Cowboys of the Progressive Persuasion

It’s hard to keep my mouth shut.

But I have. For good reason.

Anything I say is going to be taken as a “Yes -(wo)Man” argument.

You see there’s this.

And also this.

There’s this.

And also this.

Which leads us, to this.

You don’t have to like it all. You don’t have to die on the sword. But NOTHING will get done if you continue your grandstanding.

Remember compromise? Remember how change takes hard work? Remember how we’re working with each other and everyone else?

Yes, I said everyone else.

I didn’t vote for President Obama so he would act like President Bush. I never expected him to take his SuperMajority (which should come with a cape) and shove things through – other side, rest of the country, be damned.

That’s not the man we elected. If you somehow missed that message perhaps you were too busy looking at your own agenda while the rest of us were paying attention.

But…I digress.

I heard ‘you’re either with us or against us’ once before. It sounded arrogant then and it sounds just as arrogant coming from the ‘cowboy’ left now.

You can’t change the game unless you’re playing it, and you…my brothers and sisters…are pushing us all to sit on the bench. There’s plenty of blame to go around, sure. We all, White House included, shoulder some. However let’s learn to point those fingers elsewhere.

I’m not asking you to shut up, I’m just asking you to be smart. Take your liberal, elitist, Prius driving, college educated, latte’ sipping mouth and use it to critique while standing strong with your party.

Unless, of course, you really think that 3rd party thing is viable. Then by all means…don’t let the door hit you in the ass.

Haiti Love

Jack's Haiti Love
Xoxo,

Jack
6-years old

Ways you can help in Haiti:

Red Cross
Global Giving
UNICEF
YELE

A Spoonful of Sugar

photo.jpg

I came home from a quick doctor’s appointment this weekend only to have my 4-year old cling to my leg and wrap herself around me so if I walked, she was dragged along.

Later in the day she asked me how I was feeling. A 4-year old…asking how *I* was feeling.

I’m fine honey. I just have a little infection. The doctor gave me medicine and I’ll feel better in no time.

She blinked her long lashes and snuggled closer to me.

I’m glad you came home from the doctor, Mommy.

Of course I came home sweetie. I always come home.

There was a tiny sigh.

No you don’t Mommy. Sometimes you don’t come home. Like that one time.

Realizing now why she clung to me as I walked in, I tried to explain…

You mean when Mommy was in the hospital? Oh sweetie I know you didn’t like that, did you?

Nods.

Sometimes we get sick. And doctors and the people at the hospital need to help us. But right now Mommy just has a kind of cold that gave her an infection. Just a runny nose. You get runny noses all the time, right?

More nods.

Well it’s just like that honey. It’s just a runny nose. I’m not going to be in the hospital again because of this runny nose, ok?

It was here I stopped myself. Knowing how suddenly I was hospitalized before, and how long it lasted, I was afraid of promising her anything. I mean, what if I was hit by a truck tomorrow? But I was dying inside, I wanted to reassure her that every single time I headed out to a doctor’s appointment, I would be coming back.

And I didn’t know how to do that without lying.

I’m finding more and more that telling my children the truth about the world is harder and harder. Bad things happen. Mommies do end up in the hospital. Sometimes they don’t come home from doctor’s appointments.

Of course I do tell them the truth. In ways they can understand and handle, I know I can’t lie. But for every tough lesson…there has to be a good one, right?

So today as my tiny girl watched me take my antibiotics… I reached down with one hand as I took a swig of water to swallow my pill…and I tickled her. Now mind you, I’m not big on rough housing, and tickling in our house always seems to lead to rough housing. So this was huge.

She was nearly frozen with surprise.

MOMMMMMMY!

And a huge grin came over her face.

What? I was just taking my medicine…

I had a few more pills to take so I gave her a devilish look and popped them in my mouth. As my hand and water glass rose to my lips I bent down with the other hand and tickled again.

MOOOOOMMMMYYYY!

And fits of laughter poured out of her.

I told you honey, I’m just taking my medicine…

More giggles and grins.

I like how you take your medicine Mom.

Me too baby, me too.

Terrorism and 1st Graders

Ugh. This parenting thing really sucks sometimes.

I was in the living room today watching the President talk about the attempted Christmas Day terrorist attack. My 6-year old son was playing Legos and my 4-year old daughter Webkinz. Neither seemed to be paying much attention.

I should have known better.

CNN flashed images of terrorists training in some far off land, and my son said “Who are those guys? What are they doing?”

And instead of my usual parental evasion that I love so much, I just said it…flat out:

They are bad guys. They are training to hurt us. They are called terrorists.

Why are they bad? Why don’t they like us?

And a very touchy conversation took place in which I tried very hard to explain, in 6-year old terms, how Americans haven’t always been nice either, and that people spend years hating other people for things that could probably be solved with diplomacy. I explained that they didn’t like us very much. That they wanted to hurt us.

My darling little boy then asked me if the terrorist could come here. I could tell he was scared.

I wanted to say no. I wanted so badly to say no.

Honey they do try to come here a lot. But that’s why we have soldiers and police and the Army and Navy and Air Force and Marines and they all protect us.

His eyes were huge. And I wanted to lie to him.

Well Mom, if they came here I’d hide in our ottoman with the toys. And I know some karate.

Sigh. My 6-year old, thinking about how to evade a terrorist. What kind of world is this?

You won’t have to hide, sweetie. We have lots of people to protect us. Plus, our President is working on making it so that we all don’t hate each other anymore. And no one will want to hurt anyone.

Softening a bit, he came and sat next to me on the couch.

Mom, the next time you go see Barack Obama at that place…can you tell him to talk to them right away. Like, maybe, before I go back to school from my vacation?

I blinked a few times, put my arm around him…

I’ll try honey. I’m sure he’s very busy though. But I will try…

And with that he was off the couch and practicing his Tae Kwon Do moves on his sister’s new dinosaur.

I wanted to start the conversation over. I wanted to make sure I explained to him that war wasn’t the answer and that these terrorists had families of their own…probably a little boy and a girl, just like his family.

Instead I sat there dumbfounded, and worried and unsure how to explain to him culture clashes and wars that were as old as time. And hoping I didn’t say anything to ingrain in him the idea that Americans were entitled to everything and always right, and that he was superior to anyone- but also making sure he understood killing innocent people was never acceptable. And that we will always defend ourselves against attacks.

All I saw was him punching and kicking the dinosaur. And I wanted to cry.

I think I failed.

Floating Along On Our Tortilla

Last night I took the kids up to bed, per usual. They brushed teeth, went to the bathroom, etc. etc. etc. It was time to read and I snuggled them into my bed and picked out a Christmas book we’ve never really opened.

We read the book twice, and then my youngest asked what “other” Christmas songs there were.

I went down the list of the usuals. “Rudolph.” “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” They asked me to sing each one, and with my wobbly voice I conceded.

Somewhere between “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and explaining exactly what was Figgy Pudding…the giggles set in.

They wanted silly songs. With silly words. And of course Dad was called in to help.

After our 12th rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” and fits of laughter I thought would wet the bed, the stories started. What did I do for Christmas as a little girl. Where did that song come from.

And some how this lead to a mention of Columbus (I think during Rudolph and the ‘Like Columbus!’ silly line) and we talked about the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria…to which my husband chimes in… AND THE TORTILLA!

More fits of giggles. And jokes about floating along on a tortilla. Eating. Floating. Eating. Floating.

And for the post 24 hours I have heard nothing but “Mom. Mom! What were the boats again? … AND THE TORTILLA! ahahahahahahaha!”

The entire family bursting into giggle fits at breakfast. At lunch. During dinner tonight. And while somewhat annoyed that the joke keeps going and the kids (and one adult) continue to ride the laughter for all it’s worth…it hit me:

This is one of those memories, isn’t it?

The ones everyone remembers until they are old and gray and giggle about each year.

I can hear it now. My son will be in college, my daughter finishing high school…the brother-sister ribbing will start over the holidays and someone will shout “COLUMBUS AND THE TORTILLA!” and the family will fall into a fit of laughter that brings everyone back to that warm place.

I don’t always recognize when moments like this happen. It’s good to call it out, so I can remember. I am so terrified of forgetting so many of these details. Of course I have this blog, but I haven’t done baby books and I’m not a scrapbooker or one to keep every little memento.

What I do know, is I won’t soon forget the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria…or the Tortilla.

Twitter Soup

The weather is finally turning here in Southern California, making me don my really unattractive (and old) Pooh Bear thermal PJ’s and my wooly socks. It also puts me in the mood for things like soup.

So as we made our Sunday grocery list this morning, I casually tweeted that I needed soup suggestions and was immediately OVERWHELMED with recipe responses. I’ve compiled them here for all your warm, fuzzy, soupy needs.

Gregg sent over a Bloody Mary soup that sounds really good. Yes, it has vodka.

Loralee suggested Beguine Cream soup to which she adds extra salt and pepper. I don’t even know what beguine is…but it sounds good.

Lindsay says her friend just tried this Chunky Taco Soup and she plans to try it soon. And has also heard this Cheese and Ale soup is ‘killer.’

Casey suggested Pioneer Woman’s cauliflower soup and BFMom’s Mulligatawny.

Kelli wants me to try her favorite Peruvian Chicken Soup. It has ENTIRE hardboiled eggs in it. No, really.

Deborah has a Ginger Curry Pumpkin soup that sounds like something I would love.

And Jennifer gave me THREE recipes she says are ALL amazing: Winter Vegetable, Squash and White Bean soup (which Sheila says I should serve in hallowed out squash), and Black Bean Pumpkin soup.

Thank you EVERYONE for all the great recipes. This blog post and all the responses wore me out so much that we ended up getting canned tomato soup and grilled cheese. However NEXT time I’m in a soup mood, I’m pulling from this warm, fuzzy, snuggle me into happy tummy land list!

*this post is dedicated to Denise, who loves soup as much as I love spreadsheets.

and then he sang to me

He heard a beautiful song at school, during quiet time. And he thought of it while driving through the desert to Las Vegas, and he thought of it again tonight while laying in bed.

Mom I have to sing it for you, you have to know what it sounds like.

Alright honey, go ahead.

Ok but don’t look at me when I sing it.

That’s fine sweetie, I won’t look.

Ok, look away now and I will sing.

So I turned my head and my son began to hum.

Every note was perfect. Like he had been reciting the song in his head for weeks, practicing for this moment. There were no words, but his instrumental didn’t need any. Even his sister, fidgeting moments before, was entranced by the music coming from her brother.

I had to peak. I knew he would be furious and stop singing if he saw me look over, but I just had to see the look on his face while this gorgeous piece of music came out of his body.

Slowly I looked at my feet instead of the wall. Then back at the wall. Then back down at my feet. I glanced once more up and down and quickly flashed my eyes in his direction.

It didn’t matter that I had looked. His eyes were sealed shut. Tight. He was concentrating on the song, his song, and clearly lost in it’s sound.

I looked up again and just stared at him, dumbfounded. Eyes sealed shut and fingers moving in the air like he was conducting an orchestra, my son sang to me.

So that’s how it goes. Do you know that song, Mom?

No honey, I don’t think I do. But it was wonderful.

I really like it Mom, I think it might be the most beautiful song in the world.

I would have to agree my love. I would have to agree.

Amen