There’s been a lot of talk about Jesus in our house lately. Which is odd, since we are not Christian in the least. In fact, we balk at any idea of organized religion. My husband and I are both products of Christianity: he attended a Baptist church when he was younger, and I spent my formative years in a Catholic school and heavily involved in our local church. But I became disillusioned with the church and my faith once I got old enough to realize that it didn’t fit with who I was and what I truly believed. I could write a novel about my feelings on religion, and Catholicism, but I will leave that for another day. Suffice it to say that when my kids started coming home talkin’ ‘bout the J-man, I was slightly uncomfortable.

I mean, I knew it was coming. We made the decision this fall to take our daughter out of home care and put her in a local preschool. A Christian-based preschool, mind you. But,  we had heard great things about the staff, and I got a warm fuzzy feeling from the moment I walked in, so I did my best to ignore the CD of Bible songs that they gave us when we enrolled, and the “Jesus Loves You!” signs in the hallway. When she came home telling me how “Mary Angel” was her friend, I just nodded and smiled. I even thought it was cute when she decided to say grace before dinner one night, and finished it off with “Ahhh-mek!” (she wouldn’t believe me when I tried to tell her it was Amen).

My son attends an after school program at the same center, and he’s been diligently practicing for their Christmas concert at home. When he came home with the song sheets and I noticed a song about– you guessed it– Jesus, I tried to act normally. But inside I was squirming. On the one hand, I felt guilty that he was singing about something that we completely don’t believe in. But another part of me feels guilty because I haven’t introduced any sort of faith into my kids’ lives.

Growing up, religion wasn’t just about the prayers, hymns and Bible stories. In fact, that was such a small part of what I remember about church. What I really loved was the community aspect of it all- working together to clean the church on weekends, baking treats for the annual bake sale, volunteering to give back to the community, and seeing my friends and their families every Sunday. I have realized that my kids don’t have anything like that in their lives. I mean, they have a lot of close family members and friends, neighbours, and schoolmates, but nothing quite like what I had. And I wonder if they are missing something by not having that. Will they feel less grounded and secure if they don’t have some sort of faith to fall back on? Will they be less empathetic and generous if they don’t belong to a community that encourages morality and altruism?

It’s a tough question, and I am sure I am not the only parent who has pondered it. I suppose the best thing I can do is to keep teaching my kids to be open-minded, and to respect different beliefs, cultures, and traditions. And to have love and compassion for the world and everything in it. After all, no matter what religion you practice, there always seems to be one simple, common theme: love one another. And really, what more do you need?

My sister’s bachleorette party is this weekend, and although I promised her no penis-shaped necklaces or shot glasses, I still felt that no ladies night would be complete without a few raunchy-themed items. So, off I went to the local sex shop. At 1pm. On a Wednesday. And apart from the surprise that I had when I realized how many older business people frequent sex shops during their lunch hours (for much more serious purposes than mine; like the 60-something man who was having a rousing chat with the sales clerk about which lube worked- and tasted- best), I made a much more serious discovery.

I had become a complete prude.

I am not sure when it happened. In my younger days, I had candid and colourful discussions about sex without batting an eyelash. X-rated movies were no big deal to me (they were mostly just hilarious). I’ve even been to a strip club or two. But today, I was just an awkward, uncomfortable, red-faced mom trying to keep a straight face while browsing the “fetish” section (handcuffs and bondage tape and whips…oh my!).

The entire time I was in the store, I kept telling myself, “Your’re a grown adult…what is the big deal? Why are you so embarrassed?!” But I never got an answer. And thinking about it now, I still don’t quite know what has changed. Except maybe that I am older, and the novelty of it all has worn off. Or maybe it is because I spend my days worrying about potty training, math homework, and cleaning the house. There isn’t much time left to think about sex toys, erotic playing cards (??) and massage oils. And to be honest, if I am going to spend money on something these days, I’d rather spend it on a new furnace, since ours is dying a slow death. Aww yeah…now THAT’S hot.

This momfession was inspired by a note from mommy friend and fellow blogger Laurel. It’s about chocolate, so listen up.

I have been trying to eat well lately. For the last few months, I have been doing an acceptable job of restricting my sugar intake. I switched my afternoon cookie-and-latte run to a plain-yogurt-and-kashi love-in. I traded my nightly ice cream or raw cookie dough fix for rice cakes and goldfish crackers. I even managed to stay away from the box of Oreos that my husband bought and then forgot about (how does one FORGET about Oreos??!).

But Easter….that was a doozy. While playing the Easter Bunny I ended up eating half of the bag of jellybeans (oh, the kids don’t really like those…I told myself). On our way home from dinner, our two-year-old got a hold of a bag of Reese’s Pieces and gnawed through the bag, crushing the candies inside. So, I decided that they were ruined and ate every last one of them (even the soggy ones). I’ve been snatching chocolates out of my son’s basket every time I walk by (even though the basket is on the highest shelf in the living room and there isn’t really any reason for me to walk through that room to begin with).

So, yeah, you could say my no sugar diet is blown. But what’s worse is that I am a total hypocrite. While I am secretly chowing down on their candy, I am simultaneously trying to explain to the kids why it is inappropriate to eat candy every day. “No, you can’t have candy in your lunch!” I exclaimed last week. “Candy isn’t healthy…it will make your teeth fall out!” I told my preschooler (to which she asked, “then tooth fairy will come?”. Smart kid.). “No, for the millionth time, dessert doesn’t have to be candy! Here, why don’t you have some delicious fruit? It’s like the candy of the earth!” (OK I didn’t use that last line but that would have been a good one).

I’m pretty sure I have never met someone whose teeth had fallen out due to candy. And if I ask my mom, she’ll tell me that my childhood was full of sugar (I do recall drinking a lot of Kool-Aid). So maybe it isn’t all that bad for my kids. Perhaps promoting good nutritional habits isn’t the only reason why I don’t want them eating all of that candy. Perhaps it has a little bit to do with my fear that there will be none left for me, and I’ll have to go back to eating bran flakes…