As we were watching the 9/11 memorial ceremony, the First Lady whispered something to the President. I remembered what my mother had always taught us, her children: “Whispering in public is impolite.”
September 12: Kyle comes running up to me, “Feel this. Feel this toast. This is not toast!” I take a look at it, not a touch of brown. He continues in a Gordon Ramsay accent, “Can we get this bread back in the toastuh?” all while slapping the table rhythmically to the accents of the sentence. Thank you, Gordon Ramsay.
Funny how liberals like to use the terms “ignorant” and “close-minded” when describing conservatives, while they won’t even hear a conservative’s argument.
Then again, I’d rather be close-minded than open-minded. An open mind accepts all ideas and tolerates the intolerable. A closed mind is established, steady, and predictable.
As for being ignorant, I don’t claim that I know everything about everything; I’ve yet to meet a person who does. So, yea, I guess I am ignorant. I ask for documentation that supports a liberal idea, though I am not sure if that’s an open- or close-minded action. I am either denied and given the response, “There isn’t any,” or I am sent links to videos, which I watch, website articles, which I read, and lectures, to which I listen, and discover that not one of them is without falsehoods or straw-man arguments.
I offer documentation that negates a liberal idea and am labeled archaic, narrow-minded, and hateful.
Hateful.
This situation has occurred many times, with many friends, family, and acquaintances, over many topics such as homosexuality, prenatal homicide, breastfeeding, evolution, gun laws, public education, contraception, and even discussions that compare and contrast children and pets. Yes, there are people who think that their pets are their children!
Funny that I used to be a liberal and questioned conservative values. When I did that, I was hailed by fellow liberals as a champion of the weak and a defender of those who want to live in peace and love, but I was rarely called names by conservatives. My ideas were sick, disturbing, wrong, and immoral. Every once in a while, of course, there was an angry conservative mofo who used slurs and language that one wouldn’t usually repeat in church, but it was not the usual pattern of conservatives. Most of them shook their heads, maybe thinking the same things that I think today when shaking my head to my liberal friends and kin. And that is…
YOU are the close-minded one. The documents are staring at you, waiting to be read, but you willfully ignore them. Because I love (and not hate) my neighbor, I pray for your moral clarity. I pray that you defend the defenseless and love those who hate you. I pray that you keep your mind active, not open nor closed but active. Seek and recognize the Truth, which is not full of hate; it is full of love.
Truth will win.
The school year in the county starts on Monday. We are also starting our home school lessons that day. I hear many mothers express their excitement about school’s starting back up. I’m excited about it, too. I’m teaching three grades this year. So far, I’ve spent at least 30 hours in the library or at home, scheduling, planning, organizing the hours and lessons for our three schoolers. It’s work, a chore sometimes, to put it all on paper, but it is well worth it to have these lessons planned instead of flying by the seat of my pants — or skirt.
Some mothers are actually saddened by the thought because they enjoy the easygoing that pairs with summer. I can’t understand that. All this laid back, no schedule routine makes me nervous. The children get so hyped up on each other. Schooling gives them structure and makes them more rational.
But then there are mothers who are excited about their children’s going back to school because they get more time for themselves. I can understand that. But I can’t believe that there are mothers (and fathers) who use the time that their children are in school, day in, day out, for selfish indulgences. Sure, a cup of coffee while reading a pointless magazine once in a while is good for relaxing, but every morning? Hey, if they earned the privilege, they earned it, but does that mean it’s right?
“I can’t wait to send them out the door.”
“Wait until your children are this age. You will want to get rid of them.”
“You have to have time for yourself. I’d go crazy.”
I’ve been told these lines from various mothers about their children in front of their own children!
The feminist movement hasn’t helped the cause much. Mothers with school age children have grown up with feminist ideals, that they can do what they want, that they can have marriage, children, and careers, that they SHOULD be pursuing their interests.
I’ve learned that the greatest common factor between these mothers is that their children do not respect them. Who would want to respect a person with the attitude of “I can’t wait to get rid of you”? They do not teach their children to respect and honor them; instead, they teach them that the children can behave in inappropriate ways and get rewarded… by continuing to see their friends, play video games, talk on the phone, and participate in sports. I can understand that in a way because, let’s face it, what mother wants to hang out with her disrespectful, disobedient, nasty little child?
It’s easier to send him away!
Not that I have all the answers in child-rearing but I do have a good time conversing with my children, singing songs while we do our housework and chores, planning our family’s Hallowe’en costumes, and teaching them what I know. I know of a great source, however, that does have very good answers to life’s persistent questions, that does offer great wisdom when it comes to familial and societal relationships.
Our children are not perfect as we are not, and sometimes, yes, we can all be as painful as donkey kicks to each other. But we all understand the posted rules, and we all know when we’ve done wrong. If a mother does not reprimand her son, he will not know that he’s done wrong. If a father teaches his daughter the right path, she follow it and know when she’s veered from it. There is a protection that a young child feels when he knows his boundaries.
“That’s just how he is,” would respond a parent when his grade schooler does wrong. Wrong! That is just how you made him! YOU trained him. YOU allowed him. YOU encouraged him. If you don’t like him, it’s YOUR fault.
It’s like making sausage: Everybody loves sausage. Everybody loves a polite child. Nobody wants to make sausage because it’s gross. Nobody wants to reprimand the child because it’s painful… as a parent, it’s not fun to yell, to punish, to ground, to be consistent, to follow through with said threats (“I’m taking away your really awesome shoes that all your friends like”). It really is easier to let him be, to send him to his room and let him rear himself.
So basically, train your children in the way they should go, and you’ll end up having a good time together and getting along. They’ll respect you, and you’ll like them. Summertime will be enjoyable for the family.
For more information on child rearing, family relationships, sound business practices, and overall wisdom, please locate your nearest Bible, turn to the book of Proverbs (it’s kind of right in the middle), and begin reading, or you can find Proverbs online here.
A Father’s Instruction is among my favorites.
Plain an’ simple:
(1) Just one God.
(2) Put nothin’ before God.
(3) Watch yer mouth.
(4) Git yourself to Sunday meetin’.
(5) Honor yer Ma & Pa.
(6) No killin’.
(7) No foolin’ around with another feller’s gal (or ‘nother gal’s feller).
(8) Don’t take what ain’t yorn.
(9) No tellin’ tales or gossipin’.
(10) Don’t be hankerin’ for yer buddy’s stuff.
An’ bless your little cotton pickin’ heart!
I’m often asked how we feed a family of seven on a teacher’s income without the “benefits” of government subsidies. Day in, day out, we use the same ingredients: rice or pasta, beans, onions, sometimes garlic, bell peppers, maybe celery, broccoli, and/or carrots. Dad roasts a chicken, which feeds us for a couple of days. On the surface, it looks like the same old same old, but the spices and herbs we use are different.
I try to teach the children to appreciate foods from all over the world, but with only rice and beans, you have to be creative. This is what I’ve discovered:
Olive oil, mint, and garbanzos make it Greek.
Olive oil, basil, and tomatoes make it Italian.
Sesame oil, soy sauce, and ginger make it Asian.
Corn oil, cilantro, and tomatoes make it Mexican.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme make it English.
Pork fat, soy sauce, and tomatoes make it Peruvian Chifa.
Pork fat, parsley, and mustard make it German, but I never use garlic when cooking German food because everybody knows that the Germans don’t eat garlic.
And then there are the varieties or regional herbs and spices:
Cinnamon over Italian makes it Cincinnati.
Crystal hot sauce over red beans and rice makes it New Orleans.
Mango with Asian still keeps it Asian, but with cumin, it’s Cuban.
Key lime over Cuban makes it South Florida.
Sour cream and avocado over South Florida with a side of lychees makes it Sleppy Rock. (I just made that up. I don’t think I’ve ever had that combination, but it’s perfectly possible!)
You get the idea: a rough overview of world cuisines. It’s not the End All, Be All, but a small glance of our culinary escapades just to show readers that rice and beans doesn’t have to be boring.
Todd, my brother, and I are at Aunt Jennie’s house. The uncomfortable place. The backyard; a metal shed to store crap, some slash pines, and That! mango tree.
No AC!! Jalousie windows. Aunt Jennie’s mango-stained whiskers. Itchy. Yuck!
Mommy and Daddy are on a married date.
AM Radio squawks “Elvis, Dead!”
Mommy and Daddy were going to see Elvis in three months.
That day would never come.
Many days never came.
Taylor just completed her first sewing project. It didn’t take long at all, about fifteen minutes.
My cousins and aunt from Alabama came down for a visit. They brought some toys for the boys and twins and a Simplicity Lockstitch sewing machine for Taylor. She was really happy and carried around the machine in its packaging for a day and a half. I told her that I’d teach her to sew as soon as we had time, but with all the home projects that we had, Dad and me, there really wasn’t any time.
Yesterday, before we left to a pool party, I taught her to sew straight lines. But the bobbin thread was too tight. The needle thread was too tight. It was just getting frustrating. I tinkered with it a little; my own sewing machine is nearly a decade older than I am and keeps me versed in sewing machine mechanics.
This morning, I figured that I had about an hour to tinker with the bobbin and the tension some more, and I finally got the thread to behave. After stitching straight lines and zig zags, I thought it was time for Taylor to start on her project.
I had a scrap of fabric hanging around from the twins’ dresses, just big enough to make a little pillow for one of Taylor’s dolls. When I sat her down, she was upset with me because I took too long to get started. I explained to her that I wanted her to have a good experience with a sewing machine. (There are few things more frustrating than a machine that doesn’t cooperate!) I taught her to start with a reverse stitch as an anchor. She sewed straight lines down the side until she reached the end, where I taught her to lift the foot, turn the work, drop the foot, and sew another straight line. She did that for three sides until she was about three inches from the end. Reverse stitch to anchor.
She turned the work inside out and stuffed it polyester fiberfill. As she was doing that, she kept exclaiming, “This is so cute! This is going to be so cute!”
I was thinking about teaching her to hand sew the pillow shut, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to teach her to wield a needle and produce a whipstitch. She used her machine again to stitch it, practicing the reverse stitch to anchor, forward straight stitch, and reverse stitch again.
Once that was completed, I took a picture of her with her first project and the sewing machine.
I’m thinking about her next project, something that still involves straight lines…
I was vegging out of facebook when I saw all five children hurry out of the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I figured they were being their weird selves again. Okay. No problem. Several minutes later, I hear some steady chanting, like counting almost, and then quiet. Whatever. They are being weird. Then I hear someone screaming! I mean, more like yelling, like he is mad!
Then they all break out in giggles and screeching laughter.
Taylor runs to me, laughing so hard that she can’t even tell me the story. This is what I deciphered:
We were playing Master Chef, and we were all cooking. The babies were like Chef Ramsay, doing the counting, Three Two One and Stop! (With a British accent, of cou’se) Kyle looked at the food and slammed it on the table and said, “IT’S RAWWW” ha hahaha hahaha hhaa giggle giggle haha haha
Now I’m hearing them yelling back and forth “Blue Team, scallops! I’m walking in thirty seconds! No, no, it needs a little bit of salt. No, you’re supposed to put SUGAR!! Not a little bit. A LOT! Look, it’s like rubbah!!”
I’m laughing as I type this!! LOL At least they know that scallops aren’t supposed to feel like rubber. lol!
We are getting hurricane shutters installed on the windows. Two men came to do the job. Ty hung around them, asking if they needed help. At first, I was concerned that Ty might be getting himself in the way, but the men would ask him for a nail or a bit or whatever.
Ty offered them water. They said they were fine. They do this kind of work all the time, windows need shutters on the outside. Around lunchtime, Ty asked them if they wanted lunch. They said that they had all they needed. Ty made them peanut butter sandwiches anyway. He presented it to them. They were, of course, grateful, but being that they had their own provisions, they didn’t eat the sandwiches right away. Ty told me that he put the sandwiches in their cooler.
After two days of shutter installation, the men were done with what they could do (we are still waiting for a track part). Dear Husband talked to them in the shade of a neighbor’s tree. One of the men told DH that we have really great kids.
Thanks, Ty, for representing our family.
