This is what happens when a teddy bear comes to life

Posted on 04/15/2013 by Mary Keenan

Disclaimer: This post is in no way like a Seth Macfarlane movie. At all.

A little over two years ago, my husband brought home a puppy without asking. Seriously, he called me and said, “I am bringing home a puppy.” And then he did. I do not recommend this as a way to spice up your marriage. Basically, you are telling your partner, “either I get to keep this dog or you are the cruelest person alive.”

We have two children who adore puppies. They were going fall in love. I’d have to say no and then everyone would hate me for sending the cutest rescue dog in the world to an unknown fate. I was pretty sure I had an ally in our older dog. Lucy was going on 13 and she was not dreaming of a little brother. I prepared for battle when this came home:

This is Max, fresh out of Lost and Found.

I was doomed. Not only was he adorable, he was friendly. Licked everyone, made friends with the older dog, didn’t mess up the house. The kids were in love. I made my husband swear: we only tell them we are keeping puppy for the weekend.

Once we got inside, Lucy began setting boundaries and growled him into shape. He stopped eating her food, but kept making her fall in love. They played. When was the last time my 100-year-old grande dame actually played?

I thought I had an opening to oust him on Saturday night–he peed on our leather couch!!! But then he kissed and we made up. Sigh. By Sunday the kids had named him Max. He was ours. We groomed him, got him “chipped” and my son picked out a leash, collar, and dog bed.

All cleaned up

He is exactly what a teddy bear would be like if it came to life, all cute and snuggly. Not only does he give constant affection, he hugs you around the neck like a little baby. Every night, Max sleeps on my son’s bed and every morning he wakes on my husband’s head. He is also completely ridiculous. Like trying to scratch himself and walk at the same time. He gets bed head from sleeping on the sofa in front of my while I work and then stares at me all lopsided.

And in case you are wondering why these pictures are taken from above, making him look even smaller than he actually is, it’s because if you get down to his level this happens:

lick, lick, lick

When metaphors are real…it is kind of weird

Posted on 03/21/2013 by Mary Keenan

Have you ever lived a metaphor? Something happens to you or you do something and then, after some time passes, you look back and think, “if that happened in a book or movie I would not believe it!” A totally trippy experience.

Here is how it happened to me. When my son was 2 years old, he went to a Montessori school that asked parents to give a dozen blown eggs at Easter time. The kids made confetti eggs with them, smashed them on each others heads and had a blast. So I dutifully blew the innards out of a dozen eggs, let them dry, and took them to school. Then I thought, that was not so hard. I bet I could blow some more eggs and decorate them myself. So I did. here is how they turned out:

A little overboard, I know.

I did it again when he was three and four. And the thing is, I am crafty, but not really an artist. I don’t usually paint anything at all, much less decorative objects. But I couldn’t stop myself. Each year I added to the collection and put them all out on display for the holiday.

Y’all, who makes a Tiffany egg? A crazy woman, that’s who.

When my son was 5, I stopped. I was pregnant and he was in Kindergarten–they didn’t do the same Easter craft. I got out the eggs I had already decorated each year, but didn’t added any new ones.

And I never painted another egg again.

A couple of years later, when my son was 7ish and my daughter was a toddler my mom was visiting for Easter and asked if I was going to make any more decorated eggs. “Nah, for some reason I am just not into it any more.” And then she observed, “You stopped making them when you had the baby, maybe you were done thinking about eggs!”

Okay, this is where it gets all metaphorical and weird. The whole time I was painting those fancy eggs I was trying to get pregnant, being treated for infertility, totally focused on EGGS. All day long, all cycle long, thinking about making more and more eggs. And before Easter for three years in a row, I painted eggs with a kind of obsession.

I have no wisdom to add here. Really, I am just trying to figure out what my current habits mean.

Crumb by crumb

Posted on 11/08/2012 by Mary Keenan

I often serve as a Eucharistic minister on Sundays…wine or bread. Our service is casual and kind of chaotic. Plenty of small children run around during the service and are welcome to take communion with the rest of us. And over the years, I have seen something that bothered me at first, and then inspired me. Crumbs.

Growing up, I was taught that crumbs of communion bread were precious and not to be stepped on. Spilt wine was quickly wiped up and any leftovers went down a special drain in the sacristy. When I began serving communion in the Chaos Service, these rules were not so closely observed. Crumbs and drips end up on the floor and the rug, played with and walked on. I obsessed about them. Could I swoop down to get them before the next person in line came with their hands held out? The body of Christ was being trampled upon by…the body of Christ.

One Sunday it occurred to me there was something poetic happening with these crumbs and drips. They were being carried out into the world on the soles of our congregation. And this congregation was particularly good about walking those crumbs into all sorts of justice-making places. They host refugees and feed the homeless. They are making our city cleaner and greener. They educate children and protect the abused.

Those little bits of bread and wine are looking different to me now. Crumb by crumb, they are feeding our hearts, helping us see and serve Christ all around us everyday. I’m not gonna drop them on purpose, but I’ll follow them out the door to see what good we can do together.