I told Josh about it in a mygoodnessIknewtherewasareasonthatIdontwanttobeaSAHM sort of way. He responded with a simple “um, Stepford Wives?”

But, as much as I hate the world in which being a mother must be everything for a woman, and thus must be dressed up with faux business cards… they make sense to me. It is a pain to try to write down contact information on random slips of paper while keeping an eye on your children. And it is much easier to figure out which of the ten women you met yesterday you are supposed to call to set up a play-date if you have a card with a picture of the child and mother’s name and contact information on it.

So I am torn. The idea is rather sad, but the mommy card does make a bit of sense in reality.

Would you use them? Do you use them?

This is completely alien to the rest of my life experience. Family pictures are dreadful horrors to be dealt with once or twice a year. People are arranged and rearranged. Small children are bribed, threatened, and consoled. Teens are ordered to smile, “no, a ‘real’ smile!” repeatedly until there is finally a picture of everyone smiling- except for dad who is still frowning about the refusal of the teens to smile.

After what feels like forever (and is at least a half hour) it is all over. The resulting picture makes one wonder what on earth the term “picture perfect” is supposed to mean, but it is at least a picture.

And that is what I think of as a family picture. Josh’s family takes pictures of family, but they are not really family pictures. There are far too few tears for that!

Then some friends had extra tickets to Six Flags and insisted that Josh and I join them, despite my protestations that I would be a waste of a ticket.

So I tried The Mind Eraser™ and this is what I learned: roller coasters simply do not work for me. The experience was entirely unpleasant. Since I would have been scared I used my two typical coping mechanisms: logic and prayer. At first I reminded myself that it was highly unlikely that I would be hurt since injuries and fatalities are very bad for business. Then I spent the rest of the ride silently repeating the words which I use to offer God my suffering during any unpleasant experience.

The experience had nothing in common with fun. There was no surge of adrenaline or post-ride high. Afterward I concluded that I had probably ruined the fun with my coping mechanisms.

I never had an I’mgoingtodiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie feeling, so I did not get the rush of lovely hormones and it all seemed miserable and pointless. Why would anyone wait in line for hours for this? I can understand uber-Catholic areas having people in line on their knees waiting for roller coaster rides while praying the rosary, but I do not think that people typically go to amusement parks to do penance.

Do you like roller coasters? Am I just not masochistic enough to enjoy thrill rides, or did I just ruin the fun for myself?

Enter Rockabye Baby!

I grew up in a home that was rather loud and did not include much in the way of lullabies or rock. I would not actually buy this for any child in my care, but I still find it rather hilarious.

What do you think of nontraditional lullabies and baby soothing?

Then I got married. And nothing changed. My husband cared about football even less than I did. My father-in-law was apparently the quarterback of his high school team but never cared that much about pro-football. I am sure that this had nothing to do with the fact that Mississippi does not have its own professional football team, nor with the fact that the New Orleans Saints just were not that inspiring. Anyway, according to Josh, his family never watched football other than the one time his parents made the children watch a game so that they would not be entirely clueless.

And then we moved back to Mississippi. And everyone was so excited about the fact that, for once in team history, the Saints were playing well. Very well. I did not care to follow any of the games, but I told Josh that we sort of had to cheer for the team given their name. He agreed and added that the team colors are actually some of the most appealing visually when it comes to clothing; and who can complain about the fleur-de-lis?

Then there is the fact that you have to feel badly for the people of New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It rather stinks when your whole area is destroyed by a hurricane and everything takes years and years to rebuild. So it is really nice for them to have the happiness of football. I do not know whether it is the fact that winning is a surprise, or the results of Katrina, or something else entirely, but I have never seen complete communities as excited about a team in the way that they are here. And yes, that includes being in Boston when the Red Sox finally started winning. That was a different sort of crazy..

If all that were not enough reason to cheer for the Saints (and really, how could color preference not be enough to choose a team?) the issue was firmly settled yesterday. No, it was not the fact that the Saints won the game against the Vikings, it was what happened in Church.

The evening Mass apparently started just before the Saints game and the priest took note of the fact without mentioning the half-empty church. The homily was short (smart pastoral move, no?) and when the cantor announced the recessional hymn, the pianist broke in with “would it be inappropriate if we sang ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ instead?” The priest said “that would be fun” and the congregation sang it with glee.

And so I asked myself what other team could possibly sing such a song in Church? The only thing that I could come up with was the Steelers with a twist, or being lifted up on Eagles’ wings, or maybe something about Jesus riding on a colt? But really, none of that can come close to belting out “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Since we do not have any songs praising Cardinals, I think the matter is closed. I am officially a Saints fan.

How could it be otherwise?

She meant that as a compliment. Even though I am odd she respects me enough to just pretend that I meet cultural expectations for a good married woman.

I have yet to be offended by someone calling me by my husband’s name.  If it was a sensitive issue I would have made sure that everyone knew the right name in the first place. But I do think that it is funny that almost everyone assumes that I changed my name. Seriously. Drop your cultural training for just a moment. It really is odd to assume that someone has a different name from the one you’ve always known, when you were never told that the name changed!

To make matters more complex, I do intend to change my name at some point. My husband and I decided to share a name. A completely new name not shared by our families. In theory, he is the one who cares most about us having a family name for us and our children. I am happy to go along with it because I want him to be happy. In reality though, he does not want to bother with paperwork. So we continue with the names we were given at birth. My guess is that we will continue this way until forced into action by a child.

When I do change my name everyone will think it is odd. And they should. It is weird to change one’s name. I accept that. I am odd. It is strange that I have no attachment to my name and am perfectly willing to take a new name. When I change my name people should be surprised. But they should not be surprised when my name is today what it always has been!

This is a sensitive issue for many people, but I wish they could see the humor. Is it not horribly ironic that the same people who assume my name has changed will be most surprised when I do actually change it?

I was reminded of the importance of such questions this evening while waiting in line at the grocery store. A Very Pregnant Woman (henceforth VPW to differentiate her from the “sort-of pregnant women” out there) was being questioned by the Person Bagging Groceries (PBG).

PBG: Oh! You’re pregnant!
Me: No! She did not know that!
PBG: Do you know what you’re having?
Me: A little green monster?
VPW: A boy.
PBG: Do you have the name picked out?
VPW: No.
Me: Ha. Smart woman. She is probably tired of people telling her that Mildred Ethel Lastname is not only a girl’s name, it is an ugly one at that.
PBG: Oh. Well, may I suggest a name?
Me: Only if you’ll start bagging the poor woman’s groceries more quickly. She looks exhausted!

I know that this was most likely nothing compared to all the other things this woman deals with, but for me it was a good reminder to consider all the things one must consider before deciding that one is ready for pregnancy. Thus I present The Pregnancy Readiness Test. Ask yourself:

1. Do I enjoy being frisked by strangers?
If the answer is “YES!” then maybe I am ready to be pregnant. There is nothing like a round belly to shout to the world that one is just dying to be touched. There is a reason we give children teddy bears and dolls that laugh when you squeeze their stomachs. We know that some day these children will encounter a pregnant woman and they need to be trained to automatically touch the woman.

2. See #1.

3. See # 1.

Well, maybe that wasn’t so complicated after all. Since the readiness test is so easy, there is no reason to skip it!