Ramblings of an American Housewife

A Proverbs Wife is giving away a Belly Burner belly toning kit

2010-06-16T07:36:00.002-05:00

This giveaway includes The Belly Burner belt and DVD system. Here's what she has to say about trying it:

"As soon as I received the belt I wore it around the house until later that evening when I did the Belly Burner Blazing Abs Workout DVD. I do want to place some emphasis on the burning and the blazing, because my abs were on FI-YA! I love the system and the fact that it has everything you need to get started with trimming belly fat."

You can see how it works by watching this video.

Enter the giveaway at The Proverbs Wife blog.

Plum Organics Giveaway!

2010-05-26T11:56:00.003-05:00

This giveaway is presented by The Little Hedgehog and ecomom!

Win $20 worth of free Plum Organics. Try the wonderful foods for babies and toddlers or order the new Boon - the dispenser spoon that attaches to the baby food pouches!

Product Review: Outlast Lipstain

2010-03-01T08:43:00.001-06:00

I've mentioned before that I am a rather girly girl. I love pink and frills and makeup... although I prefer it all to come with a punkish twist. I, however, was not blessed with a nice complexion. As a result, I have horribly dry skin and lips and no skin care routine seems to help. The advent of powder foundation was my face's salvation, but I've struggled with what to do about my lips. It looks funny to do up one's entire face yet leave one's lips all naked and stuff. But it looks equally funny to go around with lipstick on super-dry lips. It gathers in the cracks and draws further attention to them. As the day goes on, bits flake off. Lip gloss was a good compromise, except that reapplying it every hour gets old (and expensive). Imagine how excited I am, thanks to my mad couponing skills, to have scored a super cheap Covergirl Outlast Lipstain. This is the product poor, crunchy lips have been waiting for.

It looks like a marker. You color it on like a marker. It feels like marker ink on your lips (until it dries... which only takes a moment). The end result is a very natural looking color. And it does “outlast” most other lip products, but you can still expect to reapply at least once. It doesn't rub off because of eating or drinking (or kissing), but it seems to fade away as the day goes on. There's no settling in the cracks. There's no flaking off. There is also no heavy make up feeling. All in all, I'd have to recommend this product.

Random verses

2009-02-22T19:54:00.002-06:00

Sometimes things come to me in bits and pieces. I tend to lose whatever scrap of paper on which I jot them down. I finally decided to put my thoughts someplace more lasting: cyberspace. So here's a random bit of what might eventually be a poem.

resurrecting sensations
thought long since dead
waking dark places
till they glow faintly red
doubt is overshadowed
by inexplicable peace
and caged emotions
finally find their release

Ugly Dog

2007-03-29T08:55:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, a friend and I were talking about her upcoming Pampered Chef show. In the middle of the conversation, she randomly asked “Do you want a Boston Terrier?” Huh? She has two, and I was confused as to why she was parting with one. Turns out a neighbor found one roaming the neighborhood and, assuming it was one of Tiffany's, placed it in her yard. After a week of searching, she gave up hope of finding “Charlotte”'s owner (so called because of her resemblance to a spider).

I never considered Boston's as a pet. In truth, I think they are just plain ugly. But after joking with Terry about it (and discovering that he sort of liked the idea) I began reading online. Apparently, they are really awesome pets. They are consistently listed in the top ten most trainable breeds, as they are highly intelligent. And, according to several sites, they are great with kids.

I had to make a stop at Tiffany's house yesterday to deliver some catalogs. Let me just tell you, other Boston's would look at this dog and think “dang! She's ugly.” Aside from being spindly, small-headed, and oddly colored, she has a snaggle tooth: one little bottom tooth that sticks up over her top lip. Definitely NOT breed standard.

Anyhow, I decided that, despite her hideous appearance, I would borrow her for a couple of hours to see how she did with three small boys.

When I first got home, Xander was the only one awake. Charlotte was very, well, leary of him. If he would walk close to her, she'd walk to the other side of the room. Didn't seem to be a really big deal, though. As soon as the older two woke up, though, it was a different story. I explained to them that she was scared, so they shouldn't really get to close.

They were really good about not encroaching. Quinten did pick her up once. She shook violently. The boys sat on the floor watching her. She shook violently. Xander cried. She shook violently. After about 15 minutes she hid under my desk. She only came out long enough to see if I'd hold her... then back under. She stayed there for 2 hours.

It became clear that she was not the dog for us. Or, rather, we were not the family for her. Sadly, I returned the ugly dog to Tiffany. She would have been a great pet for me, but not a great pet for our boys. And if we're going to pay $25 extra rent a month, we're getting a pet for the whole family.

Violin Lessons

2007-01-06T09:08:00.000-06:00

In November, our denomination had our state-wide women's convention. It has become the highlight of my year. We stay at a lavish resort, fellowship until side splitting laughter radiates through the entire building, attend educational workshops, make connections with women from other churches, and praise until we have no breath (or tears) left to do so. Add to that the fact that the boys stay home with Daddy and you have my idea of a perfect vacation.

This year, God told me to do something strange. Ok, I take that back... He “asked” me to do something strange (in that sorta commanding way that only He can do, that says “this is what I want you to do... but it's your choice, of course”). I chose to obey.

So I bought a violin.

You see, the Lord, in all His omniscience, has decided that His master plan for the universe is not complete unless I learn to play the violin. Don't worry, you're not the only one scratching your head.

But let me back up....

Friday night during worship I heard that still small voice. That stirring in my heart that you can only understand if you've experienced it. “What Lord? You want me to do what?” Surely, I thought, I was just a little too sleep deprived.

Saturday morning worship rolled aroun,d and while I was significantly more sleep deprived that Friday (remember that “fellowship” I mentioned?), the voice was louder and more clear. Still thinking I just needed a nap, I ignored it.

Saturday evening God decided I needed a loudspeaker in my face... literally. So I'm listening to the words of knowledge and I'm wondering, “am I really crazy, or does God want me to play the violin?” And it hits me. That ton of bricks that lands on your head when the light bulb goes on and you suddenly understand a little more of the mysteries God has ordained for your life. And then the real questions begin.

“We're broke, Lord, and violins are expensive.” Without warning, the words of the vessel of prophecy standing in front of me come clear. “Your worry is not yours to own. God has ordained it, He will make a way.” “But Lord, lessons are expensive.” “That's not your problem,” she says, “it's the Father's.” The only question that remained was how to tell my friends and family without them thinking I was crazy.

Sunday night, I went on Ebay, and bought a violin. I even got a good deal. Seemed logical, right? Except that God told me it was his problem. About two days before it came in the mail, one of my husband's coworkers asked him if our boys might be interested in playing a violin. He had one for sale... for ½ the price of what I paid. I felt a little like Abraham must have when he chose to speed up God's process by taking Hagar. Granted, the fate of an entire future nation wasn't hanging in the balance, but I still felt crummy.

So now I have my violin, and the Lord has been providing a little extra money here and there for lessons. I've had two so far. Then we took three weeks off for the Holidays. I go back today.

But the real meat and potatoes of my story starts here. You see, last night, as I was practicing, I was getting quite frustrated. I'm a perfectionist by nature and the perfect wasn't coming. I've been laboring over my violin for more than two hours some days. When you realize that I'm not much past “Twinkle Twinkle”, this seems almost silly. But gosh darnit! If God told me He wants me to play it, I'm going to do it right!

This morning I was reading in the Psalms. Now there was a musician! Do you know the last Psalm? Psalm 150? It says:

“Praise the Lord. Praise God in His sanctuary; Praise Him in His mighty Heavens. Praise Him for His acts of power; Praise Him for His surpassing greatness. Praise Him with the sounding of the trumpet, praise Him with the harp and lyre, praise Him with Tambourine and dancing, praise Him with the strings and flute, praise Him with the clash of cymbals, praise Him with the resounding cymbals. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord.”

That's the point, isn't it? The real point. My obedience in and of itself is an act of worship, but my follow through has not been. I've been more concerned with doing it “right” that I haven't been doing it right. My actions were in the right place, but my head and heart were not.

I can't be certain that the Father's plan doesn't involve my debut at Carnegie Hall, but I can say it's doubtful. With this in mind, it really matters precious little how well I actually play, only that I do it with a song in my heart. I will be faithful to the process. I will practice each day... a reasonable amount of time. I will attempt to do my best and have to accept that my best may not be perfect. Then again, He never asked it to be.

Their own devises

2006-12-23T17:43:00.000-06:00

If your small child was about to unknowingly run out onto a busy freeway, would you stay silent? I mean, maybe they'll realize before it's too late and if they don't, it's their life. Why should you meddle in it?

Sounds ridiculous, right?

Sadly many fellow Christians are now taking this attitude. I'm encountering more and more Christian friends who will not take their children to church, allow them to go to Christian preschools, share the gospel message at home, or otherwise risk “indoctrinating” them.

These people say things like “I want them to come to their own conclusions” or “who am I to dictate what they believe?”.

Now, whether or not you're a Christian, I think the strangeness of this idea is clear. These very same people will, in a heart beat, state in no uncertain terms that Christ is really the only way to Heaven. So would someone please tell me why they would be so opposed to sharing that knowledge with their children? That's like saying, “I have the cure for my child's illness but unless they a) realize they are sick and b) look long and hard for a cure, I am not going to offer it, nor am I going to let anyone else meddle in their lesson in self-discovery”

I want my children to come to their own conclusions about God. After all, my faith alone will not do them any good in the afterlife. But I also will not hide my faith from them. I want them to know what I believe in hopes that they, too, will make the decisions I made.

But what if I never say much about my faith? What if they grow up searching, but never figure out where to look? What if they assume that my faith obviously is not the answer since I don't feel it's important enough to share with them?

So, instead, my poor subjugated children will have to grow up in Church, hearing the Gospel Message at every turn at home, and endure faith-based schooling. I want them to spend eternity with me and if I believe Christ is the only way to accomplish that, then I will do everything in my power to ensure they know all they can know of Christ. Maybe they'll resent me for it, but more likely they'll thank me for it. After all, even the scriptures say “train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

The muppets - manamana

2006-07-16T22:50:00.000-05:00

Manly Men

2006-07-16T19:16:00.000-05:00

It seems in our culture today, being a man means being expected to fill one of two roles; the “might as well be a woman” man or the “big, dumb, goof” man... Neither, in my opinion, is acceptable or right. Too many sitcoms portray American men as the subservient jester designed to provide comic relief in the family comprised of a highly intelligent “could have done better” wife and the “we're so much smarter than dad” kids. The men who are portrayed as winners are basically women in men's clothing. Often times gay characters, these men wouldn't know a power tool from a flower tool. What ever happened to the “manly man”?

I believe our society has d emasculated our men to such a degree that a serious gender identity crisis is occurring. Many men live miserable confused lives unable to fit either role in which the culture wishes to cast them.

As a woman (and wife, and mother of three future men), I feel inclined to start a grass roots campaign to stand up and salute men who dare to hold on to some outdated notions about who they should be.

(By “manly man”, I in no way mean the chauvinist. Pigs of this sort have no use in any society. I also don't mean to imply that every man should fit the description laid out below. My husband doesn't possess all of these traits, but he is still a manly man. Some of it is a matter of preference.)

Here's to you Mister Manly Man! Here's to the man who still respects a women enough to open the car door for her, not to encourage her to rely on him, but to show gratitude for her role in his life.

Here's to the man who loads the dish washer during the half time show, knowing that the dishes will still be there later, but watching the big game with his buddies is better than all the cigars in Cuba.
Here's to you, mister ________ the tool man _______. For your extensive collection of tools, for your vast knowledge of horsepower, and your undying fondness for anything that could be described by how many cylinders it has.

I tip my hat to you, Manly Fix-it Guy. When the toilet overflows, you have the willpower to overcome the ankle deep moat guarding the bowl in order to exemplify your amazing ability to battle the plumbing and live to tell about it. All the while shouting, “Don't worry honey, everything is under control” and really meaning it.

And let's not forget Mister Wrestle-with-the-boys. His job is one of the most important of all the manly men: Teaching his sons to rough house, play swords, the physics of baseball, and the vocabulary of the garage, all the while wearing the pink tutu his daughter made for him in Home Ec class.

A real manly man prays for his wife and children, leads them in the blessing at dinner, and passes on the moral code of chivalry. He is a knight in shining armor. He rescues the house from the dangerous weed monster, hauls the garbage dragon to the street by it's tail, and lops the limbs from the mad Oak medusa that threatens the very life of the sacred tree house. And when his adventuring is over, he showers, puts on his finest doublet and takes his queen out for a candle lit meal. And while there, he's not afraid to order a beer. After all, he deserves it!

I applaud you, Mister Manly Man, for not being whimpy and femme, and for not being crass and idiotic. Most of all, I thank you, for being the kind of man God created you to be, calloused hands and all.

2006-06-19T10:14:00.000-05:00

The beach boys

Why Bother?

2006-06-02T21:45:00.000-05:00

Upon reading the essay “Why Don't We Complain?” by William F. Buckley, I was struck with a mix of thoughts. On one hand, I see those around me succumb to the chilly silence of acceptance. I am intrigued by this silence, as I, on the other hand, frequently speak my mind regardless of the opinions of those around me. I was raised this way; I was taught how to do so with tact and respect, while making my point clear. My mother is a letter writer (the “what are you people thinking” kind of letters), and the first to point out an incorrect price at the super market even if it is only $.03 off. Perhaps this is residual influence of her days as a teenager in the 60's. Though the essay was written before such notable protesting days, I believe those days may have contributed to why other people are so complacent now.

Buckley assumes the helpless attitudes of his countrymen are a result of the ability to merely pick up a phone to fix a pipe. Lack of personal responsibility on such issues, he concludes, has taught us to forget how to fend for ourselves, so to speak. I disagree.

Buckley himself sites several occasions when he did speak up, only to be met with little or no return for his effort. I assert that this has happened to many people, many times. The Vietnam War protesters are a good case in point. As a result, our society has adopted an attitude of “learned helplessness.”

Learned helplessness, as defined by Stedman's Medical Dictionary, occurs when “...exposure to a series of unforeseen adverse situations gives rise to a sense of helplessness or an inability to cope with or devise ways to escape such situations, even when escape is possible.” In this case, people have learned that complaining does no earthly good... even when it might.

Those who do bother to complain are often youth who lack the effective or, at least, non-vulgar vocabulary to adequately garner the respect in reaction that they seek. Therefore, service related workers are accustomed to immediately needing a wall of defense between them and anyone who starts a sentence with “Excuse me, Miss, but it seems there may be a problem here”. The rest of us (those who have manners, that is) are also subjected to the wall of defense and therefore are left holding the bag of unaddressed issues that Buckley writes about. As a result, many are inclined to think that if we stay silent then we will not confirm the suspicion that our complaints will only fall on deaf ears. A reality that only adds to the overall frustration level brought on by the original complaint.

Another source of this learned helplessness probably stems from a general lack of common sense on the part of such service workers. On a recent trip to McDonald's, the price that displayed on the drive-thru screen for my apple pie was $.10 higher than the price listed on the large print menu before me. Not so much caring about the dime, but being my mother's daughter, I felt the need to bring up the discrepancy to the young girl at window #1. Her immediate response floored me. “Oh, well, like, that's probably the price with tax and stuff”.

What? For starters, I informed her, the tax is calculated at the bottom of the screen on the total amount of the order, not on the item by item list. Secondly, tax in Missouri is not such that an $.89 pie would give the state $.10 in revenue. She was lost and only restated her original hypothesis (a word I'm sure she couldn't spell if paid to do so). Realizing all hope was lost at window #1, I made my case to “food passer outer” at window #2. After pondering the situation for a moment, she, too, came up with the same erroneous explanation.

When I called the manager after returning home with my over-paid-for apple pies, I am quite certain I heard him bang his head on the wall. [The mistake was an honest one as the price had indeed gone up, but due to construction, the sign had not been changed.] One can only be met with such ignorance so many times before one opts to take the silent road and maintain whatever level of personal sanity that may yet be afforded him/her.

Another look into this theory of learned helplessness shows that historically, when a person has the nerve to speak up (usually on matters of import far exceeding that of a train car temperature), the result attained is often not the result desired. No example makes this point as clear as that of Martin Luther. This great revolutionary, the father of Protestantism, had no desire to create a new religion or branch thereof. This is evidenced in the 1518 letter Luther wrote to Pope Leo X. himself. He continues to defer to the pontiff's supreme, God given authority. He merely sought change within the Roman Catholic Church, and such seeking found him excommunicated, unemployed, and the reluctant leader of a brand new denomination.

Some might ask, “Why should people's lack of willingness to complain be a big deal?”. Many Americans hold their tongue so hard for so long that when it is loosed, the full temper and fury of the previously mild mannered individual is bared for all to see. Buckley himself admits to being guilty of this 'crime'. When this happens, rational, mature adults are often reduced to the attitudes and vocabulary of the aforementioned youths who make successful complaining difficult for the rest of us.

I personally plan to actively teach my children how to question authority under the correct guidelines, just as my mother taught me. They will not always win the battle, but they will also be taught a certain level of perseverance. Perhaps if enough parents saw this issue as relevant and important to our culture's collective emotional health, we could raise a new generation of productive complainers.

2006-03-31T17:23:00.000-06:00

Alexander, trying to fall asleep.

2006-03-06T07:34:00.000-06:00

Quinten, on the downside of his first black eye.

2006-03-06T07:32:00.000-06:00

Elijah, looking ornery as usual.

2006-02-03T18:58:00.000-06:00

Baby Alexander is here!

2005-11-28T18:50:00.000-06:00

Elijah, 3 Years old

My boys

2005-11-28T18:47:00.000-06:00

Elijah was born in August of 2002. The last three years with him have provided me with much concern, frustration, and entertainment. The last three months have been especially entertaining. Much of the increase has come about due to Quinten interacting more with him. Quinten was born in July of 2004. The two of them together make quite a pair.

Quinten has already figured out how to provoke Elijah in such a way as to cause serious retaliation. This, of course, results in Elijah's punishment... and a smug look of satisfaction on the face of the younger brother.

If ever two boys could be opposites, these two are. Elijah is very spacial and logical in his play. He has always been the “puzzle king”. He gets so bored with age appropriate puzzles that he will turn them over to do with without the help of the picture. The idea of pretending anything is so foreign to him that he will stare at you as if you had two heads for even suggesting such things. Quinten, on the other hand, is quite creative. Dance time is met with squeals and smiles from Quinten. Elijah will watch us sing and dance around for about 2 minutes before proclaiming, “This no fun. Going to play in my room.”

Quinten still has trouble with shape sorters, but he can recreate most any adult action. Handing him a pocket screwdriver is enough to make his face glow as red as the ringlets on his head. He will rush over to whatever my husband had fixed last and get to work.

Elijah did pick up a flare for the dramatic, presumably from his mother. When told no to any given request, he will plead, “Please? Oh Please.” Occasionally, when really desperate, he'll add in a few more “oh”s to sounds extra pitiful.

If there is something that Quinten wants, he won't even bother asking for it. He'll stack, climb, and do whatever else is necessary to get to the object of desire. Baby gates are no match for his superior problem solving skills.

Lord forbid, however, that you make him mad. He has the Irish temper to go along with his flaming red curls. He often reminds me of the baby on Family Guy. When scolded, he will stomp off to hind under the fish tank. That's when the glares start. The glares that say, “One day, woman, I'm going to take over the world... and you won't be in it.”

In a classic case of 'opposites attract', Elijah has latched onto my artistic husband. If daddy is home, mommy doesn't exist. If I try to do anything for him, I immediately hear, “No! Daddy do it.” I think Elijah sees me as the person left to take care of him when Daddy goes to work. Quinten, however, is a momma's boy. Not so much so that I worry about him getting beat up (although, his stature alone will ensure that doesn't happen), but he definitely favors me.

With two sons as different as the sun and the moon, I can't help but wonder which celestial body will categorize the soon coming Alexander.

Legacy

2005-10-05T14:01:00.000-05:00


"I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things” (Legacy, Words and music by Nichole Nordeman,)

I think that there is a real problem in the Christian church today. In this case, when I talk about the “church”, I mean the people and not the organizations. I will also make a lot of generalizations. Just be aware that I know that what I am saying here does not apply to every Christian, just too many for comfort.

Comfort. That seems to be the heart of the problem. The church is comfortable. I'll challenge any pastor out there to find my a passage of scripture that makes it clear Jesus was comfortable at any point in His life. Jesus spent His ministry years traveling, serving, preaching, and working. Most of all, Jesus spent His time on earth doing.

This Saturday, I walked three miles during the Pregnancy Care Center's annual Walk 4 Life. I'm not a fan of abortion (to put it mildly), but rather than sit on my comfy little sofa and gripe about the abortion rate, I feel it is my job to do something to change it. This change, however, can not come about through picketing and harassment. I chose, instead, a more proactive approach.

I know it's easy for people to say that they need to attend to the physical needs of individuals before they are going to care to hear about what you can offer them spiritually. Easy to say... Jesus Himself explified that ideal and fed the 5,000 hungry men (plus women and children), before even thinking about preaching at them.

I hear at least one person a month make a comment in support of action, but what are they really doing? I suppose this goes for Christians and non-Christians alike, though it angers me more when the church sits on its collective rump. We gripe, moan, and complain in the safety net of our peers, but when it comes down to doing, most fall short. I can't tell you how many times I've been met with a blank stare when I've dared to suggest writing a letter to a congressman.

I am tired of listening to bitter diatribes on abortion, when there is a center in town in desperate need of financial support, donations of items, and volunteers. A center that is actively doing something to love these women who so desperately need help making that life altering decision.

“When I climb down the mountain, And get back to my life
I won't settle for ordinary things” (Show Me Your Glory words and music by Mark Lee, Marc Byrd, and Third Day )

We often speak of “mountain top experiences”. But what long term effects do they really serve? My obligation to God's grace mandates me to actively fill a role in society and the closer I get to God, the more of a role I am called upon to fill. So when I come down from that mountain, I should glow with God's grace, as Moses did.

Maslow may have categorized the Hierarchy of Needs, but God created the system. It stands to reason that, in His grace, He would desire those needs to be filled... from the bottom up. From the basics of shelter and food, to the meta-needs of belonging and love.

If I desire a world filled with God's grace, then it is up to me to do my share of imparting that grace to those around me. Whether that means writing a letter of complaint to make a shopping center safer or addressing the hunger needs of the homeless via local food pantries, I must do something. I know I can't do everything, but if I do my part, at least I will be able to sleep soundly knowing that, while I may not have changed the world today, I've done all I could to leave a legacy.

(This idea how been on my heart for months now. A discussion in class on the DIY ideals pushed me to think about it a little more than I already was. I'm inclined to write a sermon on this idea. Though I don't think it would be well received.

I'll probably do it anyway.)

A pissed American and what I think of it.

2005-09-13T22:04:00.000-05:00

I received the following letter via email today. It sparked a myriad of thoughts, and frankly, made me feel a whole lot better. As a person with extremely cynical tendencies, I have been trying hard to keep such thoughts to myself. But, I have them none-the-less. [At least now I know that I'm not alone in my opinions.] I can't help but cry over the touching stories of those whose lives were washed away, but there is another side that no one seems to be considering.
I AM ONE PISSED OFF AMERICAN BECAUSE: The media has failed to remind the entire world that when the city of New Orleans was ordered to be evacuated it offered transportation to the sick, the weak, the elderly, the poor and the frail. Why doesn't the media remind the world of this fact?
The people who remained behind MADE A BAD DECISION. But it was THEIR DECISION. Personal responsibility involves accepting the consequences of your actions. THE MAYOR OF NEW ORLEANS ISSUED THE EVACUATION ORDER not some pasty faced white guy with nothing better to do than try to inform, educate and mobilize an entire city. THE PEOPLE OF NEW ORLEANS FAILED TO LISTEN TO "ONE OF THEIR OWN". Every individual has a personal responsibility to protect themselves in times of danger. I live in a hurricane prone area. DUH.
If the local authorities tell me to evacuate and I choose to ignore the order then my a** DESERVES to be perched on top of a building after the storm because I was a moronic a**hole for failing to heed LOGICAL, WELL THOUGHT OUT ADVICE FROM THE EXPERTS! The mayor of New Orleans is first in line to protect his city. Why isn't anyone angry at HIM for not "doing more" prior to the storm?
Why weren't local authorities put into place BEFORE the storm hit? Why weren't emergency services strategically located throughout New Orleans earlier? Why didn't the mayor do more to work with the Office of Management and Budget and the Army Corps of Engineers to reinforce the levee before disaster struck? Why haven't the BLACK LEADERS, those currently criticizing our government, done more to help their people?
What about a better effort from the COMMUNITY to uplift and educate their people so they aren't poor, undereducated and dependent on welfare and a "government that forsakes them in a time of crisis." Any individual can make a PERSONAL CHOICE to work hard in school, to learn and to become educated and gainfully employed. No matter how humble or sad your beginnings, you can overcome the odds IF YOU CHOOSE TO...Gee,Oprah Winfrey comes to mind. She never let her race, her socio-economic background or family dysfunction stop her from succeeding in a HUGE WAY. The woman is a billionaire!
According to the liberal media and the liberals in Washington, D.C. she should have never succeeded because the odds were against her. Those same folks would label her a "victim that (white) society had failed". Well, screw that crap! She has showed the world that one can accomplish anything with some guts, dignity, pride and integrity.
I don't want to hear one more storm refugee or media moron discuss how "they were taken by surprise with the storm". GIVE ME A BREAK! A category 4 storm doesn't drop out of the sky. It forms off the coast of western Africa and the world knows about it for weeks! New Orleans is a geographical bowl that had been protected by a levee system DECADES OLD! And it was never designed to withstand the flooding and surge from a CAT 4 storm. So let's go back in history and figure out who made the brilliant decision to design the levee to stand up to a CAT 2 or 3 storm. If you live below sea level and there is massive flooding, you are SCREWED. That is just the law of nature. THAT is why when your local government tells you to evacuate, YOU EVACUATE.
The government is not ignoring the people in New Orleans because they are black and poor. How friggin' dumb do you have to be to believe that? And if you believe, deep down in your heart, that is true....pack your bags and move to Canada, Cuba, Mexico or some other country. If this country is such a hell hole to live in, if our government is so screwed up, then I have one thing to say: "GET THE HELL OUT! GOODBYE, GOOD RIDDANCE AND LEAVE YOUR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP AT THE BORDER AND LIVE IN A SOCIALIST COUNTRY OR A COMMUNIST COUNTRY WHERE EVERYTHING IS JUST SO DAMN PEACHY." - Maggie, 3 Sep. 2005

As the “pissed off American” states in her letter, most of the people who were 'caught in the middle of the storm' CHOSE to be subjected to its wrath.

Despite the inability to function in New Orleans as it stands today, there are still people who refuse to leave. Dead bodies float around them, disease covers everything, they have no running water, and not much food. Yet they expect the government will continue to provide food, water, and other necessities.

I suppose I might have lost a chunk of my heart somewhere, but I have never had much sympathy for people who are hurt, maimed, or killed by disasters when they were adequately warned of their coming.

Furthermore, I think in this colossal version of the Blame Game, American's have lost perspective. Everyone points to the person higher up the on food chain. Logic seems to have little to do with the accusations, either. I am baffled at the distortion of thought that is needed to even follow what's being tossed around right now.

Surely there is plenty of reason to question why it took FEMA so long to arrive on the scene. But to point at President Bush is just ridiculous. It was FEMA's job to handle the rescue of and providing for the evacuees. That's what it's there for. The president's job description does not entail micromanaging all of his subordinates. Oddly enough, President Bush is the only person willing to accept responsibility for this tragedy. In a statement made today, the president said “And to the extent that the federal government didn't fully do its job right, I take responsibility. I want to know what went right and what went wrong.” Coming from a man who seems unable to admit any possible mistakes, this is truly amusing.

I doubt that I will ever hear the esteemed Mayor of New Orleans remind us of the fact that approximately 3 years ago his city was warned by Washington that the levees were in desperate need of upgrade. Nor will I probably ever hear him admit that he squandered government grants that could have been used to make such upgrades to, instead, build new golf courses and improve other miscellaneous tourist attractions.

Please don't think I'm completely heartless. A very dear friend of mine lives/lived in New Orleans with her husband and 11 month old daughter. I have not been able to find out anything about where she is or even if they made it out of the city alive. Perhaps it is because of my feeling of being helpless to help Gina and her family that I plan to go through our garage this week to find anything that might be of use to those who have been relocated to the Springfield area (about 700 people). I am also encouraging others around me to do the same. Those who were affected by this storm lost everything, regardless of when they left the city. I feel inclined to do whatever I can to help them get back on their feet.

Are you in?

2005-08-06T17:05:00.000-05:00

What really is the point of an outdoor dog? I mean, it seems to me that if one is going to spend the money on dog food, the time on feeding, grooming, and scooping poop, and the energy to trudge across the yard to do so, they might as well get something out of it. And unless you also make the trek for love and affection (which most owners of outdoor dogs could care less about), then what is it that you are getting?

Outdoor dogs can be effective guard dogs, except that they are usually chained in the back corner of the back yard. Not very threatening to a thief in the house.

Many people say that they want to own a dog, but don't want to deal with the hair in the house, or the dog jumping on them when they come home, or trying to housebreak them, or other sorts of things. That's like saying you want a baby but don't want to be bothered with changing diapers or listening to him/her cry. It's crazy! If you don't want to deal with the downsides of a dog, don't flippin get one in the first place.

Oh, but the kids want one... tell them to get over it. They can't have everything. Besides, are you really prepared for the chorus of “but he's too cold out there” all winter long? And what of them wanting to always be outside to play with the dog. That's great for nice weather, but not such a good idea during that mid-February blizzard.

I won't even get into the psychology of a dog and how they are truly pack animals. Keeping them outside in isolation usually makes for one emotionally distraught animal.

As a lazy person, other such things come to mind. The inside dog is as easy to feed as his dog bowl is in within reach. Walking outside (especially in afore mentioned bad weather) is not usually on my list of desired daily activities. Flea control is easier on an inside dog. The list goes on...

Perhaps my ultimate lack of understanding comes from the fact that I am also inherently selfish. If I own a dog, I want to see that tail wag upon my return. I want to feel that cold wet nose on the back of my leg when he misses me. I want to cuddle and hold that crazy thing because it makes me feel good.

(Thank you Jaxia for the inspiration for this entry)

It's a good feeling to know you're alive...

2005-08-03T13:28:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that as a society, American's expect a catch 22 situation when it comes to early childhood television programs?

We want our children's TV teachers to speak to them in a way that will grab their attention and communicate effectively to their young minds. But when the characters are actually able to pull off this difficult task, we think they are gay or really off the wall.

I just mentioned to my best friend that my son ran off to watch Mr. Rogers. Her immediate response was “eeeeew, pervert”. I often hear similar comments in regards to the Wiggles. Both of which, my son watches intently and ultimately learns from.

Now, I'm not going to spend a lot of effort defending the Wiggles. Their super stardom does not need my assistance. But I have a soft spot in my heart for Mr. Rogers. So I will express myself freely on that note.

Mr. Rogers (or Rev. Fred Rogers, as some call him), was a revolution in and of himself. He saw the need to share things with children that many assumed they were too young to care about or understand. But he did it in such a way that they did care and understand. Everyday from 11- 11:30 am, my toddler learns about sharing, how combs are made, why it's important to feed the fish, and how many neighbors do extraordinary things. Situations that are usually scary for a small child (i.e. Going to the dentist) are brought out in full color and explained in great detail (often as Mr. Rogers himself goes through them). Instead of mommy telling him that the dentist will not be scary, Mr. Rogers shows him what to expect and how non-threatening it really is.

As a pastor, he did the Lord's work with great vigor.. and he carried that calling into a TV children's ministry that still reaches millions every day. As a man, he was kind and considerate. My mom often worked for WQED (the PBS studio in Pittsburgh where Mr. Rogers was filmed). When she and step-dad #1 eloped, he was upset that she hadn't told him of her impending marriage... only in so far as he wanted to throw her a party. Which he promptly did on her next day at work. When I had occasion to meet him for the first time, my 4 year old zeal kicked in and I rushed him, latching on to his leg. My mom was so embarrassed and apologized. He bucked her apology and scooped me up, swinging me in the air. He truly cared about the children whom he tried to teach each day.

Now, I understand that there are a few children's TV icons (*cough* Mr. Herman *cough*) who really did/ do have some serious issues. But for parents to scoff at each person who has been blessed with the gift of communicating with children is not only wrong, it's a tragedy.

The little clapboard cap

2005-08-02T18:37:00.000-05:00

The countdown has begun! Today, I submitted my application for graduation (and my nominal processing fee). Nine and a half long years after beginning my college experience, I will finally have a piece of paper to show for it, albeit merely an associates.

It does, however, put me one step closer to the end of my formal education. Said piece of paper will declare to all the world that I have complete all my general education classes and am ready to focus solely on my area of expertise. Of course, that's exactly the reason I didn't get my diploma within my first 4 years of college. I hated gen-eds.

Amazing how age and life experience can affect ones ability to do well in school. Feeling a bit nostalgic about my early years as a university student, I've been taking a trip down memory lane.

My freshman year went fairly well. I pulled a “B” average with a few interspersed “A”s. My sophomore year, social life kicked into overdrive and I down shifted in studies, leaving me with a “C” average.

My Junior year was broken up into 2 years... and it took me that long to come out with a “D” average. Most of that was due to a relationship with a 'man' who thought that my study time cut too much into our make out time. So, despite his graduating on time, I gave up the game.

Three years, a different man, and one baby later, I opted to return to school. This time choosing the much less expensive community college to catch up on the afore mention pesky gen-eds. Of course, as fate would have it, merely two months into that year, I found out I was expecting our second baby. So, I would knock out one more year before taking another break.

Funny thing was that (I'm sure due in part to the much easier community college classes), I finished out that year with a perfect 4.0 GPA, morning sickness and all.

Towards the end of my first semester back, I was approached by a group of students from my anthropology class. They were looking for me to help them prepare for the final exam. One of them asked me “so, do you actually care about all this stuff this lady is teaching?” When I asked why he would presume such a thing, he replied “well, because you always ask questions and seem to actually study and stuff”. Help me out here, but that seems to have little to do with my interest level in the subject manner. I was under the impression that that was how one earned good grades. I was the only one who got an “A” on that final, btw.

I also remember viewing class attendance as purely optional (within the allotted number of cuts). I would often return to my dorm catch a quick nap only to decide that quick wasn't long enough. I also had a tendency to “rob Peter to pay Paul”. I would skip one class to do the assignment for another. And so the snowball would begin. Although, I also had a sort of ranking system to determine which assignments were worth doing and which were as optional as class attendance.

What was I thinking?! Just a couple of years older and wiser, I went the whole school year having only missed 2 classes (one each of two), and that was because of an unavoidable dental appointment that my husband had to keep. As far as homework, I think I missed a 5 pnt. Assignment once for my Comp class.

So now I am facing my final semester at community college. Go me! Come December 18^th I will finally walk that commencement line. . o O (I hope they make those robes in maternity sizes.)

[I'm sorry if anyone is actually reading this post.. I realize that it doesn't have much of a point. Just felt like writing it, is all.]

"Someday" maybe the view will change.

2005-07-12T12:42:00.000-05:00

I recently overheard a girl talking to a friend at the mall. The girl couldn't have been older than 17. Based on the overabundance of makeup and skimpy clothing, she could have been as young as 14 (it's just so hard to tell anymore). She mentioned something about Britney Spear's new video and then remarked about how cool it would be to be pregnant. Cool, huh? Well, this got my little wheels turning.

First, since I know almost nothing about Britney Spears, I decided to see what this 'new video' was all about. Apparently, Britney is either the most elated mom-to-be ever, or is using her pregnancy as a really good publicity stunt. Either way, her newish video, entitled “Someday”, is her way of flaunting it. Let me add a note here: I am all about celebrating pregnancy, and I am truly happy that a 23 year-old, married Britney is doing so.

I'm sure that all of you see where this train wreck is heading... But I will continue, none-the-less.

Pop culture has presented us with a romanticized outlook on pregnancy. It's not very glam to show the current pop icons camped out on the bathroom floor, hair as disheveled as possible, hugging the bowl and retching up last week's dinner. Instead, we hear casual jokes about a hint of nausea. And that's only the beginning of the great media cover-up.

A number of years ago, my then fourteen year old cousin wanted nothing more than to get pregnant. Just two years older, but a lot wiser, I asked her the obvious “why?”. Apparently, according to her, pregnancy was the coolest thing ever. You get to wear cutesy clothes, get out of school for doctor's appointments, and (most important) everyone dotes on you. At no point did she mention any of the crazy junk your body goes through, or, for that matter, the baby!

In school we get a very unemotional, scientific approach. On screen, we hear all about how glorious it is. Our sisters and mothers tell us a few labor horror stories. Our picture of gestation is clouded, jaded, and incomplete. Is it any wonder that each year in America, nearly 1 million teens become pregnant (http://www.coolnurse.com/pregnancy2.htm) (which is, by the way, double that of any other idustrialized country)?

In case there are some of you reading this who do not know me, now would be a good time to point out that I am currently 10 weeks pregnant with my third baby. I think, I just might know a thing or two about this whole strange process. So, I feel inclined to share some insights.

In general, pregnancy is a wonderful thing. God designed a unique and wondrous way to propagate future generations. But, out of obligation to the greater truth, I must warn you, the day to day stuff sucks.

There is insomnia, often a chronic bad taste in your mouth, difficulty breathing, achy legs, sore back, round ligament pain (which is about the worst abdominal pain I've ever experienced)... and that's just for starters. Once the little one's bones are large and strong enough, you get kicked. The first few times, it's the greatest feeling in the world. But the 100^th time your bladder is pummeled in the middle of your only movie night out in a month, it gets old (or, as a friend experienced, you have an unusually strong baby that actually bruises your ribcage). I'll stop here, as I think you get the point.

When it's all said and done, the next set of complaints begin... you actually take that little squirmy pink thing home! The first few days are bliss. You barely notice the lack of sleep. There are about 100 people bringing food and clothes and other goodies. They each take their turn calming the cries. Then reality sets in. Everyone else goes back to their lives and you become the only one there to feed, burp, rock, clean, swaddle, clean (wow, that's a lot of poop!), hold, calm, clean... and on and on and on. Even if dad is around, chances are he's working (one would hope).

I think it's time to start national campaign. Moms, Unite!! We are obligated to inform our daughters of the way things really are. Be blunt, be bold, but most of all, open your mouth! Teens need to know that there is more to pregnancy than Britney is willing to show them.

[to view Brtiney's video of "Someday", visit http://music.yahoo.com/musicvideos/ and click her picture]

I'm still here, just busy

2005-02-09T12:29:00.000-06:00

For those of you who actually follow this silly thing, I though I'd better give you an update. My life has changed in a dramatic way since my last post. I have stopped selling Mary Kay (per God's instruction) and have opted to instead create with my own hands. I am now making baby slings (carriers of a sort) and selling them. I am just beginning and am getting a really good response already.

We have chosen our exchange student for next year. Her name is Nadine and she is from Germany. I will be telling more about her later. We are very excited to be opening our home to her for 10 months.

In case you're curious, I'm still working on my first really good post. I just have not had much time to write lately. Between sewing, perfomances, church activities, and most of all, my family, I've been mad busy. Please bear with me in this crazy time.. I promise I've not forgotten about all of you.

Another Oddity

2005-01-10T09:37:00.000-06:00

I was struck with another thought while reading blogs these last few days. So, lucky for you, I decided I needed to share.

One post that I read hinted at the computer as means of connecting people from all over the world. While is one regard this is true, it also makes me feel horribly disconnected.

There are people with whom I've been chatting for over a year and a half that I feel I have a bit of a bond with. The idea, however, that I will most likely never actually meet these people face to face saddens me a bit.

This got my little brain a-turnin'. I am a very social creature. This would lead one to believe that I am grateful for the advancement of computer, the telephone, and other such devices. This couldn't be further from the truth.

In out effort to expand our horizons, we have internalized to such a degree that we have defeated our own purpose. We spend countless hours chatting with a group of people we will never really know and yet couldn't recall the last time we talked with our neighbor (and what is her name, anyhow?). As with most things in our society, we have traded substance for convenience.

So here is the real meat and potatoes of what I'm getting at: where does one establish actual friendships anymore? And how does one go about it? There are people at church whom I've invited for dinner only to be met with odd stares and sideways glances. I guess old-fashioned friendships aren't on the agenda for today's modern 'man'.

I'd rather hop in the van and drive to a friend's house than call on the phone, so I guess you can add that to the long list of things that mankes me, well, unusual. If anyone is actually keeping track, I believe that's item number 428.

Lock me up and throw away the key.. I'm a lost cause!

2004-12-28T11:19:00.000-06:00

Apparently I am a complete and total nut-job! Did you know that I have the audacity to think that there is a direct correlation between our day to day health and our day to day diets? I know, pull out the straight jacket now… there’s no help left for me.

I was ganged up on yesterday when I dared to suggest that a man with chronic cold-like symptoms might look into eating a more natural diet, full of the kinds of foods that God created, and not those that man produces. So, I guess that makes me a tree-huggin’ looney or something.

Why is it so hard for our society to accept that there is a direct correlation between what we eat and how our body works? We don’t even think about such a correlation between our vehicles and their fuel. But day after day we stuff our gas tanks full of diesel fuel and wonder why our Mustangs don’t run right (or at all). Heaven forbid someone suggest we switch to unleaded. If diesel is the ‘norm’, then diesel is it, regardless of performance.

As Christians, we tend to shun anything inherently Jewish. So the idea of eating according to the principles outlines in Scripture is obviously under the ‘old covenant’. Funny how we dismiss anything we don’t agree with (in our natural minds) to "being under the old covenant". Well, this is certainly true of sacrifice, as Christ was the final one needed, but what of the rest? Where in the New Testament does it tell us that the entire Old Testament is no longer relevant? And if that is truly the case, why bother to keep the first half of the Bible around at all? I know that my Student Life Study Bible would be a whole lot easier to carry around without it. This would also eliminate that pesky argument over the Ten Commandments.

Perhaps it should occur to us that as the Creator of our bodies, God knows best how to care for them. Did you know that during the plague of the Middle Ages, the Jews were virtually untouched? London lost one half of its overall population, but only a handful of Jews. If the eating instructions found in Leviticus and other places in the Word kept the Jews clean of such a massive deathblow, doesn’t it stand to reason that a similar diet could help ‘modern man’ stave off such afflictions as Asthma, Allergies, or even Cancer?

You know what’s even crazier? Medical science actually backs up the ideas God gave us 100%! They may not be popular, but any med student with half a brain will concede that eating processed foods is not conducive to an entirely healthy lifestyle.

So again, the big bad monster of convenience has overtaken western culture. Those people groups that we consider primitive are living lives free of the most common diseases. Until we ship then 100 tons of boxed dinners and canned goods and mainstream meat (full of antibiotics, growth hormones, and totally genetically altered), they will continue to live healthy spry lives cut short only by random animal attacks and falls from high cliffs.

Our grocery stores can be a good thing in that we no longer have to trek into the woods to gather our nuts and berries. A trip down aisle 2 takes care of that. But heading into aisles 3 and 4, we find frozen everything, from bread to steak. And flipping over those cold boxes, do we even recognize the first ingredient listed? And what about the rest of the long list? Shouldn’t a bag of frozen corn just contain corn? What else do we need? Benzlesodiumnitrate, apparently.

So here is sit, awaiting the men in the little white jackets. They’ll come and take me away to a ‘happy place’. But as long as they continue to let me eat according to my insane ideas, I (and my family) will live long, healthy lives with barely a sniffle.

{If you are interested in what the Bible says about eating healthier and living a more productive life, I suggest looking into the Maker's Diet}

Doomed for the Holidays

2004-12-24T01:48:00.000-06:00

I am now officially screwed at Christmastime. Not being one of those people who seems (eerily, in my opinion) on top of everything, I am now faced with the ultimate test of familydom, knowing in advance, that I will fail miserably. Friends and family members who might have, until now, thought that I was at least half way capable of doing my job as matriarch of my household, will begin to whisper about my qualifications behind my back (and, in the case of my in-laws, possibly in front of it, as well).

This will be our third year as a family with a child. Here I thought I’d crossed a major responsibility milestone this year by actually taking the boys to get "Christmas pictures" done (though I waited so long they weren’t going to be returned until the 22nd). For Elijah’s first Christmas, my in-laws thought it would be a good idea to get a big family picture done as a gift for the grandparents. This started me out on the right track, but when I didn’t send them to anyone until after Christmas, I realized that family life had not changed my inability to actually send a Christmas card.

I say ‘inability to send’ because every year I faithfully shop for, buy, fill out, and address about 30 or so Christmas cards. They just never make it to the mail. This has been one of my Holiday traditions for about 6 years or so.

Well now the stakes have been raised. Not only is it expected that I will drag the kids to the portrait studio in the mall by the end of November, pick up the pictures in a timely manner, go through the nightmare of deciding who gets which prints (only to give up and send everyone one of each), buy and fill out the cards, and actually stamp them, now I am also contracted (as the matriarch) to write and irritating little letter attempting to sum up our family’s year in 250 words or less. Oh what fun it is to write….

This weeks mail was attack of the update letters! I don’t know where they all came from, nor do I entirely remember some of the senders. From friends, to fellow Mary Kay consultants, to a lady I once gave a business card to in Walmart (no joke), the letters, with attached family picture and card, have overtaken my kitchen table. In a feeble attempt to get them out of the way, yet not throw them out (as that seems like some sort of inviolable act), I refinished my refrigerator with them. I never did like that blah white anyhow.

Needless to say this is just another on the long list of Christmas time expectancies that I will not attend to. Which leads me to ask, "Why should I?" I mean, who really cares about those silly updates anyhow? And wouldn’t it stand to reason that if someone really is interested in what my family has been doing for the last year, they would already know? This waste of paper seems to be an insult and an annoyance all in one. The people who would actually take the time to read it would be insulted that I assume they don’t already know the information, and those who could really care less are put in a position to find some method of filing it away without further clutter to their home.

So, I’ve come to the conclusion that my lack of gumption in the area of the Christmas correspondence is actually to your benefit. Or at least that’s what I will tell myself so I will sleep well tonight… but not before I finally get around to putting up my tree.

Womenly Manhood

2004-12-14T15:15:00.000-06:00

I have come to the conclusion that modern feminism is not feminism at all. It is, rather, an attempt on the part of the female race to be more inherently male. As women, we now view strength and power as those things that make us more like men. "Successful" women even wear business suits and keep their hair short.

I am here to buck the system and put out a challenge to that way of thinking. How does becoming more manly make you a better woman? There is no logic there.

I was told the other day that I was one of ‘those women’ who are hindering the advancement of our gender. One might be inclined to ask why a person would say such a harsh thing. Well, I’ll tell you. I have the audacity to embrace all things ‘girly’.

Yes, apparently being girly is the very downfall of womanhood! Who knew? I am the anti-woman because I wear pink and like lace and frills! How dare I desire nothing more than to stay home and raise my babies and make my business work around such demands instead of the other way around?!

Many women see chivalry as a hideous crime. For me, however, finding someone who loves me enough to hold my door and dote on me is very empowering. It says to me that someone (namely my wonderful husband) thinks that I am worth that level of respect. I embrace the term ‘princess’ with open arms and love everything that entails. All little girls want to be princesses, what changes in adulthood? Why is it suddenly equated with being a ditz (also a term used to describe me and my froo froo ways)?

Don’t think that I would like to return to the dark ages where men were in control and women were their possessions. Nor would I like to return to twenty years ago when women made less for doing the same tasks. I just think ‘we’ve’ taken our feminist ideas to the extreme, and in the process, have lost our femininity completely.

So I will continue to wear pink, grow my hair long, call myself a princess (as a daughter of the King of Kings, I truly am), and graciously bow as my husband opens my car door.

2004-12-08T15:17:00.000-06:00

Elijah And Quinten, Christmas 2004

I once was lost....

2004-12-07T12:00:00.000-06:00

I had spent the last few weeks packing. Everthing I owned went into some sort of box or storage container. If it had been under different circumstances, it might have almost been sad. For me, in this moment, however, there was only relief.

This escape had been three and a half years in the making. Almost the instant my relationship with Michael started, I wished it would end. No use thinking about the past, though. It was over - a bit late, but over none-the-less.

I paced in front of the window waiting anxiously for my ride. When I heard a car, I leapt to the door, popping out like a jack-in-the-box. It had begun. The moment I'd prayed for till my voice went hoarse. I was leaving!

I honestly never thought it would happen without some sort of grand divine intervention. Surely the strength to overcome this bondage was not to be found within myself. I often resorted to praying, well, begging rather, that some disaster would result in my release. Maybe Michael would find a different woman he'd rather be with and leave me for her; maybe he would just have a heart attack from all that anger and the entire world would be rid of him.

Over the last few weeks, though, my imagination was preoccupied with questions of what was in store for me this summer. My questions all seemed a bit like that of a child about to enter a new school. What would the other conselors be like? Would I pass my lifeguard test? What age group would i have in my cabin? The question that plagued me most, though, was whether or not Michael would actually let me go.

Michael never let me do much. Unless I could convince him it was in Michael's best interest, life was off limits to me. I worked (two jobs) because that meant he could work less. That one was his idea. But doing theatre, that was my idea.

I had an empty place in my heart where a stage should have been. An actor who doesn't act is a miserable person. There were enough other things around to make me miserable, this one had to change. One day I had an epiphany. It had to have been God. I would have never thought of it without divine inspiration. You see, Michael loved nothing more than to be the center of the universe. To this end, he wanted to be a politician. Knowing he believed the local Christian community was the key to this goal, I convinced him that it would look good for his soon-to-be-wife to get involved in the local Christian theatre. Of course it took some finesse in my speech. More iportantly, I implied that I would do this for him, solely out of duty. If he thought I might enjoy myself, the ruse would be foiled.

Getting a part in the first show I auditioned for was an unexpected thrill. I would have people to talk to and a way to daily escape the house sooner than I had hoped. In one of those 'ain't God cool' moments, I learned that a fellow cast member was the director of the local YMCA camp. He frequently put out the call for more counselors. This brought back fond memories of the camp where I had spent many summers working: memories of a much more pleasant time in life.

This also made me think of the future, or rather, what it could be. Much of my captivity stemmed from the fact that I had nowhere to go, no way to get there, and no money of my own to pay for the trip. Michael had seen to it that I was totally dependant upon him. Working at a summer camp would give me what I needed to get away. It would be a place to live - not that a small cabin in the woods was my ideal home, mind you, but it would be temporary. More importantly, it would give me much needed time to work with no immediate bills. This meant 'get started' money. Paired with the rainbow of images of my past camp experiences, this seemed the ideal 'out'.

Now I would be making new memories, assuming all went as planned. I had attempted to leave Michael many times before. I had been quite unsuccessful. It was in one such attempt that I wound up futher down the rabbit hole: engaged. My futile effort to walk out the door found me hurtling through the air and crashing into a wall. Everything went black. When I came to, I was in the bed with a ring on my finger. Not exactly one to call mom about.

I looked down at my left hand, relieved to no longer see that little diamond set in gold. I can olnly assume it went back to the pawnshop from whence it came. Perhaps he held onto it for the next girl who'd giver her life up for him. No matter to me. I no longer wore it and Michael seemed okay with that. Just as we began loading boxes into the back of the Jeep, Michael came downstairs. I held my breath. This was it. I knew he would never let me leave him. To my shock, however, he lifted a box and asked "Does this one go?" I took a breath. Not just any breath, but my first breath of freedom. I knew in that moment that the nightmare was over.

When the Jeep was packed to capacity, I made arrangements to return the following weekend and retrieve what remained. Then I walked out the door. Though I knew I would be back in a few days, there was finality in my steps. Reaching the yard, I believe I ran. I may even have skipped a little. I felt very childish and I didn't care. I jumped into the Jeep and did one of my once famous 'happy dances'. I looked back to the porch and saw Michael standing there. I hoped he had seen my joy and I hoped it had made him mad.

As we pulled away from the house, a strange sensation came over me. I actually felt a sense of loss. I imagine it was a lot like the psycho-babble the media spouts in regard to freed hostages missing their captors. This feeling would be responsible for a few trips back to visit Michael over the next couple of weeks.

There was only one attempt on his part, during that time, to restore our relationship. Realizing I had no desire to be near him, I turned him down. I never went to visit him again (with the exception of borrowing what had once been 'our' tents for an overnight float trip).

Once I let go of missing my old life, I was able to relax and spend the sumer having way more fun than I probably should have. I relapsed into a youthful attitude, one that I had been robbed of me a bit too soon. Oddly enough, this led to my growing up. Spending late nights, sitting on top of the climbing tower with my teen campers, I was able to reflect on the events of the past three plus years. I pinpointed each bad decision I had made that lead to my imprisonment.

I made resolutions and promises to myself. I found strength in myself. After all, I had managed to leave all on my own. Taking control of my life, I spent the summer preparing for life after camp. I saved a few pennies here and there to buy a car - my first ever. I lined up a place to live. I called an old boss and had some work waiting for me. But mostly, I found myself.

While I'm Thinking of it...

2004-12-05T17:43:00.000-06:00

Please feel free to read and react. Comments are both allowed and encouraged. I like to hear what other people truly think about that which I've written. If you spot a spelling error, or horrible use of the language, please point it out so I can fix it (unless it was intentional). Don't worry about offending me, as I don't bother to worry about offending you.

The Court

2004-12-05T09:28:00.000-06:00

I walked in the door and up the stairs, just as I did each day after school. I dropped my book bag beside the table where I would later do my homework. I then headed into my room to stow my jacket and purse.

I heard coughing from the other bedroom. She was awake. I rolled my eyes.

The floor creaked and the door whined as she poked her head out. "Where’s my brush?"

"I don’t know."

"Yes you do. I know you took it. Give it to me."

" I really don’t know, Mum. I saw it in the bathroom last night."

With that, she flew down the hall and into my room. "Oh boy, here we go", I thought.

"I will tear this room apart until I find it, or you could save me the trouble and just give it to me!"

"I really don’t know" was all that eaked out.

In an instant, books were soaring through the air. When the shelf was cleared, she moved on to the desk. My can of pencils was sent crashing to the floor. Then the lamp. Then the notebooks. Each video on the entertainment center was removed from its case and lobbed at me. That was my cue to duck and cover.

I knew the game well. It was always the same routine. First the bookshelf, then the desk, then the entertainment center. She never toppled the TV or VCR, though. I suppose she was more afraid of hurting herself than breaking them. I had purchased the electronics myself, so she had no investment in them.

I sat on the floor with my bunker/bed as shelter and assumed she’s next go to the closet. My mind raced as I desperately searched my thoughts for anything that she might find there to anger her more. My closet had been my hiding place for the things every teenager had, but were forbidden to me. After she found my stash of ‘love’ notes, however, I had made attempt to remove all other contrabdan. Huddled on the hard wood, I believed that I was safe, at least as far as the closet was concerned.

Just as I predicted, the closet door went flying open, smashing into the wall. She methodically removed each article of clothing from its hanger and tossed the material and metal alike onto my bed. Kneeling, she flung each shoe over her shoulder without care for its destination.
Like a whirlwind, she finished the desolation in seconds. As each dresser drawer was turned fiercely onto the floor, an amusing thought crossed me. "This mess doesn’t look nearly as bad as the last. She’s losing her touch." I almost smiled, but that wasn’t in the rules.

Rrrrring!

"You’re grounded for two weeks or until you return my brush. Whichever comes last."

"Hello" she sweetly sang.

That was my cue to solemnly rise and begin the arduous task of putting each item back from whence it came. This part normally took about an hour. As always, during my time alone, mindlessly organizing, I wondered how she had the strength to trounce through my room like a cyclone, yet was too weak to do her own laundry. I supposed that her illness was selective in when to rear its head.

Each time she passed my door I would slow down and appear as an injured lamb. When she wasn’t listening, I sang to myself. It made the work less irritating.

Upon my completion, I buckled down on my homework. I was now behind and still had to make dinner.

As I poured over my notes, I couldn’t help notice Mum standing in the bathroom brushing her hair.

Why do we feel the need to title everything?

2004-11-21T16:08:00.000-06:00

>>A recent email has reminded me of a very serious epedemic
>>>that has surfaced in our digital universe.. that of the forward. Forwards, in and of themselves, are often >>irritating little snipits of scam and myth, but the script they tend to appear in is by far the most annoying.
>>I'm inclined to wonder if the senders care at all for the sanity >>>of the recipients. Wading through lines of >>incoherent spacing and
>>odd little carrot words,
>>one is called upon to employ every power of deduction they possess.
>>A question comes to mind... is it really that difficult to copy the "worthwhile" message into a new email, taking >>the few seconds required to delete said carrots
>>and realign the sentences into something more legible (not >>neglecting to delete the 30+ lines of those who >>were sujected to this torture before us)?
>>Although I suppose the absolute solution to this problem would simply >>be>> to trash all emails that explicitly tell >>you otherwise, delete all containing the words "wish" or "or else", and hurl into oblivion any that call upon the >>reciever to send a copy back to the sender to prove some sort of love or loyalty.

Not always negative

2004-11-14T13:38:00.000-06:00

I would like to thank those of you who've read my posts thus far (and a great big thanks to those who've bookmarked my page). I did want to let you all know that I'm not usually as negative as the last two days would imply... So on that note, think happy thoughts! :) I would encourage each of you to look into how to write an affirmation and begin work on your own life changing sentences.

Here is mine, as example (omitting the lines that only pertain to my business):
I am a beautiful woman of God, empowered by the Holy Spirit to do great things! As a princess in His kingdom, I am blessed with talents beyond measure, able to accomplish all He has called me to do. I am wearing the clothes I want to wear, eating healthy foods, and taking my boys on frequent outings. Terry has the choice to drive any car he wants. My family is totally secure in our financial future and my boys are going to college debt free.

Another soapbox of concern...

2004-11-14T06:33:00.000-06:00

I have recently come under fire for another of my parenting practices. This time, in regard to vaccines. So, again I climb onto my soap box. First let me say that my aversion to vaccines began after my son suffered what I would characterize as a 'near death' experience after being inoculated. To my horror I was informed that his level of reaction was still within "normal parameters"!

Now, I do not expect every parent to do his/her research and conclude that vaccines aren't worth their risk. What I am appalled at are the numbers of people who don't even think such research is necessary based soley on the fact that "a dr. told me it was safe so it must be". To those who put such a tremendous blind faith in the medical profession, I have this to say:

Years ago parents where told that putting their babies to sleep on their backs would lead to a flat spot on the head that would, in turn, cause the bran to form improperly. this sounds logical enough, right? We now 'know' that this idea is simply not true (well, they get a flat spot, but it has nothing to do with brain developement). In retrospect, 'they' are saying that this unfounded practice led to thousands of dead babies through SIDS. Well, if we accept as fact everything that the medical community throws at us, we are saying that we are so arrogant to think that, at this moment in time, we've reached the pinnacle of knowledge and everything from here on out is beyond mistake. So if you have a crystal ball and can look into the future and see that in 50 years we are still making and using these vaccines in exactly the same way and there are no long term effects, then by all means, use that crystal ball.. I, however, don't have such "evidence" in my repertoire.

A soapbox of concern

2004-11-13T10:01:00.000-06:00

I feel inclined to climb onto a soapbox today. I have had several recent conversations that have just blown my mind. There are an alarming number of parents out there who are willing to risk bringing about illness in their children, simply for the sake of convenience. I know this sounds outlandish. I mean, what kind of parent would do such a thing. I will tell you...

Yesterday, while chatting in my usual room, the subject of diapers came up. Now being a more aware parent than I was just 6 months ago, I am using cloth diapers. When my sanity was challenged on this issue, I began to site reasons for embarking on this "messy endeavor" (as it was put to me). I first listed the fact that cloth diapers made my wallet happier, and with two small children in them, my wallet needs all the extra happiness it can get. Then I moved on to the environmental impact. Disposable diapers make up 4% of our countries landfills. That may seem like a small number to some, but when our country is rapidly filling to the brim with garbage, we need to do whatever it takes to stave off a total trash take over (at lest until we figure out ways to pollute space with our waste). I also cited the fact that my children immediately let me know when they were wet (as they actually feel it in cloth) so there is a sanitation issue, as well. If a wet/dirty diaper is removed more quickly, the child is not sitting in his/her own waste for any amount of time waiting for mom or dad to come "check" them.

From there, I brought up the 'contoversial' topic of Asthma. Many health experts have expressed concern that disposable diapers are contributing to the rise of childhood Asthma (more correctly, chemical makeup of these diapers). Now, admittedly, there are other health experts that would disagree. Granted, the evidence that I've seen seems to be overwhelmingly in favor of the first group of experts. Enter my disbelief. Many parents have commented in response to such information "I don't care, cloth diapers are too much trouble"! (I might add at this point that cloth diapers are no trouble at all, IMO). I suppose one might say that a child does not need a winter coat because wrestling the little people to get them on is "too much trouble". I mean, there's no rule that says a child without a coat will most assuredly get sick... so, I guess it would be worth the risk, right?

Now, the majority of parents out there who use disposable diapers will never hear a valid argument to do otherwise. And one can't be falted for not having been made aware. Fortunately for my boys, I was. And if there's the slightest chance that these health experts are right, and that there is a direct link between diaper chemicals and Asthma, I feel it is my obligation as a parent to avoid exposing my children to such things. Silly me, apparently.

Attempt at writing again

2004-11-10T23:43:00.000-06:00

a heart of passion set ablaze
whilst entrapped in a torturous maze
now awake from slumber so long,
the firey heart is full of song

a song of passion to end heart's strife
this passion breeds love, this passion is life
caught up in the music of a gothic romance
relearning the steps to a mythic dance

a dance of passion, old, yet new
a heart of fire finds itself renewed
and locked behind steely eyes
the secrets of the centuries hide

a secret passion sets wings aflight
and in the soul, a flame ignites
a questioning heart afraid to speak
flying to find the answers it seeks

a passionate answer
that can only be found
in a lovelorn poet
and the queen he crowned