The Rules Of Goo

The rules change when you are a mother of twins- those unspoken mom-rules that every mom and mom-to-be is expected to know, having magically received them telepathically from other moms throughout the globe the day you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t get those rules, don’t feel bad. As a mom, sooner or later the sound of your own mother’s voice in your head comes echoing back at you, and sometimes you can even see her in your mind’s eye…with a bullhorn and a clipboard. Yes, motherhood involves schizophrenia, but they don’t tell you this until after the fact. Mothering twins involves babyophrenia which is the ability to simultaneously fill a sippy-cup with one hand while balancing a 23-pound toddler in the other arm and plunging the toilet to retrieve a plastic 5 inch Eeyore toy, while you are singing the theme to “Elmo’s Big Day”.

Natural law ceases to make any sense whatsoever when you have children. For example, I’m no math genius, but it doesn’t add up that my daughter (who is 15 months old and who weighs about 20 pounds and who hasn’t eaten anything in the last 4 days except a few graham crackers and the occasional dollop of baby rash ointment) has been able to produce at least 400 pounds of goo from one end of her or the other. They didn’t tell me about the goo when I got the rules. My mother laughs in a kind of revengeful sort of way in my mind’s eye.

Goo, for those who are non-parents, is a space-age type substance which is made up largely of the stuff that keeps the Starship Enterprise flying backwards and forwards through time. It is indestructible; from what I have seen it can melt steel. Its pungent odor defies description. Despite these qualities, the pediatrician has reassured me that I don’t need a Hazmat suit when handling it. She recommended that I try feeding the baby Jello, which apparently has anti-goo properties, to cut down on the overall goo production.

I notice the questions change too. For example, now that they are walking, the question is no longer “Is that good for them?” It is “Will that kill or maim them and will it buy me 10 minutes to finish the laundry?” Here is another: Why does a week-old piece of blackened, smashed-into-the-carpet banana, hidden under the table have more appeal than fresh, happy, friendly, jiggly peach Jello? When this question can be answered, Grasshopper, you have indeed become wise. Or insane. Which, of course leads me to the book of Isaiah.

I love to read Isaiah, while the babies sleep and I am picking cheerios out of my hair. Of the prophets, his book is the most mystical in language and by the time the kids are sleeping and I have a quiet moment, he makes sense. I think a pre-requisite for a lot of the bible should be a couple of Dr. Seuss books. The theologians are all rolling their eyes now. How dare I compare the Word of God to Dr. Seuss! I dare because we are called to be children and told the kingdom belongs to such ones. After spending the day with my kids, I understand why.

There is no pride in toddler-hood. They don’t have to be brainiacs to get me to respond to them. There is only trust, love, and inordinate amounts of goo. My daughter knows mommy can fix goo, just like I know Christ fixes me, daily, when I lay down my pride long enough come to Him. He keeps holding out the Jello to me, and I keep going for the smashed banana. But He doesn’t give up.

From New Advent I found that Isaiah was only about 20 years of age when God called Him to prophecy. He married and had two sons, She`ar¬Yashub and Maher¬shalal¬hash¬baz, whose names translate roughly into “Hey you!” and “Why don’t you listen?” He was killed by being sawed in half. After parenting, martyrdom isn’t so scary. At any rate, in Chapter 54, my favorite chapter, God speaks to Israel through him in such beautiful language, with a promise not only of restoration but of majesty.

11 O poor little one, tossed with tempest, without all comfort,
behold I will lay thy stones in order, and will lay thy foundations with sapphires,
12 And I will make thy bulwarks of jasper: and thy gates of graven stones,
and all thy borders of desirable stones.
13 All thy children shall be taught of the Lord:
and great shall be the peace of thy children.

I pray for this restoration daily, because I know that I am Israel. I know that the Lord is clarity and sanity in a world of illusion and emptiness. I pray for the peace of my children, that I may lay the foundations of the faith for them rightly, as God lays all my own stones in order. The Christian walk is hard and not for wimps. Much like parenting, it involves a lot of strength. If not for love, we wouldn’t (and shouldn’t) be involved in either pursuit. Which must mean I’m not a masochist for forcing myself to like Elmo, right? I will like Elmo….I will.