the mommy memoir

40 Days For Life: Thoughts and Motivations

2009-11-01T23:28:00.019-06:00

What an amazing time. 40 Days for Life has drawn to a close and now we give thanks and rejoice in the amazing strides made as a direct result of this campaign. 534 human beings saved! Eight health care providers and staff members left abortion clinics, citing an inability to continue to partake in the wrongdoing. Living proof (literally) of the power of prayer.

So on this brisk November night, we collectively caught our breath, offered thanks, and by candle light, joined together in song and prayer. This vigil has ended but there will be another. And another. You can count on it.

Of course, there was a bit of name-calling. Loser, psycho, freak, woman hater, nut bag, nut job, and whack job all come to mind. Par for the course, apparently. After a while, the shrill verbal assaults become minor background noise compared to the booming voice of prayer. When you know you're doing right, an angry shriek of contempt becomes small and irrelevant.

Still, by and large, reaction to the vigil has been overwhelmingly positive. Passing cars frequently honked as a show of support. Shouts of praise and encouragement were commonplace. It was clear by the number of people offering support that 40 Days participants were appreciated and welcome. We were clearly viewed as peaceful, unyielding opposition to the great evil occurring at Aanchor Health Services.

And let us not mince words. A great evil it is. This so-called "health center" offers suction abortion until 17 and 1/2 weeks gestation. 17 and 1/2 weeks! And it does so in a manner so cavalier, so brazen, it's nearly unbelievable. With soothing verbiage and evasive terminology, they avoid the brutal reality of their trade. I encourage even the most ardent abortion supporter to view their website and justify the unapologetic marketing of this heinous and unthinkable act.

A pre-born child, 17.5 weeks gestation.

As you might expect, many questions have been asked of me these past 40 days...Don't you have a better use of your time? Why are you so extreme? Why don't you people care about born children? Are you anti-woman? What about cases of rape and incest? What if the mother's life is at stake? Are you willing to take care of an unwanted child? Why are you pushing your religious beliefs on everyone else? How are YOU so sure of when life begins?

In summary, here is where I and millions of others stand. The words are my own:

**Human life is valuable, precious, and God given. Its value is not determined by age, ability or lack thereof, productivity or lack thereof, ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, or even by behavior. Life has worth in and of itself.

**Therefore, life begins when it starts. At conception. All other determinations are arbitrary, subject to interpretation and error. The risk of using gestational markers to define what it means to be human is an absurd and arrogant exercise. Obama was correct when he said that asking him to define when life begins was a request "above his pay grade". It is for all of us. Therefore, we take no chances and accept this gift when it is given. If an error is to be made, let it be on the side of life.

**As a corallary, opposition to abortion is not based upon nebulous, vaguely defined motivations. Nor is it a matter of foisting obscure religious beliefs on our fellow citizens. It literally is a matter of life and death. As such, even our opposition must logically allow that we are compelled to act by defending innocents and seeking to end elective abortion.

**Abortion is harmful to not only the infant, obviously, but to all those involved, especially women. The guilt and regret associated with the act is often life long. Despite cultural norms, most women are innately aware of their responsibility to protect children, not dispose of them. Psychological pain is often profound, despite any initial relief a woman may feel in freeing herself from a perceived burden. Silent No More, an organization comprised of women who regret their elective abortions, bears witness to this reality.

**In the rare but often cited instances where rape or incest results in pregnancy, the child is blameless and innocent. One tragedy should not be compounded by another.

**In the equally rare cases where pregnancy puts the life of the mother in imminent, grave danger, she must defer to her conscience and act accordingly. In my opinion, God does not ask that we die in order to bear a child. We are permitted to defend our own natural life when it is truly at stake. Most religious leaders agree with this perspective.

**Adoption is a realistic and loving alternative for those unable to care for a child. An arsenal of resources exist to assist women in the midst of a crisis pregnancy. The Gabriel Project is but one among countless others.

**The right to unfettered access to abortion nearly eliminates the importance of fatherhood and the inherent rights associated with it.

**We wish no harm to those providing abortion. We pray for their enlightenment and for the conversion of their hearts and minds. Most importantly, we pray for their souls. However misguided, they too are in need of our compassion.

**When it comes to participating in this and other pro-life efforts, my time is always well spent.

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Watch for the next 40 Days For Life campaign...returning to hundreds of communities across America during Lent, Spring 2010. Please join us.

40 Days For Life

2009-07-28T01:33:00.001-05:00

MIA

2009-03-16T01:20:00.003-05:00

Written words are at a premium for me these days. Maybe that's why I've gravitated to Facebook. I spout out a few lines and move on. It's the K-Mart version of blogging but it's all I can muster. Sorry to the folks who check-in frequently.

I'm just not in the mood for this right now.

Lent is Here People: Start Suffering!

2009-02-24T20:41:00.009-06:00

(I'm semi-recycling a post here. I thought it generally got my point across last year. One more time on this one, if you don't mind.)

If suffering is the objective, we've certainly got that covered with these Lenten staples:

Oh well. So be it. I love Lent, actually. Guilt, suffering, and penance are wonderful filters for a dusty soul. Talk about the ultimate in spiritual spring cleaning! When Easter arrives, you just kinda feel scrubbed and spit-shined. On the inside. Deprivation also gives scale to the bounty and abundance in our jam packed lives. When you're doin' without, you just appreciate things more. Even manufactured fish rectangles. Yum yum.

And by the way, Sister Mary Martha, always true to form, summarily put the smack down on a reader last year for querying if abstinence from sugar, fat, and salt qualifies as high-end Lenten deprivation. On the face of it, Sister explained, the gentle reader's suggestion ranks right up there in the domain of self-induced miseries. As long as there is no personal gain from the offering. In other words, if she's doing without those yummy additives for Lent AND for the purpose of looking especially hot in her slammin' size 4 jeans, it's a no go. Your Lenten sacrifice has to be free of material side benefits and kick backs. Even if you're from Illinois.

So start figuring out which form of deprivation makes you the most miserable, and come tomorrow, start suffering. And for the love of Pete...don't look for Lenten loopholes in order to take a break from your wretched 40 days. Buck up and deal. You'll live.

P.S...I Love You Too

2009-01-28T00:12:00.008-06:00

Goal: Secure protection from under-bed/in-closet monsters, boogie men, and various extra-terrestrial life forms.

Strategy: Be cool, stay polite, make it casual. Leave note in very obvious place, like on mom's computer keyboard. Close with the three words that are sure to seal the deal.

Lessons Learned: The Pinewood Derby

2009-01-25T21:01:00.015-06:00

The Pinewood Derby. A time honored tradition among Cub Scouts and their parents. A chance for father and son (in our case father, mother, and son) to create something out of next to nothing, all in the hope that your certain something ends up being the fastest something to roll down a hill. Gravity is your ally. Your foes...friction and air resistance.

Your standard issue, regulation materials: one 5 ounce block of wood, 4 nails, and 4 plastic wheels. There you have it. The possibilities are limited only by your time, talent, and M.I.T. level engineering capabilities.

In the Chicago area, we don't have the luxury of housing production in garages or outside areas--It's just too cold. So the basement it is. Mom is nervous about paint, glue, etc. invariably landing on hardwood floors but trying to stay in the spirit of the thing. In other words, I shut-up.

Drill/carving dry-run. Note E's intensity.

Now, as you can imagine, there are some folks who just go over the top and once over again when it comes to manufacturing the most aerodynamic, friction free, expertly crafted wooden car known to the derby world.

Others opt for form over function...

And then there is E's, which is somewhere in the middle. Unfortunately, I have yet to snap a photo of it and the cars are still impounded. So I'll have to add that later. Suffice it to say, it was something like this:

The night before the big race, cars are officially weighed to ensure that the 5 ounce maximum is not exceeded. Then the tiny vehicles are impounded. These Cub Scout leaders know a thing or two about Cub Scout parents. Surely these cubmasters realize that if they don't confiscate the engineering marvels, moms and dads across the land will engage in all-nighters to perfect their creations. Worse still, parents are famous for showing up late no matter what start time is indicated. Better to impound the car the night before rather than battle it out with dad as to why little Cooper's wonder machine cannot be included. After all, they were "only 45 minutes late". I digress.

After several qualifying races, E placed a very respectable 4th place. Mom and Dad...jumping up and down ecstatic. E...let's just say his reaction was a bit more sedate...

J and I were thrilled that E not only participated but that he received a real, honest to goodness trophy. And guess what? It didn't say, "Honorable Mention for Those With a Pulse". It really, really said 4th place. E, on the other hand, was going for first and was bewildered by his parents' slacker mentality. To his credit, he held it together. But as you can see, he's also not beaming with pride.

So you see friends, we're still learning. We spent so much time on the car and the design ideas and the plans and the whole whoopity do dang dingle, we neglected the most important, most valuable part here. The fun. The joy. And somewhere along the line, E picked up on it. So for the time being, J and I are on an over-achiever moratorium. Call it a self imposed time out for mommy and daddy. Rehab for the results addicted parent.

Because we sure want to see a lot more of his pre-trophy demeanor:

And less of this:

E is pictured fourth, coincidentally.

Yes siree. We're learning, right along with him.

As for the trophy...well, let's just say E had a change of heart. On his way to bed that night, he retrieved the lesser award from where he had nearly discarded it several hours earlier.

"I guess this isn't so bad, huh?", he asked as he polished the trophy adornment with the top of his PJs.

"Not bad at all my sweet little bear. Not bad at all", I reassured him. And I held back a lump as we marched up the stairs to his bedroom, trophy clenched in his still baby-like, chubby hand. There are so many of these every day lessons in store for my little boy. And for us parents. You can always win another trophy. But you can never relive the joy of that exact, particular moment. You just have to hope that a similar opportunity presents itself. And with God's grace, there will be many more.

Enjoying our blessings as they are given instead of lamenting over the prize or the award not received. A goal for the whole family, apparently. And for many others, no doubt.

Inauguration Day...A Letter to My Children

2009-01-20T12:54:00.005-06:00

Dearest E and JoJo,

Today was big. Bigger than you can imagine or even understand right about now. It just so happens that on this day, the country stood together and welcomed that nice man, Barack Obama, as President of the United States! Wowie, wow, wow. He stood on the steps of Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. and promised before God, the country, and the entire world that he will do his very best to lead our country. I believe he takes that promise seriously and that he will work very hard to be a good leader. In other words, his heart is in the right place. And you know mommy thinks that's not such a bad place to start.

But there is a problem. While he was running for president, I'm sure you guys figured out that I didn't agree with Mr. Obama about lots of things. Many other grown-ups in our town and in our part of the country feel the same way. It's just that he does not share some of the same ideas that many of the people you know and love happen to consider very, very important. And so, I can only hope, only pray, that maybe he will change his mind about some stuff. I don't know if this will happen or not. But I'm willing to give him a chance. That's only fair, right?

Just for today, I'm not thinking about what's not going to work. Nor about any danger that we face now and in the future. I'm just proud of our country. And yes, E, his is, as you noticed, a brown man. His ethnic background is referred to as African-American. Because he is the very first African-American to become President of the United States, this is a very big deal. A ginormous, big, honkin' deal. Remember how we talked about something being historical? This event is definitely historical.

And this is exactly what he had to say as soon as he became president (His speech made mommy cry in a good, happy, sad, mommy kind of way):

My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forbearers, and true to our founding documents.

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land - a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America - they will be met.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted - for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things - some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions - that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act - not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions - who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them - that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works - whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account - to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day - because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control - and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our Gross Domestic Product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart - not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort - even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus - and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West - know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment - a moment that will define a generation - it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends - hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism - these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence - the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed - why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world...that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

What a time we live in, dear children. What a time, indeed.

Happy 4th Birthday JoJo!

2009-01-06T06:37:00.000-06:00

January 6, 2005

How lucky I am to be your mommy. What do I tell you every single night of your life?? I love, love, love you to the moon, and to the stars, and back again. Plus a little more.

1st Birthday...Chrome dome and power cheeks!

2nd Birthday - First Poofy Dress. Last Poofy Dress. That's the last time you let me put you in one!

3rd Birthday...a bruise and a bink. The t-shirt is so much more your style JoJo!

4th Birthday..A party with some pre-school friends!

Happy, happy birthday!!!!!!

Evil on Four Legs

2009-01-02T11:15:00.021-06:00

"He's ruining our lives and eating all our steak".

Napoleon Dynamite lamented over the misery unleashed by Uncle Rico. Too bad for us that his pithy observation applies in our home as well... In our case, however, the culprit isn't a washed-up high school football player from the 80s. Far more menacing, our foe is a smelly, slobbering, gas emitting soul crusher names Winston. And he's a pug.

I'm told he belongs to us but I'm still having a hard time wrapping my mind around that particular condemnation. Anyway, the point may very well be mute. Looking at the matter from his perspective, I'm sure this canine playah is assured we're all HIS...His bitches, that is.

At the moment, I'm not convinced that we're dealing with a force of this world. That possibility was explored in Men in Black. Call it a movie, call it fiction if you will. I say it's prophecy. If a creature has the ability to move both bulging eyes simultaneously, in an opposite trajectory, you do start questioning the validity of his earthly origins. My Irish breatheren dismiss the phenomenon as one eye lookin' at ya and the other lookin' for ya. Some call it the east-wester affliction. I, on the other hand, am not so sure. The wandering, googly eyes may be a manifestation of something far more malevolent. Stay tuned.

Oh, by the way, did I fail to mention that if you squeeze his neck, even slightly, one or both of those glassy orbs will pop right out of his head? Here's the kicker: If you insert the displaced eyeball back in its socket, sight resumes in an instant. And you think your retriever's play-dead trick is impressive! Then again, your Rover was sired by a shelter mutt. Maybe even by a show dog. But make no mistake about it. Winston is spawn. Of who or of what is a notion too chilling to fathom.

G.I. Tract of Steel...or Some Unidentifiable Alloy
We're told that there are a host of ingested substances that can kill a dog. Reportedly, pugs are susceptible as any other canine. Uh huh. How then, do I explain Winston's consumption of all manner of flora, fauna, animal, vegetable, and mineral? My friend Eileen once told me that her rotweiler ate two-by-fours like they were potato chips. Not chewed on them, mind you. Gobbled them whole. Long ago, our beagle devoured an entire orange tree. Roots, trunk, branches and fruit. Still, these doggy chew-fests pale compared to Winston's misadventures. Books, computer wires, conduit, drywall, nails, legos, Polly Pockets, pens, crayons, socks, shoes, boots, houseplants, cleaning supplies, dolls, roof tiles, seat cushions. These household items have simply vanished. Poof. And that's just the beginning.

Winston has what appears to be a potato. One of an entire sack that "just disappeared".

How about underwear? Another pug owner mentioned she's convinced that her four legged ham hock positively levitates when he encounters a pile of dirty laundry. I believe it. Around here, Dad's hummin' Calvin's are pug-manna-from-heaven. And my undergarments...Let's just say he can pass bra under wire through the backend while gobbling up some other equally delectable morsel up at the bow. In the bat of one cattywompus, misaligned eye. Two minutes later he unapologetically nudges me for his dinner.

E's Nintendo DS is rumored to have fallen prey although I'm hesitant to mention it. E's yet to complete his grieving process and it's a very touchy subject. To say the least. On a slightly more positive note, my Blackberry was rescued from the mini-beast's slobbering jowls moments before it vanished into his black hole of a gut. But the gelatinous, malodorous goo that remains on the device has rendered it unusable. No solvent nor solution known to man has the ability to decontaminate this phone. May it rest in peace.

To use my friend Monica's favorite phrase, I now present you with the pièce de résistance. There's no way to say this without inducing nausea, so I apologize in advance. Winston's all-time favorite delicacy is cat poo. For him, freshly acquired cat poo is the equivalent of a sublime French truffle. If it's straight out of the cat box, all the better. The added texture only heightens his gastronomic ecstasy. Meanwhile, after recovering from a family barf-o-rama, I concede that this thing, this purported animal, is slowly, insidiously robbing me of my humanity. Surely, Saint Francis himself would give me a high-five if I somehow mustered up the courage to oust hell dog from our semi-peaceful home. But who am I kidding?

Our stick-of-butter-on-four-legs has somehow worked his way into our hearts. Maybe he trampled and pillaged his way there. I don't know. Let's just say we love this incredibly destructive, sometimes amazingly stupid animal. Somehow we overlook the odors that instantly clear a room. His ability to shed like a buffalo--well, that's also part of the deal. Surely, we use sublimation as a way to cope when it comes to his daily frenzy of destruction. Yes, we throw our hands up in total acquiescence. The "dog" is here to stay. As for our family, if we all just disappear, you know who (or what) is to blame.

You've been warned.

Haters, Hecklers, and Sad Sacks

2009-01-02T00:35:00.005-06:00

One of my resolutions this year is to "let go and let God" with a couple of folks who just, well...bum me out. I wish you no harm, I pray for your safety, your health and most certainly for your happiness. 'Cause it sure seems like you missed the happiness bandwagon somehow or other. Truly, If I could magically bestow you with happiness, with peace, with contentment, I'd do it in a heartbeat. If I could replace your missing happiness "chips", I'd run right out to Best Buy, right this very minute, and swoop up the most powerful, the most robust tranquility processors that my money could buy. Or, more correctly, what my MasterCard credit limit would cover.

But muchachas...count me out when it comes to engaging in your pissing contests. Cross me off as a guest at your never ending pity parties. If you do nothing else, grant me this--just let me be. You know those browser bookmarks with mommymemoir.com--hit the delete button. Go be a drag on someone else's time. Keep lurking behind the scenes if you want. But lurking is all you'll ever get to do on this play date.

When you can play nicely, maybe I'll reconsider. In the meantime, go hate somewhere else.

What I'm Reading

2008-12-27T00:13:00.004-06:00

I vowed not to post until after the new year and I'm generally sticking to that commitment. Still, I just couldn't avoid sharing what's on my nightstand.

I'm riveted. After her father's death, Bliss Broyard discovers he hid his black heritage and chose to "pass" as white for most of his life. "One Drop" is part biography, part memoir--and a MUST READ for anyone who has questioned his or her own racial background. Broyard's careful, sometimes tedious genealogical analysis is tempered by a powerful depiction of her father's life and the motivations that shaped his decision to disavow his black heritage. Equally compelling is Broyard's struggle to determine what her newly discovered racial identity means for her personally.

I haven't been able to put it down.

More on this later, no doubt.

Happy Birthday to All Five of You!

2008-12-15T20:29:00.006-06:00

My baby sister Meghan is the 30 today! I still remember seeing her for the first time through the viewing glass at O'Connor Hospital in 1978. Can that really be 30 years ago??

And to those no-longer-little-siblings who all just happened to be born on the same day...Happy 16th birthday Matt, Tim, Sarah, and Ryan. You're goin' mobile kiddos!

Christmas is calling ...See You in '09

2008-12-15T08:27:00.007-06:00

My Christmas preparedness level is less than what it should be. So, I have to lay off the blog and just get it all done. I'll be back shortly after the new year.

As a parting gesture, I leave you with a few memorable Tacky Christmas Yard photos...

Merry Christmas everyone!

Violations: W.T.H.?!?!, Unharmonious Arrangement, Griswold Family, King Kong Complex, Frequent Lighter, More is NOT Less, Multiple Clauses, Intermingling, Snowman Inlaws

Have a Merry Christmas and a Goodyear.

Violation: Less is not more.

The birth of Christ is like a carnival...Violations: Unharmonious Arrangement

Violations: Frequent Lighter Card, More Is NOT Less, Multiple Clauses, Snowman In-Laws, Intermingling

How Do You Rank?

2008-12-12T17:02:00.005-06:00

Sister Mary Martha just posted this and I LOVE IT. Some of you know I have been complaining for years about the way some women CHOOSE to dress, especially at Mass. The ones who sashay up to Communion in attire that is fitting for a night club in Las Vegas. Or dare I say...the street corner. (Yes, I said it.) Anyway, I'm glad Sister decided to weigh in.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for stylish, attractive, etc. We don't have to run around in prairie dresses like we're fresh from the compound. I'm not suggesting that bathing suits extend past the knees. I'm just talking about clothes that flatter but don't display everything you have to offer. Or don't..as the case may be. I think of women like Audrey Hepburn and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Their style epitomized femininity but was never about vulgarity. On the flip side, Pamela Anderson stands out. Sometimes I just shake my head and wonder what she could possibly be thinking?? (As a side note, she really is a beautiful woman who actually looks her best when she's not all tramped up ((Oracle calls it tarted out)). I once saw a photo of Ms. Anderson with very little make-up and wearing casual jeans with a modest t-shirt. She was far prettier that way. Oh well.)

Anyway, I'd like to see the concept of modesty addressed with our Church-at-large. John Paul II alluded to this concept in his Theology of the Body. Check it out sometime.

Bottom line, it's all about respecting our one and only Holy-Spirit-filled-temple.

Just my two cents (and a few from Sister).

Pardon My Appearance

2008-12-12T10:25:00.004-06:00

Blog under holiday construction...Working out the template kinks while trying to do ten other things!

Update: Construction complete. Christmas season is in full swing!

Gangsta Lean

2008-12-04T21:34:00.006-06:00

Is it just me or has anyone else happened to notice that the gangsta lifestyle has completely arrived in middle, suburban America?

Just today, right here in Leave-It-To Beaver-ville, a mom in a mini-van was rollin' down the road with her right hand on the wheel and her seat back waaaaay reclined. Mom's blond head bobbed to a beat that vibrated my dental work. And get this...the kid in the car seat sported sunglasses and mean mugged anyone who happened to look his way. I almost expected him to roll down the window and tell me to "peak this" with his hand held in the gat (gun) pose. 'Sup beeeaaach".

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. But just a little bit.

It's hardly coincidental that also today, my most mainstream, suburban friend sent me an e-mail which included instructions on how to make your name more gangsta. From here on out, let it be known that I am the Momizzle.

Even my kids, whom I pride for their edited exposure to pop culture hype, are not immune.

You gonna step-to E-Dawg?!!!

I told him to turn his hat around and take a picture like the nice little boy I raised. His reply?

But mom, I'm cool. Ya feel me?

No, I'm not feelin' ya. Cut it out...NOW.

It's fair to say he was feelin' me right about then.

I know he's just thinking he was cool, like many kids try to be at one point or another. Here's my problem: The gangstas of my day were all about fighting, killing, selling drugs, and getting high.

Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice

Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]

Snoop Dog's words-to-live-by back in the 90's. Not exactly the inspiration most parents desire for their children. Oddly, however, the young ones don't even know about the old-school persona. They just think Snoop's a funny guy with a reality show that they're not allowed to watch. And what about Ice Cube? Isn't he the same hood rat made famous by Death Row Records, who openly bellowed F*** the police? Now he's a family entertainment star, making mad cap, Disney-esque movies with broad based appeal.

Sometimes, it really is a nutty world.

Oh well. I guess it's not unusual for the underground to seep its way above grade. I just hope that anyone of any ethnic background, realizes that some behavior is just not cool, no matter how much pop culture has sanitized or reinvented it. Admittedly, the occasional reference to all things gangsta is nearly impossible to avoid. At this point, I think even I say "It's time to bounce" when we need to leave. Just a few days ago, my mortgage broker was talking about someone having street cred. I'm thinking this guy knows as much about street cred as I know of quantum physics.

I know. I know. The Momizzle can't shield my peeps from everything. But I'll keep watching out for them wherever I can. Yes, I submit to the ranks of the decidedly uncool. I used to think that doing so was a costly premium exacted from once-blissful-hipsters-turned-parents. Now, it's kind of a relief to have the license to just avoid what's in or what's out. You have a lot more time to focus on the stuff that really matters.

Fo' shizzle.

E's Financial Advice

2008-12-01T21:57:00.004-06:00

E approached me today with a look of worry written all over his little six-year old face.

E: "Mom, do we have Nationwide Insurance?"

Mommy: "Uh...no. We don't. We use another company. Why are YOU asking me about INSURANCE anyway? Do you even know what insurance IS?

E: "I just know that you have to have it or you won't have anyone to count on when the going gets tough."

Mommy: "That sounds like something you heard on a commercial, E. Don't worry, honey. Your Daddy and I have got this one covered."

E: "So you mean, if our house burns down, the insurance company that you guys picked will pay for stuff and help us get a new one?"

Mommy: "Right. You've got the idea".

E: "So, which company is it mom?"

Mommy: "Oh for crying out loud E, it's State Farm. Stop worrying about it. We've had them for years. This is nothing you have to worry about!"

E: "OK, OK! But I'm telling you right now, Nationwide is better.

Mommy: "Why do you say that?"

E: "Because if the house burns down, we're not going to need a good neighbor. We're gonna need a lot of cash".

E: "Mom, why are you laughing?"

Date Night

2008-11-29T23:57:00.009-06:00

Maybe we're making the grade as parents but we're seriously blowing it in the life-balance department. We never go out anymore. You know--L and J. The same L and J who were married for seven years before they had children. Who dined at world-class restaurants. The same L & J who traveled the globe together. Indeed, the very same mad cap love birds who were known to fly to Vegas for the weekend on two hours notice.

But lately, we've been two passing ships in the night. And in the day. And every time in between.

So today, on a whim, I took the plunge and made an effort to find a baby sitter so that J and I could have a BADLY needed night out. Nothing fancy, nothing hifalutin. Just nice. C'mon...surely it can't be asking too much to go to a restaurant where there are no pictures on the menus? No Chochkies, Chille's, Fritters, Portillo's, Applebee's, Fudruckers, Tooters, TGI Fridays, Outback, Cheeseburgers in Paradise, WoJos, and for the love of all that is holy...no Chuck E. Cheese.

We had it all planned. A dinner at a small but very nice bistro. You know, the kind of place where you can wear a pair of jeans and a turtleneck but you actually get wine poured from a --bottle (not from the 440z mega box perched on the back counter next to the ketchup packets). Children's menus are non-existent. Alas, there isn't a single food photo anywhere on the menu! This mommy was giddy with anticipation at the thought of our big night out--sans the offspring, of course!

There was only one hitch in the giddy-up. In order to leave said progeny in the care of one whom is not their parent, there is a certain amount of prep work to be done. Such as...ensure that the emergency number list is up-to-date. Feed munchkins early with special take-out fare in order to stifle whining and last ditch protests about being excluded from parents' night out. Document night time routine for sitter. Pick up clutter to the extent that sitter is duped into believing that his employers are not the craziest ones on the block. This process includes removing J's tools, screws, nuts, and bolts from food preparation surfaces, wiping goo of unknown origin from several often used handles, locating at least ONE of the four cordless phones rumored to exist somewhere in the house, and rounding up anywhere from five to fifty-five toys strewn from the basement to the attic. Straighten my office nook so that it doesn't appear as though a lunatic resides in the home. Make sure dog is fed and has gone outside to do his thing. Feed cat. Replenish water. Brush cat as giant mat is forming on his back. Check on dog who is currently consuming shredded, rubber playground material in the back yard. Return dog to kennel. Clean rabbit cage and provide food and water. Notice that six-year old son and his friend have smashed pumpkins in the front yard and have spread dismembered, rotten pumpkin parts on walkway. Listen to husband's conniption about said disaster and aid in the decontamination process. Notice that baby sitter is due in ten minutes. JoJo needs help going potty, dishes are still stacked in the sink, the dog is barking in his kennel, presumably because shredded rubber is not digesting well. Meanwhile, a phone's muffled ring can be heard but its vector remains undetermined. While assisting JoJo with bathroom activity, overhear upset friend caterwaul on answering machine about how we never pick up the phone. "I can't imagine what you're doing! Pick up that phone. I know you're there. Hellloooooo."

Five minutes until baby sitter arrives. Run upstairs to shower/dress. Suddenly recall that E's fish tank needs a partial replenishment. Forget it. In this family, we're living proof that a little clutter never killed anybody. Sorry fish. Just swim around the chunks.

Manage to squeeze in a shower while J greets sitter. He saunters upstairs to shower and dress. Current time: 7:15 pm. While he cleans-up after his twelve hour yard work day, I decide that I can rest my eyes for a few minutes on our bed. Apparently, I made it look rather inviting. J throws on some sweats and decides to join me...you know, "just until she wakes up".

I woke up alright. At 10:30 pm.

Embarrassed and groggy, I skulk downstairs. Pay the sitter, endure his comical smirk, lock the doors. Sigh deeply as I notice that all the toys that were stowed just four hours ago are now hanging from a few lamps, crammed under seat cushions, and piled in various corners in the family room. Jabba the Hut smiles sheepishly from his evil lair atop our fireplace mantle. Two Polly Pockets dangle on a string and are desperately hoping to be saved by Luke Skywalker. Oops. I mean Mr. Incredible. Just yesterday, Luke met an untimely demise. Compliments of the dog.

As far as the next date night--let's just say we'll squeeze one in by the time E's in high school.

Then again, maybe not.

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Being a Parent

2008-11-25T23:37:00.005-06:00

#10 You get to live your childhood all over again. Sort of. Except this go 'round, you can fashion it the way you want it to be versus the way it actually was. I just have to be careful to remember that kids ultimately do their own thing. My dreams will not necessarily be theirs.

#9 I have an extremely valid reason to talk about super heroes, Polly Pockets, Webkinz, monsters, unicorns, baby penguins, American Girl dolls, fairies, and Transformers.

#8 Dressing and shopping for children's clothing is the best. It is so much fun.

#7 Children are living, breathing proof of God's sense of humor.

#6 I read to them all of the books and stories I adored as a child. E and JoJo have heard the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder collection. E is currently reading my old Peanuts comic strip books by Charles Schulz. We can't forget "Tales of a Forth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume.
Everything written by Shel Silverstein. "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint Exupery. I could go on and on.

#5 Kids are warm toasters on cold winter mornings. I love to wake before dawn and snuggle with either one of them.

#4 Children make holidays fun, especially Halloween, Christmas, and Easter.

#3 You meet a whole new circle of friends once you have kids. Between school, sports, scouts, lessons, and play dates, you are destined to meet people who share at least some of your interests.

#2 My kids' belly laughs can crack me up no matter what mood I am in.

#1 When I least expect it, my children express gratitude, empathy, and heartfelt love. No feeling can exceed my pride in them at those moments.

The 80s

2008-11-23T21:22:00.030-06:00

A twenty-something family member recently asked me what it was like to be young in the eighties. OK...just the question makes me feel old. I can clearly remember posing a similar question to some ancient forty-year old; the only difference, of course, is that I was asking about the nineteen fifties! You know--poodle skirts, Wolfman Jack, dice on rear view mirror. Have big hair, overly bright clothing styles, and lace tights received the same type of stereotypical over-exposure? Can it actually be that the era of my young adulthood has attained a pop culture status only attributed to time periods that were, well...A LONG TIME AGO?

Apparently so. (Sigh)

Oh well. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Looking back, I would have to say that my twenties were a precursor to real adulthood. A training ground of sorts. Fun, heartache, attraction, drama, break-ups, enlightenment, rebellion, creativity, introspection, discovery. All of that stuff. Some people don't need that time to become real adults. I did. Boy did I. In fact, a wounded love interest once told me, "You'll be 21 until you're 40"...shortly before he chucked a few bills at the check and unceremoniously left me sitting alone in a Thai restaurant in the Haight. Turns out, he was only off by about a decade. It's fair to say that I had the mindset of a twenty-one year old until I was about, say, 30ish. So I was a late bloomer.

Better late than never.

Anyway, here are some of my standout memories from the eighties:

First year of college. 1984. Broke it off with my high school boyfriend. At the time, he was crushed. Truthfully, I was relieved. I knew enough to know that I wasn't supposed to be making wedding plans at eighteen years old. I handled the break-up very poorly and for that I'll always be sorry. He deserved better and I just didn't have the maturity at the time to do it any differently. Anyway, he went on to marry another girl from our high school class. For all I know, they are still married. I hope they have been blessed with happiness.

Other than this initial drama, the world was my oyster that year. Everything was new, fresh, and enlightening. My first brush with freedom and I loved it. I wanted to know everything I could cram into my head about politics, religion, art, literature, writing, philosophy, and history. Participated in the anti-Apartheid protests on campus. And boys/men. Um...let's just say I had lots of dates, more than a few boyfriends. This is when I discovered that beautiful men, young and old, come in all kinds of diverse packaging. A certain Korean-American wrestler stole my heart early in the year. If I had married him, my first and last name would have been the same. What a lovely, appreciative young gentleman. We weren't intended for the long haul but whomever married him is a lucky woman, I'm sure. And EJ...who still tops my list as one of the all time greatest people ever. (I see 'ya Mr. Morris Day from The Time. You know you did The Bird). LOL. A friendship that endured despite the odds. A friendship of which I am immensely proud. My husband thinks he is "one great guy". And he is. I have to meet that wife of his 'cause if he picked her, she has to be great too.

Summer of 1985. Partied like it was 1999. Actually, considering all of the craziness that summer, it's a feat that I made it to 1999. The Palladium in San Francisco was where we could be found most weekends. Or the I-Beam. Throw in Das Club, The Edge/ Vortex. We CANNOT forget DV8! In San Jose, it was Oasis, Club 47, and Paradise Beach. Worked a temp job which started each weekday morning at 7:05am. Most nights, I was out until 4am. And I made it into the office and on time, fresh as a daisy. Now, I'd be nearly comatose if I attempted that even once. Went to a house party in Woodside, California where the dwelling had suffered a catastrophic fire a few nights before. Only nineteen year-old kids would think it a nifty idea to set up a kegger among smoldering ashes. "Burning Down the House" was played numerous times that warm, summer evening. And of course, we also heard..."The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire, we don't need no water let the motha****** burn. Burn motha******, burrrnnnnnnn....". Oh brother....

1985-1988: Shared a house with three men. (Had my own room, of course.) All of them were quite a bit older than me and had long since graduated from college. I was surely ready for some sanity after a year in the dorms. The owner of the home was especially protective of me. And I got to live in a beautiful, hillside house, relatively close to campus for $250 a month. Kid you not. The owner still lives there and is married. I will forever be thankful to him for the safe haven he provided.

1987: Met and fell head over heels for someone who was great...just not great for me. Learned about art, photography, and much more. Developed my own cultural awareness for the very first time. Began questioning all kinds of things I once believed as immutable truth.

1988: Was called a N***** lover by some random idiot. I can still feel the sting of that insult. For the first time, I really understood what racism must feel like. Internally. I witnessed first hand how it can chip away your willingness to trust others. How it breeds inner suspicion. How it
destroys innocence.

1989: Finished my thesis, graduated from college and blew off the establishment. Became a vegetarian, lived in the Vulcan Warehouse artists' community in Oakland, California and dropped out of mainstream life. Pierced a few body parts. Met people from all walks. Next door neighbors were several members of a Bay Area thrash metal band. Begged them to lower the amp volume one night so that I could finish my senior thesis. To their credit, they turned it down, despite their need to practice for a gig that night. Apparently, even Dirty Rotten Imbeciles can be swayed by a college girl's tearful pleading.

Discovered that a pained, struggling, artist's existence is a romantic notion but not a plausible lifestyle most people can endure for the sake of a craft. More than a few people I knew at that time are now what might be called "high visibility". No names mentioned here, of course.

There is more to tell. Lots, actually.

"The 90's", however, is another post. Duty calls.

Introducing Sir Winston Churchill

2008-11-19T22:23:00.008-06:00

We'll just call him Winston.It fits
somehow...

Antiquity + One More Year = REALLY OLD

2008-11-19T08:08:00.000-06:00

The Wise One is now officially Ancient Wise One.

We look forward to continued advice, counsel, and yes, prophecy.

Happy birthday Oracle!

Premio Dardos

2008-11-18T13:01:00.004-06:00

My blog awards go to (--in no particular order and for varying reasons. New awards in purple):

Stuff White People Do

Opinionated Catholic

Ask Sister Mary Martha

Ironic Catholic

Crummy Church Signs

Every Day Catholic Woman (U.K--Right back at 'ya Joanna)

Thinking Love, No Twaddle (U.K.--FYI Mum...Americans rarely use the word TWADDLE. I think we should use it more. It just fits somehow.)

Velveteen Mind

Zippy Catholic

What Catholics Believe

2008-11-16T22:32:00.002-06:00

Every now and then, I'm going to share a random teaching/tenant of our faith 'cause it sure seems like there is MUCHO confusion out there--among Catholics and non-Catholics alike.

Today's pearl is about death. More specifically: What happens to us when we die? The answer that a knowledgeable Catholic will give you just might fall into your new information category. Turns out, it's a two-part saga. Like Rocky I and II. Or Star Wars and the Empire Strikes back. OK, before I date myself any more, here goes:

First, if you've made the cut, so to speak, your immortal soul goes to Heaven. You experience immeasurable love, joy, and happiness as you commune with God and the angels and saints for all eternity. But wait...it gets better. Sort of.

When we recite the Creed in Church, we speak of Jesus coming back "to judge the living and the dead." We're not joking around on this point. We believe in the resurrection of the body. At the end of time, all of creation will be judged and chosen bodies will join souls in Heaven. So, a word to the wise...If I were you, I would start thinking about taking care of that sacred vessel. Wouldn't it be a letdown to actually make it into Heaven and then, at the end of time, be reunited with an old broken down hoopty of a body? Talk about motivation for an exercise plan!

As a side note...the Church allows cremation. You just can't be cremated BEFORE your funeral Mass. I don't know how the Lord will put all of those cremated body parts back together but then again, He is, you know, God. Who am I to question His engineering capabilities?

If you think I'm off of my rocker, be sure to reference numbers 686, 999-1000 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. I know--not exactly light reading. Still, I thought I ought to provide a source so you don't think I'm making up stuff as I go along. I'll leave that to the nuns. Just kidding.

*Credit also given to "In the Know With Father Joe"--a column written by Fr. Joseph Krupp.

Truly Inspired

2008-11-13T22:48:00.000-06:00

Click on this image to enlarge.

It's about time someone said it, don't you think?