Hello again folks, Yes, I know, I took a powder for a few days. Many apologies. Will strive to keep more on the ball here.

So I’ve spent a good amount of time talking about how God, couldn’t really be playing straight dice with us human beings and now I’m going to tell you why he probably IS playing a totally straight game.

The simple reason why God probably isn’t a bastard is the sheer existence of our universe. Ahh, but wait, some of you are thinking I’m about to wax prosaic on the beauties inherent in nature and what have you. Well you’re wrong. I’ve had seven allergies since I was young. Nature is my enemy.

No, in fact I’m speaking in a much more lateral thinking sense. Allow me to explain. In our universe, many things are possible, physically and mentally. Different schemes for viewing the universe are likewise possible. One of these is the acknowledgment of something called a paradox. Now to you who received high scores on your SATs you know that a paradox is a situation wherein two contradictory pieces of information coexist.

Well, funny thing, our universe allows for us to conceptualize the existence of paradoxes. I postulate that indeed in a universe created by a God figure of some sort, that figure must then be on some level an embodiment of what he has created. I mean, how else would he have the expertise to create it? So hey, he might embody the concepts allowed in his universe. If he does, then just maybe he also embodies paradox. If so, all those previous logical qualifiers I listed in the last post go right out the window.

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One of my favourite jokes tells of the mother who, when her first child swallowed a coin, dashed to the hospital for x-rays and possible surgery, but by the time her fifth child swallowed a coin she simply docked it from his allowance.

Life is a bit like that in my house. Nap time for my first baby was a time of absolute silence, two uninterrupted hours snuggled in his own bed. For my third child nap time frequently means falling asleep in the car on the way to pick up others from school, being hauled, still asleep, to see teachers, and being popped back in the car and taken home to finish the nap in bed.

Today my somewhat clumsy third child fell over and managed to pierce his tongue with a tooth. Very messy, and the fact that he panics at the sight of blood didn’t help. I am sure that the screaming set off all the dogs in the neighbourhood. However, I have already made a hospital trip for this type of injury about 7 years ago, so I knew exactly what to do. A lime flavoured ice block, straight from the freezer, appeases a screaming child and stops the bleeding at the same time. I try to avoid red ice blocks, as it’s hard to see the extent of the injuries in a red stained mouth.

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Normally, I am not one to enter political discussions of any nature. Like everyone else I do have my thoughts and beliefs, but I have learned the cardinal rule of conversations – do not include the discussion of religion or politics when speaking with co-workers and friends.

My beliefs have ended more than one friendship, even as far back as high school, so I’ve learned to keep my opinions more subdued in conversation and more open in blogs and columns like this one.

However, the other day, my boyfriend, who is usually the cause for the political angst that plagues me, was telling me about an article he read. On a blog there was an elegant post about the issues with Israel and Hezbollah. Said boyfriend commented on the post by saying that he felt that the issues were unimportant and that killing children for any reason was wrong. He stated, and I agree, that it was murder.

Of course, as one person comments on a blog, 100 comments follow telling that person why they are wrong. The comment that struck me as the most interesting was, “Do not confuse killing with murder”.

Is there a difference? It was something that I asked myself for quite some time before choosing to write this. I know that I am not alone in my observations. These same issues have bothered many others for far too long. However, it was not a Fundamentalist Christian who made this comment. It was a person living in Israel. It only took a small amount of research to see that the fundamentalist Christians were on the side of Israel and the writing of this article was inevitable.

In the quest to determine the difference between killing and murder I had to ask myself only one question: How do you explain to the Lebanese mother that watched her children being pieced back together that her loss was an acceptable loss? I couldn’t come up with an answer.

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I am a believer in the Hellenic faith. What this means is that unlike Christians or other monotheistic people, I believe in the Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Greece. This allows me to take an extra close look at personal responsibility and science.

As a believer in the Hellenic faith, you look to the Cosmos. This is the belief that everything is made up of scientific matter that is inter-connected. Therefore, in the ultra technical mode, or in I Heart Huckabee speak, “The universe is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.”

Now, taking my beliefs into account, let’s say I went on a sexual rampage and started making babies. I had five kids, and while mentally unstable, I was coherent enough to concoct a murder plan to rid the world of my kids. I would do so in honor of Zeus and with hopes of sending them to be little Gods on Mt. Olympus.

How long do you think it would take for them to bring back the electric chair for me? My guess is not that long. When I heard that Andrea Yates, the Christian mother who killed her kids to offer them to God before they could commit sin and face Hell, was found not guilty, I cannot explain how much faith I lost in the criminal justice system.

As a person who wanted to be a criminal justice professional in psychology and forensics, I feel we need to break this down a little bit. The charges in this case were for first degree murder. This calls for premeditation to be present. The former Mrs. Yates did, in fact, commit premeditated murder when she waited several days to drown her kids.

She admitted, on previous occasions, that she knew it needed to be done after her husband went to work, but before her mother-in-law showed up to help her with the kids for the day. She also admitted to trying to kill them before, but was stopped from carrying out the plan when her mother-in-law showed up. Obviously, this rules out the random act of insanity through rash, unplanned actions while ignoring the logical thought process.

It also technically rules out insanity. Insanity, by definition, means that a person does not know right from wrong. However, she knew not to try to drown her kids in front of other people, thereby proving she knew that Mommy was being a bad, bad girl.

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Typically speaking (if we must speak typically) Monotheistic Religion views God in one of two lights. God is either merciless and good, or merciful and good. The merciless sort of deity is where we get holy wars from. The merciful sort is where we get hippies.

That said, I think there’s actually a great deal of evidence that says even the merciful sort of God is pretty bastardly if taken in a purely dogmatic sense. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say you’re a little African girl born in some out of the way village at the turn of the 1200’s. Let’s say by virtue of the lifestyle and environment in which you were raised, you have opportunity, nay, even imperative to breach all ten of your classic Christian commandments.

If you think this couldn’t be done, that it would somehow violate some fundamental moral code we all have, check out some anthropology. Don’t think I’m being exclusive to Africa here either. I dare say that virtually any culture at a certain level of development and isolation would have plenty of reason to breach ten magical laws they were unaware of breaching.

Back to my example, say you’re this African girl and in your life you’ve committed awful sins against the classically interpreted Christian God. One day you die and find yourself face to face with the almighty, (who for purposes of this story is the Christian God) and he looks NOTHING like what you were expecting. He tells you you’ve got a choice, repent now, or face everlasting torment. This is a quandary for you, because, not only are you faced with something unfamiliar, but in fact your own theology (much like Christianity) most likely includes both good AND evil forces in the universe, and the evil ones ALWAYS lie.

So you’ve got a choice. Either trust this unfamiliar deity who’s blaming you for things you didn’t know were crimes, and who very well might be lying, or you go with what you know, tell him to shove off and hope that your own benevolent ultra-deity will step in and get your back. Generally speaking, people are slow to change. My money says you go with what you know.

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I am the mother of the world’s fussiest eater. It is every mother’s dream to have an exceptionally talented child, though I must confess, this is not the title I was hoping for.

My four year old is almost vegetarian. The only meat products he consumes are those that have been processed so thoroughly that he cannot recognise that there is meat in them. He eats well in the mornings. In fact, he eats pretty much half hourly from the moment he wakes until mid afternoon.

But the moment I start cooking dinner, all bets are off. “I hate that!” he exclaims, without having even checked what ‘that’ is. I have a policy against food battles. Actually, I have a lot of ‘policies’, which I am sure I will reveal eventually, but the policy on food is a big one. No food battles. I like food, perhaps a little too much. Who am I kidding? A lot too much. Anyway, I have no desire to fight with children over food. My food rules are:

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If you haven’t heard about the breast/bottle debate you have either got your head buried in the sand or you’re a childless male. I am not even going to start on the pros and cons of formula vs. breast milk. If you’ve read even one mothering magazine you’ve already covered that topic. No, I want to talk about the experience of breastfeeding, the actual nitty gritty. As a mother who has spent 58 months nursing 3 children, I feel I am a bit of an authority on this!

Many inexperienced mothers envisage breastfeeding as a cosy, snugly experience; all rocking chairs, fire places and sweetly scented little heads. Sometimes it actually is like that. More often it’s not. Even though our bodies have sustained and nurtured this little life for nine whole months, the moment that baby is placed in your arms, the responsibility of keeping him alive suddenly consolidates into a huge reality. The worrying begins.

Am I producing enough milk? For the first few days it certainly doesn’t seem like it. Around five days after they’re born, babies get very, very hungry. They nurse and nurse and nurse, to the detriment of your nipples. They are doing this for a good reason. All that vacuuming stimulates your milk production, and suddenly there will be plenty of milk, but before that comes the pain. Cracked nipples, blisters, a hideously bruised sensation all combine to make it an excruciating experience. Some books and magazines I have read recommend a glass of wine to help you relax while working through the learning curve.

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I feel like Dane Cook when I say, “Naughty, Naughty Edwards”. Ok, so Edwards isn’t as cool as Kool Aid Man (OHHH Yeah!), but he still kind of sucks for embellishing how well he did in the Iowa Caucus. Does anyone even consider Iowa to be an important state? He barely beat Clinton in votes and in terms of percentage points, he didn’t even beat her by 1% of the vote!

Don’t you just hate it when politicians run their fat little mouths and then get called upon (by Wolf Blitzer no less!) for their stupidity?! I actually think it is kind of funny and here’s hoping Edwards gets shafted in New Hampshire. In this case, I think Hillary needs the last laugh!

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When a couple make that big decision to become parents, or have that decision thrust upon them at the whim of Mother Nature, the tendency is to picture the pleasantries of parenting; little Johnny learning to ride a bike, or Susie saying Mama for the first time, the soft sweetness of a freshly bathed infant, and the sticky kisses of an exuberant toddler. But there is one thing about parenting that none ever think of, and that we all should remember; namely, the bizarre sentences that we never imagined ourselves saying, let alone repeating more than once.

Highlights of my parenting career so far include “Please, don’t lick the cat”, “Stop drawing on your brother” and other admonitions I am unlikely to ever remember due to their obscurity. I am pretty sure there was one involving a hippopotamus that I wish I’d written down.

When I was a child and we’d ask my mother what was for dinner, her stock answer would be “Snake’s bum and biscuit”. This tickled my prepubescent fancy, particularly because my mother, as a vicar’s wife, was a very politely spoken lady, who’d never be seen to say the word “bum” in public. I realised the other day that this has been my standard answer to the whined dinner query, when this conversation took place:

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So just what is it with all these deities running about the place?

The first thing that I remember wondering about once I was exposed to other religions was why on Earth there’d actually be so many pesky Gods and Goddesses running about in the cosmos without a single one of them being polite enough to step in and clear up some issues for us common folk. What was the point of so many deities existing in the world? Truly, this question baffled me for quite some time. In fact, it was so baffling that it lead me to try out atheism for a solid two years before realizing that I just didn’t have the energy to be that militant.

There’s a very comforting notion that many of us settle into once we’ve gotten in touch with our own God. That notion is that we have somehow stumbled upon something that is intrinsically unique to us. God is here for me; me and no one else. Ok, maybe my friends, family and members of the congregation, but surely no one beyond that. Sadly, this is when the two-by-four of reality comes crashing in. God is, in whatever form, here for everybody, and the vast populace of the universe has known this for eons.

Though we might not like to admit it, the warm, tingling feeling that one person gets talking to Jesus is almost identical to another warm feeling that another person gets talking to Ribos of Nebulon 7. No, I don’t actually know of any real Ribosians, but they do make a wonderful example.

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