or something horrible like that, I would die myself.  Because, as an atheist, I don't have that belief of them "watching over me" or "in Heaven" or that I will "see them again".  My reality is that my child is gone.  Forever.  And I will never, ever, ever, be with them again.  So when tragedies like Aurora and Wisconsin happen, or I read about a baby with terminal cancer, or children starve to death, I'm not thinking they are in a "better place". I cry because they are dead and gone forever.  And that is a hard pill to swallow. A very very hard pill.

There have been only a handful of times that I tried very hard to put myself in the place of a religious person and try to "believe".  The biggest one for me was my grandmother's death.  I couldn't fathom that one minute she was here and the next not.  I would give both my arms and legs to see her for just 5 more minutes.  The theist has the comfort in believing that they actually will. The reality that my grandmother is gone forever is devastating, even after almost 20 years.  Death, at least for this atheist, is terrifying, and I don't want to face it.  The reality that my life, my parents' lives, my children's lives, my husband's life and all the lives of the people I care about are fragile and temporary frightens me to no end.  There are nights I wake up out of a sound sleep so afraid that I am going to die that I can't fall back to sleep.  It's horrible. 

It frustrates me to no end when people say they are "living for the next life".  Why?  Life is so amazing and wonderful, why would anyone waste it waiting for the afterlife.  It boggles the mind.  And it frustrates me even more when I'm told I "have it easy" with "no responsibilities or consequences" for my actions because sky daddy doesn't exist.  That's a scary statement.  It implies that the speaker is only decent and good because they fear repercussions from "god".  That, if in fact they did not have god in their lives, they would be on murderous rampages.  How absolutely frightening.

So let me tell you, an atheist doesn't have it easy.  Apart from being blamed for all the crap that goes on in the world, blamed for corrupting the childre, and moral fibers of society (I think we are tied with gays and lesbians on that one), blamed for being "intolerant" and general "meanies", we also carry the huge burden of seeing things as they really are.  There's no "he's dead but...." in our little world.  There's no "satan", causing people to do evil.  There's no "god's will", determining who lives or dies. There's no notion that we are this amazingly special creature created in the image of a deity who rule the planet and the Universe.  As the amazing Bill Nye, the Science Guy said, "I'm this guy standing on a planet. Really I'm just a speck. Compared with a star, the planet is just another speck. To think about all of this, To think about the vast emptiness of space.There's billions and billions of stars.Billions and billions of specks".



It's pretty humbling to be a speck.

But reality as an atheist isn't all doom and gloom.  I have the wonder of the Universe to marvel at and realize how absolutely amazing it is to be here at this moment right now.  The landing of the Mars Curiosity puts everything into perspective on how marvelous it is to be a human being.  No deity or supernatural forces needed.  Reality may bite when dealing with "the hard stuff", but in the end, it is really awesome and it is what makes this little trip around the sun so much more worth it.  I don't have the promise of an afterlife running around my head.  I have the promise that this life is all of I've got and I've got to make it worth something to myself and the people around me.  What a waste to do otherwise.

Prioritizing the News

I've discovered that a combination of getting older and being a "mommy" has changed the way I look at the news and the way different news stories affect me. I was talking to my friend via email earlier about how I used to be this "never say die" bad ass chick with no thought of the outside world other than who, what, where I was seeing, doing or going that night at whatever club I ended up. Sure, I had my mini political outbreaks here and there; expressing outrage at the closing down of a local Planned Parenthood; volunteering at a local clinic helping women enter the doors past the throngs of mindless idiots praying; writing letters to a senator telling him to keep church and state separate. I had my activist moments, but I was mostly focused on the nightlife, Manhattan at midnight, walking down Houston street to The Bank or over to Avenue A to dance the night away at The Pyramid. How incredible were those days.

But I'm here now. NYC is 5 long years gone from underfoot and my life has changed a thousand fold. I'm over 30 (34 to be exact), I'm married for the second time (the first one was a practice run), and I am a mother to an incredible, intelligent, insightful, 2 year old boy. We're even attempting to get pregnant again; a feat that is more difficult than it sounds (and extremely more tiring). Had you told me this back in 2003, I would half laughed hysterically in your face and then probably drop kicked you to the ground. Funny how the wheel of fortune spins?

Anyhow, back to my original intent of this post: The News. I read the news differently now and stories that I once would never read or just gloss over seem to affect me deeply now. For example, I read the other day that dissident author Alexander Solzhenitsyn died. Normally, I would have pored over the details and mourned the loss of this man, but instead another story caught my eye: Christina Applegate is battling Breast Cancer. Now, I know what you're saying, "You're prioritizing some blonde actress' cancer troubles over the author who exposed Russian cruelty in the gulag?!?!?"

Yes. I am . You see, Christina Applegate is me. Rather I am just like her. She's in her mid-30s, is a mom, and is a woman. I glossed over Mr. Solzhenitsyn's obituary because I don't relate to him. I grew up with Christina Applegate as Kelly Bundy on Married with Children, have loved watching her in her cheesy movies and TV shows, and now I feel like one of my friends is sick. Why her? Why anyone, for that matter? See, this is where that whole issue comes up with me. The whole "god" issue. How can someone justify the existence of this being after seeing a loved one diagnosed with a horrible disease or maimed or killed or just plain ol' fucked up? "He's testing us", they'll tell you. I say, "If your god wanted to test someone, why not just send down some math problems and be done with it?". Seriously.

But I digress. This is not a post about how silly I think the concept of a god is, nor is it a rant about my atheism. I'll be sure to post one of those sooner or later.

Ask me about the Olympics. Who cares. Seriously, with what is going on in the world do I give two cents if some 40 year old female swimmer can outswim a 20 year old? Do I care if the US wins gold medals? How can people care about these things when a little boy named Rakan Hassan is murdered? As a mom, I wept for this child. As a human being, I wept for this child. Who gives a crap about the olympics or Paris Hilton or Britney Spears or that John McCain is running ads with Obama being compared to them? Honestly, are the American people this stupid that they are distracted so easily?

These are the stories that affect me; that hit close to home. Rakan was 12, innocent in the turmoils of the world, yet he suffered at the hands of the most terrible of evils; one that would kill children. Sure, the right wingers will tell you that a casualty count of over 1 million Iraqi dead is trivial and unimportant, but if we single it down to one death and count Rakan as that one, that is still one death too many. Listening to Air America the other day on the Stephanie Miller show, a right winger named Tom (I think) called in and commented that it "wasn't 1 million deaths, it was closer to 700,000" and that "liberals are always exaggerating". 1 million vs. 700,000. What's the difference?

So that's the news from where I stand. Film at 11.

Beware the (Week of the) Ides of March

Who can forget those foreboding words of the soothsayer to ill-fated Julius Caesar: "Beware the Ides of March"? Had I had my own soothsayer, he would have said to me, " Beware the WEEK OF THE Ides of March. Seriously, this has been "Hell Week" with a capital "Hell". I've actually considered throwing in the towel, packing up my car, and driving off to a cave somewhere in the Himalayas to live out the rest of my days. It was THAT bad of a week. I don't think I've had this bad of a week since Donna Martin was not allowed to graduate (if you get that reference, then you're as big a loser as I am). So let's begin:

Monday, March 10th
Monday didn't start out too badly. Dante slept in, as with the time change and all, we both get that "extra hour" of sleep. Not really, but I like to trick my brain into thinking things are true by saying them out loud a number of times. (I am gorgeous and 22, I am gorgeous and 22, I am...) Anyhow, around 8 am Dante wakes up and we put on Sesame Street and I go make him breakfast. The dogs, Salad and Carrots, are puttering about the house, having just come in from their morning constitution outside when I notice little black specks all over them. Ok, my dogs are inside dogs mostly. Their main source of entertainment is trying to figure out which pillow is more comfortable to lay on and in which position can they sleep longer. The dogs are also clean dogs, bathed once a week, flea treatment once a month, the whole nine. Upon closer inspection, Salad and Carrots, I discover, are INFESTED with fleas. Infested. Not just A flea, but like a flea convention had hit town. Upon further inspection, I have no flea shampoo and no more flea treatments left, PLUS I've got to get to Playgroup by 9:30 and it's already 8:45. So, we rush rush rush rush, go to playgroup, go to Walgreens and get flea shampoo, flea treatments and flea collars. Yes yes I know, flea collars are harmful to dogs, but suck it. I'm not having fleas on my dogs that my son likes to ride like horses and lay on top of. The dogs get bathed, all the while Dante supervises by trying to get IN the bath with the dogs, and now comes the task of brushing all the dead fleas off of them and cleaning up. Fun. I finally got the house in order, washed down the surfaces, and de-flead everything I could think of could be infested, and then informed the neighbor that he needed to bathe his dogs because since his "new" dogs arrived the flea problem started and it was apparent that it was coming from him. Randy came home from work, sprayed the lawn with bug killer, and that was the end of Monday.

Tuesday March 11th
Tuesday wasn't a bad day, until about 5:15 pm. Randy had just loaded up the bikes onto the car for our evening bike ride at the park. Dante was strapped in his car seat, and we were driving to the local park to ride around the bike trails for an hour or so. Dante was extremely fussy in the back seat and we just thought he was overly anxious to go bike riding. We were wrong. As soon as I pulled into the park entrance I hear "garffggrgaggrggg" and look into the rearview mirror. My son, my little limmy lamb, my sweet baby, my darlin 20 month old, is barfing all over the place. Long gone are the days of "cute baby spit up". No, Dante was spewing chunks, all over himself, all over the carseat, all over the car, all over everything. Of course, I pull over into the grass and tell Randy to get him out of the seat while I get wipes and things to clean him off. He gets him out of the car and I strip him naked, all the while rubbing his back and stroking his head as he continues his marathon of barfing. Randy, meanwhile, is dismantling the puke infested car seat and trying to control his gag reflexes. So Dante stops throwing up and I'm cradling him in my lap, soothing him, giving him water, and trying to calm him down. It takes Randy 30 minutes to take the carseat apart (removing the seat part from the frame so we can launder it) and we go home. Dante has Ginger Ale and white rice for dinner and goes to bed.

Wednesday March 12th, My Dad's 72nd Birthday
At 1:45 am, I am awakened by my little boy calling "mommy mommy throw!" What the hell does that mean? I don't have to ask twice as upon entering his room, "mommy mommy throw" clearly means , "Mom, I'm going to throw up all over my bed". So that was it. Dante threw up all over his bed. Poor baby was terrified and poor mommy was fighting the urge to throw up along with him. So I strip his bed, holler for Randy to come help me, and take Dante to the bathroom to clean him up, calm him down, and see if he has to "throw" again. Randy remakes his bed and I decide I will sleep on the floor next to him "just in case". Randy goes back to bed, since 5 am for him comes quickly, and I settle in on the floor. Dante goes back to sleep and I toss and turn with worry for my baby.

A few hours later, it is actual morning, and Dante and I start our day. Randy has gone to work and it is business as usual for Dante and myself. I make him some dry toast and some ginger ale and hope that whatever ooogies he had have run their course and he will be ok. I'm exhausted, working on about 47 minutes of sleep but I've got laundry to fold and things to do so we push on. Around noon, I get the "phone call". Randy's on his way to the E/R. Seems he's gotten a piece of aluminum stuck in his eye. GREAT. Juuuust Great. Then, Dante barfs again during his nap. I call his pediatrician whose nurse says. "the doctor isn't in", take him to the E/R." So, we pile into the car and go to the Children's E/R. Dante is diagnosed with the beginnings of the stomach flu and we are sent home with instructions on what to feed him and the like. Nice. And it's only Wednesday. And we were supposed to go out to dinner and celebrate my dad's birthday but between Randy sticking things in his eye and our son not being able to stop projectile vomiting, my dad will just have to wait another day.

Thursday, March 13th
5 words: Overflowing toilet full of shit. I don't even have to say anything else. You can pretty much figure out how my day was subsequently. Any day that starts out with the words, toilet, shit, and overflow, will not be a good one. So I'll leave it to you, dear reader's, imagination as to how AWESOME this day was.

Friday, March 14th
Ok, not going to jinx anything but nothing terribly major today. Well other than the hospital bills for Randy's food poisoning fiasco keep piling up and they do not care that we are currently in litigation with who got him sick, so I had to shell out almost $700 to keep the collection agents off of our backs and our credit in good standing. $700 that we don't have.

So that was the Week of the Ides of March. Honestly, if any soothsayers come near me I will punch them square in the face. This has been a week. I almost checked out. I almost threw in the towel, but c'est la vie right? I feel as though I've run the Marathon of the Ages. I think I'll reward myself with a Cadbury Egg. Or two. Or five. Or ten.