babybloomr

All right, to recap:
The Taff family is about 5 or 6 weeks into a new relationship with a new church, after a rather extended sabbatical from church in general. It felt like a pretty good fit from the get-go, especially after we had lunch with Pastor Danny and his wife Pastor Jill (OK, for some reason it just strikes me as funny to call them that! I have no idea why, same reason I love to call Becca Stevens ‘my priest’– it just appeals to my sense of the absurd. I know, it makes no sense at all.)

Danny and Russ hit it off immediately, they have some similarities in their backgrounds and also Danny is a really good singer so they have that music thing going for them. Jillian and I also clicked (she announced at our first lunch that the reason we were meeting in a restaurant instead of their home was because the house was a mess– hello, INSTANT BONDING!) and have gotten together twice since then. The girls liked the church from the beginning, and after a couple of weeks in the pre-teen program (which she enjoyed), Charlotte asked if she could stay down with us during the sermon because she “didn’t want to miss anything.” The sanctuary actually feels more like a concert venue, and because this is Music City, the talent on the stage and the sound and lights are professional quality. The worship team rocks, and the music is LOUD. The congregation is very eclectic and ethnically diverse, which is a huge plus to us. But what I enjoy most and what keeps us coming back is that every week I walk out of there with some ideas and inspiration and encouragement– also, I can actually tell you the main points of the sermon, which is the mark of a good communicator to me.

Ok, so today? Pastor Danny is doing part 2 of this series that’s kind of geared towards the men of the church that has this ‘beat the bull’ theme. The analogy is about how the ride of life is sometimes like a bucking bull, the ride is really rough, transitions are messy, and landings are hard; but if you can stay on for only 8 seconds you can beat the bull. So last week he started preaching on ‘8 Lies Men Can Buy’, and every time he brought one up (like, “Real men don’t cry” or “It’s the woman’s job to raise the kids”) and explained why that’s a lie, he had the whole congregation yell out, “That’s a bunch of bull!” Needless to say, the girls enjoyed that immensely. Then this morning we walk in and there’s a dang mechanical bull on the stage. Oh yeah. And of course before the service was over, Pastor Danny and another pastor (not Jill!) had indeed done the whole Urban Cowboy, ride-the-bull thing.

Now remember, even though Russ was raised in a jumping, shouting, Pentecostal church, the girls have spent their whole lives in an Episcopal church– an unconventional one to be sure, but Episcopal none the less. And also remember, I have that pesky Inner Snark inside of me that usually has a whole lot of very cynical, tacky things to say about preachers who use ‘talking points’ and ‘sermon illustrations.’ However… something is happening to us at this church. My Inner Snark was too busy laughing to be snarky this morning, and the girls loved the fact that, as they said later in the car, “I bet we’re the only church in town with a preacher that rode a bull on stage today!” 

I guess the bottom line is that I’ve finally just kind of gotten over myself, and would rather enjoy the things I like about church instead of judging the things I don’t. 

Thank God.

So– what was YOUR Sunday like?!

** P. S. Coming  soon: I have stories to tell and pictures to show from my latest Runaway Mom trip to Chattanooga AND from our annual ‘Tori And The Girls Go To The Bell Witch Cave’ trip! (It may take a little while though–we were stuck in traffic for over 2 hours on the way back from Adams, TN and Madi was bored so there are a lot of photos to sort through…)

Last weekend Madi and I went in search of The Perfect Dress for the upcoming Homecoming dance at her school. I guess I should insert some standard eye-rolling Mom comment here about the ordeal of going to the mall with a teenage girl, but actually, Madi and I have very compatible shopping styles, so we always have a lot of fun. We both agree that it only makes sense to try on a LOT of selections at each stop– our mantra is, “As long as we’re getting undressed…” So we always enter a dressing room with armloads of clothes, knowing that if we are lucky we’ll have maybe one or two choices that actually work. And we’re OK with that, in a kind of zen-shopping way. What will be will be. (Mainly because she is crazy hard to fit: she’s like, 5 inches tall, weighs about as much as a spaghetti squash and has, um, how can I say this delicately… boobs.)

Once in the fitting room, we assume our positions. The clothes go on the hanging hooks, I station myself in the chair, and Madi hands me the hangers as she tries on each dress. My job is to critique from every angle, pay special attention to the ‘twirl test’ (to see how it will move when she dances), offer my opinion and rating, then hang them back up. I also have to endure the 5 minutes per dress that it usually takes for her to photograph herself in the mirror with her camera phone and send it to her friend Karlye, who then weighs in with her opinion. When I complained about the amount of time suckage this entailed, she very seriously informed me that, “This is important! I need Karlye’s input!” Another part of the dressing room routine is something Charlotte calls ‘the butt dance’ which consists of Madi pursing her lips, turning her backside towards the mirror and kind of bouncing around in a circle, the better to check the rear view. I don’t know WHERE she gets that. Oh, yeah… Never mind.

The dresses are eventually divided into two piles, “Nope” and “Maybe”. Over the years we’ve developed some short-cut comments between us that don’t need any further explanation, such as: “Doesn’t do you any favors”, “We can do better”, and “I like it, but I’m not loving it”. What we’re waiting for, the ultimate shopping experience, is that rare moment when we both take a good look at what she puts on and simultaneously declare, “That’s IT!” It took us two days and eleventy frillion stores to get there this weekend, but we finally did.

But if you will bear with me a moment– I’ve got to tell you, there are some seriously skanky dresses out there! For teenagers! It is appalling, and that’s not a word I use lightly (mostly because I can’t pull it off very well), but it is the dang truth. I mean, I am not exactly a prude-mom, but it is really shocking to see ‘dressy dresses’ in the JUNIOR DEPT that look like they should come with their own stripper pole. Cut down to here, and up to there, and tighter than an Ace bandage. Not to mention really tacky colors with all manner of gewgaws dangling off of them and random slits up the side–yikes! My theory is that the arbiter of what passes for taste in teen wear these days is the same genius that came up with Bratz dolls. (“Hey, I know! Let’s make a whole new line of dolls and market it to little girls–kind of like Barbies, only way sluttier!)

Thankfully, Madi wasn’t looking to push the envelope so there weren’t any dressing room battles. I have to tell you, I actually really enjoyed the entire process. I hate to fall into that whole ‘mother and daughter bonding over shopping’ cliche, but it was fun to be part of the search, the discussion, the weighing of pros and cons and finally, the triumphant moment when she slipped The Dress over her head and then stood stock still in front of the mirror as a surprised look spread across her face. She gently ran her hand down the deep purple fabric with one hand, catching my eye in the mirror and smiling delightedly. And sitting there on the uncomfortable dressing room bench, weighed down by the pile of discards in my lap, I looked at Madi and I could see the child she was, and the girl she is, and the woman she will be– all of them there in that sweet face that I know as well as my own. It startled me, and I froze for a second, staring at her with an intensity that she assumed was the result of being dumbstruck in the presence of The Perfect Dress. “I think I found it,” she said in a hushed voice. “Oh yeah,” I agreed. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

And it doesn’t.