Notes from the Blue House

Last week, I was hit with a virus sent from Satan. This virus was crafted by the devil in the bowels of hell and then sent to render me a sniveling, useless twat. To say that it "hit" me is an understatement. It bludgeoned me. One minute I was sipping Merlot, engrossed in Piper Chapman's prison life and the next I was lying on the cool bathroom tiles wondering what the hell was happening. I went from 0 to 100 in seconds and, as a result, I confess that I panicked. The room was spinning and my chest felt tight, the walls seemed closer than they had a few minutes before. I hyperventilated and not in the cute way they do in the movies where a character gasps into a paper bag for a couple of minutes. Here's something they should teach you in grade 9 biology: when you hyperventilate severely enough, your body will shut down your limbs in an effort to protect your core. From the knees and elbows down, I felt a painful tingling sensation. Panicked, I put my hand on Tim and a

I'm sure it wasn't like this for my mother. Mark Zuckerberg was merely a twinkle in Mr.Zuckerberg's eye when my mom was raising young kids. When she mingled with groups of other mothers, it was in the flesh. A book club, or the office lunch room. I imagine they made polite small talk about soccer fees and math tutors. They probably complimented each other on their cute kids and smiled politely. Fast forward 25 years. Social media exists and offers a venue for information sharing. Oh, and information shoving and information smearing and information induced gagging. We have a vehicle for people to judge others and congratulate themselves from the safety of their laptops or cellphones, not forced to stand in the palpable stench of awkwardness that these posts would emit if they happened face to face. Can you imagine someone walking up to you and saying "Gee, I'm so glad I'm doing THIS and not THAT! Here's a mediocre study for you to read that proves that my

My 6 year old has taken an interest in God. His mind is abuzz with questions and thoughts about this seemingly magical invisible man who made us. Some of these questions are funny ("Can he see me when I poop?") and others are insightful ("But if lots of people are talking to him at the same time, how can he hear me?!") He's asked me more than once if God is 'real'. Cue the sweaty palms and stuttering. Amazingly, I'm more comfortable talking to him about private parts than this. My son, my innocent and curious child, is causing me to do some soul searching. There was a time, about 15 years ago, that I would have been able to talk to him about this with confidence. At that time, I thought I knew where I stood. I would've called myself a Christian. I joined a youth-group led by a cool, young minister who played guitar and had a ponytail. Ok, the video quality is garbage but Tim and I were killing ourselves laughing when we saw this episode. It&#