tiny kazoos

a celebration of calling uncle (and calling on coparents)

I text Heather on Wednesday. I say, “Hi. Hi. Hi. I’m having a *** time with [insert name of child here] and God put you on my heart.¹ Like, Tell Heather. Like, Maybe Heather Can Help. Wondering: Can we get lunch soon-ish?” She texts back, “Come float in the pool with me, and I’ll feed you.” I text back, “No sweeter words.” We make a date for Friday.

On Friday, I tell Heather the main idea. I have tried all the strategies. I cannot strategize my way out of this one. In fact, I’m pretty sure my intentionality is the problem. I am behaving as if my intentionality can substitute for what only time and, probably, positive peer pressure can do. As if my intentionality can substitute for kindness—or the need to have faith in anyone other than me.

When it comes to mothering, I am a functional atheist.

My mentor Parker Palmer defines functional atheism as “the unexamined conviction within us that if anything decent is going to happen here, I am the one who needs to make it happen.” Which is tricky for moms—or women in general—because the patriarchy wants us to hold this conviction. It needs us to hold this conviction so that it can take less responsibility for our children, our pleasure, our peace.