The Nose Rings True

 

In February 2022, Middle Sis and I went together to get our noses pierced.  She was 16 years old and I was 51, and so she (minor) needed me there, with her birth certificate and my approval in hand, while I needed to fulfill my own longing. 

I have wanted to pierce my nose for most of my adult life but talked myself out of it for decades, mainly prompted by What Other People Might Think. My desire remained steady while I grew increasingly aware of other 40-to-50-year-old women with new sparkles in their noses. And then came the era of living and consorting with representatives of a generation of young adults who don't understand how piercings and tattoos have anything to do with their character and heart and efficacy and don't fear loss of jobs, reputations, and respect as a result (of course, time will tell if there are any lingering "ragrets," tattoo removals, or unadorned piercing holes left to close up.  And then they'll be like any other aging generation, with their shoulda woulda couldas accompanied by shrugs).  

As for me, I knew immediately after our appointment that I loved my nose ring, and two years later, I am still giddily happy about it and have forgiven myself for not having it done earlier, while vowing to wear a nose ring through my dying day.  Part of the celebration is, after all, that I did the thing I always wanted to do, finally at 50+ years old, and it wasn't too late and I still have my job and my family, and I was right about wanting it all along.  There are even intermittent unexpected compliments from friends, acquaintances, and new-to-me-people which pop up here and there to make me really feel good about how many times Evan has helped me through my Piercing Problems.

I think there are all sorts of ways to get your nose or ears pierced, including by your bestie or a complete stranger with ice and a safety pin or needle in a bedroom or dorm room or party and/or with a teenager armed with a piercing gun at a mall jewelry store, but these times (including Tootsie's ear piercing for her 9th birthday) we opted to make appointments at a dedicated piercing place with crystals and geodes and succulents and a private room where you lie down and Evan, one of the gentlest, kindest humans I've met, talks you through the experience and urges you to listen and follow all the guidance and be responsible about the wound you agreed to have inflicted and then come back in a few months to change out your piercing when you are so moved.  

By September of 2022 I was ready to shorten my nose ring post and upgrade to a sparkly little flower stud, which sat flatter on my fully-healed nose and didn't get caught on so many things as the original stud.  I think I would have lived happily ever after with that very cute silver-petaled jewel I had no reason to take out.

Except for my annual stint as Elf on the Shelf.  

In 2019, my second year as principal at the elementary school, I adopted an idea from my sister-in-law, whose admin team posed on the roof of their high school on the last day of school before the holidays in Elf costumes.  I initiated a tradition of perching myself in various spots still as a statue, much to the delight and wonderment of my students, who guessed but couldn't confirm the Elf's identity as Principal of our School.  

But then on December 2022, at recess, one particular student let me know he knew it was me up there on the ledge because of my nose ring.

I thought about that all year long going into Elf Season 2023.  And during my early AM Elf Transformation, in my thorough attempt to sustain plausible deniability, I dutifully took out my earrings and the nose ring, consisting of two parts, and safely put them away to be restored during my transition back to Madam Principal in Street Clothes + Other Identifying Accessories.  

But I grossly miscalculated how difficult it would be to stick the back post through a hole in my nose from inside my nostril and then pop the stud into the post from the outside.  I think the second part would have been easy if I could have just achieved the first part.  

I dropped both pieces into the sink (which I lined with paper towels just in case) multiple times and should have given up early and resumed more important Principal Duties, but I was determined to be visible as the Principal with the Nose Ring vs. Elf with No Nose Ring.  

Finally, almost as predicted, the stud part bounced or popped out onto the floor and I could NOT find it, not with my phone flashlight, not with a broom, not with paper towels wiping the entire floor, and not with well-meaning colleagues all taking a gander.  I was so ANNOYED.  I was annoyed as well as embarrassed about caring so much about maintaining Elf Identity, and then even more annoyed and embarrassed about caring so much about my nose ring. Filled with exasperation with myself, I took the post part that remained and stuck it in my nose backwards so the flat disc part was at least visible outside and keeping my nose piercing pierced, albeit loosely.  

I spent the rest of the day getting over myself and also making sure that unsecured post stayed put in my nose until I could get home and try again to attach my original stud.

The next episode in this story involves my futile attemtps at home to stick that little post through the inside of my nostril through to the outside.  I could not make it work with a finger and that tiny post in my nose.  So I tried using tweezers, but I would either not squeeze the tweezers tightly enough, and the post would fall back out of my nose into the sink, or I'd squeeze too hard and the post would pop out of the tweezers and also fall right out.  Clearly, the responsible thing was to give up again and go back to Evan for help.  Instead, I persisted.  Until that time I squeezed too hard (again) and felt the post pop out of the tweezers but not into the sink and then not onto the floor in any place I could find it.  I searched and searched and searched because.  BECAUSE THE ONLY OTHER SCENARIO WAS THAT THE POST SPRUNG OUT OF THE TWEEZERS AND UP INTO MY NOSE AND THEN QUITE POSSIBLY INTO MY LUNGS OR SINUSES.

And as soon as I thought of this possibility I could not unthink it.  

I tried aggressive nose blowing in hopes the tiny metal thingamajig would safely come out of my nasal cavity with no success.

I turned to Google, which did not help.  There were stories of infections and surgeries and x-ray photos of tiny metallic objects embedded in sinuses or lung tissue.  

Meanwhile, it the weekend before Christmans with family in town and shopping to finish and events to attend and in the back of my mind I was wondering if I needed to go to Urgent Care if not just to reassure myself I didn't do the thing I was going to be embarrassed to tell anyone was a possibility. But that sounded like a whole day I might regret.

I decided to carry on for the time being with a variety of unsecured studs and even a hoop in my nose (not my best look) accompanied by frequent deep breaths to check for pain and/or shortness of breath.  I scheduled an appointment with Evan for the day after Christmas to replace both lost parts, because it wasn't like I was going to stop having a nose ring, even if my lungs were possibly inflamed. I was willing to live with the hope/uncertainty that the post was an inconsequential new part of my body, like a pin in a joint or bone.

December 26th arrived, the day of the appointment to get a new nose ring professionally installed.  That morning in the quiet after-holiday lull, I set about cleaning, including sweeping the bathroom and bedroom floors, floors I'd swept thoroughly in search of that missing post.  

And yet, somehow, a couple sweeps in, I just happened to look down and just SOMEHOW happened to notice that tiny grey 3mm post on the floor.  

Suddenly I DID NOT HAVE TO LIVE THE REST OF MY LIFE wondering where the HECK that little thing was.  

In a new euphoric state of non-anxiety, I went to the piercing place and chose a new stud--this time a gold sunburst with a sparkly center.  And I loved this new nose ring EVEN MORE than the last, especially because it came paired with the post I found on the floor instead of in my lungs or grey matter.   

While Evan expertly installed my post and new stud, I explained the whole saga in a relieved, knee-slapping, isn't it funny that I thought I had that thing in my lungs? kind of way, and he patiently reminded me it was only $5 to have him put my nose ring back in, using tools.  

I enjoyed that sunburst nose ring all the way up until one day in late April.  

That morning in the shower, as I reached up to lather my face with soap, one of my finger rings caught on my nose ring and popped it off the post.  It flew somewhere, and when I looked down, I knew it was more than likely that it went immediately down the drain.  Nevertheless, I commenced a soggy search of the shower, covering the drain, wiping the floor systematically with my hands, and then with paper towels in hopes of finding that sparkly needle in a haystack. 

This time, I could only shake my head at myself resignedly and keep the post in from the back precariously until I could get back to the piercing place to buy YET ANOTHER STUD.  This time, with the backing still installed inside my nostril, I only needed to pick a new nose ring and pop it into the post myself.  The sunbursts were apparently out of stock, so I went back to the silver flower design.  They told me I could not put it in while I was in the store, and then gave me the helpful advice NOT to try to put it in in my car, which of course was going to be my first impulse. 

I enjoyed that silver flower sparkle stud all the way up until last weekend. 

On Friday afternoon I heard the news that a dear friend's biopsy results included cancer cells.  On Saturday morning I learned that our close family friend's cancer prognosis had changed for the worse.  And then a family member shared more life-altering news.  I spent the afternoon in a sort of preparatory grief.

I took a late shower in the afternoon, after a run and various chores and errands.  At the end of my shower I stooped over to scrub the corners of the stall with the brush we keep in there for that purpose.  The first thing that caught my eye was a small strong, circular magnet we use for photos on our fridge, the kind that sometimes attaches to other metallic objects and can occasionally be found on the floor of the kitchen.  I wondered how it found its way to our shower.  

The next thing that caught my eye was that little gold sunburst stud.  The one I lost two months and many showers and scrubbings ago in April.  There it was.  Not lost, not down the drain.  Still unexpectedly there.  

And this time, instead of celebratory relief at finding it, I felt a moment of well, hey, there you are, the thing I lost and maybe mourned a little, but now feels so simply replaceable, even over and over again.  It's like it showed up to remind me you can have your nose ring back--actually, it does happen--but so much else might not be able to be found again in the same way, and this is what we have to accept. Maybe it's not so wrong to commit, even irrationally, to something that we know makes us sparkle and smile--something simple we can assure ourselves we can always have, in the face of so much that we cannot. 

I See You

Anyone else out there feeling vulnerable?

Coronavirus, and not knowing for sure what's next or right or reasonable in preparing for, preventing, and managing it, is our new shared, global, collective anxiety.  COVID-19 has also become part of the greater preexisting web of things we worry about, while expanding and exposing our already tender underbellies.

Quarantines and social distancing and closed schools and businesses are conspiring to keep us apart for our own good.  And yet, we need one another.  Because underlying This Big Worry are all the other stressors and circumstances, short- and long-term, big and small, which existed before and many of which will still be around after Coronavirus has peaked and then waned.

Maybe it's Daylight Savings.  Lack of sleep?  Elections.  Tragedy.  There's menopause.  Cancer diagnoses and treatments.  College applications, acceptances, and rejections.  Grades.  Finances.  The stock market.  Depression.  Parenting.  Providing.  Trying to make a doctor's appointment.  Your child's behavior.  Being a good __fill in the blank__.  Death in your family.  Fear of death in your family.  Taxes.  The news.  Accidents.  Social media.  Anxiety.  Report cards.  SAT tests and scores.  Being responsible; is this what it means to be responsible?  GPA.  Insurance.  Deferred maintenance.  That pit in your stomach. Your children. The Joneses. Marriage.  Dating.  Your appearance.  Driving.  Climate change.  Being left out or feeling left out or FOMO.  Natural disaster. Your to-do list.  Your job?  Mortgages, or rent.  That thing you said. Also that thing you didn't say.  Your carbon footprint.  Panicking...or not panicking?  Your parents' health. Missing your parents.  Your relationship with alcohol. Someone else's relationship with alcohol.  Your relationships.  Do you need therapy?  Therapy.  Passwords.  Travel.  Real ID. The DMV.  Copays. Aging.  Being dead. Suicide.  Living up.  Being there.  Being there when you can't be.  Nutrition.  Clean water.  Regret.  Wildfires.  Preparedness.  Helping others.  Doing your part.  Maintaining perspective.  Being aware.  Not overreacting. Putting your phone down.  Laundry.  Doing enough.  Organic food.  Charitable contributions.  Forgetting.  Animal rights. Violence.  Retirement.  Healthcare.  Job performance.  Balanced meals.  Landfills.  Recycling.  Faith.  Teenagers.  The cost of oil.  War.  Feeling accepted.  Feeling seen.

Vulnerabilities are normal and natural and every day; they accentuate our humanness and connect us with others.  They're why we innovate and why we experiment and create; they're why we write novels and poetry and plays and songs and make music and paint and sculpt and reach out and act courageously and help and represent others.  Sharing our vulnerabilities and connecting with others' fears and insecurities helps us feel less lonely.

Our vulnerabilities can also spotlight our least desirable tendencies; they're why we manipulate and hoard and judge and fear our neighbors and develop addictions and point fingers and lash out and isolate ourselves.

And we're all vulnerable right now in our new shared reality.  Social media posts would suggest that we are asserting or seeking validation that our own approaches to current circumstances make the most, best sense.  Despite our links to experts' advice and testimonials, most of us don't really know the actual best way forward.  So we muddle through, collectively, along both parallel and intersecting paths.

At the height of his own fearfulness, Scaredy Squirrel, a Master Paranoiac and Overreactor, fell out of his seemingly safe tree sanctuary and serendipitously discovered he could fly.

But it's not a great time for us to venture forth into the Great Unknown.  We are likely to be having to hunker down (or up in our trees) soon with our nut supply and a limited view.

If elbow bumps are the closest safe contact, hugging and helping become rare gifts.

And that's why it's more important than ever to poke our heads out of our trees, acknowledge one another from a safe distance, and share more than our excess toilet paper, as our other struggles appear to recede in significance in the face of this pandemic.

Because Coronavirus isn't our only reality.  It's not our only vulnerability.

I see you, parenting a child with disabilities.  I see you, cutting corners to make ends meet.  I see you, in charge of making the tough calls in times like these.   I see you, unable to visit elderly loved ones.  I see you, worried about a family member's mental health.  I see you, mourning the death of your parent(s).  I see you, minimizing your own stress while maximizing your availability for others.  I see you, wondering if you/he/she will graduate.  I see you, worrying about test results.  I see you, struggling to speak up.  I see you, researching resources to help yourself or someone else.  I see you, wondering if anyone notices.

I see you. 

I see you, trying hard every day.

Acknowledging the journeys of others, unfolding before us even from a distance, might be what keeps us best connected in these unprecedented but also normal times.

I see you, searching for meaning.  Whom can you help be and feel seen?

List: Little Loves

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m thinking of all the people and things I love as well as those which may never receive valentines, but nevertheless warrant my recognition and affection.

Here’s my Little I Love You list:

1.  Mittens and pacifiers and stuffed animals, etc. dropped out of strollers but picked up by someone and hung in a noticeable spot (fencepost, bench) in hopes that the owner will discover and recover that lost and loved item.
2.  Little kids sporting backpacks of disproportionate size to their growing bodies and featuring numerous dangling thingamajigs from zippers, etc.
3.  Plants that grow in seams and cracks of brick walls, freeways, bridges and other seemingly uninhabitable spots.
4. The transportation workers who are installing spikes on our bay bridge to prevent people from dying by suicide.  I hope they feel as important as they are in saving lives.
5. Yarn bombers and Banksy and Shepard Fairey and other folks who spread messages of goodwill or needed change through visual magestry.
6.  The kid in the class who, in moments of teacher exasperation, makes meaningful eye contact to convey, Yeah, I feel you. And every other form of similar kinship that happens subtly out there when two people share an empathic moment, even strangers in a crowd, traffic, subway car, etc.
7. People who feel little disappointments every day—not being picked for the team, not winning the classroom raffle, not getting the top score ever, not being asked or invited to the group thing, but who pick up and dust off and show up everyday cheerfully nonetheless.
8.  Hummingbirds and butterflies.
9.  Hilarious (and harmless) people on the internet.
10.  Elderly people with walkers or canes who walk their dogs daily, even in the rain.

What We See Is What We Have: Near Perfection

Let's begin with a goofy picture of Punk Rock Baby Tootsie.

Her hair and the shadows of the blanket beneath her head conspire to make it appear she has quite the mohawk.  In fact, she has a surprising amount of corn-silky-soft black hair in a pixie 'do.

Baby had a great night last night.  She had only one apneic episode; she tolerated her feeds well and appears ready for an increase in volume; she began sucking on a binky.

When swaddled and snuggled in for the night, she was so calm and expressive with her eyes (so very cute, our nurse told us), that the nurse beckoned others to come admire her, too.  We're totally biased, of course, but Tootsie is clearly building a dedicated fan club.

Last night's nurse let us know that she was requesting to be part of Tootsie's Team.  I'd forgotten that my sister (and mother of a preemie cousin who is now a healthy five years old) shared that our baby would have a core care team of nurses.  Because we know that she will be in the hospital for at least 21 days to run her courses of antibiotics, they're beginning to assemble Tootsie's Team.  She's taking letters of interest and applications and clearly showing off to win over the pool of qualified potential draftees.  Tootsie's Team and her room will be our home away from home, and we will all become familiar with one another as we collaborate on her care and the nurses train us to take over delicate aspects of protecting a preemie baby.

We were present for a consult and examination by the Occupational Therapist.  She checked reflexes and observed her movements and alertness.  We all noted her rooting behavior, one of the signs she is preparing herself to suckle a bottle or breast.  Her rooting and sucking makes her eligible for daily scoring on a feeding readiness scale, and we will get to present her with an empty breast soon for her to practice licking and tasting.  I'm very excited about this step and motivated to breastfeed, not only for the health and convenience benefits, but because it's a most awesome bonding experience for mother and baby.  I've cherished it each time, and am more determined than ever to breastfeed our last little one.  I'm pumping every three hours around the clock to stimulate my production and generate milk for her feeds.

This afternoon was our Family Meeting.  When I told my brother in the USVI that we had a Family Meeting planned for later in the week, he responded, "Hmmm.  So you and Husband and Tootsie will get together and talk things out...?"  Haha.

The Family Meeting comprised Husband and I, two of her nurses, the social worker, a hospital administrator, a neonatology intern and the neonatology fellow, who ran the meeting.

We expected to discuss growth and development goals, thresholds for stepping down to the Special Care Nursery, and plans for family accommodations after my discharge from the hospital tomorrow.

But the meeting began on a very serious note, with a review of the events around her infection and its severity, and how The Team would continue to address potential ramifications.

Honestly, once we'd gotten through Wednesday and marked two clear blood cultures and Tootsie's promising recovery, The Infection moved to a more distant and less significant part of my hard drive.  But the doctor dragged it right back onto the desktop, reviewing mortality rates and statistics related to defects and brain damage.  Tootsie would have another spinal tap, soon, the doctor reminded us, to rule out lingering bacteria in the meninges and fluid.  And close to the end of her 21-day courses of antibiotics, Tootsie will have an MRI so we could see effects on the brain of the infection, if any.  Statistics are around 50% likeliness that she will have some neurological effects (developmental delays, cerebral palsy, seizure disorder, among other possibilities). While we're fortunate that infection was expected and antibiotics started right away, she still grew cultures from her first lumbar puncture, and we don't know how long she was suffering from infection in utero.

We moved on to discuss her recent notable developments, alertness, and activity levels, and goals for her feeding.  Much more fun topics!  We closed the meeting by talking about my discharge and options for sleeping on the couch in Tootsie's room, temporarily occupying a family dorm room in the hospital, and making use of hospital-provided taxi vouchers to shuttle me to and from my sister's apartment while I am still healing from the c-section.  We toured the dorm rooms (not unlike the closet-bedrooms I slept in in college), and they showed us the microwave and fridge and stash of saltines and peanut butter and jelly packets for parental snacking under duress.

And then we went back to see Toots, who was bright-eyed and adorable as usual, enduring a diaper change and looking, really, quite normal.

It turns out it's hard to look into those eyes and worry.  She's a pretty reassuring bug.

In the conference room, the specter of having a child with neurological challenges felt scary, disappointing, mysterious.  But with our baby in front of us, progressing as a child her gestational age would and should, the fear is unsteady on its feet.  If this little girl, with a tight grip on our fingers and eyes that respond to our voices, has developmental problems, we will certainly learn about them and grow up with them together.  Right now, she's exactly what we signed up for--a baby (and she has already far exceeded our expectations).  No diagnosis or knowledge revealed by testing will change how she presents to us at this moment, and what we see:  a nearly perfect baby human (and a darned cute one at that!).  Of course, not all is as it initially seems sometimes--a mohawk might just be a halo, or a crown, or an illusion.  But the magic of parenting is how your children are immediately yours, no matter what.  Oh how I feel that today.

We're bound to find out lots of things along her way--quite possibly that she's disorganized, impulsive, maybe weepy under duress like her mother, or a little grumpy like her dad.  She may have a thing for numbers and not for spelling.  She could have two left feet.  She might sing off key.  Nevertheless, hers is exactly the model we've fallen in love with and are taking home, and we accept all her features and those which will reveal themselves to us as she gradually reveals herself to the world.

It's such an exciting prospect, that we're only on day four of this unfolding saga, the discovery of our new family member.  It's worthy of a daily celebration.

Cheers!

List: Christmas Wonderfulness

1.  Friday was the first night of Winter Break, and we grabbed an auntie and headed to the mall to sit on Santa's lap, eat dinner at a restaurant where you order food with an iPad, and do a little shopping and a lot of soaking up the spirit and songs and window displays.  We started the evening with rockstar parking and ended it by finding a few funny gifts for friends.  It was the perfect start to some time off with family. 

2.  BFF Missy and her kids established an assembly line of toiletries and snacks at their house to make sock care packages for folks who are homeless. Big and Little Sis got to participate in the creation of a few of these stockings and we gave them out to brothers and sisters camping out under the freeway by our house. Thanks for the inspiration and opportunity, buddy.

3.  We came home from our annual Christmas Eve dinner tradition of red and green soups at Mammom's and Bampa's (minus Mammom and Bampa, who are with my sister and her husband and their three boys in Oregon) and I headed down the block to drop off a gift at our neighbor's house.  "Come back in ten minutes!" my neighbor/coworker exhorted us.  "You'll be just in time for Grandpa to play the accordion and our Christmas singalong!" 

I'm not one to turn down an accordion occasion, and it was as awesome as I thought it would be, with Grandpa accompanying and shouting out cues before various verses, "All the ladies now!" and a house full of family and friends.  Just when we thought the festivities were over, The Talent Competition was announced.  The first act was a family of red-nosed reindeer playing "Rudolph" on a keyboard.  Big Sis stepped up to be the second and last act, and won the competition with "If I Only Had a Brain" on the keyboard.  The prizes were scratch-off lottery tickets, and our neighbor host promised instant cash-out.  Big Sis walked away with $11 (from a party we crashed), while the second-place act reminded us that if it weren't for their keyboard...

4.  And then we returned home for construction time.  Christmas Wonderfulness features the cooperation and enthusiasm of determined Auntie and Honorary Auntie as well as Husband in the assembly of a key Santa gift, which we completed at midnight.  And note:  Honorary Auntie had already assembled one of these items in her own workshop at home the week prior, before we determined it was too big for the girls' bedroom.  And she still agreed to assemble one desk more.  Love.

5.  Big Sis has been asking for her own room.  And though we contemplated making a move to a different house this year, it wasn't meant to be (and wouldn't necessarily result in "own rooms," either).  Though she asked for a Kindle, Big Sis got "room of her own" for Christmas this year, in the form of a desk, lamp, blotter/calendar, bulletin board, and retro-refurbished chair set up in a corner of the bedroom which is now all hers.  I haven't been so excited about a gift in a long time. 

6.  Big Sis and Little Sis independently thought of and chose very thoughtful gifts for each other, and it made me teary to watch them exchange presents and observe their reactions.

7.  We spent mid-Christmas Day with Husband's family at our niece's house, where she hosted a scrambled-egg-and-bacon breakfast a la Grandma Shirley.  In keeping with tradition, we were packed in a small house and spilling out of doors, where there was scooter-riding, remote-control-helicopter-flying, and all combinations of relatives sharing conversations and love. 

8.  One of the coolest gifts received this year was for Big Sis--a set of juggling sticks from our niece.  Our niece demonstrated her crazy stick skills, inspiring Big Sis, who spent a good part of the morning practicing until she could catch one after flipping it in the air. 

9.  My dad's sister, Auntie, has stayed at our house this year--on the futon couch in the living room as that is the only "guest room" we've got.  That puts her front and center for all our goings-on and it's been great to have a guest so game.  Also, we went for a jog her first morning here...and she kicked my tail.  Note to self:  be fit like her when I'm 62. 

10.  We headed back to Mammom's and Bampa's for Christmas Dinner, which was actually breakfast made by my chef brother:  waffles, apple-cider doughnuts, and the family tradition of huevos rancheros (with fresh avocado).  We ate till stuffed, exchanged gifts, and then played Catch Phrase with the kids.  We came home with hearts and tummies full. 

Though our families couldn't all be together, we felt a special appreciation for the efforts of everyone near and far to create connections and continue traditions. 

And...another year of believing:  Magic.

The God of My Small Thing

One of the best gifts I give myself is one-on-one time with Little Sis, who expresses exhilarated bliss at having me to herself and babbles joyfully in thoughtful, inquisitive, and reflective monologues. 

Little Sis has been thinking a lot about God lately, and running her thoughts by me.  My best role here is Listener as she poses and answers her own questions and develops and modifies independent understandings. 

Here's a transcript of some of Little Sis' musings on the Maker; I'm leaving my responses out, so imagine me, nodding here, cocking my head there, and asking a few clarifying questions as she works out the mysteries of the universe...and pays tribute to her grandma.

Do you believe in God, Mom? Little Sis asks as I roll enchiladas.

I'm just not sure I do.

I don't think God created the world; I think the world made itself.  Also, didn't God die, and if he was really a god, how could he die?

A girl at school told me if you don't believe in god you will die when you're a child.

But I don't believe that.

I told her that's not true because I know people who don't believe in God and they're not dead.  Some people in our family believe in God and some don't. 

Do you think Mammom believes in God, Mom?  Little Sis asks as she scooters alongside me on an evening walk. 

I might ask her, but I don't know.

I am not sure I believe in God.  I think he died.  You know, up on those sticks?

And I don't think God can make dead people come back, because when people die they can't come back.  I mean, why would he make his son come back and not Grandma Shirley?

I don't get that.

That wouldn't be fair. 

But if Grandma Shirley did come back, it would be so wonderful; we could go to her house and swim with her and play with her toys. 

That would be great, Mom.