Impassioned innocence of childlike faith

While watching the animated DVD story of Moses with my family, I was struck by a miraculously simple reality that has never before impacted me with such crystalline clarity. Passover is Christianity.

As I watched the story unfold - the Jewish slaves of Egypt's ruthless Pharoah instructed by God to paint blood above their doorways, marking them to be PASSED OVER by grace as God's angel of death claimed the firstborn child of every family in Egypt to compel the Pharoah to free them - it took on a newly personal meaning to me. Passover is not just an ancient Biblical story but a current event. As it was with blood marking the actual doorways sparing actual lives of children, so it is now with the blood marking the actual hearts and minds of the faithful.

My acceptance of the gift - the blood, death, life, sacrifice, and miracle of Christ - is that mark over MY doorway which signifies my belonging and seals me, my home, my soul, my future, and my heart to the Lord. When the time comes, it is Christ whose perfection, sacrifice, and worthiness will be seen at the threshold of my life - instead of my sin and incapacity - and His presence my heart allows God to passover my soul and welcome rather than condemn me.

WOW.

Why is is that more than 30 years of rich and endeavored study can be eclipsed by a simple moment of "ah ha!" clarity as God reveals truth through an animated children's DVD? Then again, it is the "faith of a child" we are called to, is it not? That perfect, unwavering, iron-edged faith, not the watered down and tentative version we wander into as adults - so saturated with our own anaylsis and pseudo-brilliant revelations, as though they somehow merit shared space in our minds with the Word of the same God who created the heavens and the earth.

Even knowing God as I do and thirsting for more of Him all the time, I am yet awed by the ways in which He communicates and works in our lives. I believe with hangdog regret, that I might have been one of those who scoured glorious Palaces and luxury Resorts for the birth of the Chirst child, while the most blessed baby ever to grace humanity quietly emerged amidst farm animals, greeted by shepherds, sleeping in a makeshift manger bed. My expectations of God are never able to fully anticipate or comprehend the breadth of His divinity. Which proves two things:
1.) I am not God (whew! I see those waves of relief rushing over your faces now) and
2.) God is bigger than anything we can throw at him, even the hopeful expectations of my gloriously untamed heart.

Again, I find myself renewedly thankful tonight that complete intellectual understanding is not a prerequisite to my entrance into the Kingdom of heaven or the fold of the faithful. God requires my whole heart and soul and mind, even when my mind is the weakest link - lagging behind, openly agape at the continued mysteries of a perfect God against the backdrop of this vastly imperfect world. Because faith is the conviction of things not seen, not the reasoned anaylsis of things I've experienced, it is not hindered by my inability to wrap my mind completely around the vastness of the glory of God. If it were, my faith would be limited to who I am, rather than the infinite, boundless, immeasurable Lord of the heavens and earth. And it is THAT faith, that unwavering, perfect, absolute conviction - that we are called to. With the impassioned innocence of children. Not the jaded arrogance of adults.

Childlike faith. Warrior Passion. Unwavering Righteousness. Unending Hope. And limitless Love.

Sounds like a smashing job description. With a retirement plan that is out of this world.

Zonkey Sprouts

Kudos to Kristina, for calling my attention to this news story about a ZONKEY, which even contains a photo album of the animal and it's Zebra mom.

Now granted, this is a rather sad looking specimin, but it is, nevertheless, a REAL LIVE ZONKEY. Apparently, the owner bred her zebra to a miniature donkey. The rather pathetic result of this endeavor doee resemble something my little LaLa might draw at this stage of her freeform artisitic expression, with striped legs and tufted mane, donkey body but very elegant zebra face. But with all it's clumsiness, I can see the resemblance to MY majestic Zonkey and am thus instantly smitten with this sweet little minature version.

For all-ye-who-doubted, shame on you. Zonkeys seem to be sprouting everywhere. I feel validated if a little less unique.

Character Weakness vs. Disease

The comments section of a recent post on my friend, Citizen Mom,'s blog is worth a visit. It contains bantering about a worthy topic touching on drugs, society, responsibility, and the all too overused "disease" epidemic. This particular conversation compelled me to toss my $.02 into, and I'd encourage you to visit her blog and check it out, provided if you have the ability to stomach some rather bane obscenities from some backlash posters. The quote below represents my initial contribution in the Comments Section, responding to the suggestion that we legalize more drugs, scrap the D.A.R.E. program and resign ourselves to the "disease" theory of the nature of substance abuse:

..."Drug addiction reflects weakness of character, not a mental or physical "disease". And the epidemic surely cannot be laid at the feet of well-intentioned programs designed to target the eradication of such rampant substance abuse in our nation.

Ultimately, we must take responsibility for our actions and every action of our minor children. This is PARENTING. After all, character is built upon the foundations we establish for ourselves and our precious children and live by example.

Legalizing more substances is not the ticket out of this mess. I suggest we target the source: alienation from purpose, value, love, traditonal family, morals, personal responsibility, and God. Our current solid position as a society so heavily steeped in drugs of both the legal AND illegal variety is not an accidental happening. It is yet another casualty of the culture war. And it won't be the last.

Slapping a band-aid on the scraped knee of a cancer patient does not cure the cancer. Only attends to the surface bleeding while the patient is still slowly dying."

It set off a little firestorm over there, teeny as it may be in the grand scheme of things. I warmly welcome your thoughts on this topic, since I was inspired by my friends' blog to deeper ponderance about this issue. And in so doing, the proverbial heels of my heart and convictions are even more deeply dug in on my moral convictions.

Baby Boom

The words "Baby Boom" do not mean what they might imply around our house.

I, it is no secret, deeply desire to have more babies. Not a dozen more. But one. Or two. Maybe three. No more than four. Seriously... I do wish for at least one more child. Not at this very moment, but in due time and with my whole heart.

Copper, on the other hand, is so DONE with having children that he actually is physically incapable of engaging in conversation about the mere possibility. At my very mention of the word "baby" or "pregnant", his ears close up and he becomes incapable of speech. These mysterious episodes of incapacitation last for as much as 20 minutes before returning to normal. I asked Copper about this and was told, tongue-in-cheek, "It's a natural physical reaction when a sonic boom goes off inside your chest." Hence the new understanding in our home of the term 'Baby Boom'.

May this endearing, lovely new concept be short-lived. I can only hope.

Shiny Happy People

Every month I go through this.

Town and Country. May as well be called 'Rich and Ridiculous'.

I have a love-hate relationship with this crisp, thick, magazine filled with dreamy places, stunningly opulent lives, and flawless skin staring out at me from a perch of perfection. I have been torturing myself with this glimpse into the world of the "over-the-top Haves" for the seven years I have been subscribing to it by force. Well, not by force. Against my will. No, not even that. Just plain old voluntarily wasting the annual $28.00 subsidy I pay these people to tantalize/patronize me on a monthly basis.

I don't even think THAT is accurate, because I do read this thing, thereby not technically wasting my money. The magazine gets read, I am somewhat ashamed to say. From cover to cover. Every month.

And then comes the inevitable period of introspection. Are these REALLY the necessary makings of a quality life? Do people REALLY live like this on a daily basis? Nannies, sculpted jewels, cars I can't pronounce, haute couture, luxury mansions on the cape and elaborate "who's who" charity fundraiser galas every week?

What is it, exactly, that attracts me to any of this? Me, who sits here in my jeans and T-shirt, up to my elbows in laundry after working and horsing around with my kids in the sand all day? A bit of voyeuristic envy, I believe. And the ever present carrot dangle, of course. It is a forever enticing glimpse into the unimaginably refined and sumptuous lifestyle that money can guarantee. Why is it that reading about the insatiably wealthy and privileged somehow fascinates me enough to compel me to spend $28.00 for my hole-through-the-fence vantage point each year? Probably for the same reason people slow down to watch a car wreck or frequent zoos. The exotic factor. The shock factor. The sheer wonder factor. The WOW factor.

But I also look at my life as it is positioned with respect to the quintessential Town and Country "lifestyle" and realize that there is nothing I lack by comparison. And that some of the most important differences are deeply comforting, actually.

Yes, it's true...

I will never have $265,000 to spend on a 14 carat diamond and sapphire integrated twist bracelet. EVEN IF I DID, who buys these things? Seriously, can anyone imagine actually having that amount of money in their pocket and deciding you just could not live without this wildly expensive bangle? Who has "disposable" money to routinely dole out on such items?

My furniture is not commissioned. I do not routinely engage the professional services of a Feng Shui expert, Life Planner, Personal Shopper or Rug Importer. I am unconcerned entirely with the latest trends in Bergamo fabrics, finding the perfect cocktail ring, or planning my latest $100,000 vacation. The money it would seem one needs to posses in order to properly navigate through life (according to the editors and presumably the target audience of this magazine) is frankly, astounding. Bordering on obscene.

So why, I routinely query of myself, do I bother READING THIS BLOODY MAGAZINE at all? Where exactly am I relating, here?

I realize that my fascination centers on the fact that nearly everything within the entirety of this publication is out of my league of experience, but not appreciation. When I read these stories and pore over color-saturated images, I feel like an observer, not a participant, in the "life" presented. As though the concerns and pursuits and values portrayed should be something I relate to and be able to share, but simply aren't within reach.

I do take joy and inspiration from the beauty within. All of it can be owned for the right price, but for only $28.00, I get to learn that such paradisical places as Mustique exist, that the vivid softness of Thai silk can accurately be captured by photograph, and that brilliant architecture can be effused with light and washed in color to resemble a wheat field ablaze in summer. That kind of beauty moves me, compels me, and draws me back to just glory in what is possible in this world that the Lord created for us. From the vantage point of one irreverently satisfied to be outside, looking in.

For me, ownership is not a prerequisite to enjoyment of the finer things in life. Just knowing that such exotic places of beauty and works of ark exist in the world is inspiring enough.

I do engage in and care deeply about art and music, beauty and culture, land and travel, history and architecture. But my own life blends these pursuits in a more realistic manner than T&C presents as 'par for the course'. Save for miraculously winning the lottery (in several states, simultaneously), I will never be able to attain the wealth of these shiny, happy people - so carefree and stylish in these decadent, wordly pictorials. It is that realization that makes my continuing read fall squarely into the voyeur category and demand this monthly review of my motives. This is not another class of people. This is another world altogether - happening just outside the reach and comprehension of most of us.

I think my relationship with this magazine teeters every month as I relate to fewer and fewer of the luxuries, however beautiful, and yearn toward the joyful understanding that the most valuable things in life are not things at all, but LIFE itself, infused with the simple joys of love, children, tradition, gratitude, laughter, learning, and giving.

And all this achieved without benefit of elaborate estates in Aruba or Montenegro, or within the facets of the latest dazzling jewels or perfectly fitted fashions. Rather, the precious moments of my life happen in my little world - in my home, on the beach, in the fields, and anywhere my husband and children and God are present with me. Basking in the mundanities of life and loving every minute of our Life Less Ordinary.

The differences are stark between the glossy reality presented in T&C and my own, which admittedly lacks nothing by comparison and can be understood with a simple categorical comparison:

T&C: Detailed article dealing with the intricacies of proper lighting of priceless artwork in the 3-story cantilevered foyer.

ME: My artwork, mostly done in crayon-on-paper medium, can be found haphazardly decorating my refrigerator and almost definitely suffering from bad lighting. Equally priceless, it is donated by two local artisans who barter their services for free room and board at my house. At least for the next 18 years or so.

Will the real Shiny, Happy People please stand up?

Touching Heaven

Tonight, I am so aware that my precious children are growing up and that time is fleeting, uncontrollable, and to some extent - my enemy. I am in love with my sweet babies and so want to capture the nectar of every moment as it happens. Being a parent can sometimes be akin to trying to hold water in the grip of your hand.

I watched them sleep - again - tonight. I am one of those mothers. Those stereotypical mothers who peek in on their babies as they lie in quiet slumber. Just to bask in the presence of purity, of innocence, of peace. Watching the blankets rise and fall with the rhythym of their breathing gives me such immeasurable joy. Such still, perfect faces. What wonderful, perfect creations God has somehow seen fit to place into my bumbling but so earnestly seeking care.

This is the purpose of life. These two little people whose life sprang from my own body but who will never be separated from my soul, my heart, my mind, my person. To be a mother is to come closest to touching heaven's gates while still walking the dust of the earth.

I get it now.

Birthday blunders

Today, my beloved Copper celebrates another year of life. Birthdays are always a VERY big deal in our family. We love to celebrate LIFE. Copper's birthday was a spectacular day of muted sunshine, brisk almost-summer temperatures, and the kind of air that is delightfully crisp and clean and yet lingers with a tinge of unspoken promise.

As a family, we were able to be home, all together, all day long - which is a rare treat amidst battling work schedules. That ALONE was a worthy birthday celebration in itself. Granted, we are all sick - but the joy of being together, unscheduled, unrushed, unprogrammed, was immense. The I love you's and snuggles and hugs and kisses from us all, mixed with the everyday mundane joys of just BEING together demonstrated the truths Copper cherishes: his family celebrates this day with him, his children and wife love him dearly, and deeply love spending time together as a family.

Our shared lingering illness was a damper on this special day I had hoped to create for my husband to enjoy. There would be no date night tonight. No movie, no party, no cake with candles. No traditional special meal at a lovely restaurant (which admittedly would have been rather wasted on sickly, wan appetites and in the process of being washed down with medicine and orange juice). I felt deflated all day long with the limitations the poor health of all of us placed on my earnest endeavors at trying to create a day of "special birthday perfection" for this man I love.

I woke up both he and I at 12:00 am this morning to be the first one to wish him a HAPPY BIRTHDAY on his actual birth DAY. While the gesture was pure-intentioned, the sheer-startle-out-of-deep-sleep look on my dear Copper's face told me that even though he hugged me close and thanked me for being so sweet, he would have much more enjoyed the solid sleep that I interrupted in order to wish him a Happy Birthday and tell him I love him.

The birthday flower arrangement was delivered to him at our door. After his grin, hug, and giggly thanks, he gently reminded me (as he has done every year) that he is a MAN. Spending $75.00 on a gift should mean that there is an electronic / computer related device involved somewhere. I have known that flowers are wasted on Copper since I met him. Yet every year, I just feel WRONG to not give him flowers on his birthday. Ingrained somewhere within me, there is an unyeilding fragment of my upbringing, "birthdays mean flowers for those you love" that refuses to be amended, even by one who accepts them each year under polite but increasingly unveiled protest.

His gifts were opened. Yesterday. And last week. Because I could not wait to give them to him and made him open them a day before. I am actually proud of myself for waiting THAT long.

When I have gifts to give to people I love - intended for a special purpose (a birthday, shower, or Christmas) it is AGONY for me to wait to give it to them. Especially when I live in the same house as the would-be recipient. I have been known to give Christmas gifts to my husband in October because I could not bear for him NOT to have it and to know it was in the house, wrapped up, unenjoyed. Though I am getting better, it is with tremendous concerted effort and denial of instinct that I make it to any holidays with gifts intact. I need to work on that.

But there is one gift for Copper still outstanding. Because this very special gift is still on its' way - unable to be shipped in time for his birthday - I felt so crestfallen. I had nothing to give him today except the annual bouquet of flowers, which seemed inept at delivering any birthday message beyond, "Happy Birthday! Your wife sent you flowers. Again. Smile. Forgive her."

Well, there was the card. Rather, the four cards. This is another area I struggle with. I cannot seem to exercise decision making when it comes to birthday cards. At any given birthday, there is a strong chance that gift recipients will get more than one card from me. Have you seen some of these cards lately? They are just too funny, or appropriate, or moving, or exactly right to pass up. Too bad we only have one birthday per year.

I presented my four chosen cards to Copper. He chuckled at me and seemed to really like at least one of them because he quoted it. That made my heart soar. I got something right! While it wasn't a grand slam, it was most definitely a base hit.

After dinner, baths, and sleepytime for our two babies, I thought certainly I could offer Copper an ultimate worthy gift for his birthday: some quality time alone - just us. Just me and my darling sweetie, snuggled up watching a movie, playing cards, reading together, backrubs - any numbers of scenarios found their way into my hopes. Granted, we would both be coughing and sneezing away while downing liberal doses of NyQuil, but it would be US, together. What a special time. What an easy gift to offer.

I got the move out, spread a blanket on the floor, changed into comfy snuggling clothes, got the chess board ready, and was preparing to make the mother of all popcorn batches.

Ah, but I missed the mark again. Silly little inept me. All Copper has looked forward to doing for himself tonight, all day long, has been to sit alone, in his game room, and attempt mastery of his latest Xbox game. This was his simple birthday wish. Some alone time for himself. And he was so hesitant to tell me this because I had elaborate plans for his "perfect" birthday that were, while sweet, not nearly in harmony with his own ideas of what that might be. Not that he did not want to spend time with me, as he expressly stated through a hug and kiss. He loves me and values our time greatly. But ultimately, Copper's one birthday wish today was for the gift of solitude. To have some modest unaccounted time to spend any way he likes. To be a kid again. To relax, play a game, and be glad in it.

Why are the truest gifts sometimes the hardest to recognize?

As I write this, he is downstairs, deeply relaxed, steeped in a game of complicated interplanetary strategy I don't pretend to comprehend. And he is enjoying his birthday gift at last. Better than flowers, four cards, fancy dinners, or nice shirts and fine sweaters (which are lovely on him and bring out the color of his eyes, but I digress). Finally a gift I can give to my darling husband which is enjoyed as much by the recipient as by the giver. At last, I was able to give something to my best friend and beloved - unselfishly - and with great appreciation. Finally, FINALLY, I hit the mark.

I am learning.

Next year, no flowers.
Next year, no flowers.
Next year, no flowers.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY my dear, sweet, patient, loving, devoted husband. May tonight's simple gift of solitude be to your heart all that I hoped to be able to give you on this most special day May God continue to bless your life and use you in His miraculous ways to be a beacon of His light into the lives of others. I love you.

Your newly floral reformed wife

The Bike Path of Recovery

I am tentatively on my way back to life after having the living HECK kicked out of me by this latest bout of mystery could-be-flu-but-felt-more-like-mad-cow-disease-meets-near-death-experience illness.

I have started to begin making actual recognizable word-like sounds when I open my mouth. This is a positive step. I believe my vocal chords are now re-learning the lost art of speaking, which has been missing from my life for a few days now. While this has actually been a rather liberating experience, I welcome the return of my ability to use my voice again and hope to have full capacity soon.

I feel myself bicycling on the bike path which runs along the road to recovery. Hey - it's forward movement.

When one is sick, one tends to watch a wee too much TV. At least when that 'one' is me.

TV amuses me, because I rarely have the opportunity to watch an entire program from beginning to end. And when I do, I am at least third in the pecking order, so most days I endure episodes of 'Jay Jay the Jet Plane', the entire programming lineup of the 'Noggin' channel, or a DVD movie played over and over and over (the latest obsession with my children is 'The Incredibles', which I can just about recite verbatim at this point), until I shut it off altogether.

So, this week, when I actually was able to sit through an entire news broadcast documenting the enormous gravity, pomp, joy, and reverence surrounding the announcement of Pope Benedict the 16th of the Holy Catholic Church, I was grateful. Not only that, I was deeply moved. I watched the FOX news broadcast with humble heart and joyful spirit, surprisingly on the verge of tears. I was celebrating with the incredible masses of people in Rome, in Italy, in Vatican City, and around the world, as we watched each choreographed, liturgical, deeply historically steeped, religious, traditional ceremony take place. I was so touched by the faces I studied as the TV cameras panned the crowd inside Vatican City. The majority of these devoted religious people are YOUNG. This is not a dying church, and Christianity is not a dying religion as we are so often misled to believe. I see it radically opposite. These people had such hope, such purpose, and such joy and such a spirit of reverence about them. And it was not limited to them - Jews, Christians, Buddhists, and those even unassociated with faith or a specific religion shared in this joy and reverence. Lives were touched beyond the boundaries of the church, beyond the boundaries of Catholicism.

Personally, I was strongly moved in a place in my heart that I did not expect on a rather otherwise uneventful Tuesday morning as I battled this raging flu. The intensity of my emotion shocked me a bit as I openly respected with reverence this moment, and this God-appointed man, whose kairos (God appointed time) had clearly come to rise up and lead this church for as long as his life span allows. God was evident and present on the faces of that faithful crowd, waiting to greet the newly appointed leader of their church. And it is my truest hope that God is continually revealed and glorified in the new Pope and the workings and teachings of the Catholic Church.

There was for me such hope and joy in sharing this wonderful event. And such gratitude that I, by invasive miracle of TV journalism, was able to gain access to the experience of it all.

Now on the flip side...

I am not Catholic.

I have never subscribed to the whole "my religion can beat up your religion" line of thinking with respect to ANY religion except the completely WACKO (and by "wacko", I mean anything I personally deem worthy of meriting the category. Moonies, Heaven's Gate, Aethrian Society, Realian's, etc. all exemplify my unabashed WACKO designation. Some certifiably. Thankfully, God loves each member of these wacko groups and I can borrow my love from Him, because some of them actually freak me out a little bit.) But, fascinatingly, I have encountered some interesting and disheartening comments this week, even among my decidely "non-wacko" mostly-Protestant circle of influence, that would indicate that some apparently do.

Baffled and aloof were they by the ceremonies surrounding the election and announcement of the Pope. Where I saw joy and celebration, they saw an opportunity to dispassionately point out the differences in our traditions. Where I joined with all Catholics who rejoiced in this new Pope ~ his integrity and humility, they condemned the very church system that appointed him. One man should not be worshipped in this way, I heard. It's wrong - it's idol worship. And while we're at it...what is with confession? No one needs an intermediary to be able to converse with God. What is the purpose of the obsession with the virgin Mary and all these saints? They are just people - not deities. Jesus is the savior, not Mary. Etc, etc...

All of this caused my heart to stir and I found myself leaping to the defense of Catholicism in general, in typically strident fashion, which generally shut down whatever conversation was causing my ecumenical claws to emerge.

But in retrospect, I've come to this: within every religion, every faith tradition, there are definite wackos. But the TRUTH of Christ and the TRUTH of God is not defined by those wackos so much as hindered by their actions. We must be able to look beyond humanity's example because it will ALWAYS fail to display the full measure of God's glory. Instead, we should seek God despite the failings of man, because of them, or in light of them ~ and must not use the imperfection of any one religion or its adherents as an excuse to avoid God's truth. Catholics do not have a monopoly on the wacko factor. Garden-variety Christians don't either, although every time I hear a story about some wacko doing some crazed thing in the name of the church or Christ, my soul HURTS because that may be the only representative face of Jesus that some are unfortunate to see. And that sad and warped example becomes their litmus test understanding of what Christianity is all about. Tragic.

I heard unsettling words spoken this week about the Catholic church. I never realized to what degree some people, even those who share the same passion and love for Jesus Christ, will cling to differences and become blind to shared truths. My eyes and ears may not have been opened before, but my radar is on overdrive now.

I share the same God as the Pope. The same Jesus. The same hope. The same certainty. The same Bible. The same moral values. Our religious ceremonies, history, and celebration structures may be different, but our final destination is united. We are reaching towards Christ together and in increasing numbers with renewed passions. That is worth celebrating. That is why I cried when the Pope was introduced for the first time. And THAT is why I stand up for all Catholics in sharing this amazingly reverent moment in history, even as this scrolls along the bottom of my TV screen: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/7570729/.

Ah well.

May God bless the Pope and the Catholic Church. And may God teach us all to not be hindered by artificial denominational boundaries in our pursuit of life through Christ, abundantly.

Sick on a Stick

With all good intentions of returning as soon soon possible - sadly, the last dregs of the death flu have me and my family out for the count for a bit longer. My musings are thus on hold - not able to be voiced (figuratievly AND literally) - until good health returns. Thanks for being patient, and feel free to send orange juice or throat lozenges my way.

Four Short Years Ago

The most brilliant stream of heaven's light shined down on my life.

In the form of my firstborn child, my daughter, my angel, my heart, the light of my days even as the cause of my sleepless nights. A beacon of joy and the answer to prayer, you nestled into our hearts as you did in our welcoming arms.

Not content from the beginning with the ordinary or dull, you made your entrance early and with fanfare and deliberance we've come to know as your trademarks. After 4 weeks and 27 "official" hours of preparation for your debut, finally - at 2:00 am, you uttered your first breathy cries and changed so many lives forever. My baby girl was born. Your Daddy and I were in a state of hazy Grace and powerful love which remains to this day. Because of you.

And here you are, four years later, living your days to the fullest and bounding through life with such remarkable, fiercely intelligent zest. You have changed on the outside, little one, but your dear, sweet, seeking, caring heart continues to define you. And I am so proud of the little person you are the genuine, open, compassionate God-seeking soul you are developing.

I pray for you and dream of your future everyday.

I am blessed because of you. I am changed because of you. I am closer to God and believe in miracles because you proved that they are real and that God loves us more than we know.

I love you, precious LaLa. There are no words that are capable of capturing in full the depth of my love for you. But you come closest, because I do "love you so much that it makes me cry ~ in a good way, with tears of joy". Oh sweetie - already, you hold such wisdom in the deep well of your heart that grows with every additional moment you grace my life.

May God bless your next year abundantly and manifest His perfect will in your life. I can't believe the tiny seven pound baby I cradled is now a jubilant, bounding four year old girl. What a divine bittersweet joyful agony it is to be your mother, watching and guiding you into your future. Loving the ways in which your newfound independence takes root, watching you soar on tiny fledgling wings. But also wishing time would stop long enough to get my fill of you as you are right at this moment: my precious little daughter, so cherished, so caring, so wise and wonderful, so funny, so endearing, so intuitive, and so loving. My little girl.

I love your twinkly green eyes, the way you always tell me when you are "sneaking", your tears of indignation at injustice and unkindness, you capacity of joy and caring, your desire to be a friend to all. Your love of animals which extends even to snails. Your love of your Papa. Your intensity, and zeal with all you attempt. Your utmost desire to be a "perfect big sister" to your baby brother and to show him you care about him "with all your heart". You are an incredible person, LaLa. I am honored to be your Mommy.

You will always be my baby girl, no matter how old we both get. My prayers were answered on the day you were born. And that Godly answer continues to ripen with each day you bless my life and call me Mama. You are such an inspiration to me and have carved such newfound joy and purpose in my life. You are a wonder and a delight.

I love you to the moon, LaLa. And around the stars and back again.

Happy 4th Birthday.

Not so Magic Mountain

My darling daughter turns four this upcoming week.

She requested a special day trip to the local (well, 2 hours drive) Six Flags amusement park here in California with her very best little friend (who is also almost four). We spent the whole day at this park yesterday and it was divine - no lines, no waiting, the girls and my baby son behaved beautifully and enjoyed their Six Flags Magic Mountain adventure with abandon. The girls won entirely too many stuffed animals at the carnival portion of the park and went on every kid sized ride that was offered. There were so few people there that we walked on rides most of the time and our LONGEST wait was about 2-3 minutes. We had such a great time overall and the day was quite nearly perfect.

HOWEVER (why does there have to BE a however?)... one major incident occurred on this trip which was both traumatic, angering, frightening, and enlightening.

My sweet LaLa and her best friend, Sarah, along with a 3-year old boy, got trapped on a roller coaster that broke down and stopped mid-ride. This roller coaster ride was located in the "KIDS" area of the park and was designed for riders under 6. It was, in fact, the only ride we encountered in the park in which parents were specifically NOT permitted to accompany our children.

At it's highest point, the track of this very mild, circular roller coaster was perhaps 6 or 7 feet off the ground. However, as luck would have it, it happened to break down at the very highest point in the track, which was also the farthest point away from the gate and perimeter fence where we were watching, cameras and smiles in tow.

So, three little 3-year olds were trapped up on a broken down coaster and sitting in the sun, simply terrified. Sarah actually unlatched herself from her seatbelt restraint, stood up, and tried to climb down out of the coaster car, causing us all to fear she would fall out of the car and onto the ground below or get caught in the track and be seriously hurt. The children were hysterical. LaLa was screaming for me to please come get her, sobbing and calling for "Mommy". All three children were inconsolably, frantically trying to get out of the coaster, putting themselves in imminent danger of serious injury.

The operator of this ride was perhaps 19. When the ride broke down, she made a call on a phone in her "booth". She told us it was against the law for us to breach the perimeter of the ride in order to get to our children. I asked her if she could do it, to which I was told she'd lose her job. I asked if anyone was coming to help and she said, "I think so - I called." I told her plainly that if someone did not arrive to help our children within 5 minutes, I was jumping the fence and they could just put me in Magic Mountain jail for breaking the "rules".

It is rare that I am so brazenly, emotionally confrontational to this degree, but a switch flipped on somewhere beneath my solar plexis and I became a mother possessed. I was not going to let the "rules" stand in the way of rescuing my baby.

We spent the next 5 minutes trying to console the girls by yelling (they were too far away to hear us in normal voice) with assurances that it was "Going to be OK", "People are coming to help get you out" and to "please sit down!" when they tried repeatedly to find a way OUT. As can be expected with frightened three-year-olds, they were NOT calming down and were growing more frantic with time. This was clearly traumatic for them.

Ten minutes passed. No one had arrived from the park to help our children or even acknowledge our situation. That was it for me. I realize now that I was quicker to get angry and thus motivated to act in this situation partially because my Mother Bear instincts kicked in immediately. All healthy mothers have these instincts - they cannot be described and equally cannot be dismissed.

I was also closer to the girls and could see the obviously worsening fear and hysterics on their faces, and I sensed that the procedures of the Six Flags Park were obviously more important to this ride operator and supposedly responding personnel than the safety and well being of my child. So I rolled JoyBoy's stroller around the corner to the closest point to the girls I could get to, and tried climb up over the fence separating me from the ride where my child was stuck. The ride operator saw me and warned me that it was against the rules and dangerous for me to go over the barrier into the ride. I told her it was more dangerous for her to tell me it was AGAINST THE RULES to HELP MY CHILD. She told me I'd be arrested and that she'd call security to stop me. I told her, "Call them! And while you're at it, make sure they know there are 3 three-year olds TRAPPED up there!"

Copper grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the fence and talked to me sternly. He told me I was getting hysterical, my emotions were not helping the situation, and to calm down. I told him to GET OUR DAUGHTER and that he could lecture me later. I also promised him that if he was not going to jump over that to get LaLa and Sarah down from that ride, I was.

The ride operator again told us someone was coming. We waited another 5 minutes. No one came to help. The poor mother of the little boy in the front car was standing next to me, crying. She was physically incapable of scaling the fence and jumping over the wall or she would have. She was clearly distressed and calling for someone to please help her son. It was an unpleasant scene.

After about 20 minutes of waiting, we were at our limit of patience. Copper and Sarah's Dad scaled the fence, jumped over the rock wall, and were able to lifted both girls and the little boy out of the coaster, off of the tracks and over the wall to anxiously waiting mothers.

While this was happening, the ride operator was calling in a "9-1-1. Perimeter Breach! 9-1-1. Perimeter Breach!" This simply astonished me. It is apparently less of an emergency situation to have 3 small children trapped on a ride on a track extended 6-7 feet above ground than it is when their parents break the rules to rescue them?

The logic of that continues to escape me and fuels my fire of anger even as I write this.

The girls were crying, shaking, and very clingy ~ sobbing uncontrollably. I just held and rocked my baby till she was able to gradually gain control overself and stop sobbing.

Interestingly, within 30 seconds of our controversial "rescue" activities, three (3!) people from the Park came running to where we were. We were all shocked and angered because the security force and management was clearly able to respond almost immediately when their precious "perimeter was breached" but not when three children were trapped?

My amazing husband and Sarah's Dad expressed their lividity and outrage in controlled but firm tones, as they explained the obvious. No one was coming, it had been 20 minutes, our children were hysterical and in danger of hurting themselves trying to get out of this broken coaster, and our actions were vital to get our kids out of danger since no one else was doing ANYTHING. Copper also stated that it was INEXCUSABLE to not have a quicker response time than 20 minutes for ANYONE to show interest in the situation of 3-year olds trapped on a broken ride up in the air, but then to arrive on scene within 30 seconds when a "Perimeter Breech" was called in. Some warped prioritizing going on there.

The female representative sent to deal with us "Irate Parents" was unmoved and unconcerned. She calmly explained why our actions were against the rules, that the rules were in place to "protect the guests", and why we must not ever break the rules by "breeching the boundaries of a ride again."

At this point, I uttered my only words to this woman, "I realize this is not your fault, but this lack of caring about our BABIES over your RULES is inexcusable. And let me tell you that if another one of your rides breaks down with my child in it and no one comes to help, I will absolutely BREACH THE PERIMETER to get my child."

Dh touched my arm and told me to calm down. I knew better at this point because I was becoming more upset, not less, as everyone else seemed to be de-escalating. I took the girls and Joyboy to get a drink since it had been hot in the sun, and I was obviously not capable of constructive participation in any continuing conversation with the "Park Lady." Copper and Sarah's Dad finished with the Manager, gave her our information, and filled out her forms.

NEVER did anyone ask about our girls. NEVER did anyone say anything about them at all.

As we were leaving the area, one of the "roller coaster guru guys" came over to us, waving a completely thrashed, grease stained hat in the air. He thrust it into Copper's hands and gruffly said, "This is what made the ride break down." It was LaLa's special Maui hat, which had apparently blown or fallen off onto the track and been run over by the coaster, thereby apparently disabling it. The man said. "This caused the ride to break. Your hat." and shook his head at us. Copper asked him if we was implying that our child deliberately threw the hat onto the tracks to disable the roller coaster. The man said no, but this could all have been avoided.

Thanks for that. In light of all the recent happenings, it sure is important information to know that you blame our child and her hat for what happened. Great. Thanks. That's helpful.

If anyone had responded within a reasonable time frame and/or had been remotely concerned about the 3 trapped human children rather than the inanimate objects or policies and procedures involved in the situation, my heart would be in a much different place. Imagine having your kids sobbing and scared, trapped on a ride, and those in positions to help do NOT. And when the responding would-be "rescuers" arrive at last, they are worried about hats and whether or not to throw us out of the park for violating their "rules".

So many words sought expression from me, but ultimately I kept quiet after the immediate danger passed. Compassion and morally correct behavior cannot be argued into people who just simply don't get it and who place protocol and rules over decency and humanity. We plan to write a direct letter to the Park, followed up with a call to the Manager. Our goal is to make sure this policy of berating parents for protecting their children in the absence of proper Park response does not go officially and formally unnoted.

It is wrong to value the "rules" MORE of the safety of three children in a dangerous situation, whom such rules are supposedly in place to protect.

Aside from that half hour of trauma, we had an otherwise perfect birthday outing and it was such a special treat for my almost four-year old sweetheart.

I did have some moments of enlightenment as I have thought back over and replayed this incident in my mind which are worthy of sharing. But alas, it must wait as the clock display and my anchored eyelids beckon me to sleep.

Bless you all who have managed to consume this whole post. It was therapeutic of sorts to place this on paper and marinate myself in both renewed indignation and anger, but saturated with deep doses of gratitude. My sweet daughter, Sarah, and the other little boy are unharmed physically by this experience. And I trust the scars on their hearts and minds to Jesus, who is far more capable than I to incorporate this episode into amazing bounty for these children.

Glass v.s. Mug

I do not drink alcohol. Yes, at all. Ever - well, slim to none. I've never tasted beer and there is only one type of wine I ever consume - and even then, about 1/3 of a glass once every 2 years or so. The wine is a 4% alcohol, orange desert wine from a central California distillery. Copper tells me that there is more alcohol in marinara sauce and that this "wine" is not real "wine".

We disagree. If it comes from a winery, my sweet, it's wine. Even if it is wimpy wine unworthy of the sophisticated cork-smelling and "rolling the wine around on your tongue" rituals (which I look at with a bit of a sardonic eye - can you tell?), it is still WINE. But I digress...

My no-alcohol stance is not religiously based or anything (Jesus and His boys drank wine, if you'll recall), I just don't care for the taste or smell of it, and it simply doesn't compare to the all powerful Dr. Pepper, so why bother? And so many people in my historical family lineage are alcoholics, that why risk an addiction over a beverage you don't even remotely appreciate in the first place?

That was all background so you'll understand why this is not entirely my fault but why I feel SO badly about it anyway.

My dear parents-in-law were at our home for dinner some months ago. My father in law will be 84 this weekend and is one of the most wonderful people I've ever known. He will occassionally have a vodka with orange juice with dinner (what is that called? A Wrench? A Hammer? A Screwdriver?... I know it has something to do with tools), especially on warm days, and he requested one this evening. As Copper was at the BBQ and my mother-in-law was holding JoyBoy on her lap, I offered to make it. My mother in law gave me instructions: add equal parts of vodka to equal parts orange juice in a glass, then shake it, no ice.

So I did just that. I followed the directions EXACTLY. But the glass I used was an oversized cocoa mug (no one told me this is not OK, and since we use these mugs for soda and water, it never dawned on me to use a different "glass" for something with alcohol in it). Apparently, the sheer volume of vodka in this mickey finn I inadvertently fixed for my dear Father-in-Law set him squarely on his ear. It would have been enough to fuel a fairly decent fire, from what I understand.

By the end of the meal, this precious man could not walk straight to the car and his face was the color of a ripe strawberry. He was unsteady with his movements and wobbly with his speech, yet both he and my mother in law were uncontrollably giggly about the predicament.

I was beside myself with embarrassment and apologized repeatedly, deeply worried about the fact that I had made my Father-in-Law drunk quite by accident. Fortunately, after sleeping all night, he was fine by morning. I called to check in and to apologize again in the morning, and he told me it was actually deeply funny and not to worry. He was amused. I was mortified. And now, even as I have vowed never to mix another alcoholic drink for anyone, whenever a member of my family has a long, hot day - they are quick to tell me that they need my bartending services and would I please mix their drink for them? And then they are quick to pull out the largest cup/mug/pitcher they can find to illustrate their point.

Bunch of comedians.

Zonkey Camo

Stardate 124583.2.

Zonkey continues to elude me.

Dr. Pepper and Dr. Laura saved me from feeling that the entire half hour spent sitting in my car in the sun, watching the hills for flicker of movement, was a collosal waste of time.

I think perhaps hidden surveillance cameras should be considered.

Or maybe camoflauge. I'll blend in and sneak up on it somewhere in the mountains. Snap a quick picture and then run like the wind.

Wonder if Ebay has a Zonkey costume...

Baby steps

I made HUGE progress today in my newly resolved efforts to balance my time and stress level and to assert control over the rampant illegal immigration across the border seprating my work and family life.

I turned off my cell phone at 6:00 pm last night. OFF. For the whole night.

This is unheard of in my life. I brought my cell phone to the hospital during both my kids births. I put 2 houses into escrow while recovering from my first C-section. I bring it on vacation, I bring it into the bathroom. I have SERIOUS cell phone attachment disorder, brought on by a neccesity of keeping up with a demanding career, needful clients, and constant pressure of deadlines, paperwork, contracts, inspections, diclosures, financing, meetings, property tours, marketing, etc. It never ends.

But now that my kids and husband and overall health are actively paying the price, it has to stop. And so it did - at the reasonable hour of 6:00 pm. And the cell phone stayed off for 12 hours.

Of course, my clients all then called me at home - -but being as committed as I am to this goal, I IGNORED THEM and responded to all their needs via email only after we enjoyed dinner (which I cooked!) as a family, my darlings were bathed, read to and safely tucked in for the night.

And you know what?

The world didn't end. There was no apocalypse. There was no lightening strike or thunder clap.

Granted, my clients and colleauges were frustrated. They were relentless in their pursuit of me by email, pager and phone, evidenced by the 12 messages I found on my cell phone when I finally did turn it back on at 7:00 am this morning. Everyone was a fair bit exasperated not to have my immediate rapt attention (even at 11:11 pm and 5:52 am this morning, which were some of the times messages were left). Sigh.

So, people are unhappy, or angry, or frustrated with me. That is the residual damage I expected from this process of restoring my healthy work/life balance. So be it. My children and husband know that Mom values them above all else, even to the exlusion of the money I could make by allowing blanket unfettered work-related intrusion into our family time and private lives. That is worth any amount of residual damage I encounter. In fact, BRING IT ON - as to me, it's almost like a badge of honor I am now wearing proudly. Even when my professional life is uniformly grumbling about my newly imposed "restricted" business hours, I know I am doing the right thing by my family and that it where my heart must reside.

And you know what else? I finally got my shower.

Off white & Ecru do NOT match

I have been so tired lately that I am letting things slip simply due to sheer over-extension. I am one human being who apparently thinks I have superhuman powers and takes on WAY too much work and then nearly drowns in it. I am there right now, sputtering and trying to stay afloat. Anyone got a life ring handy?

The laundry pile in my laundry room is up to the bottom of the window sill.

Bills are stacked up all around my desk, sharing space with Title and Escrow Documents, Legal papers, notes, cards, our State Tax Return - basic things I need to attend to immediately that have already been here 3 weeks. I make a big a dent as often as I can (which translates to as often as I can physically sit down ay my desk during the days I spend being Mommy to 2 kids under 4 and working from home), but there is little evidence of that hard-earned dent within 24 hours. The piles are relentless. If I had a whole day - 24 hours straight - dedicated to getting through all of this, I could do it. But I have not had a whole day to dedicate to ANY ONE THING since I can remember.

Clients and other agents' calls emails, faxed, and pages are attacking me all day long - from my first phone call at home this morning at a little past 7:00 am to my last email, which I sent just moments ago at 1:00 am. No WAY is this healthy.

I wore two different colors of socks today... one was white and the other was clearly not. It was some kind of off white or ecru color. CLEARLY different socks, but I did not perceive that in my tired stupor as I dressed myself this morning. I am frankly feeling quite accomplished that my underwear did not end up on the outside of my clothes because THAT is the kind of capacity I have been operating with of late.

My house is nearing the catastrophic level of messiness in some rooms. In those most commonly used areas, it resembles a "BEFORE" picture you might see on a Home & Garden TV Show about disorganization. Martha Stewart would have a conniption while walking through my home. Then again, her life experience may have allowed her standards to shift a bit, so I might pass the mustard after all.

I have not taken a shower in three days. Three days. I'll be in there as soon as I complete this post, but let me just say it has been rather unpleasant. Yikes.

I am responsible for so much that I find myself unable to do anything smashingly well. I sat down and wrote out a list of everything I do on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis - and I found I cannot remember everything I have to do, much less categorize it and accomplish it. Though incomplete, I came up with 12 pages of things actively requiring my attention on a daily/weekly/monthly basis. It is daunting and made me genuinely sick to my stomach. No one person can do all of this without declaring a truce with their mental and physical faculties at some point. No one person should even try to do this sheer volume of work - it is a self-defeating process.

We have eaten take-out for much of the last week because I am simply not able to carve time out to fix a proper meal, and even then, am usually on the phone during dinner. That is NUTS! Cooking a healthy dinner is a special promise I made to myself, Copper, and my darling munchkins. I feel defeated and ashamed to have so badly stretched myself that MEALS are being skimped on.

I have surrendered control of my life to others and to regain it, I must cement myself in my LOVE of being a Godly wife and mother to these precious little one above all else. Everything else is periphery. Nothing is worth regretting when my children's lives are in progress. I am losing my health, my sleep, my peace of mind, my ability to focus, my stamina, my patience, my joy, and my grip. I keep telling myself it will slow down when these current escrows close. And it may. But it may not. If I do not set some serious limits with my work life intruding upon my home life, I am going to reap the whirlwind even more so than I am already.

Which is a frightening thought.

My job depends on my availability to clients. However, people make unreasonable demands on my time every day. I try hard to accommodate everyone and have this inane idea in my head that, somehow, I can miraculously "DO IT ALL". Somehow I can work full time and still be a full time stay at home Mom simultaneously. How EXACTLY can one person do two full time jobs mutually exclusively? The answer is: not well. My participation in this unrelenting bombardment of mine and my family's life by my workload MUST STOP.

How many times do I need to write about this, give it to God in prayer, commit and earnestly try to remedy this problem before it actually HAPPENS?

So, as you all are witnesses, I am hereby taking steps to SLOW THE HECK DOWN and get back to basics. Wife, Mom, Keeper of the House, Realtor. In THAT order. If I lose business, I lose business. I will survive and so will the world, which I am not singlehandedly holding together for my clients, as much as they like to think I am.

Why do I always let it get to the point of absolute inertia and physical sickness before I DO SOMETHING about my workload?? No more of this nonsense. Tomorrow I will screen my calls and will call people back on MY timeframe, not theirs. My pager is getting turned off during meals, I WILL attack this laundry (which I LOVE, so this tells you how bad it's gotten) and the bills. I will spend the time with my babies doing things THEY love tomorrow, no matter how much I have to do.

I will stop letting my life take charge of me. I am taking back charge of my life.

For goodness freaking sake.

FIFTH PLACE

Well, I did it. My first Texas Hold'Em Poker Tournament was tonight. Live. With Live Players and Chips and Everything. Granted, it was for charity. But it was a serious, competitive event. And it was SO much fun.

Here's what I learned:

1.) I do not have a poker face
2.) I do not have a poker laugh
3.) Giggling and blushing when you have a good hand is a surefire "tell"
4.) The RED chips are the $100.00 chips. No, the RED ones...

But along with the lessons came an unexpected perk - by miracle and conservative playing, I managed to make it to the final table in this tournament. Better yet, I ended up placing FIFTH overall. Fifth! It was not out of a massive field (50 players or so), but still. For an admitted rookie who plays for sheer love of the game and has NEVER played a live Poker game - much less a Tournament - this was big excitement for me.

Copper is so proud (he did well too - making it to Round Three). My 5th place plaque will hang in our rec room and remind us what we can achieve when we're really, really lucky and don't try to bluff the hands with a 3 and 7 off suit. Not that I am ready the quit my day job and join the World Poker Tour, but I am psyched up and now unafraid to try again. Next time, I'm aiming for 4th Place!

At Least.

Wacky Wednesday with the ACLU

Alright, I am riled.

My blood is up again over the ACLU, which has, to my mind, become a Stage Three Cancer, aggressively invading and threatening the United States of America and by extension, my family. If you don't want to get into some heavy, inflammatory reading today (and I don't blame you, as we've been saturated with dark or heavy news lately), scroll down and read about Chihuahua's. :) Otherwise, join me in pondering this and see if the ACLU doesn't end up riling you, too.

I used to think that this organization was just a semi-harmless collective of eccentric, somewhat misguided people with strong anti-establishment, liberal-leaning ideals.

Wrong. The ACLU is, in fact, off the deep end. This organization has become rotten, infected, and diseased over my lifetime. It is a cancer, seeking to completely decay and kill America as it was built, intended and lived by the majority of our citizens - Elephants and Donkeys, Christians and Jews, Catholics and Buddhists alike. The ACLU seeks to aggressively destroy what we stand for - and our right to do anything about it.

In continually educating myself about this topic, I have concluded that the minds at work within the ACLU structure must - MUST - be off their collective rockers. I find an unyieldingly zealous obsession with creating a perilously backwards society, where child molesting is a "protected" right but parents cannot legally protect their children from those molesters. Where abortion is federally funded but parental consent is abolished along with federal funding for abstinence teaching and promotion. Where traditional Churches would be prohibited from receiving federal tax-exempt status that would be guaranteed to Neo-Nazi and Satanic groups.

Find this all just the slightest bit NUTS? Me too - it's shockingly looney. In fact, it reminds me of the Dr. Seuss book, "Wacky Wednesday", in which everything is askew: shoes are on the wall, people do not have necks, cars are driving with bananas for wheels, and so forth. The "ACLU-envisioned America" is one in which we are all living in a perpetual Wacky Wednesday state. The sky is green, the water is purple, and the world is upside down and sideways.

The ACLU has become poisonous. In its rabid promotion of Anti-American, Anti-Christian, anti-Family, anti-God agenda, any righteous cause it may have once accidentally stood for, is devalued entirely. The ACLU presents a foul affront to the American collective: our traditions, moral core, foundation, practice and ideas of right and wrong. It seeks to undermine the innocence and protection of our children through attacks on such institutions as the Boy Scouts, our churches, public displays of religion, and seeks to undermine families, religion, God, and freedom. This kind of lunacy is, in all seriousness, NUTS. It is also alarming.

It is Wacky Wednesday all year long with the ACLU, with the added benefit of ample law degrees and a ferocious superiority complex.

I am being a bit dramatic here, certainly. But those who honor intelligent thought and freedom for ALL people need to be informed and educated about this danger eroding us from within. The ACLU is out of control and weilding far too much destructive power. Any organization who openly NAAMBLA but not the Boy Scouts, seeks to restrict every day Americans from exercising their freedom of expression and assembly whenever the cause is not "ACLU' material (Minuteman Watch, Pro-Life, Christian and Jewish gatherings, Crosses and Menorrahs on public display, etc.) is not only WRONG, it is SCARY. And it should make us MAD ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING.

Now, I personally am taking on this fight. I am just one person. But I am convicted, intelligent, dedicated, and on FIRE to arrest the tentacles of this cancerous group from infecting more of this precious nation of people I love. The ACLU has a new foe in me, as of today. And they have picked a hell of a fight.

Think I am overstating, over-reacting, or fear-mongering? Let's take a look-see at what the ACLU stands for and thereby promotes as public policy, shall we?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The American Civil Liberties Union Supports:

1.) Legalized Child Pornography but OPPOSES Legalized Optional School Prayer

2.) Legalized Drugs but OPPOSES Sobriety Checkpoints

3.) Tax Exemptions for Satanists but OPPOSES Tax Exemptions for Churches

4.) Legalized Prostitution but OPPOSES Religious Displays in Public

5.) Abortion on Demand but OPPOSES Parental Consent Laws

6.) Mandatory Sex Education but OPPOSES School Vouchers and Home Schooling

7.) Ideological Tests for Court Appointees but OPPOSES Medical Safety Reporting

8.) Automatic Entitled Probation but OPPOSES Prison Terms for Criminal Offenses

9.) Public Demonstrations by Nazis and Communists but OPPOSES Public Demonstrations by Pro-Lifers

10.) Legalized Polygamy but OPPOSES Teaching "Monogamous Heterosexual Intercourse within Marriage" in Public Schools

Sources:
Donohue, William A. Twilight of Liberty: The Legacy of the ACLU. Transaction Publishers, 1994.
http://www.reclaimamerica.org/Pages/ACLU/Policy.html

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That pretty much scares the Bejeebers out of me.

Please, I implore you, read. Become educated and informed. Seek complete, unfiltered information about this organization. Peel away the political and other hype, and get to the REALITY of what the ACLU stands for. Then join the fight wherever your conscience falls. I personally am now fervently investing myself in the growing movement to reduce the ACLU to a simpering Whine from the West with limited legal or political power. As it should be. The ACLU does n ot stand for Americans OR our Civil Liberties. It stands for promoting unilateral Agendas which are offensive and gravely destructive. I add my voice, my prayers, my support, my cash, and my time to all those who seek to shed continual bright light on the activities of this dangerous organization and in hopes of watching the cockroaches scatter.

Join me.

Pertinent links:
http://www.starktruth.com/comment.asp?articleid=918
http://www.stoptheaclu.org/
http://www.reclaimamerica.org/Pages/ACLU/StoryArchivesFull.asp
http://www.aclusux.com/
http://worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=43220
http://www.thomasmore.org/

One of these things is not like the others

Remember that song from our youth? Anyone who (and I AM dating myself now, so you young'uns who have no clue what I am talking about would be wise to keep such information to yourselves). It was a Sesame Street Classic:

"One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn't belong.
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which thing was not like the others?
Did you guess which thing just doesn't belong?
If you guessed this one is not like the others,
Then you're absolutely...right!"

From memory. That has to impress. Someone.

I think of this little tune often over the last 13 months as I have compared and contrasted my amazingly beautiful kids. They are simply divine, each of them, and they share common characteristics and have extremely similar physical characterisitics: halo-light blonde hair, green eyes, and pale peachy soft skin. However, JoyBoy and LaLa are SO different in their journeys along the physical timline. Put it this way. My 13-month old and my 2-weeks-away-from-turning-4-year-old are currently less than 5 pounds and 5 inches apart.

That's right. At this rate, Joyboy will eclipse his 3-years older sister in both height and weight by Christmas. Sheesh, by the 4th of July maybe. We keep hoping for a slowdown, but so far, he is still cranking along and soaring off the charts.. He has been WAY off the growth charts for his age group in both height and weight since his birth and is now 27+ pounds. My doctor tells me he's well within the normal range for a two year old, though. Thanks, that's super. On the opposite end of the scale, LaLa has floated around the 60% percentile for height and 3% for weight. She is not scary-teensy, but she is a petite little thing. I've alswyas called her an angel because she has a heavenly, lithe, ethereal presence to her. So tiny, and yet so strong of character and, lately, opinion.

"Petite" is not a word you'd use to describe my son with any degree of seriousness. He is sheer joy and, like LaLa, LOVES to snuggle all the time. But he seems uniquely equipped for snuggling. His whole body just beckons hugs and kisses and cuddles from everyone. The random lady at the Zoning and Planning Department today reached over the counter to try to cuddle my son over a 5-foot counter span. His little jolly self, coupled with deliciously plump body just invites that response all the time. He is not "Sumo-Boy" as he was once not-so-kindly called by a family member who forever wounded me, but he is a solid little munchkin and so doggone cute. He used to resemble a Boobah without the colorful "fur", but now is shooting up in height and simply looks like an adorable cherub. Definitely large enough to pass for a 2-year old boy, but with a precious 13-month old grin and innocent eyes. He is my baby. But my baby is a BIG BOY. And my little girl is a LITTLE GIRL.

So one of these things is clearly NOT like the other.

I am convinced this disparity in growth rate of my children was caused by Dr. Pepper. Hear me out.

I carried these precious little ones about the same amount of time (37 weeks for LaLa vs 39 weeks for JoyBoy). I nursed them for almost the same amount of time (12 months for LaLa, 11 months for Joyboy). I feed them the same foods in the same environment. In all critical ways, their life experiences have mirrored one another. BUT - when I was pregnant with LaLa, I was admittedly a bit freaky (She was my first baby. That, coupled with my already slightly neurotic tendencies ~ in a likeable way, usually ~ made for a VERY sterile pregnancy environment. Let's just say I nearly resorted to wearing a lead apron in my kitchen to protect my baby from the evil microwave) and would NOT drink anything but water, 100% fruit juice, and nonfat milk. My beloved Dr. Pepper was sidelined for not only the 9 months of pregnancy, but also the first 6 months of my nursing. By that point, I figured that horns or the dreaded third eye, rumored to be caused by caffeine, was not going to afflict my precious girl and guiltlessly gave in to some serious cravings.

With Joyboy, I had so relaxed my approach to gestation and was so sick with morning sickness until week 28 that I figured whatever I consumed wasn't staying with me all that long anyway, and imbibed liberally on Dr. Pepper from conception to birth and beyond. I am convinced that it ALONE is the reason my children are growing so differently. Dr. Pepper - fuel for future linebackers AKA 27-pound one-year-olds everywhere.

Well, I suppose it could also be attributed to genetics, on a lesser scale. I guess there is always the chance that this is all in their genes. That could be a factor. Sigh. Maybe that IS more likely than soft drink sponsorship of my son's growth. Shoot. Thought I was really onto something there.

Chihuahua's

"I hope if dogs ever take over the world, and they chose a leader, they don't just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas out there with some pretty good ideas."

~ 'Deep Thoughts' by Jack Handy

...and Copper calls little dogs like this, "House Shoes". Shameful.

Liar, Liar...

There seem to be some pervasive, big, fat lies permeating the airspace. Well, maybe 'lies' is a harsh choice of words. Half-truths, perhaps. Old wives tales, completely baffling bits of nutty yet oft-repeated information - that kind of thing. Far too much of it preys on us women/mother/wife types. There are lots of examples of this to choose from, so I've decided to begin compiling a list from my own experience and vantage point on the universe. I hereby present the beginning of said list. Feel free to add, by comment, your own contributions to this ongoing commentary on life's little lies.

The List:

1.) You outgrow getting blemishes. Um, no. Some of us are actually in the department store buying ANTI-AGING ANTI-ACNE TREATMENT creams and lotions. This is nuts. Either we are adolescent or we are geriatric. Who'd have thought there was a market for skin products combining BOTH of those eras of life and marketed to 20~40 year olds?

2.) Breastfeeding will melt the weight right off. Yes, but you see, this is misleading. The weight loss happens over time - a long time - which does not quite a "melting" event create. And, nursing tends to make one rather ravenous. One tends to answer the overwhelming urge to eat when one's stomach is growling like a freaking polar bear. One tends to not lose weight so fast when one is snarfing down Goldfish crackers washed down with a little (OK, a lot) Dr. Pepper about every 90 minutes. I lost the remainder of my pregnancy weight AFTER I had stopped nursing, not during. Many of my friends have also had this experience.

3.) If you drive 40 mph, you will hit all green lights. Where on EARTH is this true? If I drive 40 mph, I will be run over by the Big Rigs who are going 80.

4.) One Size Fits All. Possibly the largest lie ever perpetuated on the hapless clothes-shopping masses. Spend 30 minutes in a public place with lots of people milling around tomorrow and take a gander at the individual rear ends that pass by. Then tell me one size fits all with a straight face. I dare you.

5.) Walmart is family friendly. Well, maybe in theory and certainly in pricing. But not on a Sunday afternoon in Spring. There were so many human beings in that store and its parking lot this weekend that they should have been mandatorily handing out flack jackets, pith hemets, a map, deodorant, water, and signal flares to their shoppers. Whoa Nelly. Give me a civilized, sparsely populated, if overpriced department store over that zoo ANY DAY.

6.) Margarine and butter are basically the same thing. Recipes seem to think so, and my neighbor swears it. But this is another BIG LIE. Butter comes from a naturally occuring product (milk, for those following along) that also comes from a naturally occuring animal (a cow, as in MOO). Margarine is a completely man-made product that is actually only one molecule away from being plastic. PLASTIC. Spread that on your toast and eat it. Yikes

7.) Children should be seen and not heard. Sure. A bad idea from its genesis. But if this dynamic IS happening in modern day family life, it is only because we parents have the volume of the ear mikes on our mp-3 players turned up too loudly.

8.) If you're tired, taking a quick 20-minute midday nap is a great way to feel refreshed. First of all, a nap is like Pringles - you cannot stop at 20 minutes and if you do, you end up a much more puffy, groggy version of the self that was already too tired to function properly.

9.) Thong underwear are comfortable. Only on mannequins, darlings. Only on mannequins. It's a bit like high heels - if we like them, we force our minds to bend to the discomfort and end up so far in denial that we declare them "comfortable". Sheer, unadulterated lies, I tell you.

10.) An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Only if you throw it at him fairly hard. One apple a day will not keep many people in a thriving condition of health. Ah, maybe they meant an apple in combination with OTHER foods and a great deal of water. Well they should SAY that then.

To be continued.....