Contacts

As all children her age, Julia is very technology proficient. She has my old phone where she plays all of her apps. In fact she recently organized everything into the following folders: Stuff I Like, Learning, Selfies, Fun, Old Games, Good Games, and Not My Stuff. Of late, she has been really interested in the Contacts, specifically who gets in and why. She asked me the other day if the kids had her daddy entered as Uncle Bobby. I thought probably so and told her as much.

This past Friday morning she and I are eating breakfast together and talking about who she is playing with at recess and such. She has always said that she and I would be best friends always. In a flippant and whimsical way I said, "You still are going to be my best friend always, right?" "Of course," is her reply without hesitation. And then there is a pause and she looks down. "Well," she says, "I did promise Tia that I'd put her in my contacts."

Louis, The Daredevil

Bobby and I have worked fairly hard at having a Christ centered life. Sometimes I feel like we are really getting it and other times like we're so off the mark. With Julia we focus mostly on Jesus, acting like Him, being close to Him and such. We have mentioned and discussed sin, but it is not our focus. 

Julia makes two sacraments through the Catholic church this year, Reconciliation and First Holy Communion. Tuesday began her first catechism class of the year. That evening, Bobby returned with all three kids. As they were coming to the dinner table, it was a flurry of talk about how their new teacher seems, what school friends are in their class and such. Julia was very animated, worked up almost. Her teacher told them the story of Louis, the saint, who fell from grace only to become the evil, Daredevil. She said she just didn't understand why God would create him. I told her that was a longer conversation and politely corrected her. I told her the correct names are Lucifer and the Devil. She said she was just more used to the word daredevil and would call him that instead. 

She Would Never Do This to Her Dad

Long before I became a mother, I recognized the exquisite solitude of standing under a running shower. It is a mind clearing oasis; some of my greatest thinking occurs there. It's also an unparalleled therapy session. When my parents died in quick succession, I realized that there is no finer place to cry. The shower fan and running water drown out that loud hyper-ventilating crying that occurs with profound loss. The abundance of soap and water promise to leave no mascara trail. As a mother, I quickly learned that most everyone will almost always leave me alone there. Most and almost being the key words there. Every once in a while, my zen-like meditative atmosphere is pierced by cruel reality. A few showers ago while I was deep in quiet thought, the back end of the shower curtain rips open with such force that Norman Bates himself would have jumped back. Startled, I look to see an unphased Julia peeking her head in. In her hand is a miniature Hershey bar. "Um, do you think it'd be okay if I had this?" Is it because we are both females; because I entirely lack modesty; or else is it just a child's unconditional expectation of their mother. Regardless, she would never do this to her dad. Lucky, lucky me.