Queen Kelley

And now we know. This fulfilling, sometimes heart-wrenching episode allowed us to say goodbye for another eight months, wrapping up some stories and starting others, and most importantly, offering an answer to a season-long question. Who’s in the coffin?

1. I’ll start with the obvious—John Locke is the man in the coffin. (Kudos to all who theorized as much!) We saw Jack come to the unofficial “funeral” for the unidentified individual back at the season’s beginning. Now we know. Somehow, the man whom Ben left in charge of the group of Others is dead and off the island some four years later. This is after he initiated contact with at least some of the Oceanic 6 under the alias “Jeremy Bentham,” presumably to protect his identity. Of course we all want to know what happened. We’ll just have to wait. I, however, believe that Ben has everything fully under control to design the outcome he desires.

2. On Doc Jensen’s teaser, I read this quote from executive producer Carlton Cuse: “Our characters’ fates and our story for the season all come down to this: Who’s right about the island? Jack the empiricist or Locke the man of faith?” Did anyone think that question was answered in the finale? On first thought, I’d say Locke, the man of faith, was right. Jack is desolate in his life off the island, separated from Kate, addicted to painkillers and booze, and relentlessly attempting to get back. But then, we were shown Locke’s body in the coffin. Why did this man, who truly loved the island, apparently leave it? Or did he? Did he acquire the ability to time travel? Is he really dead? Time will tell.

3. Once again, Michael Emerson’s acting completely convinced me that Benjamin Linus is in total control of what is happening on this show. He has been surprised a few times—one, when his daughter was killed, and two, when he learned that Keamy’s arm could signal a bomb aboard the freighter. Even when surprised, though, he quickly regains the upper hand. He is a master at appearing innocent at one moment and showing icy madness the next. I’m not certain exactly what motivates him. He doesn’t seem to love anyone. Even with Alex, their relationship seemed to be possessor and possessed. Ben pined for Juliet, but he completely creeped her out by killing her beloved, Goodman. What is behind his actions? It can’t be money. He’s obviously got access to plenty of that. When we look back at his childhood—basically killing his mother through his own birth, then being hated and constantly berated by his father—we can see the beginnings of a man who wants no one to manipulate him. Instead, he wants to be the manipulator. And boy is he good at it. Before he even went down below, why did Ben say to John, “We’re going somewhere cold”? He didn’t allow John to go, so who’s “we”? There was one moment in this episode when Ben was alone. He had climbed down into the icy chamber below the Orchid and was about to turn the huge wheel, when he looked up and said, “I hope you’re happy, Jacob.” Almost as if he were talking to God. Someone please tell me what this means. When Ben turned the wheel, the island moved. It was quite a sight for those on the out-of-fuel chopper…and for me…when the island was swallowed by the sea. Where did it go? (As for the island disappearing, I can’t believe the poor survivors had to endure another crash when the chopper fell into the sea.)

4. Poor Daniel Faraday. His would-be girlfriend Charlotte chose to stay on the island. What a mystery. Miles saw within her that she has been on the island before. As they said goodbye, Charlotte reminded Daniel that she has been “looking for where I was born.” Hmmm. Miles is staying put, too, so hopefully we’ll get some good information on these two next season.

5. What is going on with Sun in the off-island future? She has become a powerful, wealthy, controlling woman. What is her motivation for working with Charles Widmore? Indirectly, he was responsible for her husband’s death. Which brings me to dear Jin. It appears that he died when the freighter blew up. What a heart-wrenching scene to watch her screaming for him! What an unreadable look she threw at Jack when he told her “he’s gone.” Later, we learn that she blames Jack for what happened to Jin. Does Sun think Jin might still be living? Is she hoping to do some time travel to reverse the events? Is that even possible? Does she simply want to find his body?

6. The ageless Other Richard Alpert and his crew ended up helping the Oceanic 6 get off the island—for the hefty price of rescuing Ben from Keamy and his baddies. Why doesn’t Richard appear to age? Why didn’t John Locke appear to recognize Richard back when he first went to the Other camp (when they had his kidney-stealing father)? Surely you can’t forget a face like that, even if you meet him when you’re a child. What are the Others doing? Where are they living? What do they plan to do with Locke as their leader? What do they do, exactly?

7. Mr. Indestructible Keamy did eventually die, resulting in a blown-up freighter and, supposedly, a dead Michael (given passage into the afterlife by Christian Shephard, nonetheless!) and Jin. Keamy died because Ben had a Psycho moment of revenge for Alex’s death, even though he knew killing Keamy would kill possibly dozens of others.

8. We got to see teenaged Walt when he visited Hurley at the mental institution. I hope the passage of time will explain how old he looked. I’m not sure when that scene was supposed to have taken place. Kate told bearded Jack at one point that it had been three years since he’d left her and Aaron, so by the time Jack goes wack, they’ve been off the island for some four years, perhaps. Was this when Walt came to visit? And when was Sayid’s late-night visit to Hurley, interrupting his chess game with an invisible Mr. Eko to urge him to come along to a place where they’ll be safe? “We’re being watched,” Sayid insisted. Why are they all in such danger?

9. Kate’s dream was downright terrifying—a supposed intruder, only to become Claire, who warned Kate not to bring Aaron back to the island. Later, when Ben startled Jack at the funeral parlor, and just before we saw Locke in the coffin, Ben said he had some ideas about how to get them all back on the island. Then he added, “I said all of you. We’re gonna have to bring him too,” and nodded at Locke. Does “all” mean the six, plus Locke, and possibly plus others? Don’t I remember someone saying there were others who left the island? Or did that mean Locke, aside from the six?

10. Can I just say I’m glad I get to enjoy Sawyer for a few more episodes, at least? After his plummet into the sea, I wasn’t so sure, but his bare-chested return to the beach, after swimming what could have been a mile or two, made me feel better. (: How could we do without that Southern drawl and the plethora of hilarious nicknames? (Lapidus=”Kenny Rogers”!)

Okay, my husband just sighed and went up to bed. Clearly he thinks this “report” is running too long. I took about a page of notes while I watched. It has been so much to process. And still, still, still I have more questions than answers. I suppose that is the genius—and the frustration—of the show. Until next year…

All of us have some small something we need in order to get through the day. For my husband, maybe it’s his car keys. He’s got to get to and from work, after all. I shamelessly admit I require a little piece of dark chocolate right after my breakfast. Ladybug has to have a fresh diaper…or ten. For Butterfly, though, it’s got to be her stuffed Mickey Mouse. Not just any stuffed Mickey, either. Exactly the right one. And you can’t fool her. Trust me, we’ve tried.

When Butterfly was about seven months old, she had developed the habit of falling asleep for the night with her tiny hand clenched tightly to her daddy’s finger. Of course, he didn’t mind the sweetness of these moments, but we knew the habit probably wasn’t one we needed to continue. (Can you imagine the laughs she’d have gotten in her college dorm room?) I scrounged around the house for a small stuffed toy and found a Mickey Mouse I’d bought at Disney World on a family trip with my own parents several years before. He fit perfectly tucked under her arm, and for the most part she settled down well with him. Just like that, an intense attachment was born.

When that particular Mickey, after enduring several trips through the washing machine and many rough playdates and nights, literally nearly lost his head, I stitched it back on and hid him away in my cedar chest for posterity. Then my husband found her a new Mickey, complete with his own Minnie. Surprisingly, Butterfly accepted him right away. Only in the months to come did she talk about her “old Mickey” and wonder where he was. This new Mickey, though, quickly became old himself after much love. He’s still her favorite pal and a necessary companion at certain moments of the day, but never more than at bedtime.

This is why, last night around 8:15 when I desperately needed to work on an editing assignment, I combed every corner, container, and drawer of the house searching for that special Mickey. Never mind that Butterfly was already asleep, surrounded by an assortment of other Mickey Mouse Clubhouse friends, including, I might add, yet another small Mickey. All that mattered was that the King and I find that one essential Mickey before Butterfly awoke to potty and realized he was still missing. After all, she’d only conceded to sleep after I promised to keep searching for him. (That’s Essential Mickey at the top left, cuddling with Big Minnie.)

We looked so long that the King opted out. I started concocting a tale to offer her in the middle of the night. “Ummm. He went to Disney World. He’ll be back soon.” Fortunately, after forty-five minutes of fruitless looking, I entered Ladybug’s room. She was sound asleep, and I quietly laid on my belly and swept an arm under her crib. At the last instant, I felt him: the all-important Mickey! Why he was there or who put him there is a mystery. I actually think he may have crawled beneath the bed to rest for a while. Regardless, I picked him up, left Ladybug’s room, and entered Butterfly’s, where I gently laid her precious Mickey beside her. The King was kind enough to help her potty at midnight, so I’m not sure if she had Mickey then or not, but when she woke us at 6:30 this morning, he was definitely in her arms.

Let’s just hope he holds together for a few more years.

No matter one’s stance on political issues, opinions about war, or expectations of American government, this fact remains: through the centuries of our country’s life, untold thousands of men and women have lost their lives while serving in the military. On this day, we honor the sacrifice made by those people and their beloved families and friends. May we remember them and strive to do our part as citizens of the United States, for their very lives paved the way for our freedom.

And while we remember those who perished fighting for our own country, let us not forget the thousands upon thousands of others who have died around the world, fighting for their countries. They, too, all have causes, and though we may be against some of them, it is essential to respect that even one human life lost is a high price to pay for our disagreements.

I resolve not to continue to lurk in the depths of despair in my posts, but I’d be lying if I said Maria’s death hasn’t been on my mind. There simply cannot be greater pain than that caused by the loss of a child. I would never minimize the deep sorrow felt by those grieving any lost loved one, but there’s something unique about the death of a child. It goes completely against our natural expectations of the order of things. We’re born, we grow up, we marry, and we either have children or we love someone else’s children. We take pride in watching them grow up, achieve, possibly marry and have their own children. Eventually, we die. Then, much later, they die. This is the cycle of life we trust and expect. When something happens to rip us from this perfect, right pattern, it shatters our spirits.

As I think of the Chapmans’ five-year-old Maria, who died suddenly in a tragic accident, I think also of the Wilkins’s four-year-old Catie, who died of cancer complications after a battle with disease that lasted more than three years. Whether sudden and completely shocking or drawn out and perhaps inevitable, death has a way of upending our lives–and even more so when it takes a child.

My human tendency to ask why is never greater than when I hear stories like these. It’s difficult, to say the least, to comprehend why a God I’ve come to know as loving and compassionate does not always (or even frequently) intervene in the way we so desperately want. Does that make God nonexistent? I don’t think so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel so hurt and angry with Him. And I wouldn’t feel, deep within, that mystical “peace that passes understanding” (Phil 4:7). It sounds dismissive, like saying such words smoothes it all out and makes everything better. As a struggling, doubting, often unbelieving “Christian,” I’m here to tell you it doesn’t. And maybe if I didn’t question so much, my intense pain over this issue would eventually dissolve. But I don’t think so. 

God created us to feel deeply, to love fully, and to give our all to the people around us. When we do that, we are bound to hurt with grief beyond words. However, we are also bound to experience joy beyond measure, laughter without restriction, and hope above explanation. In such a time as this, when my heart is heavy and my thoughts inevitably fall on my own two priceless daughters, I pray that I will live the abundant life I’m created to live (John 10:10)—focusing not so much on the dozens of items on my to-do list, which constantly run through my brain, but on living in this moment.

I’ll close with these lyrics from Steven Curtis Chapman (from “Miracle of the Moment”), which bear repeating on my blog:

‘Cause we are who and where and what we are for now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about

So breathe it in and breathe it out
Listen to your heartbeat
There’s a wonder in the here and now
It’s right there in front of you
And I don’t want you to miss the miracle of the moment….

And if it brings you tears
Then taste them as they fall
Let them soften your heart

And if it brings you laughter
Then throw your head back
And let it go….

This morning brings horrible news about one of my favorite singer/songwriters and his family. My husband called on his way to work to tell me that Steven Curtis Chapman’s five-year-old daughter Maria was killed when her teenage brother ran over her in the family’s driveway Wednesday. I’m sure the King will blog about this at some point too, because he’s always been the one warning me to keep an eye on the children outdoors. (Edit: He did)

According to this article and all others I’ve scanned, the incident was a complete accident—as are most instances of children getting killed in their own driveways. The news is so sad. I can’t imagine the emotions the family is experiencing right now. I can’t imagine being the son…or the parent. Now the man who wrote such songs as “With Hope” (about saying goodbye to children who die too soon) and “Cinderella” (about reveling in the moments with your child, as they are all too fleeting) has to face the death of one of his own little princesses.

I write this post as a call to prayer for this amazing man and his family. They face some very dark, guilt-ridden, grief-filled days. I also write as an alert to all of us who are charged with protecting our innocent little ones. I know how free-wheeling my Butterfly can be, twirling around, floating through her own world with no thought to anything around her. Let us all be especially vigilant, even in the driveways of our homes. Even when we are the ones who are driving.

Empress Katie doesn’t get enough credit on this blog. (In the first picture, Katie is on the left. Clearly, I was pretending to be nice.) I tend to talk about grandparents and friends but not my siblings. Truthfully, they’ve both been amazing with the girls, but seeing as my brother, Mr. Park Ranger himself, is married to a fabulous gal and busy living his own life in Carrollton, my sister’s been the one to spend time with my kids. (The one on the left is our cousin John. Clearly, I was trying to kill my sister and smiling all the while.) Katie comes to our castle frequently, and I immediately take advantage of her presence by showering or even just using the bathroom all by myself—with no little people calling out for me or bumbling around at my knees. When we visit the grandparents, she’s a significant part of the package and always devotes plenty of time to entertaining both Ladybug and Butterfly. Both girls love her, but Ladybug has taken a special liking to her. Perhaps they share a sense of identification.

See, I was the oldest as Katie and I grew up. Born only a year and one month after me, she was subject to a childhood full of my teasing and taunting, my pushing and shoving, my bossing and intimidating. Of course, there were plenty of hugs and kisses as well, but it’s likely that she remembers the mean stuff more. I would. Now, when I watch my girls, I find myself constantly having to implore Butterfly to “stop pushing her!” “let go of her arm!” “watch what you’re doing!” “quit teasing her!”

Even at three and a half years old, she already nudges Ladybug just to witness the baby’s reaction. I remember doing that with my sister nearly every day! I don’t know what it is about us oldest siblings that makes us controlling and obnoxious, but I hereby apologize to Empress Katie for any long-lasting damage I may have caused. (But let me remind her that she was quite the little whiner and that Mama favored her because she was cuter.)

It’s always odd for me to think of my mama and daddy as grandparents, but that’s what they are. Once they were the folks who dealt with my mood swings and kept me in line, and now they’re the ones who visit my kids bearing trinkets and promising hours of entertainment. They never fail. The girls and I just spent a couple of nights at Nana and Pappy’s house. I think Ladybug and Butterfly had the most fun with a box of costume jewelry from our collections through the years. They donned faded gold-plated bracelets and various gaudy necklaces and pranced around the room. Later, Pappy took them to the pond to feed the ducks. Nana had a tickle fight with Butterfly. Pappy tried to show them a train pulling through the rail yard, but we were a few minutes too late. No matter, though, because at the playground afterward, a train passed through the woods nearby, and Ladybug finally got to see the invisible “choo choo” that she could hear at her grandparents’ house. The girls even got to enjoy a birthday party for their great-grandfather “Pop,” complete with chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. Visits like these make me wish we lived a bit closer than a 70-mile drive, but it makes for a nice trip on either side. I’m continually grateful for both my parents and the King’s; they focus on my children completely and love them fully. Visits with the grandparents are always what they should be—pure joy! And then, as my parents say, they get to hug and kiss goodbye, and the King and I get to go and do the dirty work.

I was going to say something about my 100 posts in my last entry, but the seriousness of the subject matter made me forget. Maybe it’s a little more unique to celebrate 101 posts, anyway. I’ve been at this blogging business for two months shy of a year. It’s been fun, sometimes demanding (gotta keep up with the Shallow Thinker now!), and a much-needed outlet for writing, even if it’s only brief snippets. It’s given me a way to record funny and serious moments in my daughters’ lives, to wax eloquent (or not so much) about one of my favorite TV shows, to advocate for a passionate cause, to explore matters of faith, to review films, and to gripe about my writing. Thanks to Lance, Mr. Piniglarism himself, for hosting my blog. It’s a blast, and I look forward to making many more posts, whether or not anyone stops by to read them!

Our Mother’s Day began with a bang bright and early, as the weather siren started blaring around 5:30 am. The King hurried downstairs to check the weather radio, while I turned on the local news. The radar picture resembled Ladybug’s recent experiment with red paint—a large, disorganized blob. It was a fast-moving system that quickly earned a tornado warning. While I nervously watched the news, the King stepped onto the front porch to assess the situation. Do we wake the girls or not? When the power shut off around 5:50, we began scrambling for flashlights and candles (a bit late on our part, I’ll admit). My husband looked outside once more. “Get them! The rain’s blowing completely sideways.” [Photo by Jason Vorhees for The Macon Telegraph.]

Butterfly was already sitting up in bed in complete darkness, wondering what had happened to her colored lights. The four of us scrambled downstairs and sat on a pile of pillows in the short hallway between our dining room/guest room and the playroom. The King and I had argued, differing on what we viewed as the safest location (again, a bit late on our part), but had to choose quickly in the end. The girls enjoyed making shadows with the flashlights while the storm got eerily quiet, then boomed for a few minutes, then settled back down. Our power stayed off for a mere forty-five minutes, long enough for us to enjoy a cold breakfast by the light of smelly candles.

The rest of our day was relatively carefree, unlike that of many Macon residents. We went to church, I got to take a nap, and then the girls and I spent an hour in the windy backyard, enjoying the sand and sun while the King cut the grass in the front. Mere miles from our neighborhood, a reported six tornadoes severely damaged homes and businesses, shutting off power and water supplies for hours. That evening, families swarmed to our side of town seeking open restaurants, grocery stores, and entertainment.

My best friends and I, who had made reservations at an elegant restaurant, eventually found ourselves driving from place to place looking for food. Finally, around 8:00, we settled for frozen pizza (for two of us), steak & veggies (for the other), and molten lava cake (for everyone!) from Kroger—all brought to my house for a few hours of togetherness. It wasn’t what we anticipated for our Mother’s Day gathering, but we made the most of it, chatting and watching the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls.

This Mother’s Day as all days, I’m grateful to God for my two precious little girls—for the joy they bring me each day, their laughter, their play, their hugs and kisses, and their innocent and unabashed delight in the world. I’m grateful for my amazing King, who supports my choices as a mother and helps me remember to be myself. I’m grateful for my best girlfriends, who not only share their parenting stories with me but take me away from the real world from time to time. I’m grateful for my grandmothers, whom I’m honored to know and learn from. I’m grateful for my mother-in-law, whose love and care for me are overwhelmingly evident. And I’m grateful, more than anything, for my own mother, who has taught me so much about living—as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman. I love you all.

Everything I read about Lost says these last few episodes will be some of the “best moments on television.” Aside from the fact that all shows say that about themselves, I think the claim may be right in this case. Thursday’s episode was PACKED. I’m not even sure where to begin.

1. The focus on John Locke as possible savior of the island (a role for which he’s apparently been molded his entire life) took him from birth to a mysterious confrontation in Jacob’s cabin–with Jack’s father Christian and half-sister Claire. Early in life, John exhibited rare gifts and quite a bit of strangeness, which got him ridiculed and worse in high school. On at least two different occasions, the ageless Other Richard Alpert entered his life, and Locke appeared to fail Richard’s “test”–whatever it meant and whatever it was for. He also encountered Matthew Abbaddon, who gave Locke advice and said, “You’ll owe me one.” Hmm. In the Island-present, Locke, Ben, and Hurley seek Jacob’s cabin, and Locke is aided in his dreams by a guy dead 12 years–ever since Ben gassed the Dharma group under someone else’s leadership, or so Ben claims (”not my decision”). Clearly resentful of Locke’s new status, Ben tells him there are “consequences to being chosen” and that “destiny is…fickle.” To sum up John’s storyline here, he asks Christian and Claire, “How do I save the island?” and they want him to move it. Okay.

2. There appear to be about three different groups of freighter folks: the ones who want to blow up everything, shoot everybody, and allow people to jump overboard out of craziness; the ones who are scientists, given perhaps some inside info but not enough; and the ones who wish to do their job but are unaware of the deeper implications. This part of the story is simply painful and frustrating. There are various levels of understanding on the part of the freighter people. Everyone seems to have a different idea of the reason for approaching the island. It is clear from this episode that the island survivors are in desperate danger. It appears that Ben really is trying to save the island through Michael’s actions on the boat (though he is failing, thus Locke must step up to the plate). It seems, too, that Frank Lapidus, the pilot, desires to keep innocent people from dying. But why did he drop the phone with the radar showing the chopper’s location? Why didn’t he drop a warning instead? Better yet, why didn’t he deviate from the coordinates and drown all the baddies (sacrificing himself) in the sea?

3. More questions: Did the time difference account for the doctor’s throat being slit on the boat after the Morse code communication already said he’d washed up dead on the island? How will Sayid decide whom to take back on his tiny boat, and once they get to the freighter, how will they survive being there? Will Ben really kill Penelope, as he claimed he would when he time traveled to speak to Widmore? What will Desmond do then, since she appears to be his sustaining hope? Is Claire dead? Why is Christian important enough to speak for Jacob? He was a terrible father and a drunken doctor before he died. Is this his redemption? Did someone orchestrate to have these exact people involved in the plane crash that brought them to the island? If so, who, and for what overall purpose? Arrghh.

Obviously, this was one of the deeper and stranger episodes of the season. To read more coherent ideas about it, go to this link and read Doc Jensen’s report. I will keep watching, but I will also continue to be befuddled by it all.

Our sweet Ladybug has developed the most endearing skill. After months of simply placing her cheeks next to ours or, much more unpleasant, opening her mouth and slobbering all over us for a kiss, she has learned to keep her mouth closed and make the most precious tiny smacking noise. She can be spontaneous with this new sign of affection, running toward us and leaning in with her lips pursed. Or she can use it underhandedly, as she did with me earlier this week. The two of us relaxed on the front porch swing, and she used the thick stick of sidewalk chalk she clutched to jab me in the hand. “Ouch!” I exclaimed. “Don’t hurt Mama. Be gentle.” Immediately, she stopped jabbing, looked up with pursed lips, and made that adorable smacking sound. She was cute enough to wipe away all offense, which is exactly what she wanted to do, and so I scooped her up and smothered her chubby cheeks and delightfully soft skin with unsolicited kisses. What else was I supposed to do?

On Tuesday, I had the unique pleasure of going to Butterfly’s school and enjoying a Mother’s Day Tea with her and her classmates. Heather was gracious enough to keep Ladybug, and I hear that Ladybug and Little Belle spent the entire time giggling at one another. It was special to be able to focus entirely on Butterfly for once. 

We moms were greeted by a teapot decorated with flower name tags for each of us. Then we filled paper plates with goodies—strawberries, cookie dipping sticks, petits fours, small chicken salad sandwiches, and of course butter mints. Finally, Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Tharpe welcomed us into the colorful classroom where our little ones spend 6 hours every week. Butterfly’s eyes shined when she saw me, and she pointed to an impossibly tiny chair next to her. “Sit here, Mama!” The children were all waiting patiently for permission to begin eating, but my Butterfly dove in as soon as I squeezed my hips into the chair. The others followed suit. Soon, she was pressing me for “another little cake.” We shared a second petit four, biting into the delicate sugary icing and fluffy white cake. I enjoyed being with my daughter in this place that is so “other” from me and our home. It’s one of the few times when she is completely separate from me and able to interact in a different environment (the other being church, though of course I’m always in the vicinity there).

My favorite part of the tea came after we finished our snacks. The teachers asked the children to stand in their squares on a large, bright rug, and we moms thrilled to their high-pitched voices singing three songs just for us. Seeing my girl up there singing along, doing the motions, in a sense performing her very first concert for me, was quite a milestone moment. I hope it was merely the first of many. 

After the concert, the children presented us with gifts. I left that day with a flower-filled pot painted with Butterfly’s thumbprint animals, a laminated place mat featuring her artwork of us playing dress-up

 (I am missing a body, but no matter), a large bunny picture whose ears are Butterfly’s footprints, and a tiny card with her thumbprint balloons. 

Then we drove to Heather’s and I got a sticky kiss from Ladybug, who, indeed, had enjoyed herself with Little Belle. I’ve already had a terrific Mother’s Day! My two precious blessings thrill me to no end and make my days ever interesting.

I got to Lost a lot later this week than I intended, but the fabulous weekend made up for the delay. This episode could have been subtitled “Jack Falls Apart.”

1. The Island-present story concerned the appendectomy involving one of the show’s love triangles–this time Juliet (the doc), Jack (the other doc and also the patient), and Kate (the girl with no medical experience whom Jack asks to be present). Then there was Bernard, who assisted quite well. Let me just say that Jack drives me insane. Juliet pegged him when she said, “You don’t want to be out of control.” He wanted to be conscious during his incredibly painful surgery so he could tell her what to do. Unfortunately for him, the whole show revealed how not in control he actually is. As for the love triangle, it was good to hear that Juliet knew how unpassionate Jack’s kiss was, because I had trouble believing that scene when it originally aired.

2. In the off-Island future, Hurley is completely nutters. Or is he? He claims he receives regular visits from Charlie (with a message for Jack: “You’re not supposed to raise him”), and he is also correct when he tells Jack he will soon have a visitor, as Daddy Shephard makes several appearances. Is he ghost? hallucination? island mirage? Time will tell. It’s clear, though, that only Jack (and later Jack’s half-sister Claire on the Island!) can see him.

3. More from the freighter folks. I can’t figure out whether the scientists, especially Daniel and Charlotte, are trustworthy even one small bit (I’m convinced Miles is completely conniving). One minute they’re assisting, the next they’re deceiving. It’s clear they have some skins to save, and they’re probably most concerned about their own. It’s a credit to our survivors that the scientists/ghost hunter haven’t been tortured or killed yet because they are certainly frustrating. At least Jin got tough with them in this episode. Then we get a random appearance of Lapidus the pilot, careening through the jungle and warning Sawyer, Claire, and Miles of tough guy’s approach. Tough guy and his crew somehow survived Smokey.

4. In the future, Jack’s seemingly idyllic life with Kate and Aaron quickly spirals out of control (ironically for the Control Freak). He sees dad and freaks out, combines prescription drugs with alcohol for maybe the first of many occasions, doubts his abilities to parent Aaron (he seems to know about his relation to Claire at this point), and grows suspicious of Kate, who, agreeably, is acting suspicious. Back on the Island, Sawyer apparently asked her to “do something for him,” and she’s carrying that out, much to Jack’s chagrin. Jack’s response? “He chose to stay. I’m the one who saved you.”

5. Claire apparently walked into the woods with Christian Shephard, her father, leaving baby Aaron propped on some bushes. Let’s hope this story continues soon. A show specifically highlighting Claire would be helpful.

I wonder what’s next? According to the previews, something about a guy who’s been dead for ten years…

The King and I experienced a tremendous date this weekend. With the girls happily secure at GG and Pawpaw’s, we drove to Atlanta and dined at Cafe Intermezzo (thanks, Monica, for the recommendation!). As my husband so eloquently details on his blog, it was delicious. My favorite part? The huge display cases of cake, pies, and tortes. Choosing only two was insanely difficult, but the derby pie and white chocolate raspberry torte were both amazing.

After our meal, we drove to the Civic Center to watch the Broadway tour of Disney’s The Lion King. In a word, Wow. In more words, the show was absolutely breathtaking. I wouldn’t say I’m a live theater buff, but I do enjoy the occasional cultural experience of actors playing roles right before my eyes, utilizing body language, vocal inflection, facial expression, and costumes to deliver a live spectacle in only one take. I’ve always loved the animated film about Simba and his realization of his place in the circle of life. The opening sequence of the cartoon is particularly dazzling, and the theater magnified it for me. A reviewer describes it:

It’s been said that the first 15 minutes of The Lion King are the most sublimely theatrical experience you can have in a theatre. When the performers—as cheetahs, zebras, rhinos, gazelles, buzzards and ostriches—proceed from the rear of the auditorium to the stage the audience invariably reacts with awe.

The sequence is extraordinarily moving for its very simplicity. The wonder is not at how much the actors look like animals, but in witnessing the human creativity that can take simple sticks and fabric to create the idea and beauty of a giraffe.

This person is exactly right. Before the show began, I warned the King that I would probably cry a few times. “But it’s a CARTOON!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. Later, after one particularly poignant moment, he nudged me and said, “I got chills!” (He may not relish me telling you that, but I swear it happened.) There were many moments like that throughout the production, but this opening sequence truly set the mood.

The mostly African American cast (and some native African) sang heartily and acted passionately. Harmonies, deep rhythms you literally felt in your heart, and swelling crescendos all worked together to move the story along.

Most amazing were the costumes. Most of the actors essentially played two parts—delivering their own expressions and spoken lines and also moving the gorgeous puppets that melded with their bodies. That director and costume designer Julie Taymor was able to conceive of such a beautiful way to present the animals is awe-inspiring. Rhinos, birds, lions, cheetahs, antelope, wildebeests, even elephants and giraffes paraded across the stage (and wound through the audience) at various moments during the show.

My favorite new songs were “They Live in You,” which reminded Simba that his father Mufasa (and all the great kings of the past) live on within him, and “Shadowland,” which reworked a melody from the original film score by adding moving lyrics for Nala to sing.

Back at the in-laws’ house that evening, I ordered the original cast recording and can’t wait to receive it. What a special date! I’m grateful that my man is willing to get some “culture” with me every now and then. I suppose he doesn’t mind too badly when it comes with white chocolate raspberry torte.

Most of the time, I suppose I’m your typical mom. Patient, calm-voiced, mildly entertaining, sometimes gleeful. Even if inside I’m exhausted from months of restless nights or fuming at yet another tantrum from my three-year-old, I manage to present a put-together demeanor to my kids. Most of the time. Then there are those other times, when Ogre Mama comes leaping out. She has a huge upturned nose, sharp grimy teeth (where they aren’t missing from chewing up hunks of bone), wild scraggly hair that sticks out in tangled tufts, and, worst of all, a snarl that will send even the strongest-willed child cowering to the floor in fear.

One night last week while the King was away on a work trip, Butterfly snuck into my room and interrupted my dreamy sleep. “Mama,” she whispered, “I need a Band-Aid.” She held up her little eczema-scarred finger and a box of Hello Kitty Band-Aids. I sighed and struggled to peel open the bandage, then wrap it around her tiny digit in the semidarkness. Then, as I lifted her up to return her to her bedroom, I asked, “Do you want to go potty while I’ve got you up?” She nodded with her eyes half-closed, so I took her to the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. Immediately, she began to pee, and then she started to cry. “I didn’t want to go potty, Mama!” “Shhh!” came my angry response. After all, her baby sister was sleeping soundly right next door, and I didn’t want to risk waking her. “You’re going, so it’s okay,” I added a bit more calmly. It was to no avail, because Butterfly’s cries grew louder and more persistent, until she was nearly screaming from her potty perch. “Hush right now or you’ll wake your sister!” I snapped in my meanest whisper ever. More sobs. Ogre Mama appeared, and sent Butterfly right over the top. By the time I entered the hallway to carry her to her room, she was wailing so loudly that I clapped my hand over her mouth to silence her. I think I even growled at her in the process. I could feel my blood boiling as Ogre Mama took control. Honestly, I wanted to thrash the child.

Once in the confines of her room, lit sweetly by the soft glow of a Disney princess lamp and a strand of Christmas lights, I realized that I’d have to calm her if I wanted to see my own bed again that night. Ogre Mama gave one last snarl in my mind, then crept back into her cave. I sat in the rocking chair and cuddled my snotty-nosed kid, holding a tissue for her and then stroking her hair while I sang a soothing lullaby.

Crawling into my bed later, I of course berated myself for unleashing the ogre on a half-asleep, confused three-year-old. After all, she was settled now and would likely snooze until morning, and as for Ladybug, I heard not a peep from the baby monitor. Ogre Mama accomplished nothing but an upset child, an increase in my heart rate, and a bout of anxious stomach pains. I lay in bed staring at the faint light from a neighbor’s house and finally became myself again.

The next day, for most of the day, I was the mom I always want to be, but Ogre Mama may have reared her head a time or two in response to the Butterfly Troll, who seems to appear with increasing frequency these days. (The Terrible Threes?) I’m sure the ogre will be back many times throughout my mothering years, especially as long as the little princesses/sometimes trolls live under my roof. Still, I’m happy to say that most days, our castle runs as smoothly as it can, and we often greet the sunset with our own versions of “happily ever after.” Especially when the kids are asleep and the King and I find a couple of hours all to ourselves!