What are you doing to make the world a better place?

Lately, I've been thinking about what I'm doing to make the world a better place--what I could be doing, what I should be doing. Humanity faces not one but many crises on a global scale--the environment, human rights, access to health care--and far too many of us who are in a position to help have our heads buried in the sand.

We nonreligious folk, in particular, need to be doing more. The American Religious Identification Survey (ARIS) tells us that there are more religiously unaffiliateds in the U.S. than ever before, yet studies show that secular Americans donate less time and money to charity than our religious neighbors. It's very easy for the religious to point at those studies as proof that we're morally inferior. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to prove them wrong.

Dale McGowan, the founder and executive director of Foundation Beyond Belief, likes to talk about memes. I think his new Foundation responds to a meme that's been in the minds of atheists/agnostics/humanists/freethinkers--we all want to do more. The Foundation is our invitation to gather together, to pool our resources and our ideas in service of humanity.

Do you get a warm, fuzzy feeling when you put out your recycling? Great. Now take it a step further. The Foundation's Facebook Cause page drew 1,700 members. If each of them signs up to give just $10 a month, $1 in each of the Foundation's 10 categories, by the end of a year we'll have raised $204,000 for charity. That's $20,400 to promote human rights around the world, $20,400 to protect the environment, $20,400 to combat poverty. That's huge. I know times are tough, but can't we all swing $10 a month? And those among us who can give more will boost those numbers even higher.

Now, this isn't a competition. It's not about which group of people gives more or does the most good. But if that's what it takes to move us to action, great. The world benefits. We're all giving more. We're all doing good.

So I'm asking you to join me. Create your account at the Foundation website. And do more than sign up for the monthly automatic deduction. Get involved. Read the blog, and leave your comments. Join in the discussion forums. We have a lot of work to do. Let's get to it.

Speaking of that blog, I'm extremely honored that Dale caved to my begging and appointed me blog editor for the Foundation. We're still gathering our stable of bloggers, so if you have a favorite blogger who's talking about human rights, education, poverty, peace, child welfare, animal protection, or health (and who also happens to be a humanist), send 'em my way. Thanks!

Skinny

I believe my daughters to be quite slender. They're tiny little things, still light and easy to pick up and haul around. But maybe that's just me seeing what I want to see. You be the judge:

Assuming we all agree that these children are skinny little girls, can someone please explain to me why it is that I cannot find pants that fit them? Size 3T is just the right length, but way too tight around the middle. Size 5T is perfect at the waist, but the girls' feet drown in all that extra length. Are my children not normally proportioned? Sure, they're smallish for four-year-olds, but they're not abnormally short of leg or round of midriff.

Do children's clothing manufacturers honestly think these girls need to lose weight? Are they already assaulting us with the idea that we must all be waif thin? Silly me, I thought we had a few more years before we had to start fighting off those negative body images.

This gratifying parenting moment brought to you by Bilbo Baggins

We've been slowly working our way through The Hobbit with Evie and Sophie. It comes in waves -- for a week or two, they want to read it every night for their bedtime story. Then it goes out of vogue, and we don't touch it for weeks. Lately, we've been reading about Bilbo's adventures almost every night.

Much of The Hobbit is sailing right over their four-year-old heads. That's to be expected. But they understand enough to follow along and stay interested. Often, we pause to discuss what we've just read or what a particular words means, but those pauses are almost exclusively instigated by Airan or me. The girls seem content to listen and float along with the story.

When we last saw Bilbo, he had just bested Gollum in a riddle contest. Tonight, we picked up with Gollum's horrible realization that his precious was missing, and Bilbo's belated flash of understanding that the ring he'd found in the cave was no ordinary ring. The two then chase through the dark goblin caves, Gollum desperate to reclaim his birthday present and Bilbo just fighting to stay alive. Bilbo considers using his glowing sword to end the battle once and for all, but as Gandalf later recalls, pity stayed his hand.

At this point, Evie piped up with, "What does 'pity' mean?"

And thus began our discussion of what it means to feel pity. (This is the kind of parenting moment when the alarms sound in my head. "This is a big deal! Don't screw this up!") We talked about Gollum, what his life was like deep in the dark cave with no friends, no light, no good food to eat, nothing to comfort him or make him happy. And the girls' sweet little faces grew sad, concerned, troubled -- it was heartbreaking to look at them. "This is what it means to feel pity. We think about Gollum's life, and we feel sad for him."

And they got it. They really understood. They made up stories about their animal friends being alone and lost, and we talked about how that would make us feel. At their tender age, I can see the seeds of empathy sprouting, taking root.

Four Years Ago

Four years ago today, I was in week three of my doctor-imposed hospital bedrest, hoping against hope that I could get the two little rugrats occupying my uterus just a few weeks closer to full term before they burst into the world. June 9, 2005, was the last day I could entertain those hopes; around 9:00 that night, the contractions kicked into high gear.

As they were wheeling me from my hospital room to a labor and delivery room (just in case!), a nurse asked me how far along I was. "Twenty-eight weeks," I said. She gave me some breathing advice that she said would help me get through the contractions until the C-section to come. "Oh, no," I said. "We're not having these kids yet. It's too early." She gave me a pitying look. She'd seen enough women in labor to know that those kids were coming, whether I liked it or not.

"I think you need to brace yourself for the possibility that you'll be giving birth tonight." She said it kindly, but firmly.

And she was mostly right. About twelve hours later, at 9:10 am and 9:14 am on June 10, 2005, Sophia and Evelyn said hello to the world. We didn't even get to see Sophie in the delivery room -- she was whisked away by the nurses and neonatologists, and I didn't lay eyes on her until hours later. They gave us a quick photo op with tiny, tiny Evie before she was also carried off by the specialists.

And so began the lives of Evelyn and Sophia, with more struggle than most babies have to deal with. I think their challenging beginnings gave them an extra fire, a fighting spirit, and a flair for life, but maybe that's what every mother says. Regardless, they are two vibrant, brilliant, exuberant girls, and while I can't quite believe it's been four years already, I'm so glad they're mine.


Happy birthday to my beautiful girls!

Hey, Oprah! Pay attention!

Oprah needs to read this. You guys should read it, too.

Like Water

I am a child. Here's why:

I've been trying to make some lifestyle and diet changes lately. One of the most compelling reasons for this is that I have developed a vicious case of LPRD, which could theoretically be lessened by some simple changes on my part. (And the proton-pump inhibitors I've been eating like candy are leeching all the calcium out of my bones, which is a bad, bad thing.)

One of the things I could do to help the situation is give up certain foods, such as chocolate.

Let's take a moment and think about how likely that is.

Did you hear that maniacal laughter interspersed with hopeless weeping? Yeah, that was me. You can pry my chocolate from my cold, dead fingers.

Moving On

I've been struggling for some time with an extremely hard decision. After seven years, I've decided to take a break from the Chicago Chamber Choir. I have so much love and affection for the group that leaving it is an extremely upsetting prospect. Since making the decision, I've been processing through the stages of grief, and I think I'm finally at acceptance. I hope to continue my involvement with the group in a non-soprano capacity, and I will definitely be sitting in the audience next season. Truth be told, I've long wanted to hear us from the other side, and now I'll get my chance. So all of you friends who have been loyal supporters -- I hope you'll join me in continuing to support this fine organization. And to all my CCC friends, I love you and I'll miss you!

Missing

I remember the day very clearly: It was December 23, 2008. The temperature never got above 0 degrees F. And yet I had the bright idea to do some holiday shopping at an outdoor mall. (I blame David. The expedition started as a mission to get him some snow boots, and from there it exploded into a full-blown present-hunting trip at Old Orchard.)

I don't know how many times I took my gloves off and put them back on again as we traversed between the freezing sidewalks and over-warm department stores. During one of those transitions, unbeknownst to me, my wedding ring slipped right off. I realized it about half an hour after we left the mall, and by then the ring was gone for good.

That ring, like Airan's, was a simple gold band, nothing fancy. I bought the set in a rushed frenzy, mere weeks before the wedding, while Airan was off gallivanting around the Pacific Northwest with Isabelle Haze. It was a utilitarian ring, pulled into service on short notice and considered to be a place-holder until we got around to finding rings we really liked.

Somehow, I managed to not lose that placeholder ring for eleven and a half years. And despite the fact that it was always a stand-in for some prettier, grander ring I planned to get someday, I find I'd grown rather attached to it. I'm wearing my engagement ring on that finger now, but I'm still occasionally caught off guard when I realize the ring isn't there. I'm gripped with panic all over again -- My ring! Where is it? And then I remember; it's long gone.

Shriners Hospitals in Trouble

Most of you have heard me rave about how wonderful the Shriners Hopsitals are. They take excellent care of Evie and Sophie, but more important is the work they do with kids who are far more sick and who need far more medical attention. The Shriners offer world-class care to kids who really need it, and they don't charge a dime for their services.

I read a very distressing article this weekend -- the Shriners Hospitals are facing budget shortfalls and are considering closing a quarter of their facilities. If things continue as they are, Shriners may be forced to close down all of their hospitals in the next five to seven years.

Times are hard for all of us (trust me, I know!), but if any of you are in a position to send the Shriners $5 or $50 or whatever, please consider helping out. I just sent a meager donation of my own, and I'm going to try to start sending them monthly donations.

Spread the word about how great these hospitals are. Losing the Shriners Hospitals would be a terrible blow, not just for kids with OI, but for all the kids with debilitating conditions and injuries who receive excellent care at these amazing hospitals.

My Little Skeptic

We've had a weekend filled with Easter activities -- and by "Easter activities," I mean the secular celebrations we've come to associate with that holiday. Egg hunts at the park with a costumed Easter Bunny, dying hard-boiled eggs, and waking up to baskets full of candy on Easter morning. As will surprise none of you, we don't attend services or reflect on the religious meaning of this holiday -- when the girls are older, we'll talk about it and encourage them to decide for themselves what they think about it. But for now, Easter is all about the candy.

Still, even the Easter Bunny gives the girls an opportunity to exercise their budding baloney-detection skills.

Last night before bed, after much excited discussion of what the Easter Bunny might leave for the girls to find in the morning, Evie said to me, "Mom, is Easter real or pretend?"

I said, "What do you think?"

"Real! Real! Real!" both girls yelled in reply. And still my heart was glad, because she thought to ask the question in the first place.

Later, Evie was talking about the egg hunt we'd gone to that morning: "And there was a guy in a white Easter Bunny costume!" She wasn't fooled -- she saw right through that fluffy costume to the human underneath.

I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to watching these kids explore and consider the world around them, reveling in the wonder and joy while setting aside superstition. It's very important to me that they choose their own path and find their own way, but I think we're off to an excellent start!