Tag Archives: children

What the Real Debate Should Be, IMO

I don’t feel safer.

I still don’t trust putting my child on to that bus every morning, watching that door close, and sending him off for others to protect.  I hate it, I hate every damn second.

And I hate that the nation seems to have forgotten the real issue.  The nation has forgotten about our children, and gone on to more wars between groups of people and politicians.  Propaganda rules their days while my first grader sits in his class room, just as those other children once did.

I don’t care about the war on guns and mental health.  (Okay, so I do care, a lot, but not in relating to this subject)  Because, you see, evil does exist.  You might call it a different name, based on your beliefs or backgrounds or whatever, but it’s out there.  As far back as our written history goes there are bad people out there doing bad things.  People have poisoned, stoned, hung, stabbed, drowned, shot.  This can’t be ignored.  You take away their weapon of choice, and because they are evil, they will indeed come up with another demented way to carry out their plan.  (9/11 anyone?)  So let’s end this part of the discussion right now.  Bad people will continue to do bad things, always.

But wait, mental health is too important!  Right.  I hear you.  It does have a factor in a lot of horrible crimes.  I agree.  But unless we become such a locked down nanny state, where every single person goes under constant evaluation… Bad people will still be out there.  (Some one is most likely rolling their eyes because I’m using the words “Bad” and “evil”, yes I understand many mental illnesses, and that some of these people just need help and medication and so on and so on, and they’d be normal people and such… Let’s just stick to one topic for now)

So now we finally get to the real point.  The point that is no longer being paid any attention to in the masses.  How is my child safe at school?

Let’s say we ban everything dangerous.  Let’s say we open up and improve our world of mental treatment.  And yet Tom the lunatic doesn’t care.  He has a plan.  And he’s not about to follow any law.  He approaches my son’s school, with a pack full of ammo that he stocked up on two decades ago, a gun he stole from Mexico, letter openers he’s sharpened to slice through a blade of hair, and whatever else a mad man might pack.  He gets into my child’s school.  (Let’s say he stabbed a dad in the parking lot and stole his ID, or let’s say he works there, or let’s say anything, there’s always a way)  And he approaches my child’s classroom…

Now what?  It takes an estimated (taken from a speech given by a St.Louis Sheriff) five to ten minutes to get one-armed cop to a school.  What will my son’s school do in those minutes to save lives?  Because it only takes minutes for a tragedy to happen or to be avoided.  The clock is ticking…

What happens next?

You can argue with me until you’re blue in the face that if we just take away guns that we’ll be fine.  I’m telling you I demand answers as to how my child’s life will be protected in school.  Protected from guns, knives, stun guns, pepper spray, rocks, brass knuckles, glass shards, bombs…. Because I don’t believe that we’ll ever get back to the days of my childhood memories of doors at school propped wide open on warm days.

Honestly, I don’t have all the answers.  I don’t want my children going to school in maximum security like buildings.  I don’t want him distracted and surrounded by armed militia.  But we have to start somewhere.  We have to start with protecting our children first.  It’s a great hope to want to solve the world’s issues, but it’s an impossible dream.  And we’re far from bringing our nation closer together with the current debates.  And my son is still only protected by a locked door and a petite secretary sitting behind a glass window.

So you can continue on being satisfied with your gun and healthcare debates, I’m not interested.  I want real results.  I want real safety.  My son is worth that.  Our children are worth real answers.

*packs away the soapbox*

*Side Note: This is not an invite to start any debates on this site on gun control or healthcare.  If you really, really, wanna.. email me.  I get that a lot of people just don’t wanna hear any of this, heck I lost five readers the day I posted about being a conservative, point being, no this is not gonna turn into a political ring, I have another blog for that.  But I would like to open up the discussion on what we can do inside the schools to keep our kids safe,  all views and opinions that are wrapped up like an adult are welcomed!


He Doesn’t Ask Anymore

It was hard on my son at first, he’d ask weekly where his big sister was.  I’d lie flat out, saying, “Oh honey, she’s just been working really hard, she’ll call… one day.”

Except one day hasn’t come in over a year and a half.  The phone has not rang in over 365 days. 

He doesn’t ask about her anymore.

And how do you explain to a six-year-old that his big sister has run away because she thinks we’re sinners who are unchoosen?  How do you tell those brown eyes that she doesn’t want us anymore?  How do I break his heart ever so softly, when in truth, it’s all harsh?

How does anyone explain how a normal human being can take the bible so far out of context to believe that God is calling you to abandon everyone, even your own child to worship him?  How does one praise from under a bushel?

I wrote almost daily after she disappeared.  I had a blog specifically aimed at reaching her, knowing (with my lurky super spy skills) that she or her mother were online… but over the past year I’ve lost the words.

How many times can you say, “Come back, no matter what, we still love you”?

How many tears can be spilt over a keyboard?

How many prayers can be said alone in the cover of night?

I don’t cry anymore, not for her, not for her husband, not for her child, not for me.  My soul will forever be broken for the loss that her father, my husband, is experiencing, a loss I’m not sure he will ever get past. 

A loss I’m not sure we will ever get past.

Yet we have no choice.  We must keep living.  We don’t get the choice to run away from the things that hurt us.

And so my son forgets, and so I shall allow him to.  Just for now.  It feels safe to let him let go slowly, quietly, peacefully.  It feels better, maybe easier to let him in on the hurt when his heart isn’t so young.  When his mind can better understand… even if I’m positive my mind never will.

And maybe I’m quietly praying that she’ll come back before he ever feels the real loss…

365 days, my door has remained open, forever it shall remain.



An Almost Perfect Day

It’s cold, rainy, windy and plain out gross outside.  A day that would be perfect for sweatpants and slippers, coffee and pizza, writing and moody music.  Instead it’s the school bus and gas station, laundry and cleaning. 

The life of a mom, so close to having those perfect days, yet always so, so far away from them.

And like I said, I have cleaning to do, because I am crazy and I love my son.  Yup it’s his fault.  His fault that I have to prepare for MORE ANIMALS.   Which honestly are only a couple more chicks to add to our four chickens we got last year, and who can say no to a boy who so carefully reads out the flyer to you, with those big brown eyes, and does cartwheels the minute he finds the ad on chicks. 

Because chickens make eggs, and this momma loves animals that pull their weight, or lay their weight, either way, 80 eggs last month from four little hens, I’m not going to complain.

Well I might complain, just a wee bit, because one of them likes to attack me when I’m in the garden trying to till up the rocks I seem to grow.  Apparently she sees invisible worms crawling up my fingers and arms, and I’m sure she’s only trying to save me from these invisible worms that she knows are really vampires in disguise.  And really she should feel lucky that she lays pretty blue/green eggs because I really think she’s crazy and my dogs would sure love some fresh meat I mean my freezer could really use some fresh meat…

Now where was I?

Yes, it’s raining and dark and cold and windy and all in all completely nasty outside.  I’m feeling completely inspired to work on my edits, and completely un-inspired to blog.  And really none of it matter because I have cleaning to do, many much cleaning, and a toddler to chase.

It’s an almost perfect day.


Mamma Wants a Stunt Double

There’s a list in the back of my head.  It’s my list of things I’ll do when I become rich and famous.  Things like opening a cafe’/fabric store/knitting club/book store/bar, traveling to Denali, and sleeping in past 6am. 

Today I have decided to add a “Stunt Double” to that list.  Can you see how useful/awesome it would be?!  Dirty Diaper, STUNT DOUBLE!  Trips of boring adult errands, STUNT DOUBLE! Need a nap?  STUNT DOUBLE! 

I do suppose that most people would call this a maid or a butler… but there’s not much fun in that.  I want some one who at the drop of a hat will roll in with a dramatic entry and take my place no matter what the situation is.

They’ll scale trees for me, catching chickens, while I sit back and giggle with a glass of wine.  They’ll climb that scary 30 foot ladder to see where that noise is coming from while I get a tan from the safety of my deck.  They’ll fish out the goop from the sink drains as I remember how to put on nail polish.

The possibilities are endless!

But my life can be quite exhausting, maybe I should hire a few stunt doubles, I wouldn’t want to break them… 

*starts digging in couch cushions for change*


I once visited Hell. 

Six years ago I was forced through the firey gates of what most would call Labor. And I am NOT exaggerating.

48 hours of induced labor, 2 days of no food, ice chips only, 2 days of laying on my left side.  2 days of a non-functional epidural <- that I only found out later you really aren’t supposed to feel anything with those, I felt it all.  48 hours of student doctors flowing in and out of my room, doing nothing more than ticking me off.

And then He was Born.

The Boy, 1 day old.

 A jaundiced, sedated, beautiful, chinese looking, baby boy.

Yes somedays it feels like there's three of him.

Today he is 6 years old.  Which means that tomorrow he’ll be Twenty years old and running off to Miami with some chick that I will not approve of.

Two Years Old and Always Handsome

But today he’s still 6, still my baby, still my boy.

Watch Your Girls Ladies

So for today it’s a Kung Zhu Zhu Birthday Cake for him and a bottle of wine for me. 

Look Out World

We’ve made it kid.  Congratulations. ❤

The Incredible Ordinary Girl

I find it hilarious that people go cross-eyed when they peek into my life.  Apparently it’s odd to have my lifestyle… one that I had assumed was quite, well ordinary.

Of course there’s the epic battle over women’s role in society and how being a stay at home mom is downgrading or heroic.  I don’t care too much about any of that, I just do what works for us.  Meaning I would have to pay to go to work.  Case closed. 

I enjoy most domestic things.  That’s right, I enjoy them… most of them.  I have taught myself how to crochet, knit and sew.  I can crochet a boggle, cable knit and make curtains… if I so choose.  And I like it.  And yes at least once a week my house might smell like fresh-baked something or another that did not come from a box.  And if someone would put away all the junk around here and the laundry I actually like to clean too.  And just in case the thought crossed your mind… that doesn’t make me old-fashioned or submissive… it makes me creative, resourceful, happy and proud. 

And we all know that I love my politics.  I love clearheaded intelligent debates.  I love the facts and I like a challenge.  Glen Beck is my hero, and Oprah is the anti-christ.  *Gasps*  I said Glen Beck.  Yup, I did.  Beck, Rush, Fox.  We can clarify my sanity or insanity later.

I have faith.  Strong faith.  I have both Sublime, Bif Naked and Bible readings on my I-Pod.  I believe in showing my faith and not preaching it unless I’m asked.  I believe in living like Jesus, and loving like him… Translation I don’t judge because I’m not God.  I don’t bible bash because I want you to ask me questions of your own free will instead of sending you running to the hills.  This all goes hand in hand with politics.  Clear, level-headed debates.  ‘Nuff said there.

I am a professional dog trainer by trade.  I went to a bona-fide, certified school, with a bona-fide humongous student loan and learned everything you could ever want to know about dogs and more.  Police, military, service, pets… I can train them all.  And I’m still paying on that student loan, 5 years later, so I don’t give out free advice unless I love you… or your dog.

Talking about dogs, I have 3.  A German Shepherd, a Belgian Malinois and an Australian Cattle Dog (aka Blue Heeler).  I won’t bore you with their credentials.  I also have a goat.  Apparently that’s odd.  My goat rocks, and you should all be jealous of her awesomeness.  She cuts the grass, weeds the jungle, poops instant fertilizer and takes naps on my deck.  She loves me and hates anything else that breathes, and I’m okay with that.  We have other animals too, lots of them… but this is a blog and not a book.

I love, love, love to write.  And I punish myself yearly in NaNoWriMo to crank out a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  I have successfully conquered the challenge all three years that I have signed up.  Those books are carefully hidden away in various umb drives, and most likely will never ever again see the light of day.  I love to write but I am not a writer.

To me this is all ordinary.  Chasing kids, taming goats, gardening in a jungle, bread baking, novel plots spinning in my head, knitting giant afghans of cable doom.  You want to hear odd?  Ask me about Alabama, Martini Bars, Hamburgers, Devil Woods, working at a dog kennel and horseback riding with a crazy rich guy…