Monday, August 29, 2011

Creative Existential Angst

Rushing off to morning mass, I get the girls ready and then get dressed myself. K follows me into my room, asking questions:

What if we aren't even real?
What if this is just a dream?
What if we are just characters in someone else's story?

Then she starts narrating THIS currently evolving story, "The mother gets dressed. The younger daughter shines her flashlight at the wall, then gasps...."

A few minutes later, I'm in the other room, grabbing my purse. G follows me in, asking with concern, "Mommy, do YOU think that we are just stories?

I respond, completely unhelpfully, with some critical hermeneutic theory: we are real, made by God, but how we live our lives becomes our story, our narrative, our identity.

K seemingly can't help herself when she realizes that she is having an effect on her sister and so she continues her narrative, "... and then the younger sister asks her mother, am I real, or am I just in a story...." This is less helpful, even, than hermeneutics, but K is having too much fun stop, narrating even the subsequent bickering, finally concluding amidst my distracted entreaties to KNOCK IT OFF with "and then the little sister says, 'no YOU stop it, you stupid butthead!'"

Clearly (and for more reason than one!) it is time for church!

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