No Mo' NaBloPoMo!

NaBloPoMo Day Thirty:
No Mo' NaBloPoMo!

Cheri: "I've written some of my best posts this month, haven't you been reading them?"

Kristen: "Mom, I read your blog, but don’t you see that these types of mother-daughter questions are rare?"

Cheri: "What do you mean?"

Kristen: "You ask me things like, 'Didn’t you read my post about such and such?' or you call and ask me to remind you about something one of us said so that you can write about it. None of my friends’ parents have blogs."

Cheri: "So, what are you saying?"

Kristen: "Just that this is unfamiliar territory. I don't have anyone to talk with about stuff like this."

Cheri [laughing]: "So, there should be a support group? Like Adult Children of Bloggers?"

Kristen [laughing]: "Yes, something like that."

Cheri: "Hey, now that you mention it, that’s a pretty funny idea. I should write a post about that.

Kristen: "See? That's what I'm talking about."

Cheri: "What?"

Kristen: "What you just said? That's just the kind of thing I would talk about in the support group."

Readers, who's doing NaBloPoMo in December?

Cheri: "One, two, three, [*touches nose*] NOT IT!"

Do Ask, I’ll Tell

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Nine:
Do Ask, I’ll Tell

In the comments section of my post yesterday, DOMA: Elephants on Parade, some of you asked me to explain the apparent contradictions in Obama’s position on same-gender marriage.

Sojourner asked: In the debates Joe Biden said that neither he nor Barack Obama were in favor of marriage for gays. I thought at the time that he was talking through his ass about Obama. But then I read an article in Equality, the publication of the HRC that stated he was in favor of civil unions. That goes against what you have cited here, also. So maybe he has changed his mind since 2004? I hope not. His statements there are very bold and powerful, and I thank you for bringing them to my attention.

Jason asked: While I love the comments from 2004, and I totally love this post, I have the same question as Sojourner...during the presidential campaign he didn't say what he said four years ago. Why was that? Please explain. Because I love it when you explain things.

Trish said: I love it when you explain things too and I love it when you find the loose thread and pull on it.

In light of what Joe Biden said during the Vice-Presidential debate and Obama’s statements at other times on the subject of same-gender marriage before, during, and subsequent to the November 2008 election, the question on many minds is what can and will Obama do about legalized same-gender marriage.

Rather than using my words to explain what may or may not be in Obama's heart or on Obama's mind, I prefer to use his words to explain what's on his agenda. Yesterday’s post quoted Obama’s February 2004 letter to the Windy City Times because in that letter he so eloquently reminded us of the reasons why he is a civil rights defender and that the “prize” is “equal rights for every American.” Most importantly, those words reflect Obama's most recent statements on the subject.

The Obama-Biden Plan to Strengthen Civil Rights on Obama's website at change.gov calls for the repeal of DOMA (section two authorizes states to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages from other states; section three prohibits the federal government from extending federal marriage-based benefits, privileges and rights to same-sex couples), the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," an opposition to a Constitutional ban on same-gender marriage, and legislation that would ensure that the 1,100+ federal legal rights and benefits currently provided on the basis of marital status are extended to same-sex couples in civil unions and other legally-recognized unions, among numerous other civil rights protections.

So . . . does this mean that Obama supports same-sex marriage or only civil unions?

Again, in Obama's words, which can be found in the link "Open Letter from Barack Obama" on Obama's LGBT Pride page, our President-elect says:

"As your President, I will use the bully pulpit to urge states to treat same-sex couples with full equality in their family and adoption laws. I personally believe that civil unions represent the best way to secure that equal treatment. But I also believe that the federal government should not stand in the way of states that want to decide on their own how best to pursue equality for gay and lesbian couples--whether that means a domestic partnership, a civil union, or a civil marriage. I support the complete repeal of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA). Federal law should not discriminate in any way against gay and lesbian couples, which is precisely what DOMA does. "

Why is this Obama’s plan and what will be its effect? Without getting into a lengthy discussion here about how equal rights for same-gender couples will eventually play out in light of the 10th Amendment and states' powers, checks and balances between the branches of governments, and the power of the judiciary all the way up to the U.S. Supreme Court to find laws unconstitutional, the importance of Obama’s plan is that it is immediate and effective.

Obama’s plan uses all of the powers available to the federal government to have the broad-reaching effect of making discrimination against same-gender partners illegal under federal law. Moreover, until the U.S. Supreme Court determines (and I believe it will) that prohibition of state marriage licenses to same-gender couples is unconstitutional under the Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment, and/or whether individual states have domestic partnership, civil unions, or civil marriage (again, whatever states do, I think the U.S. Supreme Court will eventually find that states' laws will have to apply to all couples uniformly under the Equal Protection Clause), all couples, mixed- or same-gender, will nonetheless have the same rights and benefits under federal law.

Again, Obama’s words:

"No one has to guess about what I will do in Washington. My record makes it very clear. I will be an unapologetic voice for civil rights . . . ."

DOMA: Elephants on Parade

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Eight:
DOMA: Elephants on Parade

Many moons ago, Last Place Finisher and I went to law school. Our first-year class was divided into three sections, and we were in the same one. We formed a study group along with two other students who fit one particular demographic: The four of us were among a handful of older students. Not that we were that old mind you, but we hadn’t gone to law school straight out of college. Most of us had previous careers, some had spouses, some had children, and all had a variety of life experiences that uniquely added to our decisions to study law and our law-school experiences.

Professor Garbesi taught first-year Torts (a tort is a civil wrong) by the Socratic method. When using the Socratic method, the teacher formulates questions that the student cannot answer except by a correct reasoning process. Regardless of the accuracy and thoroughness of the student's answer, the professor will practically fixate upon overlooked issues or unexplained details. And if there aren’t any of those lying about or the professor wants to move in another direction, then he or she will manipulate the facts of the actual case into a hypothetical that may or may not demand different reasoning.

Professor Garbesi’s ability to put first-year law students on the hot seat was the stuff of legends. Before our first class, our section started a hot-seat pool. Everyone chipped in $5, and the first person called upon by Garbesi would take the cash. Last Place Finisher won the cash, and along with it the respect of every person in the room, especially Garbesi’s, as he stood up to the legendary grilling with his sharp mind and good nature.

During study group sessions with Last Place Finisher, he would constantly (sometimes so relentlessly that I’d be ready to throw a Civil Procedure book at his head) pose Garbesi-esque questions about cases we were reviewing. We would spend hour upon hour discussing fact patterns and forming arguments for and against particular conclusions. Anyone on the outside looking in would be bored to tears, but we couldn’t get enough of ourselves at the time.

Although there are certain frustrations that come with someone who tugs at what may be a loose thread in your well-reasoned argument, comes too a chance for deeper thinking and growth. Last Place Finisher’s questions, and willingness to be asked questions, his conclusions, and willingness to consider other conclusions, made him a valuable study partner. Just when I’d think I had something figured out and why, he’d come along and challenge me. It was like I was Jaime Summers and he was Oscar Goldman. Last Place Finisher helped develop my bionic legal eye.

Recently, in the comment section of one of my several recents posts on California’s Proposition 8 (“Why Protest?”), Last Place Finisher asked this excellent question:

“Why argue Prop 8 while the Defense of Marriage Act is still law? Is it possible to argue that Prop 8 is unconstitutional under federal law if DOMA is still the law? Please, please, please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that DOMA is either right or wrong. I'm just saying that narrowing the focus to Prop 8 ignores some pretty big issues. Feels like there's an elephant in the room.”

Although I loved me some Clinton Presidency overall, the navy blue Gap dress was not the only place that Bill left a stain during his years in the White House. The Defense of Marriage Act of 1996 and “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” are two examples of such. But with a new President in office who opposed DOMA, a President who does not have a single focus, a new day is dawning. Whether the undoing of DOMA comes by repeal or in a finding by the U.S. Supreme Court that denial to same-gender couples of state marriage licenses is unconstitutional (perhaps directly as a result of California’s Proposition 8), it will be undone.

In the words of President-elect Barack Obama (excerpts are from his 2004 letter to the Windy City Times):

"[DOMA] should be repealed . . . and I will also oppose any proposal to amend the U.S. Constitution to ban gays and lesbians from marrying. This is an effort to demonize people for political advantage, and should be resisted . . . ."

"When Members of Congress passed DOMA, they were not interested in strengthening family values or protecting civil liberties. They were only interested in perpetuating division and affirming a wedge issue. . . ."

"As an African-American man, a child of an interracial marriage, a committed scholar, attorney and activist who works to protect the Bill of Rights, I am sensitive to the struggle for civil rights. As a state Senator, I have taken on the issue of civil rights for the LGBT community as if they were my own struggle because I believe strongly that the infringement of rights for any one group eventually endangers the rights enjoyed under law by the entire population."

"We must be careful to keep our eyes on the prize—equal rights for every American."

"No one has to guess about what I will do in Washington. My record makes it very clear. I will be an unapologetic voice for civil rights . . . ."

Last Place Finisher, the elephant is not in the room -- it is on parade.


(Picture courtesy of Google Images.)

Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Seven:
Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

Over at Law School Sucks and So Do Lawyers, Tranny Head has announced the Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway. Readers of Tranny Head’s hawt blog know of what we speak when we say “green beans.” For the rest of you, green beans pretty much stands for sex. Hawt, huh? Tranny Head had a most noble cause in mind as she announced the Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway – to spread “green beans” across the Blogosphere and have "green beans" end up in Urban Dictionary. I can see the definition now, right next to a photo of Tranny Head’s hawt rack (because we’ve never seen her Tranny face):

GREEN BEANS

A can of what you’re willing to hump when your husband is serving in the armed forces.

What you get lots and lots of when you’re husband is home on leave.

Green beans are best served hawt.

So, Tranny Head, this is for you. After you read it, send me my dang prize because based upon my helping you get green beans in the urban dictionary, I’m pretty sure that my mother-in-law will have disowned me, my children will run away from home, and my husband will . . . well, my husband will forgive me because I’m too expensive to get rid of now and he likes the way I make green beans. Here goes:

Sex: Do You Prefer Steamed, Sautéed, or in a Casserole?

In every long-term romantic relationship there are bound to be peaks and valleys, as Mrs. G. once told us. Those peaks and valleys happen in the bedroom too.


When you first fall in love, you can’t get enough of each other.




After you’ve been married for a while, you sometimes fall into a pattern.




After you’ve been married for a while longer, there are times that you fall out of the pattern.




And there are times when you fall head over heels out of the pattern.




Often it is very comfortable.




Sometimes you do it for a higher purpose.




Sometimes you do it for a lower purpose.




Usually? High or low or in between, there is one underlying reason that keeps you coming back for more.




But this one time? For me and Tom? There were multiple partners. Just thinking of the Googling pervs who will show up from that keyword search makes me {{{cringe}}}. Go away Google-searching pervs. There is nothing here for you.

One night, while I was spending some time with my laptop boyfriend, Tom came into the room. He sort of had that look in his eye, but it was really more than that look, it was that look from sixteen years ago. I recognized it as he gazed at me lovingly, and then started caressing my arm very gently, as though my bicep might be the holy grail of appendages.




Just as I was wondering what the frick had gotten into Tom, just as I was trying to figure out where this demonstration of adoration was headed, just as I was pondering why this moment was happening, just as I was attempting to over think this particular encounter like I over think everything . . . Deepak Chopra popped into my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. God. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So I stopped thinking and allowed myself to feel the simple joy that my husband’s love offered. After Tom stared into my eyes for a while, and rubbed my arm for another while, he took my hand and started walking with me to the bedroom. And then? He stopped six feet from the bed and started kissing me gently, and still looking into my eyes adoringly, he continued caressing me. And then? He began slowly removing my clothes.




Just as I was wondering what the frick was going on here, just as I was trying to figure out why Tom was so fervent but gentle with his kisses, just as I was attempting to unearth in my mind the purpose for which Tom was being so attentive to every detail came the moment in which I swore off reading any future Oprah’s Book Club selections for the rest of my life . . . Eckhart Tolle popped into my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. God. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So I stopped thinking and allowed myself to be in the present moment. I noticed that Tom was so competent and confident. I noticed how he could at once be strong and gentle. I started feeling overcome by how expertly he was handling the matters at hand. He was so attentive to every detail.




Just as I was wondering what I should do, just as I was pondering whether I should do anything, just as I was asking myself whether Tom wanted me to reap the benefits of his efforts or participate in them . . . Jesus popped into my my head and spoke to me. I. Swear. To. Uh. His. Father. He. Did. And this is what he said:




So . . . I thought about what Deepak, Eckhart, and Jesus said to me, and then I kicked everyone but Tom out of the room.



The end.




Readers, Do you prefer your green beans steamed, sautéed, or in a casserole?




(Images courtesy of Google Images.)

A Wicked Case of Elphaba Toe

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Six:
A Wicked Case of Elphaba Toe

(Actual Retouched Photograph)

I have received an outpouring of emails asking for an update on the condition of my big toe or I just made that up because it is day twenty-six of NaBloPoMo and I ran out of things to write about on day four. I share this information with everyone only because in so doing, I might be reaching out to another human being with a big toe condition and save a life by encouraging someone else to seek medical assistance or I am happy to talk on and on about myself and another one of the medical mysteries that prey upon my otherwise healthy and cheerful existence on this planet.

After a two-week stint on a broad-spectrum antibiotic for cellulitis of the big toe, yes, it was cellulitis, a true affliction, I had to go back to the doctor because my big toe got worse. It started turning green, and I’m not even joking. The doctor named a type of bacteria that was known for turning flesh green, something like elphabaphylococcusareus (they last four syllables are pronounced “you sorry ass”). So the doctor put me on a thirty-day round of antibiotics and recommended vinegar soaks. Vinegar soaks? Apparently the vinegar can penetrate skin and weaken bacteria. While I will embrace western medicine with both arms when it’s a decision between life or life without a big toe and death, I’m all about the homeopathic remedy. So I was totally down with giving vinegar soaks a try.

My vinegar-smelling big green toe totally made me think of Easter eggs. Totally. So, while my toe was soaking, I pondered whether I should pack my bottle of vinegar for our Thanksgiving trip to the Bay Area to see Kristen and Adam, or should I stand in line with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers to buy vinegar there. Then I remembered this post on Adam’s blog, about how he and Kristen have six different kinds of vinegar in their pantry. Foodies. So now my big dilemma is whether I want to stick with big green Easter egg toe or go for big green salad toe.

When Tom and I were in bed on Monday night, I told him all about my visit to the doctor earlier that day. Tom listened attentively. I made a compelling case about the seriousness of my condition, emphasizing multiple doctor visits and antibiotics and green flesh and, you know, that it is an actual condition. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that I had already thought over the possibility that the doctor might recommend amputation, like they might have to remove my big toe to save my life. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that I thought that getting a second opinion on a recommended big toe amputation would be worthwhile. Tom listened attentively. I told him that I’ve heard that you can’t walk properly without a big toe, something to do with balance. Tom listened attentively. I told him if they amputated my toe to save my life, I might have to buy a strap-on toe in order to walk properly. Tom listened attentively. Moreover, I told Tom, I'd need a strap-on toe so that I could run from the car into Target when it rains so my hair doesn't frizz. Tom listened attentively. I asked Tom if it were his big toe would he get a second opinion because the doctor called in one of his partners to look at my big toe because even the doctor wanted a second opinion about my big toe. Tom listened attentively. I told Tom that neither one of the doctors mentioned amputation yet. Tom listened attentively.

And then Tom wanted sex.

So . . . by way of a warning to my mother-in-law and children, tomorrow I will be posting about sex as part of Tranny Head’s Great Thanksgiving Green Bean Giveaway (“green beans” being Tranny Head’s euphemism for sex). Tranny Head is giving away a number of items as part of a "Holiday Survival Kit" including Starbucks and Target certificates (since I will be able to run into Target with my strap-on toe, I hope to win this), so enter the giveaway tomorrow. What do you have to lose by posting about sex? Heh.

So, Mom, Kids, maybe just stick with actual green bean casseroles on Thanksgiving and stay away from my blog tomorrow. Everyone else? Stop by to find out what I have to say about sex in a long-term marriage.

Readers, who thinks my big green toe and I should start practicing "For Good" right now?

Held

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Five:
Held

Deb at San Diego Momma is hosting PROMPTuesday #32: One Word.

From Deb:

Try to write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kick in.

Aim for 250 words or less.

Just look at the word. And write.




Act One

The first time that I held you in my arms I was amazed at my own feelings. I was in twenty-something love to the power of ten. You literally took my breath away, but I knew that even without a breath in my body I could fight to the death for you and win. I just knew that I could if it came down to it. And once it did. You were perfect in every way, that first day. You stayed that way too. You’ve always been a smart cookie, beautiful, good, and an artist. The thing that set you apart, high above, and sometimes made things feel so feely for you, is that you have the highest emotional intelligence of anyone I’ve ever met. Even as a little girl. Especially now. The wisdom, grace, and depth that are your heart and mind amaze me. It is my honor to be a part of your life. I am in forty-something love to the power of ten.

Act Two

The first time that I held you in my arms I was certain that never before on Earth had such a beautiful baby been born, and I knew the world was a better place that day because of you. Your skin was milky soft, your fluff (not hair) was the color of morning sunshine, and your eyes were clear blue pools. You weren’t just the most beautiful baby on Earth either. You were smart and self-sufficient too. And through the years, whether you were dressed in oversize T-shirts, giant green-framed glasses, all black from head to toe, volleyball or basketball or track shorts, or a vintage Emma Domb prom dress, you have always been beautiful. You’ve grown up to travel the western world all by yourself, and now you make the world a better place because you teach special kids who will make the world better too because you help them. You make me better too, and you didn’t even need to try, but still you do.

Act Three

The first time that I held you in my arms I felt like I was looking into a familiar face. We had known each other for a long time before. Every movement and feeling we gave to each other for nine months had been pondered, enjoyed, and memorized. I had imagined your face for many years. And although the first time ever I looked at you it was puffy with one eye swollen from a plugged tear duct, it was a beautiful surprise because I recognized you. And then I watched the rest of you unfold. You revealed your personality and power to me on that first day. From that plastic hospital bassinet, you lifted your head and looked around. I knew you were already soaking in information, figuring out the world around you. I wondered how I’d keep up with you. And my feet, my brain, and my heart have been in motion since the day you were born, trying to pace you. I’m blessed to be a travel companion on your journey.

Is NaBloPoMo Having an Effect at Your House?

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Four:
Is NaBloPoMo Having an Effect at Your House?

"Post every day for a month. That's all you have to do."
National Blog Posting Month Website

I found this message from Laura
on my laptop boyfriend this afternoon:

Readers, is NaBloPoMo having an effect at your house?

Hamsters are Taking Over the World!

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty Three:
Hamsters are Taking Over the World!

Before he planned world domination with Pinky's assistance,
Brain knew another genetically enhanced rodent, a hamster named Snowball.

To read Gary Rith Pottery Blog is to love Gary and his missus. Gary's pottery (he operates his own studio and teaches at Cornell) is just the beginning. It puts smiles on our faces, to be sure. But if you follow his blog, you will soon find out that Gary has a lovely missus named Maude. However, on Gary's blog Maude is mostly known by his terms of endearment, which most often take the form of edibles such as "apple crisp" or "pickled beet." (Gary wonders aloud whether the pet names he has for his missus might be more her pet peeve . . . ) Gary shares a lot of photos, particularly of his pottery, pets, and "pecan pie" (sorry Maude, I sold out a sister for the allure of alliteration). One of the more interesting things about Gary (as if calling your spouse "tofu pup" weren't interesting enough), is that he dreams about hamsters, but in a good way. Have we lost you yet? Almost? Hang in there, keep reading, Gary really is an awesome guy.

Sometimes Gary's dream hamster is wearing a white Elvis jumpsuit and little pompadour hair. Other times that hamster is wearing little glasses and holding a book to its chest. And then there was the time that Gary's dream hamster showed up wearing a cape. Can you guess my favorite of Gary's dream hamster characters? Pirate! Yeah-huh. Gary, we may have lost everyone else now, but you keep reading.

So . . . Gary, guess what? Laura and I thought you would especially like our new iPhone application -- Pet Hamster.




In fact, we made you a little video so you could see how it works!



In other hamster-related news (who thinks I'm scraping the bottom of the brain barrel twenty-three days into NaBloPoMo?), we went to see the movie Bolt today, and Gary, you will love it! The hamster totally steals the show. I laughed out loud many times during the movie, always because of the hamster. I'm sure that Tom was a little embarrassed because I was the only adult in the theater laughing out loud, but Tom's a good sport, and, anyway, a break-up at this stage in our lives would be much too expensive for him. Here is a review of Bolt at Wired. And here is a peek at Rhino the Hamster. Rhino is not only the brilliant guest star in Bolt, but apparently appears in other Disney movie trailers . . .



Maude, I'm guessing that you won't have to feed Gary any hamster-dream prompts tonight. This post should be enough to keep you both in hamster dreams until Christmas!


Readers: Do you have any pet dreams, pet names, or pet peeves?

And Then They Made Me Clean Latrines

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-Two:
And Then They Made Me Clean Latrines

I’m pretty sure that the Girl Scout organization is in violation of the Geneva Conventions, or, at the very least, the 8th Amendment Constitutional protection against cruel and unusual punishment.

After I graciously agreed to give my time and energy to be a Girl Scout leader? (Please don’t tell anyone I’m a Girl Scout leader, I have a bad-ass image to protect.) After I volunteered for the good of the girls? After I did so knowing that “good of the girls” would involve camping? After I signed up for said camping trip with twelve of the sixteen girls in our troop? After I drove up mountain roads with four carsick girls? After I left my king-size bed, 400-thread-count sheets, and gave up two day's worth of hawt green beans? After two nights of sleeping in a sleeping bag, on a bunk bed, in a cabin filled with eight-year-old girls? After following the no-hair dryer rule? After only violating the no-cell phone rule a little bit? After leaving my laptop boyfriend home alone? After I was fed very small portions of burned carbohydrates for two days? After I dealt with sleep-talking girls, girls who needed to go to the bathroom in the wee hours of the night, girls who took turns needing one thing or another, girls who were otherwise perfect but still numbered twelve?

After all of that?

The Girl Scout camp director made us clean latrines. Yes, she did so. And? She wouldn’t check us out of our cabin or return our medical forms to us until she’d inspected said latrines. Inspected. Holding a clipboard. You can’t make up this kind of stuff.

WTFrick?

Now, let me be clear. Just in case Last Place Finisher someone out there is thinking, “So? I've cleaned toilets when I was in the Air Force before I had a housekeeper. Stop your whining.” Yeah, yeah. I’ve cleaned toilets too. At home. One at a time. People? These latrines? The latrines at camp? Five fricking toilets, five fricking sinks, and five fricking showers, used by 48 fricking people who are not members of my immediate family. And? They tried to make me clean out the sanitary napkin disposal containers. I am not making that up. They tried. I had to draw the line there. If I didn’t put anything into those toxic-waste containers, you can be damn skippy sure I was not taking anything out.

This latrine cleaning? That I did? (Oh, yes, I did.) Bothered me on many levels, and I’m wondering what y’all think (and, if you think I’m a whiner, say so in the comments, but just know that I might be invoking my dusty trial-lawyer skillz in a reply). In addition to how gross and disgusting it was to clean a stranger’s hair out of a shower drain (even with two pair of rubber gloves), okay really just one pair of rubber gloves, but still, one of the things that bothered me was that they wanted the girls to do the latrine cleaning.

Now, I’m all about our kids learning responsibility, cleaning up after themselves, serving others, and not having every experience be fairy tales and silver spoons prepared in advance by a team of overachieving mothers. But eight-year-olds cleaning public latrines at camp? The camp provided several bottles of various chemicals (in unmarked plastic bottles), mops, sponges, and gloves. I had twelve girls who may or may not have allergies/sensitivities to chemicals, and I had bottles of cleaning solutions of unknown chemical content. Not to mention that these third-grade girls probably all have little or no experience handling chemicals and toxic waste. So I set them to work sweeping out the cabin, bunks, and porches. I cleaned the latrines. And I left the sanitary napkin disposal containers untouched by me.

Also? I see this as a feminist issue. (Last Place Finisher, don't even start with me. We’ve known each other for a long time, and leopards don’t change their spots.) Tom and Laura go camping with their YMCA Princess tribe several times per year, and Not Even Once has Tom or any of the other dads been told to clean public latrines. Most of the volunteer work in schools and community organizations falls to the hands of women, who to some degree allow themselves to be exploited for the good of the children. Don’t get me wrong. I'm usually the first one to sign up. In the modern workplace, women still earn only 69 cents on the dollar compared to our male counterparts. It is common knowledge that women perform the bulk of unpaid work in our society. And, according to my research (a comparative study between Girl Scouts and YMCA Princesses), only women volunteers are scrubbing latrines.

I plan to do more than simply rant about this and then sign up again for camp again next year. I plan to rant about this and then check in to someplace next year that comes with a bell captain, room service, and Internet access.



Readers, Take the poll:

1. Cleaning latrines at Girl Scout camp is asking too much of volunteer moms.

2. There’s no real difference between trial law and latrine cleaning. Shut up.

3. What? You didn’t pay your housekeeper to come to camp? Suckah.

4. You win for using more question marks than periods in paragraph two.



(Image and cartoon courtesy of Google.)

If Tim Russert Was an Eight-Year-Old Girl

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty-One:
If Tim Russert Was an Eight-Year-Old Girl

Tim Russert 1950-2008
(his famous whiteboard is now in the Smithsonian Institute)

According to Cathy A. Malchiodi in Understanding Children's Drawings"Drawing has been undeniably recognized as one of the most important ways that children express themselves and has been repeatedly linked to the expression of personality and emotions. [C]hildren may use drawing to explore, to problem solve, or simply to give visual form to ideas and observations . . . and can be representative of many different aspects of the children who create them."

Blog This Mom! presents . . .
A Peek Inside of Laura's Mind

October 2008


September 2008

January 2008

November 2008

Readers, help a mama out! What do these mean?

Animal, Vegetable, Debacle

NaBloPoMo Day Twenty:
Animal, Vegetale, Debacle
(or How Barbara Kingsolver Kicked My Ass)

Over the summer I read Barbara Kingsolver’s book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Kingsolver brings to the pages her skills as an accomplished novelist, creating a rather charming tale of her family’s one-year project: to eat only locally grown, sustainably farmed, seasonal, and organic foods. Most of what the family eats is grown on their own farm in rural Virginia, and what they do not raise themselves, they buy only from local farmers. They become “locavores” primarily to reduce their carbon footprint, to answer the growing nutritional crisis in our country, and to support their local economy. In so doing they discover rich flavors, valuable nutrients, true friendships, family ties, and wholesome fun.

As the author provides a seasonal accounting of her family’s project, it is flavored with engaging stories of turkey mating, her nine-year-old daughter’s efforts at her egg business, and descriptions of home-made bread, cheese, sausage, and other assorted delectables that one can practically taste. In addition to baking the family's daily bread, Kingsolver’s husband, Steven L. Hopp, adds to the book sidebars chock full of facts, figures, and statistics, revealing how agribusiness puts money mostly in the pockets of the shipping industry, robs our food of its nutritional value, and increases our dependence on fossil fuels. Hopp writes, “Food transport has become a bizarre and profitable economic equation that’s no longer really about feeding anyone: in our own nation we export 1.1 million tons of potatoes, while we also import 1.4 million tons.” The author’s eldest daughter, Camille, adds some delightful essays as she observes the effect her family’s project has on her young conscience, and she shares some excellent recipes.

With thoughts of socially and environmentally conscious living lodged in my brain, coupled with my advancing age and accompanying thoughts that I ought to start focusing on what’s important in life before I die, I started thinking about lifestyle changes. I have grown weary of late with the fast-paced, traffic-jammed, dog-eat-dog, competitive, conspicuous-consumption, way of life in which I am immersed and nobody around me seems to question, at least not much. So when my friend Gary posted some pictures of the farm that his parents have talked about selling, the wheels of my imagination began to turn.

I posted about wanting to buy that farm. Go take a look. It's a quick read, and pictures of the farm are included.

So, if you read my "People, I Just Want to Buy the Farm" post linked above, you will know that my sweet and well-intended thoughts of living a simple life made everyone start mocking me. Seriously. I was mocked. How was I supposed to know what a tractor really does? And now that I know that it does many things, including pulling a tiller, can someone please tell me what a tiller does? And aside from my big straw hat bumping up against the sunroof and my butt crack not being visible, come someone tell me why my Volvo XC90 won’t pull a tiller just as well as any tractor? Whatever a tiller is.

Anyway, since buying a farm in upstate New York was not on the immediate horizon, my husband’s common and economic sense being a major impediment to many of my best ideas, I decided that our family could experience local farming at someone else’s local farm. Julian, California is famous for its apple pie, and every fall, folks can come and pick apples at one of the many orchards in the community. Tom and I loaded Laura and her friend, Lauren, into the Volvo one Sunday morning in October, and off we headed to pick apples at an organic orchard that I found on Google. So began our debacle.

Laura and Lauren
enjoying a simple life.

Note the livestock in the background,
thus fulfilling the "animal" portion
of our Animal, Vegetable, Debacle experience.

If you give a juggler a pancake,
or apples, or anything that
fits in his hands in numbers of three . . .
(Good thing the Lord gave me just two breasts.)

See? I could totally be a farmer
in my Volvo XC90. Boo-ya.

See how nice is the view of the farm

from the driver's seat of a Volvo?

Do you think these kids were in it for
the apple picking or the apple pie?

So . . . how was this a debacle? The ride to Julian took nearly two hours, but due to a traffic accident and a detour route home, it was nearly a four-hour return trip. Hence, my foray into produce picking was a shambles in view of the primary purpose of Kingsolver's mission in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle being to address global warming by not relying on fossil fuel to transport food. And her argument that by supporting local economies, our food costs are cheaper in the end? Uh, not so much around me these parts.

$25 Bag of Apples picked in Julian, California

Time spent in Volvo: 6 hours.
Time spent picking apples: 45 minutes.

Cost of fuel: $95.00
Cost of one bag of self-pick apples: $25.00

Bottom line: Debacle


Readers, do you have any debacles experiences trying to reduce your carbon footprint to share?

A Shout Out to My Peeps

NaBloPoMo Day Nineteen:
A Shout Out to My Peeps

Around the country and across the world, many of you answered the call and joined the impact. You have filled our hearts with joy from your shared stories, gratitude to those of you who organized this effort, hope from those of you who shared your photos, and pride for those of you who raised up your voices.

Here are a few of the photos shared with me:

My Oldest Daughter, Kristen
With Signage Help from Her Partner, Adam
(from San Francisco, California)

Children Should be Seen and Heard
(from San Francisco, California)

Best Sign Ever Award Goes to Blade and Friend
(from San Francisco, California)

Asking the Right Question
(from San Francisco, California)

Building Bridges
(from Omaha, Nebraska)

Rainbows in a Red State
(from Austin, Texas)

Faces of Families, Faces of Love
(from Oakland, California)

The Butterfly Effect in Action

(from San Diego, California)

Yes We Will
(from San Diego, California)

This is a shout out to those of who raised your voices, spread the word, and took action in some way. If you took part in the National Protest on Saturday, November 15, 2008, even (and especially) if your part was simply to spread the word, please leave a link in the comments. I will post it here. Also, please take the badge below (a simple right click will do the trick) for your website as a heartfelt thank you and recognition from Blog This Mom! and Michael Luther Queen.

Blogroll of Peeps
(National Protest Supporters)

California:

Michael Luther Queen at Neely Barrow
Michael took time away from his San Diego real estate business to be one of the main organizers of the largest turnout in the U.S. (an estimated 20,000-25,000 attended the San Diego march). If you or someone you know has any real estate or relocation needs in the area, sending business his way would be a great way to support him.

Kristen at familyjuliebox

Adam at ClunkClunk

Jenn at Juggling Life

Stacey at Tales of the Burbs

Aaryn at San Diego CityBeat's Last Blog on Earth and thematically fickle


Indiana:

Liz at Eternal Lizdom


Nebraska:

Sojourner at What does it all mean, anyway?


Texas:

PhD in Yogurtry at coffeeyogurt


Washington:

Mrs. Chili at The Blue Door

Mrs. G. at Derfwad Manor

Take the badge!

Readers, if you or someone you know stood up for civil rights, please leave a link in the comments.