I’ve never been into reality shows very much, but the fact that I’ve had to do a lot of laying around this summer combined with the fact that there is nothing on TV has driven me to desperation. I caught an episode of “Wife Swap” a few weeks ago and was oddly fascinated. While I don’t have the desire to put my family under such an uncomfortable microscope, I get why other people would. It’s a great learning opportunity, if nothing else. And of course they pair up the most polar opposite people they can find, to ensure emotional volatility at every turn. You know, the stuff drama is made of. I imagine a lot more subtle change and discovery took place in the two weeks of filming than emerges from the editing room. But that’s just business.

I watched an episode today while cutting out and ironing some new winter pajamas for my kids and I ended up having to turn off the television. And have a talk with my kids about the dangers of judgment and self righteousness. And the strange thing was? The person I was most upset with in the show was a fellow atheist.

A little background. The show featured a family from North Carolina who were very deeply religious evangelical Christians. They really limited their childrens exposure to the outside world, mom picked out clothes for all the kids to ensure modesty, dad is the king of the castle and the family follows “man law”… which means dad works outside the home while mom plays a more traditional role. (This “man law” also extended to the male child, who never had to do chores while his sisters did them daily. mmmmhhmmm.) Religion was obviously the center of their lives, but they seemed like a pretty solid family. (With the exception of that “man law” bullshit. Boys need to know how to clean and cook just as much as girls do!) The other family was a staunchly atheist family of five who enjoyed an “alternative lifestyle”. (Alternative to what?) They were tattooed and pierced and let the kids pretty much explore whatever they wanted. Partying seemed to be a big part of their life. They seemed like a solid family as well, and the kids were happy and healthy.

The premise of the show is that for the first week each mom must live by the other families rules. The next week, those mom’s get to make thier own rules and the families must abide by them. Cue the learning and growing. And screaming and crying and fighting. Personally, I think its just a bad idea to try to force anyone to accept your own personal beliefs. Nine times out of ten, it’s not going to end well, regardless of what you happen to believe. And these people were definitely not the exception to the rule.

I’m a firm believer that each religion, culture, race, etc. has both good and bad representatives. After all, we are all still just humans with a seemingly endless supply of obnoxious behaviors.  But this man, this atheist, was just as close minded and self righteous as any other religious fanatic. He took every opportunity to deride this woman’s choices, mock her beliefs and tear down every moral value she held. Because you get more flies with vinegar, right? His wife was nearly as bad. She made a point, with the self righteous battle cry of “personal expression” (I suppose the irony was lost), to take religion away from the family for a week. She went so far as to put their bibles in a trash bag and take down any decor in their home reflective of their religion. These folks had an opportunity  to expose a family to broader horizons. To prove to them that an atheist can still be a good parent, a kind and dependable community member… a person with essentially the same moral code. Instead, they took every opportunity to belittle and oppress. Sound familiar anyone?

Maybe its the fact that I’m an atheist in an area that is pretty much the bible belt of California. I believe the town I live in once held a record for having the most churches per square foot. Much of my family is religious… I have a brother and an uncle who are both preachers.  The other side of my family is more “new age” in their belief systems. I was taught about Jesus right along with the concept of reincarnation and self realization. It turns out neither of these spiritual paths are right for me. It’s been a struggle, something I’ve had a lot of shame and fear and nervousness about, but its been a big relief to be able to admit to myself something I’ve known since I was a child: I don’t believe in God. I don’t know what happens when we die. I don’t know if our lives have purpose or destiny or if we are really anything more than slightly (very slightly) more complex animals, though I definitely lean toward that. This may change as I get older, or it may not. Either way, I strive to do good. To grow as a person and be of service to our world and its people. I’ve found my own way to be ok with what I believe or don’t believe and not feel that I am constantly letting others down. I try to let my life do the talking for me.

And of course there have been times when, with all the zest of a new convert, I’ve indulged in feelings of superiority. (Fleeting) Moments of feeling smug, like I know better than everyone else. The universe likes to give me a well deserved smack upside the head and that is usually all it takes to put me right back in my rightful place… silent observer, grateful that I live in a time and place where I don’t face religious (or lack of) persecution and open minded enough to appreciate what a wonderful thing religion is for many, many people. Christian, Muslim, Jew, hell, I don’t care if you worship lightening bugs, if it helps you make more sense of your life, if it gives you the same sense of peace and contentment we are all striving for, then by all means. Do it. I’ll even fight to ensure that you have the right.

The thing is, at the end of the day, its a choice. A personal choice. And really? Its no one else’s beeswax.

I don’t think I would make good reality TV. I’m pretty sure acceptance and tolerance just don’t bring in ratings like they should!

I hate the heat. I really do. (The subject is fresh in my mind as we settle back home after a wonderful camping trip up in the 80-degrees-at-max mountains…) And while there are a lot of things I love about Summer, the other three seasons of the year definitely suit me much better. So, I’m won’t exactly be sorry to see Summer winding down.

Next week the kids go back to school. And what does that mean? I will officially have two children in school everyday from 8:30 to 3:30! Can I get an Amen?! (And maybe a little sniffle. Because this has been the mythical goal for so long and really it just means that my kids are officially big kids and ever so much closer to thinking I have cheese for brains.)

My back is still pretty much screwed up. I have very little range of motion and I can’t open jars (which I could, before, so I know I’m not that much of a weenie), and I’m pretty much always in pain, which makes me especially nasty after about 7:30 every night.  But its manageable, and I can get around just fine, which makes me feel even worse for resting on my laurels while the Mr. handles all the work. And I got turned down for health insurance. Whee! Lets see. I don’t qualify for any health care assistance, I can’t get anyone to cover my preexisting ass and I can’t afford the thousand’s of dollars in medical bills that seeing a specialist would take. Fun!

Next weekend we are having a yard sale. I hate having yard sale’s, but I really need to de-clutter and let go of things I’ve been pack ratting away. Also, its not at my house, which will make it much easier to just donate everything that doesn’t sell to Goodwill. I won’t want to unpack any of that crap.

But enough about me. Even I’m sick of hearing about it.

Camping pictures!

Ozzie is always the first to get dirty. He had a great time shooting his bow and pretending to hunt woodland creatures. We have a “you kill it you eat it” rule that prevents many a squirrels untimely death.

We left Friday intending to camp at Sand Bar Flat but when we got there the entire campground was inaccessible. Bummer. Our trip kind of started off on a shaky leg anyway. Both kids came down with the flu Thursday, work deadlines got shortened and we weren’t able to leave until much later in the day… which meant most of the best spots were sure to be picked off and we would have to take what we could get. But after getting everything packed and ready to go we felt like it would be just as big of a hassle not to go, so we went. We ended up at Herring Creek, since we were burning daylight and didn’t want to drive around trying to find something else. In the end, we made it, tents were set up, marshmallows were roasted and I effectively wiped the floor with Jason during a game of rummy.

This used to be a lake. I wonder if any bodies were found when they first drained it?

This is my friend Snake. He was a little pissed when Dad pinned him down so I could pet him.

My Dad and brother drove up Saturday morning to spend the day and fish. Unfortunately, the usually full reservoir was maybe 2 feet deep where  it wasn’t completely dried up. So, no fish there. We headed over to the Stanislaus River in Strawberry and Ivy and I laid on a blanket (after being fine the day we left, she immediately threw up our first morning there. Nothing spells fun like a vomiting child in the wilderness!) and decorated a Fancy Nancy sticker book while the guys fished and looked for gold. (Jason may have found a flake. He’s very hopeful.) No one caught anything, but it was a beautiful day and it felt good to be out in the fresh air, hearing the river roar down below.

Jasper was extremely tired that evening. I think he must have walked 80 miles compared to our 4.

Ivy, feeling better. I tried to play Badmiton with the kids, but it quickly became apparent that I should only try and play that game within a padded cell.

We ended up coming back a day early (see vomiting child, above.) so now its off to wash eleventy million loads of laundry and try to sand down my feet so they stop looking like goat hooves.

Tyler and Ozzie explore what used to be an island, accessible only by boat.

The water is usually right up to the very edge of the dam.

I have a tendency to think in extremes. I will bounce back and forth, swing like a pendulum from one side to the other. The goal is always the middle or at least somewhere close to it. But sometimes I get stuck.

All it takes is a word, a thought or comment, the wrong lighting in the wrong outfit at the wrong time and I will start to feel this old, awful panic.

I am so ugly! Why is my nose so big? I am so fat… why am I such a pig? Look at me! I have a double chin. My thighs dimple. Gross! My belly is poochy and striped with scar tissue.

And it inevitably leads me down the path of quick fixes, marketed cures and mass hysteria.

I tried to diet. Again. I failed, again.

It’s not surprising. I like to eat and I have very little patience for feeling crabby and hungry and lightheaded. I like to do things,  I’m always going and its hard to keep up when you are trying to subsist on a piece of fruit.

Every so often, I do this. I torture myself into thinking that if I was just a bit more disciplined, a bit less hungry, a bit more invested in making myself a vision of light limbed loveliness, I could do it.

Then I remember that that is not how it works.

I’ve been skinny and I’ve been fat. I had bad days and good days in equal measure. Times when I looked in the mirror and was horrified, times when I felt like the cats pajamas. And really? It had very little to do with how much butt I happened to be carrying around. It’s all about attitude. It’s about being confident. Its about loving yourself and knowing that you are great, not that you will be great when you finally lose that 15 lbs, but that you are great right now.

And its about being healthy. Conscious of your strength and mindful of how you take care of yourself. Allowing yourself the room to use your strength and relish in pleasures. Knowing that the poochy belly that looks like a battlefield is a proud memento. That age and wisdom are a much more interesting dining companion than self centered youth. Not feeling guilty or trading deprivation for indulgence. Its such a puritanical, American way of being isn’t it? And so pointless.

Listen: You get 70-80 years on this planet, if you are lucky. Enjoy it. As it is.

I hate the idea of living with one foot in tomorrow, constantly seeking the “perfect answer” that will make everything complete.

Because it doesn’t exist.

So, I will try to remember that next time a thoughtless comment or an unflattering glimpse in the wrong mirror causes me to doubt my own perfection, the beauty I am lucky to be told, often, is there.

So here I am, bouncing toward the middle. It’s a good place to be.