Yesterday was the summer solstice: the longest day of the year. If you attended St. Peter Homeschool, you’d know that this is because the earth and the sun are aligned in such a way that the shadow of the moon falls directly on both poles simultaneously, which cools the oceans to the degree that the earth becomes slightly heavier, slowing its rotation and prolonging the nighttime, which, in turn, prolongs the day, too, because of 24 hours in a day. Plus solar flares. Have I mentioned we’re sending the kids to private school next year?
Actually it’s not technically a private school. The headmaster kept stressing that their curriculum was based on the manufacture of license plates. I guess for geography? You know what? That’s a valuable skill, and plus they say that uniforms have a calming effect on the student body.
Speaking of long days, I think I’m ready to talk about NFP again. I hold the dubious distinction of having written one of the only Inside Catholic articles which turned so nasty so fast, they had to shut the comments down. But hey hey, long days, know what I’m talkin’ about? Ennnnd of the day? As in, it turns out that 10:00 a.m. is not actually the end of the day. (It was a girl; 8 lbs., 3 oz.)
So tell me. . .
(that’s the name of a new feature I’m starting for days when I told the kids we would go to the beach and I don’t have time to actually write something) . . .
I know that many of my readers have pet names for things related to NFP. For instance, we use Creighton, which tracks fertility by tracking (stop reading now, men) cervical mucus. So when my husband needs to know the forecast for tonight, he doesn’t want to cast a pall on the festivities by getting all technical. Instead, he’ll simply and romantically ask, “How’s your goop?” (What can I say? He’s cute. It sounds cute when he says it.)
He also, in a stroke of foolhardy brilliance, once called my progesterone cream “nutter butter.”
One of my sisters used to write a column about NFP, and cleverly called it “Signs and Wonders.” This quickly morphed into something even more clever and more appropriate: “Slimes and Blunders.”
So tell me . . . what’s the NFP joke at your house? I hope you have one. Because, if I ever (God forbid) taught NFP, the first thing I would teach is how to joke about it.
You don’t have to keep it squeaky clean, folks, but let me make a request: if you think the use of NFP is sinful, then write about that on your own blog, okey doke? NFP is not inherently sinful, and people’s reasons for postponing conception are complicated, individual, and above all private. If I come home all cranky and covered with sand, and find that the comment box is filled with self-righteous lectures about the sinfulness of NFP, I will have a little deleting party, possibly following by a banning-for-life party. Same goes for comments mocking Catholics for using NFP when everyone knows that the only sane thing to do is insert a scarring metal spring into your fallopian tube, or whatever disgusting procedure your OB/GYN is being paid to push this week.
Okay? Okay, go!
