Queen Kelley

As my King mentioned on his post about our gift-wrapping date last night, we watched the Mel Gibson movie The Patriot. I decided that, rather than renting movies we think we want to see, we might as well utilize our significant DVD library and rewatch a few proven favorites. It will be fun to see how they look on the new TV. When I mentioned my list of possibilities to the King, he was keen on my war and special-effects suggestions but slightly less interested in the ones that featured Johnny Depp or Brendan Fraser. Hm.

Anyway, we popped in Gibson’s flick about a motherless family during the Revolutionary War. The movie is not without a large helping of cheese. It’s full of moments contrived simply to make one feel a big dose of American pride. (Though, as I watched the scenes with the African American soldier, I couldn’t help thinking, “This brave man is fighting for a country who won’t give him true freedom until the 1960s, at which point the damage will be so entrenched in the lives of his descendants that they’ll spend years struggling for equal treatment.”)

Even with its problems, though, there’s no doubt that this film, and others like it, pull at my emotional heartstrings and make me ever grateful to those who serve our country, then and now. I may not agree with the initiative for our current war, and I honestly don’t advocate war as a way to solve problems, but the fact is that our world is fallen, and war is the way we deal with our issues. As long as that’s true, women and men will continue to leave their families and journey to a faraway place. They will risk their lives daily in hopes that their many sacrifices will somehow help the world.

The most memorable quote from the movie last night came from Benjamin Wallace (Mel Gibson’s line paraphrased): “Why do we think we can justify death? Is it because we’re arrogant?” I thought about that. We do try to justify the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people who have been killed over the centuries on both sides of our wars. And it does indeed seem like arrogance.

But we’re human, and we need explanations for the horrors in our world. This Christmas, I can’t explain why a young girl will lie in bed missing her mother, why a teenage boy will sit in a tent somewhere writing a letter to parents on the other side of the world, why a mother and father will weep at the sight of an empty chair at their traditional dinner. This goes for all “sides” fighting in the war.  I can, though, say thank you to these families and individuals. I can remember them. I can choose not to take their sacrifices for granted. I can light a candle to honor them and say a prayer to a God whom I believe advocates the way of Peace.

Happy Holidays to all who sacrifice for their countries! May you be blessed no matter how far apart you are from your loved ones.

You know, in this world full of the objectification of females—panties marketed for four-year-olds with phrases like “hot” and “sassy” written across the rear, revealing attire worn by women in most media, and impossibly shaped dolls—I’ve discovered something refreshing. The Barbie company, at least, plays it equal. The jeans they manufacture for their male dolls are just as revealing as the dresses made for the females. While Barbie’s entire bare chest is visible above the tiny strip of fabric they call a tube top, her guy friend’s whole bum shows above his low-rise jeans, especially when he sits down. There you have it, folks—equal opportunity in the world of Barbie dolls.

Our experiences with both of our girls and their frustrating sleep habits have taught us an important lesson: do not go to them at night unless we know for sure they need us. We follow this rule most nights, letting Ladybug chatter or cry out without sweeping in to soothe her. (Butterfly is a different matter now, as she sleeps in a “big-girl” bed and comes to our room to disturb us as she pleases. We plan on keeping the little one caged as long as possible!)

Without exception, though, each night as we head to bed, one of us checks on the girls. After all, it’s usually been a good two or three hours since we got them settled. And I always love watching them sleep—so peaceful, so calm, so silent, except for the sweet sound of their steady breathing. Last night’s checkup nearly backfired, though. After turning off Butterfly’s glowing Christmas sign and cracking her door again, I entered Ladybug’s room quietly, or so I thought. As I neared her bed to look at her, though, she started mumbling. Oh no! I thought, and quickly shifted closer to the changing table/cubby shelf so I’d be at her feet rather than her head. I stood there, frozen in the dim glow of her Christmas lights (which stay up as a year-round valance over her windows), hoping she wouldn’t turn her head my way or, worse, sit up in bed.

She remained on her belly, kicking her legs so that her toes slammed repeatedly against the mattress. She called her sister’s name, then started saying, “Mommy lap. Mommy lap.” Eventually, she rolled to her side, facing out into the room, and let out a few sobs. I was standing a mere two feet away, just waiting for her to notice the mommy figure haunting her night. Somehow, she didn’t, even when she rolled onto her back and started waving her stuffed Elmo in the air. She sobbed a few more times, sparking a debate with myself: -Should I pick her up? -No way! She’ll never go back to sleep! -Still, she’s sad. She needs me. -DO NOT PICK HER UP. Stay still. 

I stayed still, hardly daring to breathe. Then, to my horror, she sat up. I knew I was done for. Amazingly, though, she simply turned toward her undersea lullaby machine and pressed the “on” button. After that, she flopped back down on her belly, turning her face toward the wall. I took my chances and hurried to the cracked door, crouching at the foot of the nearby twin bed so I could make sure she slept before I escaped into the light of the hallway. Heart pounding, I peered around the bed corner and saw her lying there with her bottom in the air, silhouetted by the wavy blue light from her toy. With a huge inward sigh of relief, I quickly left the room.

In our bedroom, the King looked at me questioningly. “I got stuck in there!” I exclaimed. “I thought you were rocking her,” he said. No. That would have been much too logical. I proceeded to explain my covert actions at Ladybug’s bedside. The King was impressed by my stealth. I could see it in his eyes. “Did you cover her?” he asked. Are you kidding me? It was all I could do to get in and out without starting the neverending night. (Yes, Ladybug really is that difficult to get back to sleep.)

I think I’ll let the King check on the girls tonight. He can be the one to watch their innocent sleeping. As for me, I’ll just go to bed and hope for the best.