Good News About My Mother

Two rounds of chemo down and the tumors are shrinking. Everyone is as optimistic as they can be. For this stage, the news is excellent.

Also, mom is thrilled the new chemo agent doesn't cause hair loss like the one it replaced.

Overwhelmed

I started out this semester behind and have not even begun to catch up. There is too much going on. The worst is that in August, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She found out almost accidentally - a chance x-ray for something else revealed a 3 cm growth "highly suspicious for malignancy". Six weeks of testing later (yes, six weeks) and we have a diagnosis. It isn't good: Stage IV. One small lesion on a rib means it is metastatic lung cancer. She started chemo a week ago.

Last month, when they thought it was operable, she went through all sorts of testing. Turns out, she is incredibly healthy. Not even any heart disease, which her mother had in abundance. She is in a non-blind clinical trial of a newer chemotherapy agent - one that is already approved for other types of cancers. She's on the new stuff, not the standard therapy. Everyone is optimistic she may have longer than most. Which is great, because the statistics for stage IV lung cancer really, really suck.

He's always been an asshole

We saw my father the other day, a short stopover on a road trip back from my mother's. At one point, he picks up a very large large flashlight and shines it directly into my four year old daughter's eyes.

"OW! That hurts my eyes!" Curie yells at him.

He laughs.

"Why did you do that?" she demands, clearly confused.

He doesn't know what to say for a minute, then he makes up something about trying to shine it on the wall behind her.

Curie scrunches her eyebrows in the way that she does when she doesn't believe you.

My dad is one of those men who grew up with a bunch of guys who think insults and teasing are funny. Anyone who says otherwise is "too sensitive" and quickly becomes a magnet for further teasing. Sometimes he is funny. Most of the time he is just a dick. The truth is, I don't like him very much.

He is not my biological father. He married my mother when I was six. They divorced when I was twenty six. He adopted me when I was ten. No one asked me. Not that I am still annoyed about that or anything.

My daughter is a lot like me, with one small exception: she has all the assertiveness I wish I had.

Holiday

Thanksgiving was surprisingly normal. An 800+ mile drive there in surprisingly good weather, with two four year asking continuously "when will we be at the ho-tel?" or "when will we be at Grandpa's?" was balanced with the 800+ mile drive back in crappy weather with two four year olds asking "when will we be home?" only sporadically.

In between, we had the usual tension between siblings. The fight between Dr. H's brother and sister had a familiar refrain, with only slight changes in verse. She was critical of how he was running his life (in this case how he is parenting his stepdaughters); he was critical about her apparent resentment of their father's partner. He was critical of her criticism; she accused him of avoiding interacting and not meeting her gaze. The sister's husband and Dr. H played their usual roles, allowing each to vent, being supportive, trying not to take sides.

Accidentally trapped in the room next to a particularly long skirmish, Dr. H and I discussed whether we should leave and walk briefly into the fray to hand the sister's husband a beer or if we should simply stay put and have really loud sex. Sadly, we did neither of those things.

There's always next year.

The Trouble with ......

[My mom and I are discussing Star Trek (the original series):


My Mom: What were those furry things called again?

Me: Tribbles.

My Mom: Yes that's right! Gerbils!

Another conversation with my mother

I had just relayed a conversation I'd had with Dr. H.'s sister.

My mom: Wow, you and H talk to his sister about sex?

Me: Yes?

My mom: Wow.

Me: ?

My mom: It's just that I can't imagine discussing my sex life with my brother.

Me: I can't imagine discussing my sex life with your brother either.

Warning: Post about parents, furniture and sex toys.

We recently purchased new bedroom furniture. Having outlasted our hand-me-down furniture and having put up with our inexpensive pkea (see Futurama clip here) long enough, we decided to buy real grownup furniture.

While in the process, Dr. H mentioned to his father that we were shopping for furniture. His dad excitedly pointed out that we would be able to take our pick of furniture from his old house and Dr. H's grandparents' old house. The houses are on the same property and are scheduled to be put on the market soon. Unexcited about more hand-me-down furniture, Dr. H. was noncommittal. However, a month later, when Dr. H. proposed driving there in June and possibly towing a small rental trailer behind him if the need arises, his Father insisted he should fly and rent a truck, because there would be way too much stuff for a trailer.

Uh-oh.

"Does he think we are taking a whole set of bedroom furniture in addition to your grandfather's papers?" I asked.

"I don't know. I didn't think so before, but now?"

We have a small bedroom and by this time had already decided on a platform bed with drawers to improve our storage situation. We bought it and two large dressers with deep drawers from a popular catalog we will call EarthenwareBarn. We forged ahead and purchased the furniture. It arrived prior to Dr. H. finalizing his plans to visit his father. In retrospect, I'm not sure if this tactic would be considered brilliant, passive-aggressive, cowardly, or what, but is seemed no big deal at the time. The day the furniture arrived, I mentioned it to FIL's partner when I spoke to her on the phone, forgetting this might be a sticky situation. She sounded extremely surprised. Uh-oh. A half an hour later, FIL calls to talk to his son. Why had he purchased furniture? Why had he not waited until he came to visit? I told Dr. H. to blame it on me, the daughter-in-law, but Dr. H. would have none of it. Instead, he explained our storage situation to his father, leaving out the small detail that one of the reasons we lack storage is the amount of space we have dedicated to sex toys and BDSM equipment. (Apologies to anyone shocked. To those curious, we are both switches.)

Anyway, two days after that awkward conversation, Dr. H. brought the furniture up with his father again, who assured him he understood. In truth, FIL has a tendency to advocate for solutions to problems that work well for him, sometimes not hearing or absorbing others' lack of enthusiasm or objections to the idea. Once he had time to realize we had never actually said or even implied we wanted any of the furniture, he was very gracious. All is well.

In other news, my mom is staying with us for June and July. Having recently retired, she is in the process of moving across country to be near her brother and by the ocean. She loves the new furniture. The bed is great, with six deep drawers around the outside.

"What are you going to put in all those drawers under the bed?" she asks.

"Um..." I say, pausing, as this conversation has just become a little awkward.

"Oh!" here eyes grow wide. She knows we are kinky. Other than that she prefers no details. In general, she is fine with it. She thinks we are adventurous and doesn't want to know too much more.

After a moment she says, "But what about the other five drawers?"

"Uh..." I pause again to think. I am totally unprepared for this conversation. And, in general, I try not to lie to my mother, so it doesn't come easy.

"You need all SIX drawers?" She asks, incredulous.

"Um, well maybe four or five," I say, "not including what's in the closet."

"Oh!"

Mercifully, the conversation ends here, with only minor embarrassment and perhaps some small amount of amusement on both our parts.

Of course, since having kids, much of our equipment is sadly neglected. But the kids are sleeping really soundly at night now. Perhaps we just need to invest in a little more soundproofing?

Some numbers from a weekend wedding

Number of days between finding out about Dr. H's brother's wedding and the wedding itself: 20

Number of times this wedding has been scheduled: 2

Number of times this wedding has been canceled: 1

Number of times we have purchased plane tickets for this wedding: 2

Hours spent this weekend engaged in air transit with two children under four: 16

Minutes children slept during this time (combined total): 6

Minutes required to check into hotel room at 2 a.m. Saturday morning: 35

Hours spent driving in rental car with two or more children under four: 5

Number of children of mine who are girls: 1

Number of children of mine who wore dresses to the wedding: 2

Hours spent away from home this weekend: 46

Number of suitcases arriving home with us: 0

Doing my part for the Democrats

My mother, a white, middle-class woman over 60, is about to move from McCain country to super-important swing state.

She is a registered Democrat. She voted for Clinton in the primary. So far no problem.

She has occasionally voted for Republicans, but doesn't seem to remember doing so, or consider it to be significant. In the last four national elections she voted for Clinton, Clinton, Gore and Kerry. I really thought W had put her right over the edge and squarely into the Democratic camp for good. And if Clinton wins the primary, we can count on one more democratic vote in that swing state.

But, there is a problem in an alternate scenario: She is scared of the angry black people.

That isn't what she said of course - what she said was: "I'm just so concerned."

I really wanted to ask my mother, "What do you think is going to happen?" This wasn't going to get us anywhere, however, because admitting this sort of thing to me when she knows how I feel indicates she wants to feel differently - better to focus on that.

Instead, I urged her to listen to Obama's entire speech. She is open enough that this might be sufficient. She was surprised to learn that Wright is an ex-Marine. Fortunately, this alone convinced her that she might not know the whole story. She was also receptive to the idea that the images and sound bites she is being plagued with are taken out of context and politically motivated, something the UCC's Response to this whole thing sums up nicely:

What's really going on here? First, it may state the obvious to point out that these television and radio shows have very little interest in Trinity Church or Jeremiah Wright. Those who sifted through hours of sermons searching for a few lurid phrases and those who have aired them repeatedly have only one intention. It is to wound a presidential candidate.

I think anti-racism activist Tim Wise is also on to something here when he touches on white discomfort with black anger:

But here we are, in 2008, fuming at the words of Pastor Jeremiah Wright, of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago--occasionally Barack Obama's pastor, and the man whom Obama credits with having brought him to Christianity--for merely reminding us of those evils about which we have remained so quiet, so dismissive, so unconcerned. It is not the crime that bothers us, but the remembrance of it, the unwillingness to let it go--these last words being the first ones uttered by most whites it seems whenever anyone, least of all an "angry black man" like Jeremiah Wright, foists upon us the bill of particulars for several centuries of white supremacy.

I'm not sure this last thing is something my mother is ready to hear.

Besides referring my mother to Obama's speech and trying to contextualize this whole issue, I'm not really sure what else to do. My whole family is like this - and that is just the ones who are Democrats. For example my aunt (a democrat) is really mad at Oprah, for supporting Obama over Clinton. "Isn't she supposed to be for women?" she asks. What I want to ask her is "Are you really mad about that, or are you just mad that Oprah has reminded you that she is black?" This is unlikely to get me anywhere, but I feel ill-prepared to confront racism, especially in my own family. At some point in the conversation with my mother, I turned the phone over to Dr. H, who has some more perspective. He reminded my mother of his adopted brother's experience as an African-American child growing up in a white family in a very white rural suburb - and the very understandable anger that resulted from the bias, prejudice and abuse he encountered.

Perhaps we made some headway with my mother. Time will tell.

---

Bitch, Ph.D. has some things to say on this subject and the comments are also interesting.

This is not directly related, but Jerald Walker has another interesting piece up at the Chronicle about race and the academy.

Yesterday

I'm in a meeting with a campus visitor. My cell phone goes off.

Normally, no one calls me on my cell except Dr. H., and I had just spoken with him on my office phone. Normally, I would not answer. Today, however, I'm answering my phone.

My father-in-law's name flashes across the screen, but I just miss the call.

I turn to my visitors, "It's my father-in-law. I have to call him back."

A moment later my father-in-law answers the phone, "Hello?"

"It's Twice. Everyone is okay."

"Are you..."

"Yes, I'm sure. I just spoke with H. He is okay, the kids are okay. The campus is locked down."

"I just heard, I was so worried."

"I know."

"I couldn't get through."

"I know."

"Is the danger over?"

"They don't know yet. But everyone is following emergency procedures, entrances to buildings are secure. It happened in another building, not near H's, not near the kids' daycare. I don't know any more. Can you let everyone know they are okay?"

"Yes, will you...."

"Yes, I will have him call you as soon as he can."


Peace everyone.

A phone call from my uncle

Over the holidays, we were at my mother's house in Arizona. My mother is divorced and has been for over ten years. My Uncle Joe (her older bother) called while my mother was out. The conversation went something like this:

Dr. H: Hello?

Uncle Joe: This is Joe, [Mom's Name]'s brother. Who is this?!

Dr. H: Oh, Hi Joe, it's H, her son-in-law.

Uncle Joe: H! Oh! Hi! Uh...tell Twice I said hi.

Dr. H: O.K.

Uncle Joe: Bye.

Dr. H: Uh, O.K. bye.

------

My mom comes home.

Dr. H: Joe called

My Mom: I know, he called me on my cell. He said he was so discombobulated that a man answered he couldn't recover his composure even once he knew it was you.

Me: What?

My Mom: He said "I called you house and a man answered! I was so concerned, I mean, what were you doing having a man in your house answering your phone?" Then he said he was so flustered, he didn't know what to do.

Me: So, you can't have a man over and allow him to answer your phone?

My Mom: I guess.

Dr. H: What?

Me: So, that's funny, he doesn't think you should date?

My Mom: I know, for goodness sake. I'm sixty-six years old!

I guess that over-protective older brother role doesn't go away with age.

Some memories from last weekend at my father-in-law's

***

My son, upon hearing the grandfather clock chime on the hour, running from wherever he was in the house to the clock, peering inside to see the gears turn. Every time.

***

Talking and making blinkybugs with geeky brother-in-law (Dr. H.'s sister's husband) and our niece.

***

My daughter, showing all of her stuffed animals to her great grandfather (age > 97) one by one. Seeing 20 years fall away from his face when she made him laugh.

***

Dr. H's brother's fabulous impression of their father. A feature of any holiday gathering.

***

Realizing I'm really one of the family now. Paper plates at the big meal and everything.

**

My daughter and my niece, laughing and playing in the big bathtub.

***

My son and my nephew, one or both of whom had decided the big tub was too big and scary, playing together in the smaller bathtub.

***

Dr. H's grandmother (age > 96), exclaiming in delight that my children wanted to take some of her beaded jewelry home with them.

***

My father-in-law's partner, a wonderful woman my children call "Nana", working miracles on my son's eating habits.

***

Meeting the wonderful children Dr. H's brother has custody of. Hearing him speak with pride about taking on this responsibility. (Their mother, his girlfriend, is in rehab.) Adulthood suits him. Having a male in their life take some responsibility for once suits them.

***

My sister-in-law, glowing and brimming with stories and excitement after her 20th high school reunion.

***

My father-in-law, a former elementary school teacher, reading to my children, extremely patient with all their questions.


***

All six children, screaming and ripping open presents in a Hanukkah/Solstice/Secular Holiday/New Year/Christmas gift event.


***

I concede Wikipedia is not without its problems

I love Wikipedia. I think it has its uses in education, but the challenge, of course, is for us to help students learn to use it appropriately. I wish I could somehow make this happen before they use it inappropriately. On the other hand, inappropriate use sometimes provides me with an opening. Here is an exchange with one of my general education students. The course is theme based and could be something like, let's say, science and art.

To: twice@slac.edu

From: studenta@slac.edu

Hi Dr. Twice: I am curious about a question on the online quiz. The question is "approximately when did synthetic pigments come on the scene?" I answered 200-500 years ago and it was wrong, so I took the test again. The question appeared so I answered 500-1000 years ago even though I was certain it as 200-500 years ago and again it was wrong! I do not understand since everything I have read points to the
1700's and Prussian blue being the first synthetic pigment.

What am I missing?

[Student]


----

To: studenta@slac.edu

From: twice@slac.edu

Hi [Student],

On page 187 in Colour: Why the World isn't Grey, Rissotti explains that the first synthetic pigments were used in the second millennium B.C. (White Lead and Blue Frit, for example). I realize that Wikipedia in one place says Prussian Blue was first, and in another place that it was the first _modern_ synthetic pigment. However, the assigned reading in the Colour course textbook, makes the distinction between natural pigments (minerals), and synthetic ones (those that must be manufactured in some way), without somehow limiting the idea to the modern era.

Please note that Wikipedia is a site with user generated content and, while incredibly helpful, is not necessarily authoritative. This section, and in particular this claim, on the Wikipedia site is not fully referenced, which makes it more questionable. (It is best to confirm these details with other sources.) While the 1700's and on were extremely important in the development and use of synthetic pigments, synthetic pigments were used in antiquity.

-Dr. Twice

I'm in the middle of an ongoing (seven months!) e-mail discussion with my husband, my husband's first cousin once removed, his second cousin (the son of the f.c.o.r) and his sister's husband (my brother-in-law-in-law) on the merits of Wikipedia. The f.c.o.r. thinks it is bad, bad, bad. He has a humanities background, the others, who are more in favor of Wikipedia, have technical backgrounds. I've read several newspaper and magazine articles in the midst of this discussion that speak to this divide. Scientists, in general, are more likely to feel positively about Wikipedia. Reasons suggested include a greater likelihood of participation in the creation of wiki content among scientists, a higher comfort level in the scientific community with on-line collaboration and the earlier adoption of this format by scientists. All of these lead to perhaps more developed and vetted articles in the sciences, leading to more use/trust/participation, leading to more developed and vetted articles, and so on.

I sent the e-mail exchange to f.c.o.r. His response?

"So there!"

In my defense, I never said there weren't any problems. And the pigment entry has been updated now, one of the strengths of a wiki.

More on Nerds

Again via Language Log - read this post.

Me: That's pretty funny.

Dr. H.: Wow, I get all those references.

Double Take

One of the coolest things I saw last week:

Gender differences in color perception? (via Lab Cat who always seems to have some nice science-y thing up)

Perhaps this explains why my father in law thinks his maroon coffee pot is the same color as the lavender bits in his granite counter top:

Me: That coffee pot is pretty spiffy.

FIL: Yes, as soon as I saw it I knew we needed to have it.

Me: Oh?

FIL: You know, because of the counter top.

Me: .....Ah...

FIL: I couldn't believe it. I mean, what are the chances of finding a coffee pot the exact same color?

Me: Uh...Okay.

Actually, I suspect the true issue has something to do with his developing cataracts, which according to this, can interfere with color perception.

And one of the weirdest things I saw last week:

Via Language Log, I found this article about research suggesting nerds are effectively "hyperwhite". The Dean has some things to say about it here.

I found this to be very interesting. However, what I find odd is the lack of discussion of geek and nerd culture as distinct in its own right. For example, I don't think everyone finds xkcd as funny as some of us do. My non-geeky, non-nerdy students have no idea who M.C. Escher is. And, of course, there is the general lack of recognition of the Kirk versus Picard debate as a valid intellectual, um, enterprise. I'm wondering how this sort of thing fits in.

When Geeks Marry Hippies II

Last summer, we visited my father-in-law and assorted members of Dr. H's family. This included his sister (SIL), a self-described hippie, her husband (BIL), a geek with hippieish tendencies acquired by marriage, and their two children. Dr. H. is a full-time geek and part-time hippie. Dalton and Curie were both super fussy before bedtime. SIL and her husband inquired as to what the problem might be, hoping to help.

"It's teething" I announce sadly.

"We have homeopathic teething tablets!" SIL says cheerfully.

Uh Oh. Dr. H. looks at me, presumably willing me not to speak.

Shockingly, I can't help myself.

"We don't do homeopathy. As a physchembio-ist, I can't possibly." I say.

"What do you mean?" SIL asks.

"Look, I really don't want to get into this. I understand that some have proposed theories that get around the Avogadro's Number problem, but I don't find any of them credible." I say. "I gave them acetaminophen."

This statement turns out to be problematic, because I've assumed SIL and BIL know about the Avogadro's Number problem, a fundamental flaw of Homeopathy. Instead of discussing the Avogadro problem, I have jumped ahead and begun criticizing the alternative theories developed by homeopaths to get around Avogadro. At this point, I am assuming that SIL and BIL have heard of these also. It turns out that SIL and BIL do not know about the Avogadro's Number problem, just as most other people have not. In fact, most people have not heard of the assumptions that underlie homeopathy in the first place. SIL and BIL are aware of these assumptions, just not the Avogadro problem.

Unfortunately, I do not yet realize this, so I begin to explain why one of the Avogadro problem work-arounds doesn't hold water. One mention of vibrations of water molecules and I've convinced them I know nothing about the topic at hand.

"That's not what homeopathy is." SIL says, patiently.

At this point a few sentences of clarification are exchanged. However, things are still messy because I jumped into the argument in the wrong place, and everyone is talking at once. Fortunately, BIL is quite good at negotiating such conversations and getting everyone onto the same point. "As I understand it" says BIL, "the idea is that you choose some ingredient that may have negative effects similar to those you are experiencing. Next, you dilute it heavily. At the high dilution, it no longer has the harmful effects, but your body still recognizes its presence, and reacts to it."

"I understand that, but what I'm saying is that most remedies are diluted so heavily there are no molecules/ions of the original substance left. Or more correctly, only a very, very small chance your particular dilution has one."

SIL says, "I agree that would be a problem."

I breathe a sigh of relief that we agree on this last point. We leave it more or less at this point. SIL believes there must be more to this story, and thinks, perhaps I am getting something mixed up.

Several weeks later, I politely send them the article by Bob Park linked above.

They use other remedies for teething now.

Last fall, my Physchembio for Poets class and I went through the calculations for a 30X homeopathic dilution. They looked at the numbers. I said nothing. They looked at each other. I looked at them. One of them finally said "So, it's just water?" This is exactly why I like teaching general education classes.


---
By way of explanation: I had to wait for 15 minutes to pick up a prescription yesterday and was trapped near the homeopathy aisle, thus provoking this rant.

Parade

We went to Big City's Gay Pride Parade on Sunday. Angry Professor has already extolled the virtues of taking small children to such an event, so I will leave that discussion in her capable hands.

Much fun was had by all. Curie enjoyed the rainbow balloons and music. Dalton was fascinated. I do not know if his fascination was due to the cars pulling the floats, the crossdressing, or both. Eventually, we were well past nap time and everyone was tired. Here is a photo of my mother with Curie and an arm of Dr. H's with Dalton asleep on his shoulder, which I show mainly to show off Curie's cool rainbow tie-dye.



The guy in the gray t-shirt behind Curie and her Grandma in the photo was quite drunk. He tried to come on to my mother, who as it happens is both single and straight, but does not like drunk guys.

Gender Bender

Recently, my son said "Mommy, I wanna wear the kitty underwear!"

By kitty, he meant the Hello Kitty (TM) girls underwear purchased for my daughter.

I paused for about three seconds. Then I cheerily said "Sure!"

I'm not proud that I paused. I think pink is for girls is a silly and unfortunate rule. I think it is silly that toddler underwear is gendered at all. Moreover, I have no problem with crossdressing - or behavior or dress that crosses gendered lines. Really. Reversed gender roles are quite common in our house and among our coupled friends. Androgyny, especially in dress, seems popular among our friends as well. And we have a friend or three who crossdress on occasion. One of my favorite comments at a party held by us was: "He wears those with the panache of a man who's worn garters before." But I digress.

So, back to my son. I do not really have a problem with him wearing girls underwear. But still, I paused. Why? Is it just overwhelming social conditioning? Am I giving myself too much credit to hope that part of the pause was practical - I mean, perhaps I was concerned that we have a limited amount of kitty underwear? After all, if both kids want to wear it we'll run out faster. But alas, I probably cannot let myself off that easy. I am pleased to say that we now have plenty of kitty underwear to go around. Also, as luck would have it, my daughter now wants to wear the choo-choo-train underwear. (Thomas, nominally for boys, in case there was any doubt.)

The vast majority of the differences I see in my son and daughter, I believe are due to them being totally different people. Maybe some of it is gender, but I don't know how much. Little, I suspect. I do think a fascinating question is this: To what extent do the genders differ, and how much is DNA and how much is society? My husband even does research on such things.

Where my children are concerned, I would like them to grow up in an environment where their genes/inherent personalities are allowed to express themselves, and are less burdened with societal-enforced gender roles. Given that we live in a society where children are bombarded with gendered messages constantly, what can I do? Having a girl and a boy at the same time helps. All toys are everyone's toys at this stage, so there is no problem. As they get older, this will be more problematic, especially where gifts are concerned. My hippy sister-in-law and I get along in part because I am the relative that buys her daughter cars instead of dolls. Gifts from her are no problem. But what to do about my mother?

Case in point: When my twins were about 5 months old, Dalton was trying out yelling while throwing things from his exersaucer.

My mother: He's such a boy! From the moment he was born....

Me: What do you mean?

My mother: Well, Dalton has always been loud. Much louder than Curie. You know, yelling like a boy, right from the beginning.

Me: What are you talking about? He was quiet. His cries sounded like "La La La". Curie, now she demanded attention, loudly. Forcefully, at the top of her lungs: Whaaa!

My mother: Really? Well, I seem to remember Dalton being the loud one.

Me: No [then to myself only: No no no no NO!]

Now, I have my own faults in this regard. We have some gender specific clothes. Curie has long hair and shoes with butterflies. Dalton has short hair and shoes without butterflies. The hairstyles seem to suit them, the shoes fit, and their father has long hair, so I'm cutting myself some slack here. But, I'm going to try my darnedest to burden them with little more than butterflies.

The recent brouhaha over The Dangerous Book for Boys has certainly got everyone riled up. I don't even know where to start, but here is a "for" from Tertia and an "against" from Raising WEG.

Me, all I have to say is "No no no no NO!"

Hopefully, no one will buy it for Dalton for his birthday. Just something with kitties.

Losing My Religion

I remember the exact moment it happened. The moment I realized that I believe there is no God. It is a moment in time I can pinpoint exactly - but it is also a long story that ironically, starts with conception.

My mother was 25, unmarried and catholic when she became pregnant with me. My mother is not a hypocrite. She did not think premarital sex was wrong. She did not think she had done anything wrong. So, she never, ever said she had done anything wrong. She did not want me to believe I was wrong, so she never let anyone say anything of the sort in front of me either. So, from the beginning, I was to view Catholicism as having rules that it is okay to break in some cases. Birth control - no problem. Premarital sex - fine as long as you love the person. It was more important to be nice to people and not hurt others. Hell? Well, it was for people who did really bad things.

So things were all well and good until I had to start participating in a real way. My biggest problem: Confession. I was a very good kid. Really. I'm not making this up. My mom says so. In any case, confession was a problem. What had I done wrong? I was an only child, so fights with siblings were a no go. I pretty much did what I was told. To come up with something to confess, I'd have to exaggerate things. Things like "I got mad at my mom when she said I could not...." This puzzled me though - doesn't everyone get mad sometimes? And I wasn't really all that mad. I needed something to confess, however, so I had to go with it. A few words, three Hail Marys and I was good to go. But I didn't really feel good. If I could have confessed to exaggerating in confession, something I actually did feel bad about, perhaps I would have been forgiven and felt better. In any case, my six year old brain had trouble with the whole idea.

I also had a lot of trouble with the stories in the bible. God asking people to sacrifice their children to him? Men having children with their servants just because their wives had fertility issues? Do the servants have a say in this? A god who wants to be worshiped? Isn't such a god suffering from pride, one of the seven deadly sins? Original sin? That doesn't seem very fair. Why is knowledge a bad thing, anyway? Such questions plagued me. Nothing made any sense.

We moved around a lot when I was younger and eventually, my mom fell out of the habit of going to church. My stepfather wasn't crazy about the Catholic church for various reasons, and we never were in one place long enough to become part of a congregation. My dissatisfaction with Catholicism and what I perceived to be inconsistencies in religion in general continued. Eventually, I figured I was a deist. Like Thomas Jefferson. Or perhaps agnostic.

I went to Catholic church once during the first few weeks in college. I'm not really sure why. I was curious. I left early, finding the experience - once so familiar - alien. I settled on agnostic. I was uncomfortable when people suggested I was an atheist. I was uncomfortable when my mother lamented that she had "let me down" by never arranging to have me confirmed in the Catholic church. I was uncomfortable when no one understood what agnostic meant. Sometimes I still called myself a deist. I was uncomfortable that no one knew what that was either.

I went to a college that focused on science, math and engineering. However, I took a lot of classics courses to meet humanities distribution requirements. In one of my classics courses, some questions came up regarding the plethora of minor spirits - nereids, niaids, dryads, oreads, etc. - basically the various types of nymphs and similar entities in Greek Mythology. "You have to understand," said my professor, with considerable passion "to them, everything was engodded." He meant this in the paganistic sense, of course, and it stuck with me for some time. I returned to it often, as this idea is fairly central to understanding many classical myths and stories.

Sometime later, while still in college, I was off somewhere standing near the top of a hill. The sun was shining and from where I stood, I could see trees, bushes and grass. Birds and a few insects were flying around. It was not an incredible view, just an ordinary, yet pleasant one. At that very moment, the ideas we discussed when studying mythology came back to me. And I saw it. I absolutely saw the trees and the grass and everything as engodded. Or, at the very least, I understood how a people could come to such a belief. And at that precise moment, when the paganism of ancient Greece made perfectly clear sense to me, and I may have even believed it for a moment, all religions became myth.

There was no turning back - something had fundamentally changed. I felt the loss of the belief system tied to me by my upbringing, but the loss seemed natural and inevitable, and I did not mourn. I was relieved. There were no more inconsistencies to ponder, no more problems defining who I was or what I believed. My former views were like remnants of dreams - those shadowy memories that float away as consciousness returns. I've come to realize that what I lost at that moment was not a belief in god, just my belief that I believed.

Special note to my husband's relatives

In the future, please do not put any of my clothes in the dryer without asking me. Even if my husband says it is okay. Thank you.