Riddle me this?

Why are we all so dang mad about that California mother getting herself inseminated and having a litter of kids?

Sure - she'll be using the welfare system to help raise them. But tons of other folks use government dollars to raise their children and, already on assistance, get preggers with more youngins. So, why are we so ticked at her?

And yes, her parents have helped her raise the kids. But come on - we all have a friend/ne'er do well cousin/neighbor who is raising/supporting/housing an adult child and their children. Do we get in a tizzy over them?

Is it the size of the girl's family that sets us off? I don't think so - because we all know big, poor, Catholic families that we love. Who doesn't love John and Kate Plus 8? We swoon for the Jolies. We love big Mormon families a little less than big Catholic families and John and Kate...and large families of Pentecostals (the Duggars) even less than that. I've noticed a general American pattern in that we don't mind a hefty, poor family as long as you are mainstream-religious, highly tattooed, or a celebrity. Is that why we don't like this big family - because they don't fall into an acceptable "camp"? If she had a pack of nannies trailing behind her and got her children from overseas, would we be more agreeable about it all?

I listened to a friend today go on and on about how these children would grow up disadvantaged being raised in a home with only a mother and with so many cumulative children vying for her limited resources. She doubted the babies would receive adequate individual attention. Of course, my friend works full-time because she goes nuts being around her own brood all day and she is all for gay marriage and single women being inseminated because she says it's a woman's right to choose if she wants to have children and how they will be raised. So, is it fair for her to not give this CA mother the same regard? Isn't it her body and her family to raise as she sees fit - just the same as Tom and Frank down the street?

It might sound, from my post, like I think it's just dandy to have 14 kids under the age of 8 with no real, substantive education, no father in the home, and no earned wage coming in. But the truth is, I don't. I just can't quite put my finger on exactly why it is so wrong to me. The entire situation smacks of abuse somehow, but when I dissect it, I find myself saying, "Yeah - it's wrong for her to have 14 kids, but it's noble when others adopt that many." I make myself sick saying, "If she had more means, I'd be fine with this" as so many people wouldn't exist on the planet if their parents had waited to have enough money to raise them before they conceived. Money is not equal to love. I can't quite figure out why it angers me - and most of the American public - to the degree that it does, but boy, the story sure does rile us all up.

Maybe it's because I take motherhood so seriously and I don't know that she does - and I sanctimoniously sit in judgement of her? Maybe I'm a bit jealous - I always wanted a big family and it turns out, I have a little one. I would love to sneak a couple of those babies into my home. Is that why my ire gets up over this? Or is it that I feel my good nature and desire for all to have the help they need to raise their family being abused as I see a deliberate abuse of the welfare system? I'm definitely incensed that there is not a regulation about how many embryos can be implanted in a womb, but we regulate how many CCs of saline can be pumped into a woman's chest. Did you know you have to leave the country if you want really huge ta-tas? But you can have, quite literally, a litter of babies put in your gut no questions asked. And speaking of plastic surgery - I am lead to think....maybe I'm just ticked that CA mother has had so much cosmetic surgery and I am easily more deserving. Has anyone else noticed her face has had substantial work?

I suspect it's a culmination of all of those thoughts of mine that have me ticked off that this is allowed to happen. I wish I could go scoop up all the octuplets and place them for adoption to mothers and fathers desperate to have just one child to adore.

While I can't put my finger on exactly what has me so riled up, I do know this - there are 14 children who need a lot of love and attention in California and I hope they will be blessed...in spite of their mother's choices. Heaven help them all...

When the dog poops in your pocketbook..

...it's time to call it a day.



At least, that is what I've always thought. But - live and learn! - you can begin your morning with a dog relieving itself in your handbag (and you being unable to clean it out and having to carry bits of said poop around with you for the next 12 hours as life was too busy to head home/to a store for a new purse) and have it end up being a lovely day!

Note to self: Don't call the day a goner over some misplaced feces. Maybe just write off that hour, instead.

I took the dogs to the vet yesterday morning before heading in to set up for Enrichment Night. And wouldn't ya know our little dog got nervous and shared those nerves with me in my purse while I was driving. Of course, I didn't realize what had happened until I was back in the car, having delivered the pooches to the vet, and now running late, was unable to pull over.

Note to self: Thank Mr. Mormon for getting me a sunroof in the car. It really helped air the car out while I drove around. I was freezing with the windows down and might have permanently damaged my nostrils from being stuck in the car with that smell for a long period of time. An open sunroof was the perfect middle ground.

The day had other wonkiness to it, as well. But really, that little event was the proverbial wonky icing on the wonky cake that is my life. What else could I tell you that was bizarre about yesterday that is going to grab your attention like dog doo? The rest will pale in comparison, so I'll keep it to myself.

Blissfully, the day ended with lots of friends and learning and enjoying myself thoroughly. It was wonderful! Whodda thunk?

Note to self: When the animals die, remain pet-free for the preservation of my remaining sanity.

In case the flu wasn't bad enough...

...ALL of us have the flu.


Excepting 2.0. She's happy and perky and only struggling with some asthma - but no flu like the rest of us. And it's good for us that she doesn't have the flu seeing as we all stayed home today to puke and re-group and 2.0 was the family nursemaid. The child did a fabulous job, I must say.

The flu is a mean, mean thing. Sure, it makes you fierce sick. And it makes you take sick time from a job where you haven't accumulated any, yet. Additionally, apparently, the flu makes you gain weight. You read that right. Yesterday, I weighed myself and weighed a svelte number of pounds. This morning, after a night of puking and only having eaten a tiny lunch yesterday, I weighed two pounds more - which is no longer svelte.

WHAT THE MONKEY?

I'm blowing chunks like a wrestler trying to make weight and I GAINED two pounds? Where is the justice?

Speaking of unjust things - Mr. Mormon used today and our inability to do much other than lay on the sofa to watch some shows with the children. They are currently in love with the 1980s cartoon Dungeons and Dragons. You know, I've endured House, Heros, and even Battlestar Galactica. And now the man expects me to endure DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS? He continues to add insult to my injury...they are working on memorizing the opening together!

And I think I'm going to work on ordering Season One of The Smurfs. That won't take the 2 pounds back off, but it should teach him to quit trying to geeky-80s-ify the children!

A little friendly VD competition

Not THAT kind of VD.

Sheesh

Valentine's Day is pretty long to type.  Does no one else write, "Happy VD!" in their Valentine's cards?

Anyhooo...

Let's have a fun competition.  The day of loooooove is fast upon us and what says love like - you know - words?  But particularly, what says love like words in SONGS!  So, get your love on and try to wow us all with great VD-worthy songs on your blog's playlist. 

If you want to play along, I will visit your blog and determine who has the BEST VD playlist. Anyone is welcome to enter, but I will be the sole arbiter of good taste on this one, and will decide who has won.  Feel free to campaign for your blog's playlist, though.  Gifts of cash are always welcome.  Contestants will be judged on their originality, set order, danceability, and the overall enjoyment of yours truly.

The winner will receive a lovey, syrupy post accolading their fine taste in tunes and my undying devotion.  Additionally, if your tunes are good enough, I might be so inclined to submit it to my neighborhood roller rink for their Valentine's Night Couple Skate set list.  rrrrrrr

See - this Mormon calling thing pays off.

If you are Mormon - you understand the word, "calling" in a different sense than those who work for AT&T.  In our church, a "calling" is a churchy job that you do with no promised recompense or reward (other than heavenly, I hope.)

Mormons expect a lot of their volunteers.  Our church has no paid ministry, and you'd think we'd all be a wreck on Sundays, unable to function well. Instead, we are a streamlined, well-oiled, highly trained machine.  It's amazing to see in action.  Each member does some job and in turn, an entire congregation functions on Sundays - as well as during the week. Volunteers are running Cub Scout packs, playing the organ on Sunday, cleaning meetinghouses, paying church bills, counseling people, teaching folks English and gardening and how to budget. You name it - Mormons probably have a calling for it.  

For the past long while, I've had callings in my church.  I serve others because I feel, in doing so, I am serving the Lord. Poor Lord - I am not always the best servant.  Sometimes, a calling is overwhelming and more often than not, I am ill-equipped to meet the challenges ahead of me. I have been blessed with excellent counselors and friends (and internet pals) who have listened to me, brainstormed with me, and helped me not be an idiot nearly as much as I would otherwise have proven.  Still, I'd say I fail more than half the time.  And I'm not being gracious there - I've had a boat load of failures.  

Often, I think to myself, "Please!  Let me not have to do this anymore so I can focus on other things for a while/so I can be less embarrassed of my shortcomings/so I can take a nap."

By often, I mean

uhhh

usually.  Usually, like, every day.  

Multiple times a day.

Today is a little different though. Today, I am humbled and thankful to have the opportunity to serve in my church.

A year ago today, I sat in a meeting hearing that 3.0 was developmentally delayed, had speech, communication, and comprehension issues, and frankly, she was waaaaay behind on the curvy racetrack that is life.  I had tried multiple times to have her evaluated and had been dismissed. It took a lot of perseverance for me to find someone who would listen to my plea for help with her. I KNEW what kids her age should be doing because I had a calling working with children every Sunday in 8 different congregations. I was with children her age every week for several years - and between training, manuals I'd reviewed, teaching curricula, and raising my own chil'uns, I knew developmentally, 3.0 was a little different.  But it took a lot to find someone to listen.

A year ago today, listening to the suddenly grim prognosis, I sat there thinking, "THIS SUCKS! My kid should have had help sooner - but no one would listen. I don't have time for a kid who has issues because I'm too busy helping everyone else. I don't have time to bathe - much less do therapies!"

If there was ever a time I didn't want a calling - it was then. I wanted to just focus on my family and not serve anyone but 1.0, 2.0, 3.0 - and maybe Mr. Mormon, if I felt like it that day.  :)

But today - a year later, I sat in another meeting hearing how well 3.0 is doing. I left with an excellent IEP that will allow her to have all the services she needs next year...and will allow us to discontinue some she has grown out of already.  I sat there today thinking, "Thank you for my calling!  Thanks for helping me become an expert in little kids.  Thank you for taking my very meager, humble, never-enough-service to others and using it to save my angel from confusion and misery.  Thank you for helping me know how to help my family."

As we serve others - we can only better ourselves and grow.  Even in our mistakes - we learn what to neeeeeeever ever try again (ask my mom about her taking a crazy lady to lunch trying to be a friend. he he heeeee - but see Mom - it was a learning experience - you now know to ignore the crazies.) As I sit here watching 3.0 struggle with making her Christmas card thank you notes and telling me, "Are they gone be so love it?", I know her communication skills still aren't perfect (nor is my thank-you-note-timeliness - but come on - better late than never!) She still doesn't count to 20 or know how to make her letters. She can't conjugate a verb or use a personal pronoun and prepositions bewilder her. 

But I know where she should be headed and what else I can do to help. And I know that when we were down to the wire and I needed help and someone to listen about 3.0's plight and I could find no one, I was blessed in a most surprising way with just the right help I needed.  And I know I will be blessed again.

I am grateful to all the folks who serve me every week - from bringing bread for the sacrament, to making copies to speaking to us on Sunday. I'm especially grateful to the people who provided ME with such excellent early childhood education training and who let me learn and experiment with their children every week. Without that, who knows where we would be today. A big fat thank you to all the nursery workers who needed training from me and to the others who didn't show up week after week - allowing me to become a nursery aficionado!

So I keep on serving. I don't serve that well all the time - but hopefully, I serve enough that others' lives aren't quite so dreary. Because today, as I look at my own life, it's not nearly as dreary as, a year ago, we had expected it to be.  

WOOHOO!

The joys of parenting

3.0, pointing - Mama - why you gots booboos?

Mama (fully dressed, mind you) - Those are boobies, not booboos.  Everyone has them. Even DADDY.

3.0 - But yours is like balloons that is down.

Mama - Thank you 3.0.

3.0 - How they get that way? Mine booboos are not down.  SEE!

Mama - Oh, just you wait, Precious Lamb.

Very, very, very unbelievably scary

I must say, I do a lot of very, very, very unbelievably scary things in the name of God's love for all men.

Tomorrow, I get to be scared again.

My Bishop handed me a card yesterday with the names of some folks I'd never heard of. They are from the southern part of my state and, I was told,  are up here while the wife is receiving chemo treatments.  They called the Bishop and asked if someone could help with rides to and from the hospital a couple of days this week.  

OoooooooK.  I guess.  

These kinds of requests always make me think, "Why did you not call and arrange that before you arrived? And why not give me some more notice?" But I try to be patient and imagine how I might act in a time of trouble and sadness.

Before I even got home from church and could call the folks,  I  had already received 2 messages from them. One from the woman, asking for assistance of any kind...and one from the husband that said, "This is Brother Blankity Blank. We've called twice now AND talked to your Bishop. HEEEEEEEEELP!!!  HEEEEEEEELP UUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!"

0_0

No really - that is what he said.

This morning, at 8 am, I received another call interrupting family prayer.  I asked the Compassionate Service Leader to please call the couple and get me some deets while I ran errands this morning (I was grocery shopping for a sick sister and checking in on another family whose dad went back in today for more chemo.)

And then, beyond the craziness of the aforementioned phone message, we opened a whole other can of crazy crap!  Bro. Blank explained to her that they've lived here a long time, but just never come to church.  They'd like some help now and (I quote), "We hear a lot of people get help from this church - and we want to know how we can get our hands on some."

So, I called Bro. Blank myself. As the discussion progressed, he couldn't exactly tell me what it was that they NEED, but he did want to share that he no longer has custody of his children (neither he nor his ex-wife could afford them and so they were warded to his parents), that he's going to lose his job and insurance on the 17th of January because he is a "mean nurse with a short fuse," and that they would love to come to my home for Family Home Evening any time we'd like to host them.  He shared that his Bishop in his other ward isn't interested in helping their family now.  He also explained to me it is wearying to them to be asked what they need because really, people should just think of what someone with gastric cancer would need and do, "that kind of stuff."

At this point, I said to him, "Bro. Blank - before yesterday, I never knew you existed on the planet, much less that you were in need of service and that it was so desperate that you needed to make several calls to my home and to other leaders in this area (like my Stake President and Stake RS President telling them they weren't hearing from me.)  Some more specific directions right now could help me to help you faster as I get to know your family."

He went on to say that they would like to be entertained, especially during the day. If people could read to his wife, that would be great. Currently, she drives herself to chemo and has so many friends he gets irritated by them all (his words), but it'd be nice if we "stepped it up for a change."

Ahem.

I explained that our ward has two other families dealing with cancer diagnoses and treatments, and a myriad of other problems, disabilities, and overall stresses.  I further explained we were going to have to determine what was really needed at this time and what just sounded fun, but wasn't necessary. When I asked him about the rides I was told he needed, he shared that his wife drives herself to and from chemo and it's no problem.  We made arrangements that I'd come over tomorrow to visit and get more specific information.

While on the phone, I was put on hold so he could haggle with the Wendy's clerk and tell her he was a little short, so what was the least he could get the Frosty (he'd already sucked out of) for. He asked me how old I was (and laughed that I was young) and said he'd talk to me later and was glad I FINALLY called back.

Double ahem.

Minutes later, I received another call from Bro. Blank. He asked me what my name was again. He then said, "I spoke to my wife and she'd like rides to and from the hospital every day this week."

Mind you, the hospital is an easy 30 minutes away - but more like 45 in the morning, when she needs to arrive. And also mind you, my ward is doing this for another family, a woman who just had open-heart surgery, etc. etc. etc.  We're pretty tapped out.  There is a 4 hour wait between drop off and pick up, so it will take two sisters, or one very patient one, to assist this family.

I asked what had changed since she had been driving herself and why she now was also going on Fridays when he'd told both me and the Bishop that she "had Friday's off."  He explained that she's not really that happy driving herself and he's worried she will get depressed and drive herself to South Florida, back to her friends. 

I kept it to myself, but I asked, "And that's a problem......how?"

Explaining that I can't ask busy women to drive folks around because husbands think their wives will run away from home, he changed his tune and said her doctors told her she can't drive.

Also, he decided that when someone picks them up -  they could bring some dinner for that night. Or better yet, someone else could come by later with dinner.  Also, the missionaries should probably stop by every day and read his wife the Bible.

Aaaaaaaalrighty then.

So tomorrow, I'm going to meet this motley crew and get some things straightened out.  The sense of entitlement not just by this family - but by sooooooo many - is staggering.

I will say it leads to great stories, though!

Once again, I will tromp into some stranger's home and hope they are on the up and up.  It's a little nervous-making to do this so often, but I figure, if I haven't been offed yet, what're the odds that tomorrow will be the day?

Right?