Uhhh, guess I better update the blog thingie...

So, the last two years witnessed a complete abandonment of any sort of creative effort on my part - to include this blog thingie.

In my defense, I was busy. And selectively social (that can easily be translated as "actively pursuing hermit status"). And, if I'm going to be completely honest, this isn't really a "social" activity, but I'm going to pretend that it is.

I did finally make the jump and quit all my jobs to go back to school. I managed to embarrass all the kids in class on the first day of school by dropping the F-bomb (on accident, I swear). Imagine going to school with your Mom and one of the first phrases out of her mouth is, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Yep, big splash.

So, hopefully I'll be able to come up with something entertaining over the next few weeks. I'll keep you posted.

This is a must-read....

I received this via e-mail today, and thought I'd share it. I haven't researched the validity of the source yet (haven't had time), but the article is a good read anyway.

Wake up America!

READ THIS CAREFULLY AND SLOWLY

I am a student of history. Professionally, I have written 15 books in six languages, and have studied history all my life. I think there is something monumentally large afoot, and I do not believe it is just a banking crisis,or a mortgage crisis, or a credit crisis. Yes, these exist but they are merely single facets on a very large gemstone that is only now coming into a sharper focus.

Something of historic proportions is happening. I can sense it because I know how it feels, smells, what it looks like, and how people react to it.Yes, a perfect storm may be brewing, but there is something happening within our country that has been evolving for about 10 - 15 years. The pace has dramatically quickened in the past two.

We demanded and then codified into law the requirement that our banks make massive loans to people whom we knew could never pay back? Why? We learned recently that the Federal Reserve, which has little or no real oversight by anyone, has "loaned" two trillion dollars (that is $2,000,000,000,000) over the past few months, but will not tell us to whom or why or disclose the terms. That is our money. Yours and mine. And that is three times the$700B we all argued about so strenuously just this past September.

Who has this money? Why do they have it? Why are the terms unavailable to us? Who asked for it? Who authorized it? I thought this was a government of "We the People," who loaned our powers to our elected leaders.Apparently not.

We have spent two or more decades intentionally de-industrializing our economy. Why?

We have intentionally dumbed down our schools, ignored our history, and no longer teach our founding documents, why we are exceptional, and why we are worth preserving. Students by and large cannot write, think critically,read, or articulate. Parents are not revolting, teachers are not picketing,school boards continue to back mediocrity. Why?

We have now established the precedent of protesting every close election(now violently in California over a proposition that is so controversial that it wants marriage to remain between one man and one woman. Did you ever think such a thing possible just a decade ago?). We have corrupted our sacred political process by allowing unelected judges to write laws that radically change our way of life, and then mainstream Marxist groups like ACORN and others to turn our voting system into a banana republic. To what purpose?

Now our mortgage industry is collapsing, housing prices are in free fall,major industries are failing, our banking system is on the verge of collapse, Social Security is nearly bankrupt, as is Medicare and our entire government. Our education system is worse than a joke (I teach college and know precisely what I am talking about.) The list is staggering in its length, breadth, and depth. It is potentially 1929 x 10. And we are at war with an enemy we cannot name for fear of offending people of the same religion who cannot wait to slit the throats of your children if they have the opportunity to do so.

And now we have elected a man we know nothing about, who has never run so much as a Dairy Queen, let alone a town as big as Wasilla, Alaska. All of his associations and alliances are with real radicals in their chosen fields of employment, and everything we learn about him, drip by drip, is unsettling if not downright scary. (Surely you have heard him speak about his idea to create and fund a mandatory civilian defense force stronger than our military for use inside our borders? No? Oh, of course. The media would never play that for you over and over and then demand he answer it.Sarah Palin's pregnant daughter and $150,000 wardrobe is more important.)

Mr. Obama's winning platform can be boiled down to one word:Change...radical change. Why?

I have never been so afraid for my country and for my children as I am now.This man campaigned on bringing people together, something he has never,ever done in his professional life. In my assessment, Obama will divide us along philosophical lines, push us apart, and then try to realign the pieces into a new and different power structure. Change is indeed coming. And when it comes, you will never see the same nation again.

And that is only the beginning.

I thought I would never be able to experience what the ordinary, moral German felt in the mid-1930s. In those times, the savior was a former smooth-talking rabble-rouser from the streets, about whom the average German knew next to nothing. What they did know was that he was associated with groups that shouted, shoved, and pushed around people with whom they disagreed; he edged his way onto the political stage through great oratory and promises. Economic times were tough, people were losing jobs, and he was a great speaker. And he smiled and waved a lot. And people, even newspapers, were afraid to speak out for fear that his "brown shirts" would bully them into submission.

And then he was duly elected to office, with a full-throttled economic crisis at hand [the Great Depression]. Slowly but surely he seized the controls of government power, department by department, person by person,bureaucracy by bureaucracy. The kids joined a Youth Movement in his name,where they were taught what to think. How did he get the people on his side? He did it promising jobs to the jobless, money to the moneyless, and goodies for the military-industrial complex. He did it by indoctrinating the children, advocating gun control, health care for all, better wages,better jobs, and promising to re-instill pride once again in the country,across Europe, and across the world.

He did it with a compliant media - Did you know that? And he did this all in the name of justice and...change. And the people surely got what they voted for. (Look it up if you think I am exaggerating.) Read your history books. Many people objected in 1933 and were shouted down, called names,laughed at, and made fun of. When Winston Churchill pointed out the obvious in the late 1930s while seated in the House of Lords in England (he was not yet Prime Minister), he was booed into his seat and called a crazy troublemaker. He was right, though.

Don't forget that Germany was the most educated, cultured country in Europe. It was full of music, art, museums, hospitals, laboratories, and universities. And in less than six years -- a shorter time span than just two terms of the U. S. presidency -- it was rounding up its own citizens,killing others, abrogating its laws, turning children against parents, and neighbors against neighbors. All with the best of intentions, of course.The road to Hell is paved with them.

As a practical thinker, one not overly prone to emotional decisions, I have a choice: I can either believe what the objective pieces of evidence tell me (even if they make me cringe with disgust); I can believe what history is shouting to me from across the chasm of seven decades; or I can hope I am wrong, close my eyes, have another latte and ignore what is transpiring around me.

Some people scoff at me; others laugh or think I am foolish, naive, or both.Perhaps I am. But I have never been afraid to look people in the eye and tell them exactly what I believe -- and why I believe it. I pray I am wrong. But, I do not think I am.
______________________________________________
About the author via Google...
Pamela "Atlas" Geller began her publishing career at The New York Daily News and subsequently took over operation of The New York Observer as Associate Publisher. She left The Observer after the birth of her fourth child, but remained involved in various projects including American Associates, Ben Gurion University and being Senior Vice-President Strategic Planning and Performance Evaluation at The Brandeis School.

After 9/11, Atlas had the veil of oblivion violently lifted from her consciousness and immersed herself in the education and understanding of geopolitics, Islam, terror, foreign affairs and imminent threats the mainstream media and the government wouldn't cover or discuss.

Who Will Stand With Me?

I originally set out to write an opinion on our so-called health insurance reform bill, but I got sidetracked. I took a crazy turn into “conspiracy theory land”, and scared the bejeezus out of myself.

Here’s the problem – I believe parts of my conspiracy theory. But I need to give you a little background before I plunge headfirst into the theory.

After reading the bill entitled “America’s Affordable Health Choices Act of 2009”, hereinafter referred to by me as the health care bill, I realized that the only part of the title that contains any truth is that it is being drafted in 2009. It doesn’t encompass everyone in America, it isn’t affordable, there are no choices, and it doesn’t really deal with health at all. In short, it’s the biggest money-grab our nation has seen since the passing of the 16th Amendment.

That’s right – I said it. It isn’t about health care – it’s about money, power, and control. (Those of you who are so inclined are welcome to report me to the snitch brigade at the White House – flag@whitehouse.gov.)

Okay – my theory. I think that certain parties have undertaken an all-out assault on our country in order to further concentrate all of our money and power into the hands of a select few. I don’t know who they are – I can’t (or won’t) name names. But I want you to take a look at events that have transpired over the last year or so, keeping in mind one simple rule.

The ultimate responsibility of a nation’s government is to protect the value or strength of that nation’s currency. Everything else that’s done is secondary, or fulfills a supporting role in the first directive – protect the strength of the nation’s currency.

Without a strong economy, a nation has no way to do those things necessary to the ethical stewardship of a nation. Things like “…form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity” become impossible without a strong economy. Once the incentive for success provided by the opportunity to make a profit is removed, the economy ceases to exist.

What you have left is a tattered wraith of what once was, aping the behavior of it’s predecessors and spreading misery wherever it roams. That spectre of greatness engenders bitterness in the citizenry of a once great nation, causes famine, disease, struggle, and untimely death. It is the ruin of civilization.

This is our future. And we, with our inattention and apathy, have allowed that future to rear its ugly head.

This path that we’re on began a long time ago, and the first effective volley was fired at our system of education. The seeds of destruction were planted there when we slowly erased critical thinking and logic from the education of our youth. Instead, we overwhelmed them with facts and figures, and taught them that fact regurgitation is likenable to intelligence. Unable to think for themselves, we then sent them to college, where their heads were filled with ideas and philosophies that are counter to our culture, morals, and beliefs. We slowly corrupted them with abstractions, and gave them very little in the way of actual education. We gave them re-education, and we paid for their corruption with the products of our labor.

They then ventured out into the world – into journalism, politics, law, economics, medicine, science, engineering, seminary – name any profession and they took up the mantle. Their education taught them that greed was the same thing as success, and that words like honor, integrity, loyalty and sacrifice were anachronisms – no longer applicable to the world in which they lived.

They then ascended to positions in banking institutions, law firms, politics, journalism, science, medicine, and education. The malleable clay that they once were had hardened, so that they were inflexible. When pressures became too great, they were destroyed, and they destroyed the things and the people with whom they were closely acquainted.

The seeds of our children’s education reaped scandal in banking, commerce, politics, education, law, seminary – everywhere you looked. The very fabric of our nation was torn apart because the foundation that our children built their hopes and dreams upon was made of sand – unable to withstand the storm of hard times and bad decisions.

We wound up with the mortgage debacle (Fannie and Freddie), the collapse of our financial institutions, the unendurable demands of labor unions upon manufacturing (the auto industry), the predatory practices of trial lawyers (health care and political correctness), and finally ended up with the usurpation of our rights, liberties, and fortunes by an overzealous government. Our government has become a bloated, monstrous parasite whose appetite has no end, and whose demise will only come with the utter obliteration of its host – the people of the United States.

Our government has declared war upon us – the People – and most of us have no idea how to fight.

So what do we do? Live a half-life on our knees, supplicants to a master who has no concept of justice, fairness, equality, or mercy? Or stand an our feet, willing to die so that others might live free?

I know what I do – I stand.

I study my opponent, I learn from his actions, I anticipate his intentions, and I learn to fight him. Many of the items in his arsenal are at this point unfamiliar to me – things like words, laws, regulations, bills, taxes, court decisions, media manipulation, labor unions, and community activists. I don’t know how to fight these things, but I will.

I did learn a few things from a lifetime in the military and from combat service. It doesn’t matter who your opponent is, if you maintain unrelenting pressure on one focal point for long enough, he will move to another objective. That’s a very short term goal, but can be incredibly effective.

For now, I focus all of my attention on this one objective – defeat of the health care bill. I surround myself with likeminded people, and we take the fight to our opponent with overwhelming force of numbers. We force him to move on to a new objective. We leave a contingent behind to secure the ground we’ve won, and we confront him in the same manner on his next objective. In this way, we eventually back him into a corner (very dangerous), or we send him running out into the open. In either scenario, we have the opportunity to capture him and neutralize him. He is no longer a threat.

This is very much a small-unit level mindset. I’m not a great long-term strategist. I’m a fighter, not a planner. Like most fighters, I still believe in words like honor, duty, sacrifice, loyalty, fidelity, and responsibility.

We have a duty and a responsibility to protect our country. We will have to use honor, integrity, and loyalty. We must be willing to sacrifice, for our opponent will attempt to impugn our honor, compromise our integrity, and divide our loyalty. He will scoff at our notion of duty, and claim that we have no right to the responsibility that we claim. But it must be done. Soon.

This war has been a quiet war. It has been waged against us without our knowledge for a very long time. But we have finally realized that something revolutionary is happening – and we want no part of it.

The coming months and years will define us as a nation. This is a war that will be fought by multiple generations at the same time. It’s a war of words. It’s a war of intent. If we hope to win, it will take a concerted effort involving the old and the young, the healthy and the infirm, the fighters and the planners. It will require people who see what is happening here and now, and people who can anticipate events one hundred years from now.

I said I will stand, and I will. Who will stand with me?

Keep the "Memorial" in Memorial Day

COMMENTARY - Keep the "Memorial" in Memorial Day
By Karen Farthing
Originally published 05:18 PM, Monday May. 25, 2009

PADUCAH, KY - As we relax and enjoy this long weekend, I ask that we remember why, on Monday, we are given liberty to spend the day away from work. Memorial Day is to be a day of remembrance, a day to honor those who have given their last full measure of devotion to God, country, and family. Many refuse to actively participate - either because they've forgotten the meaning of the day, or because they feel that to celebrate Memorial Day is to glorify and celebrate war.

Memorial Day is not a celebration of war - it is a day of both solemnity and joy. It's the day that we pay homage to our fallen, celebrating honor, loyalty, integrity, and sacrifice. It's the day that we express joy that we are alive, and are the recipients of prosperity and liberty - largess purchased by the blood of our heroes. It's a day of renewal, where we pledge again to support the families of those who died in battle.

Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on May 5, 1868, by General John Logan with his General Order Number 11. It was first celebrated on May 30, 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers buried at Arlington National Cemetery.

The following is General Logan's address. The eloquence contained therein speaks to my heart, and captures so well the meaning of remembrance.

HEADQUARTERS GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC
General Orders No.11, WASHINGTON, D.C., May 5, 1868

The 30th day of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet church-yard in the land. In this observance no form of ceremony is prescribed, but posts and comrades will in their own way arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.

We are organized, comrades, as our regulations tell us, for the purpose among other things, "of preserving and strengthening those kind and fraternal feelings which have bound together the soldiers, sailors, and marines who united to suppress the late rebellion." What can aid more to assure this result than cherishing tenderly the memory of our heroic dead, who made their breasts a barricade between our country and its foes? Their soldier lives were the reveille of freedom to a race in chains, and their deaths the tattoo of rebellious tyranny in arms. We should guard their graves with sacred vigilance. All that the consecrated wealth and taste of the nation can add to their adornment and security is but a fitting tribute to the memory of her slain defenders. Let no wanton foot tread rudely on such hallowed grounds. Let pleasant paths invite the coming and going of reverent visitors and fond mourners. Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten as a people the cost of a free and undivided republic.

If other eyes grow dull, other hands slack, and other hearts cold in the solemn trust, ours shall keep it well as long as the light and warmth of life remain to us.

Let us, then, at the time appointed gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with the choicest flowers of spring-time; let us raise above them the dear old flag they saved from dishonor; let us in this solemn presence renew our pledges to aid and assist those whom they have left among us a sacred charge upon a nation's gratitude, the soldier's and sailor's widow and orphan.

It is the purpose of the Commander-in-Chief to inaugurate this observance with the hope that it will be kept up from year to year, while a survivor of the war remains to honor the memory of his departed comrades. He earnestly desires the public press to lend its friendly aid in bringing to the notice of comrades in all parts of the country in time for simultaneous compliance therewith.

Department commanders will use efforts to make this order effective.

By order of

JOHN A. LOGAN, Commander-in-Chief

N.P. CHIPMAN, Adjutant General

Official: WM. T. COLLINS, A.A.G.

On Monday, while you're enjoying the holiday, please take some time to honor our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines who died in service to their country. Fly the flag at half-mast until noon. Take a moment at 3:00 pm to recognize their sacrifice, if only in your thoughts. If you have time, visit a monument or place a flower on the grave of a soldier.

I'll end with these words from a poem by Moina Michael, penned in 1915:

"We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies."

Taxed Enough, Already!

COMMENTARY: Taxed Enough Already!
By Karen Farthing
Originally published 04:05 PM, Sunday Apr. 12, 2009
Updated 04:05 PM, Sunday Apr. 12, 2009

In honor of our Tax Day “Taxed Enough Already” (TEA) Party on the 15th, I thought that a discussion of who bears the ultimate responsibility for taxation was appropriate. Most people realize that we pay out an enormous amount of taxes, but has anyone actually thought about how much we really pay?

Let’s take income taxes, to start. As you know, the more you make, the more you pay. As a matter of fact, the top twenty five percent of wage earners in this country pay more than eighty percent of all income taxes collected. Note that these are individuals, not corporations. There is also a large percentage of the population who pay no income taxes.

Based on IRS tax data released for 2006 (the most recent data released), the top-earning 25 percent of taxpayers (AGI over $64,702) earned 68.2 percent of the nation's income, but they paid more than four out of every five dollars collected by the federal income tax (86.3 percent). The top 1 percent of taxpayers (AGI over $388,806) paid about the same amount of federal individual income taxes as the bottom 95 percent of tax returns.

That’s quite a few words to describe a relatively simple concept, so let me sketch it out.

Top 25 % (AGI over $65K)
$$$$

Bottom 75%(AGI under $65K)
$

Or, here’s a better illustration. The top 50% of wage earners (those earning more than $31,987 per year) paid over 97% of all income taxes collected, while the bottom 50% (those earning less than $31,986 per year) paid only 3%.

Top 50%
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Bottom 50%
$$$

Your state and local income taxes follow roughly the same pattern.

If you’re anything like me, you’re probably surprised to learn where you fall on the wage earners’ scale. My husband is a police officer and I work in sales. Neither one of us makes a lot of money, but together we fall just within the top twenty five percent. We’re doing better than a lot of people, and I’m not complaining. But with five kids to raise, that money gets spent just as fast as we make it!

Now, if that’s where it stopped, I could live with that. Ours is a progressive tax structure, which means that those who earn more pay more, and those who earn less pay less.
But that isn’t where it stops. Here’s a short list (ha!) of taxes levied against us. It is by no means all inclusive.

Accounts Receivable Tax
Building Permit Tax
Business License Tax
Capital Gains Tax
CDL Tax
Cigarette Tax
Corporate Income Tax
Court Fines (indirect taxes)
Dog License Tax
Federal Income Tax
Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA)
Fishing License Tax
Food License Tax
Fuel permit tax
Gasoline Tax (42 - 51 cents per gallon)
Hunting License Tax
Inheritance Tax
Interest Expense (tax on the money)
Inventory Tax
IRS Interest Charges (tax on top of tax)
IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax)
Liquor Tax
Local Income Tax
Luxury Taxes
Marriage License Tax
Medicare Tax
Municipal Insurance Tax (Homeowner’s or Renter’s Insurance Tax)
Occupancy Tax (Hotel Room Tax)
Property Tax
Real Estate Tax
Septic Permit Tax
Service Charge Taxes
Social Security Tax
Road Usage Taxes (Truckers)
Sales Taxes
Recreational Vehicle Tax
Road Toll Booth Taxes
School Tax
State Income Tax
State Unemployment Tax (SUTA)
Telephone federal excise tax
Telephone federal universal service fee tax
Telephone federal, state and local surcharge taxes
Telephone minimum usage surcharge tax
Telephone recurring and non-recurring charges tax
Telephone state and local tax
Telephone usage charge tax
Toll Bridge Taxes
Toll Tunnel Taxes
Traffic Fines (indirect taxation)
Trailer registration tax
Utility Taxes
Vehicle Insurance Tax
Vehicle License Registration Tax
Vehicle Sales Tax
Watercraft Registration Tax
Well Permit Tax
Workers’ Compensation Tax

I’m sure I could find a complete list somewhere, but this list was more than enough to make my point. We are taxed on just about everything. If government can require, regulate, or produce something, it can be taxed. We’re taxed when we earn, sell, buy, or die.

And then there are the taxes that we don’t even realize we’re paying, because they are included in the prices of the things we buy, or they result in reduced wages or benefits. I’m going to lapse into what my husband calls “geek speak” for a minute, but bear with me, okay?

There’s a term that economists use – incidence of taxation – to describe who ultimately bears the responsibility for paying taxes. There have been multitudes of studies using various methodologies (all with really long, complicated titles), and there is absolutely no consensus on what methodology is most accurate. So I’m not going to discuss them in depth. (If you’re an economist and you’re reading this article, feel free to e-mail me and tell me how I’m not giving a complete discussion of the incidence of taxation.) I’m going to discuss, in a general way, how taxes levied upon businesses cause the business owner to act.

Let’s assume that you own an energy company, and you produce electricity. You sell your electricity to a distributor, who sells to the end user. You are taxed by the government for every unit that you sell. The first thing you’re going to do is try to avoid the tax. You are going to employ a platoon of tax experts to find you a loophole. Those tax experts directly affect your profitability, so you have to raise your price per unit. Unfortunately, there is no loophole to be found, so you have to pay the tax. At this point, you can do one of two things – raise your price, or decrease wages/compensation to the people who work for you. You could also do both.

Since you’re the only producer of electricity for your area, you can raise your price and your distributor will pay it. The distributor then raises his price (because now he’s paying your taxes, his taxes, and his tax experts), because his end user can only get electricity from him. So, the end user assumes the responsibility for paying your tax and the distributor’s tax. And, oh yeah, he’s going to be taxed again. So the incidence of tax in this case falls on the consumer.

For the next example, let’s say that you own a factory that makes bread. You are in direct competition with a bunch of other bread makers. You sell your bread to a wholesaler, who sells his bread to a retail supermarket chain, who sells their bread to the consumer. Your utility rates just went up, so now you have to figure out what to do to keep your price competitive. It costs you more to make each loaf of bread, but you can’t raise your price too much because you would price yourself out of the bread market. You decide to raise the price of a loaf of bread just a little, and to lower the wages you pay your employees just a little, in order to make ends meet. Thankfully, your factory isn’t unionized so you can get away with this. Now, no one is happy, but at least you’re still in business. At this point, the incidence of taxation has fallen on labor, but it doesn’t stop there. Since your price went up, so did the price your wholesaler pays. Your wholesaler increases his price, and then the retailer increases his price. So, indirectly, the incidence of taxation again falls on the end user – the guy who buys your loaf of bread.

Are you seeing a pattern here?

Corporations and businesses do not pay taxes. Sure, they hand over a chunk of change to the government every quarter, but they have passed that tax responsibility on to the next entity in the chain. It then gets passed and passed and passed until the consumer pays it, and gets taxed again. Taxation is the ultimate con, because it doesn’t matter where the tax is levied – the only winner is government.

So the next time you hear someone say that corporations and businesses are greedy and need to be taxed more, remember who actually pays the tax - me and you.

Our tax structure is irrevocably broken and labyrinthine. We pay and pay and pay, and our government spends and spends and spends. Now they’ve not only spent our money, but that of the next three generations, as well. Please join all of us at our TEA Party on tax day, April 15th, and make your voice heard. Enough is enough!

Five Fixes

COMMENTARY - Top Five Fixes
Originally Published 03:12 PM Friday, March 27, 2009

These days, almost everyone I talk to is enraged over the state of our economy and the direction in which our country is being driven by our elected officials. It doesn’t matter who I talk to – Republican, Democrat, conservative, or liberal – almost everyone is saying the same thing. “What the heck are they thinking?”

Most people feel completely disconnected from our political leadership. They feel that our money is being spent by Congress like a teenager at the mall with Dad’s credit card. They feel that legislation being enacted is increasingly restrictive, and does not reflect their values.
I agree. I’m neither a Democrat, nor a Republican. I feel as if neither party has anything to offer me, as both parties’ platforms are completely removed from what I consider reality. Of course, my version of reality may be very different from yours because I’m that dreaded, conservative Libertarian.

I believe that government should be as small as possible – only big enough to prevent us from falling into total anarchy. I think that the worst phrase anyone can utter is, “There oughta be a law about…” People should be allowed to suffer the consequences of their own stupidity without being subject to a bunch of laws instituted “for our own good.” For example, if you want to ride a motorcycle without a helmet, you should be allowed to do so. As a rider, you are accepting responsibility for the head injury you’re going to suffer if you are involved in a collision.
I’m also big on gun owners’ rights, personal responsibility, personal freedom, and smaller taxes. I’m all about the Bill of Rights, and am a strict constructionist regarding interpretation of the Constitution.

That said, if I could implement policy changes or influence the effect that government has on our economy, rights, and responsibilities, I would target five specific areas: smaller Federal government, a more equitable tax structure, immigration reform, energy, and manufacturing.

1. Stop or curtail the encroachment of the Federal Government onto powers reserved for the States and the People by doing the following:

a. Prohibit further use by the Federal Government of the Commerce Clause into areas that have very little reasonable connection to the physical conduct of commerce or trade. The clause was originally intended to prohibit states from imposing duties on goods imported from another state, or from assuming a protectionist or isolationist stance as regards to trade. It was not intended to enable the Federal Government to use the clause as an "umbrella instrument" to extend broad police powers throughout the nation, or to enable the growth of said government to support said powers. For a good analysis, please see:
http://federalistblog.us/2006/08/busting_congress_interstate_commerce_myth.html

b. Repeal the 16th Amendment and institute the Fair Tax.

c. Remove or dismantle the following federal agencies, and return those responsibilities to the states: The Department of Education, the Department of Housing and Urban Development, and the Department of Health and Human Services. These departments deal with matters that can be best administered, implemented, and enforced at the State and Local Government levels.

d. While I won't advocate overturning Roe v. Wade, I will say that this decision was one of the most overreaching acts of the Supreme Court, and is one of the most egregious examples of the usurpation of States' rights by judicial fiat. This decision opened the door that has allowed the Court to change its view from that of constructionist constitutionality to that of "popular" constitutionality. We must be vigilant in watching for these types of decisions, even though there is very little recourse available to us once a decision has been penned.

2. Institute term limits for those elected to the House and Senate - 4 terms cumulative.

3. Exhaustive and extensive overhaul of the immigration system to include the following:

a. Design, implement, and build physical and technological barriers to entry at our northern and southern borders. This process, from inception to completion, must be implemented within 18 months. We have the means, the knowledge, and the manpower to do so. Our border security (or lack thereof) represents the largest threat to our national security. Our most clear and present danger is from a Central American diaspora, as evidenced by the waves of illegal immigrants entering via our southern border. This is nothing new. Blanket amnesty was issued during the Reagan administration, and we were supposed to fix the problem at that time. We did not, and are now suffering the consequences. We have organized crime syndicates and gangs from Central America operating the drug trade with impunity all over the country – not just in the southwest. Worse, though, is the crushing weight that our social services, healthcare facilities, law enforcement agencies and schools are carrying. Providing services for upwards of 20 million people who do not pay taxes is bankrupting many states, and there is no long term fix. This is a case of the Federal government failing to exercise one of its enumerated powers, but expecting State governments to foot the bill.

b. At this point in time, it is logistically and administratively improbable that we can collect and eject all persons residing and working illegally in our country. However, some sort of interim status needs to be granted to those persons who are otherwise living peaceably (albeit illegally) within our borders until final disposition of their status can be made. Identification of those who wish to stay is a must, as is identification of those whose reasons for residing here are purely criminal. Rather than tapping the State Department to issue Visas, we should immediately empower Immigration and Customs Enforcement to issue identification numbers (not SSNs) to those who voluntarily present themselves with definitive proof of identity, and collect fingerprint and DNA data to be married to said identification. Issue 12 month temporary worker status to said people, and tax their earnings in accordance with IRS guidelines. Further, those who are here illegally, albeit with temporary status, must pay a penalty of $5000 per person per annum, to be collected with their taxes. This $5000 is to be collected at the State level, to help pay for services provided by the State. c. After announcement of the temporary worker program, all persons resident in this country illegally have 90 days to report and be issued identification. Thereafter, any person detained by law enforcement or contacted by social services who cannot or will not provide verification of their identity will be subject to criminal prosecution for illegal entry (in addition to any other charges) and eventual deportation.

4. Immediately institute an “energy blitz” with no government interference or subsidies. We desperately need to obtain energy independence, so that hostile nations whose interests have nothing to do with the success of the United States can’t dictate to us what we will and will not do. There is plenty of money to be made in energy, whether in conventional fuels or renewables. If government will get out of the way, we will achieve the independence we require.

5. Re-empower domestic manufacturing concerns by eliminating or decreasing the cost of conducting business in the United States. Domestic manufacturers are at a 32% competitive disadvantage when compared to the other nine countries who are our direct manufacturing competitors. The costs driving that disadvantage are comprised entirely of taxes, regulatory compliance, torts, and labor. Every one of those costs can be controlled or mitigated by favorable actions implemented by our Congress, such as reducing or eliminating the taxes levied on products sold as exports, implementing tort reform, and passing or enforcing right to work statutes.

I think I'll stop there. I have plenty of other ideas, but these would be an excellent start.

New Preamble to the Constitution

I got this via e-mail this morning, and I couldn't agree more! I'm not sure where it originated, but it appears to have been written by Lewis Napper, a Libertarian from Mississippi.

NEW PREAMBLE TO THE CONSTITUTION

'We the sensible people of the United States , in an attempt to help everyone get along, restore some semblance of justice, avoid more riots, keep our nation safe, promote positive behavior, and secure the blessings of debt-free liberty to ourselves and our great-great-great-grandchildren, hereby try one more time to ordain and establish some common sense guidelines for the terminally whiny, guilt ridden, delusional. We hold these truths to be self evident: that a whole lot of people are confused by the Bill of Rights and are so dim they require a Bill of NON-Rights.'

ARTICLE I:

You do not have the right to a new car, big screen TV, or any other form of wealth. More power to you if you can legally acquire them, but no one is guaranteeing anything.

ARTICLE II:

You do not have the right to never be offended. This country is based on freedom, and that means freedom for everyone -- not just you! You may leave the room, turn the channel, express a different opinion, etc.; but the world is full of idiots, and probably always will be.

ARTICLE III:

You do not have the right to be free from harm. If you stick a screwdriver in your eye, learn to be more careful; do not expect the tool manufacturer to make you and all your relatives independently wealthy.

ARTICLE IV:

You do not have the right to free food and housing. Americans are the most charitable people to be found, and will gladly help anyone in need, but we are quickly growing weary of subsidizing generation after generation of professional couch potatoes who achieve nothing more than the creation of another generation of professional couch potatoes.

ARTICLE V:

You do not have the right to free health care. That would be nice, but from the looks of public housing, we're just not interested in public health care.

ARTICLE VI:

You do not have the right to physically harm other people. If you kidnap, rape, intentionally maim, or kill someone, don't be surprised if the rest of us want to see you fry in the electric chair.

ARTICLE VII:

You do not have the right to the possessions of others. If you rob, cheat, or coerce away the goods or services of other citizens, don't be surprised if the rest of us get together and lock you away in a place where you still won't have the right to a big screen color TV or a life of leisure.

ARTICLE VIII:

You do not have the right to a job. All of us sure want you to have a job, and will gladly help you along in hard times, but we expect you to take advantage of the opportunities of education and vocational training laid before you to make yourself useful. AMEN and AMEN.

ARTICLE IX:

You do not have the right to happiness. Being an American means that you have the right to PURSUE happiness, which by the way, is a lot easier if you are unencumbered by an over abundance of idiotic laws created by those of you who were confused by the Bill of Rights.

ARTICLE X:

This is an English speaking country . We don't car e where you are from, English is our language. Learn it or go back to wherever you came from!

Lastly

ARTICLE XI:

You do not have the right to change our country's history or heritage. This country was founded on the belief in one true God. And yet, you are given the freedom to believe in any religion, any faith, or no faith at all; with no fear of persecution. The phrase IN GOD WE TRUST is part of our heritage and history, and if you are uncomfortable with it, TOUGH!

If you agree, share this with a friend. No, you don't have to, and nothing tragic will befall you if you don't. I just think it's about time common sense is allowed to flourish. Sensible people of the United States - speak out because if you do not, who will?

Stay Home Moms, by Angie Alexander

So, you know how people are always saying “if only I were 15 again…”? YEAH RIGHT!!! Not only was I going through the craziest times in a young girls’ life, but I got pregnant with my first daughter. “How could this happen?” Oh, I know how it happened, but it wasn’t supposed to make me pregnant! All my friends were doing those things too, but nobody gets pregnant, right? Wrong.

But, I still finished high school, listening to everyone in class talking about what they were doing each Friday night, while I knew that I would be changing diapers. If I got really lucky, we might even have saved enough money to eat out, at McDonald’s no doubt!

Then I went on to college to achieve a Bachelor of Science, with an area major in Learning and Behavior Disorders, imagine that. I probably had a masters in that field by the time I was 14. I had been analyzed by every shrink in my home town, and other towns for that matter. Yeah, I guess you could say that I was pretty much trouble when I was younger. Let me just say this, I knew all of the police officers by name, and they knew mine. If it wasn’t me they were coming to see, it was my parents that were getting the courtesy call.

So anyway, after four years of working two jobs, raising two children (one of those being my ex-husband), I did something no one else in my family had done. I graduated from college. I was so proud of myself. It felt good to accomplish so much while raising my beautiful daughter and just growing up myself. My education, my working so much, and my divorce had caught up with me and I was ready for a break from everything. That’s when the next chapter of my life started.

I finally met a man who treated me nice. I had just sworn off men for a while and wasn’t really looking for anything serious. We started dating, having a good time while I was waiting to start teaching, when it happened again. That’s right, pregnant again! Now, with him having two girls, me having one, and one on the way, I went from one child to four in a matter of months.

He had a good job and that gave me the option to stay home with the kids. I’d always wondered what it would be like to get the kids off to school, be there when they got home, and be able to play with the little one while he was growing up. This would be great! What the hell was I thinking?

It doesn’t stop there. With the two of us being the most fertile people in the world, we quickly had two more children. That’s three babies in three years! The movie “Cheaper By The Dozen” was starting to look within reach. Now I’m looking at four girls and two boys every morning and night. What happened to the big plans that I had? The only time I get to use my education is when I’m putting someone in the “time-out” chair or my husband is coming home from men’s night at the golf course.

The typical “Stay Home Mom” day goes like this:

The clock says 5:15 and my husband is leaving for work. He kisses my head and I say “Good-bye, love you,” as I’m thinking, “If you will hurry up and leave, I may get 45 minutes of precious sleep!” I hear an annoying beeping from the baby monitor upstairs letting me know that my twelve year old daughter, Jorden, is getting up to get ready for school. Next, I hear the familiar sound of the upstairs baby gate being banged on and, “Mommy, I’m up!” from my two year old son Zachary. It’s now 5:50 and my bed is just getting comfortable, but he is consistent with the yells and if I don’t respond quickly everyone will be up. As I make my way to the stairs, shoes, socks, and the day’s clothes ricochet from all parts of my body. At this point I’m realizing that I have yet to pee, but oh well the King awaits. We brush his teeth, get him dressed, and stick our heads in to make sure Jorden is not back in bed. She’s up but not happy to see us, so we head back downstairs. My feet hit the last step when my ten month old, Hayden, is crying out and ready to join the fun. Zach and Hayden get fixed on the couch with me serving them their morning milk cups and turning on “The Wiggles.” Here is the perfect chance for me to finally pee, brush my teeth, and if no one is hitting each other, I get to do my two minute “ready for the day” look.

I empty the dishwasher, with Hayden’s help of course, and start laundry. Laundry is an everyday job when there are so many people. As I fold the clothes coming out of the dryer, the wrecking crew is unfolding them just as fast.

It’s now 7:00 and time for Jorden to leave for school and she is nowhere to be found. I call for her and she rushes down the stairs with wet hair and one shoe on and one shoe off. I remind her that the dogs need to be fed and she gives me the “go to hell!” look and keeps on trucking. Zach wants to go help with the dogs and WWIII starts. Of course, he wins and goes out to assist. So, now we have to spend the next thirty minutes outside waving bye to Jorden and playing outside. My last conversation with anyone over three years old has just passed me by and most of the time it ends with explicit words and “You're mean!” Hayden has had his daily ration of grass, Zach has two new boo-boos, and the monitor sends out yet another call for me to tend to business.

I gather up the troops and head inside to get the long sleeping Morgan. We start the brushing of the teeth and all morning routines, all the while Zach and Hayden see opportunity to touch everything normally off limits. Books everywhere, snacks half chewed, and chairs in places that leaves no doubt that they have crawled in all the upper cabinets. Now we have to clean up again before starting breakfast.

It’s 8:00 and time for pancakes and cheesy eggs. Everyone is worried about helping the other, so nobody is eating. Spilled drinks and scattered eggs make for a wonderful décor, but it just doesn’t go with the rest of the house. Plates are taken to the counter, and the contents that were on the plates don’t always make it. Nothing feels more appealing on bare feet than scrambled eggs.

I glance over at my to-do list as I start another load of laundry. The weekly menu, grocery list, and cleaning downstairs of house are on the board for today. I pop in Barney so I can get started dusting. The inventor of Barney knew just the right amount of time it would take to clean two bathrooms, two bedrooms, dining room, living room, sunroom, and laundry room. I have to participate in the songs and dances when I pass through or they will notice I’m not sitting with them. Amazingly, I manage to be only ten minutes past the “I love you, you love me..” song in finishing.

We head outside again to drain some energy from the rug rats. I try to straighten up the garage a little bit, play kickball, get shot by the bank robbers with the water guns, and manage to keep Hayden from eating more than one pound of mulch. Morgan has had her fair share of sand from the sand box, and everyone is now thirsty. But guess what, it’s 11:00 and time to get ready for lunch.

Once again, another meal full of action. Some are tired, some are hungry, and some just don’t want to cooperate. My only thought is that nap time is around the corner. Not that I will sit down, but at least I can go to the bathroom without an entourage.

After an hour of spilling and cleaning up, we finally make it to nap time. Hayden first, then Zach, then Morgan. Each step involves several visits from the last one standing. And if they don’t come in the room while I am putting one down, I get really nervous. You know the old saying, “while the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

Finally, they are all down and my real fun begins. Scrubbing floors and folding clothes that have been folded once already. I know that I usually have at least 45 minutes before someone wakes up. If I go fast enough I might get to eat and check our endless e-mails on the computer. My fingernails could possibly get painted if they sleep an hour.

It seems like only seconds when the vicious cycle begins again, Zach is up. Morgan has some type of sixth sense that she is missing something, so soon after she wanders from her room. Milk cups, Spongebob, and snacks are in order. The familiar argument of “my mommy!”, “no, my mommy!” starts, and I start reassuring that, even though I can’t believe it, I am the Mommy of both. This fight carries on long enough to raise Hayden from bed. He doesn’t want anyone to touch him until he has his milk. Yeah, he may not like it, but he gets poked and pulled by every part of his body. It’s surprising that his ears aren’t twelve inches long as much as they are pulled and stretched.

We head downstairs to play for a while and try to get the “grumpies” out. While everyone is occupied with toys, I start the menu for next week. I try to think of different things each week, but it seems like the same thing from week to week. Anyway, I use the menu to fill out my grocery list. I have to go upstairs to check if the girls are out of shampoo, lotion, etc. When I return it is like a full blown poopy fest. Everyone has either used the bathroom or needs to.

So, we head back upstairs to get everyone cleaned up before starting supper. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the saying “too many cooks in the kitchen,” but this is definitely what is going on. Some are pulling out all the pots and pans, some have the ingredients spread out on the floor, and some are taste testing a few of the items. I take a minute to clear the kitchen and turn on Barney again. Hey, say what you want but what ever it takes.

Yes, it’s 4:30 and Jorden will be home soon. I know she is only twelve, but the conversation is about to get a little bit more interesting. Plus, she can help entertain the “shorties” for a while. I’m hoping to have supper on the table by 5:00.

Only fifteen minutes late, we sit down for a wonderful experience. Spaghetti sauce is everywhere. Some on shirts, in hair, up noses, and of course, on the floor. No one will quit talking through the whole meal. One is wanting more, one doesn’t want any, and Hayden is just squeezing his with both hands.

We manage to finish supper without me having a nervous breakdown and clean up the mess. Of course, all want to head outside again. I’m ready for that too because I can smoke a cigarette. Man is this the best cigarette I have ever tasted or what? Jorden and I have our routine argument over her after supper chores and everyone is screaming. I’m just watching the clock praying it will go much faster. And of course, someone finds some water and they all get in. So, the outside trip is coming to an end.

We go in to get pj’s on and make milk cups. Snuggling and Spongebob are now in order. I’m just noticing that it’s almost time for Hayden to go to bed. It’s also time for the countdown for Laken and Tristan, my stepdaughters, to arrive with my husband. He picks them up when he gets off work and they stay at our house for the weekend. So, needless to say, Zach and Morgan are getting excited again.

Hayden is gone to bed and we move to the front porch to wait on the arrival of Daddy and the Girls. Jorden gets home from walking the dog when everyone else is arriving. Talk about a circus. Everyone is hugging, chasing, stealing each other's stuff, and for sure fighting. Someone has already made someone else mad about something and I become a referee. But even with the extreme chaos, our family is now complete and I feel good watching the whole gang together.

It’s time to get the other two shorties ready for bed, brushing teeth, prayers, and laying clothes out for tomorrow. After several calls out that they are thirsty, or “I want you to lay with me,” they fall to sleep. It’s starting to get a bit quieter around the house. Then Tristan and Jorden start their routine arguing before bed. Laken is glued to the television because “Drake and Josh” are on. The big kids know that 9:00 is time to be in bed and reading. But when we go to check, some are still watching television. We kiss them good night and talk about what is up the next day for them. Hopefully nothing.

Finally, David and I have a few minutes to relax and talk about our day. Mine is pretty much the same each day, but he entertains me with his day at work. As he is having a bite to eat, I start making out my list of things to do for the next day. It’s really nice to have an adult conversation again. After checking on all the kids, we’re off to bed and rest for tomorrow.

I may not have intended for my life to turn out this way, with all the chaos and not having a job outside the home, but I wouldn’t change it either. It is really tough but very rewarding to see your children growing up right in front of you, and knowing that you have had a huge part of the way they are raised. When I worked two jobs and was raising one child, I always snickered at the women that said they stayed home and they were just worn out. Now I know what they meant. I do still dream of the day that I can get a part-time job, just to get a break from the house. But again, I wouldn’t change my life and would recommend this to any mother. I really couldn’t imagine not being a stay home mom.

Last Year's Christmas Letter (that was never mailed)

I'm a terrible procrastinator. Really. I don't hink I've ever mailed out a Christmas letter on time. And last year, I had it all typed up, envelopes addressed, copies made - and never went to the post office. So to all my friends and family who received neither present nor letter, this post is for you!!

And she writes....

Well, here I am again, writing a Christmas letter that may or may not get mailed by Halloween of next year (it didn't - obviously). If by some miraculous circumstance this letter arrives sometime during the holidays, we will all know that some sort of divine intervention took place!!! So, belated or not, here’s the Farthing Family Holiday Update.

If you have received this letter and have absolutely no idea who it may be from, don’t be surprised. If you’re a friend of mine, I may not have told you that I got married. So, if you remember Karen Reinhard – that’s me. If you still don’t know who this is from, you must be associated with my husband and he is notorious for not introducing me. So, HI!!!! I’m Karen, this is the annual letter (which you may or may not get during the Holidays since I normally send it late), and I hope you call Chuck to let him know that you got the Christmas letter from his really strange wife (ha!).

Anyway…..We all know what a procrastinator I am, and this year is no exception. It’s the third week of December, and I have yet to buy a single gift. I have several projects that have been left unfinished, and my house looks like it normally does (somewhere between “disaster area” and “nuclear holocaust”). Hey – if you want to visit me, come over anytime. If you want to visit the house, I’ll need for you to make an appointment. Currently, the schedule for the house is pretty full, but I could probably pencil you in, say, April Fool’s Day of 2012.

Anyway, projects. I have one unfinished project that irks me on a daily basis, but I just can’t seem to find the motivation to finish it. I will, someday. Hopefully someday soon. I’m wishing myself good luck with it, but so far my wishes have not come true.

So, I have these stairs. These particular stairs used to be covered in carpet. This summer, I decided that I hated the carpet on the stairs and ripped it up (not something my husband was happy with, by the way). And guess what? I have beautiful hardwood stairs. Well, they would be beautiful if I were to refinish them. Having neither the time nor the money to do it right, I decided to paint them. I decided to paint the walls in the foyer and up the stairs, as well. Again, this is not something that Chuck is happy about.

Three days before Thanksgiving, I started taping and painting walls and stairs. The walls look great (except for that one spot near the ceiling that I couldn’t reach, but you can’t really see it. Unless you look right at it, but who looks at the ceiling anyway?). But the stairs, well…. Okay, so I didn’t like one of the colors I chose for the stairs. Of course, I didn’t realize this until the paint was already on the stairs. So, I bought some new paint and started again. Needless to say, I ran out of time and didn’t get the job done. Now I have stairs with three different colors on them, tape still attached (in a different color, of course), one of the handrails has not been reattached to the wall – you get the picture. My foyer looks like something out of “Bear in the Big Blue House”. The kids like it, but, again, this is not something that my husband is happy about. It’s a good thing he works nights and I work days, or I think I’d hear just a little bit more about it (ha ha!). I really will get this project finished someday.

It just seems like there isn’t enough time for anything!!! As I write this letter, I am surrounded by laundry (both clean and dirty), my dishes have been done but are not yet put away, and house cleaning around here seems to consist of hiding stuff in closets. Do not open a closet in my house unless you are truly brave and fully insured. You know, Santa has all those elves to help him out. I wonder if he’d loan me some laundry elves? Maybe he could use his connections and have the Guild of Magical Creatures send over some cleaning fairies, too. Now that would be a Christmas present!!

Let’s see…what’s next? The kids are doing great. Everyone is getting taller, smarter, and more “smart-alecky” every day. Even the baby!! Daniel is the King of the Comeback and the Ultimate Repeater. For a three-year-old, he has a remarkable grasp of sarcasm (learned from his brothers and sisters, no doubt). His “4-letter word” vocabulary is astounding (learned from his mother, no doubt) and has caused me considerable embarrassment! So, we’ve recently embarked upon the “Clean-Up Your Mouth” campaign, chaired by Chuck and enforced by the kids. Needless to say, my “Quit Smoking” campaign has been derailed. I’m also starting to wish that the “Anti-depressants Are Not the Answer” campaign and the “You Can’t Really Drink Yourself Sane” campaign had not been the resounding successes that they were. C’est la vie.

Jessica has decided that she wants to take Jujitsu next year. Not Karate, not Tae-Kwon-Do, but Jujitsu. She was very concerned that I understood the difference. According to Jess, she doesn’t care to learn how to kick and hit people - she wants to learn how to throw them. Don’t ask me how a twelve year old knows the difference, but she is accurate in her assessment of the various forms of martial arts. Sounds like a father-daughter activity to me. At least I don’t have to worry about any boys getting out of hand with her in a few years. As a practitioner of Jujitsu, I doubt she’ll have very many dates!!!

James is, well, he’s James. I truly love my son, but he’s kind of like his Mom in that he definitely meanders to the beat of a different drummer. Notice I said meanders not marches. He wants to go his own way and in his own time, and he doesn’t notice that anyone else is on the path with him (if he’s even on a path). He has this fixation on penguins these days, and I think we’re going to have to check him into some sort of penguin dependency program. He has several penguin stuffed animals and associated penguin knick-knacks, he owns The March of the Penguins and Happy Feet on DVD. He knows all the different types of penguins, where they live, what they eat, what eats them, how they mate and reproduce (yes, yes he does), and all sorts of other penguin-type trivia. If I were a really sick and twisted mother, I’d disguise a Christmas goose as a penguin and serve it up for supper, but I think the boy would probably be scarred for life. Guess I’ll have to wait until he moves on to something else to exact my revenge….

Kristen started wearing glasses this year. I haven’t seen them yet, but I’m sure she looks very sophisticated. Chuck tried to talk her Mom (Lisa) into buying her some RPGs (for those not familiar with the term, RPG is an acronym for “Rape Prevention Glasses”, aptly naming those oh so fashionable black-framed, military-issue glasses we all received back in “the day”), but I’m pretty sure she wound up with something more attractive. That’s really too bad, though. As pretty as she is, she needs something to keep the boys away. I’m already plotting how to steal Chuck’s Taser so that I can follow (at a discreet distance, of course) and be able to send any misbehaving juvenile on a lightning ride with 50,000 volts!

Joey has decided that he wants to grow his hair out – long. His Mom said he could, but that poor boy doesn’t stand a chance!!! Every time it gets too shaggy, one of us manages to get him into the straight-jacket, tie him into the chair, and attack him with the clippers. We just can’t seem to help ourselves. He just has so much hair! And, invariably, he winds up with the “haircut gone bad” syndrome and gets scalped. And just so everyone knows, it doesn’t happen just at my house. It happens at Lisa’s house, too. Poor kid. He’ll eventually overcome the trauma of his childhood, though, and be a really strong person. With long hair, I’m sure.

Chuck’s still working for the Mayfield Police Department. I’m sure I could have everyone ROTFLOL with tales of “life on the mean streets”, but I’d hurt someone’s feelings or something. However, Chuck is out there harassing the citizens of Mayfield just like always. I found him the perfect t-shirt for Christmas. It says, “If you run, you’re just going to jail tired!” Now, my man may not be able to beat very many people in an endurance race. However, if he has to give chase and catches up within the first 200 yards, the resulting hit is going to hurt. I’ve seen it. He looks like a freight train hitting a go-cart. It’s truly a thing of beauty.

I started a new job and I love it. Don’t you wish you knew what I was doing - ha!!! Call me sometime and I’ll tell you about it, because I have to end this letter. A three-page Christmas letter is long enough.

So, with all of our love and our wishes that everyone has a great holiday season, I’ll close. Take care of yourselves, remember to have fun at least once a day, and let the people you love know how you feel (with exuberance and frequency).

And now, for the cheesy ending quote (but one of my favorites) by Maya Angelou: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Make sure that everyone remembers what a great person you are (including yourself), because if you got a letter from me (the worst correspondent in the world), it’s because someone in this house believes that you are truly exceptional. Happy Holidays and God Bless!!


Love,


Karen, Chuck, Kristen, Jessica, Joey, James, Daniel, and Ebony (woof!)

Organized Moms

I am not an organized mom. I’m the mom whose house always looks like a clutter bomb exploded in every room. It’s clean – but I wouldn’t advise you to eat anything that got dropped on the floor. Clean laundry very rarely makes it from the laundry basket to the dresser. I don’t iron – ever. Yard work always seems to get done right before the sun goes down. The trash makes it to the curb on time (most days), but the trash can might not make it back for a few days. I always seem to leave the house ten minutes late, so the kids never get dropped off or picked up on time (sorry guys). I have five kids, so I use that as my excuse for the barely controlled chaos that I call “life”.

I do, however, have a friend who is organized. My “life” gives her a headache. She is amazing. Her house is always clean. Her kids are always clean – and dressed! Meals at her house are always on time (and she actually makes three meals a day!), and none of it was cooked in the microwave. Her yard is always perfect. Her vehicles are always clean – inside and out. And she has six kids. Three of them aren’t even in school yet. She’s managed to keep her body in great shape, and when she leaves the house she actually has her hair and make-up on. You’ll never catch her in Wal-Mart in pajamas – never.

I call her Hitler.

Mainly because I’m jealous as hell. I know, intellectually, how to be organized. I just can’t seem to make it work. I make lists and plans. I constantly develop strategies for getting rid of the junk in my house, and getting just one meal a day on the table before eight pm. My kids would probably fall over and die if we sat down at a table (like normal people) instead of in the living room to eat.

Amazingly, this woman is not a bitch. She’s fun to hang around, knows how to have a good time, and has a great sense of humor. She’s a bigger redneck than I am, only “classier” (I know – the ultimate oxymoron).

She also married a guy who came with the ultimate set of “guy skills”. If he can’t build it or fix it, then it just can’t be done. I love my husband dearly and he’s perfect for me, but I don’t ask him to do home improvement projects. That would be like inviting Armageddon into the house. I call Angie’s husband to fix stuff. I have to do it on the sly, though. It feels a little bit like cheating to have another woman’s husband over to snake out the toilet that keeps having problems.

I need to get her over here – alone – and do the Vulcan “mind meld” thing. You know, steal all of her organizing secrets and absorb her scheduling prowess. If I don’t do it soon, I’m afraid I’ll wind up on one of those reality shows where people come in and marvel at the mess you’ve made and then force you to clean it up.

I’d like to say that being organized is the same as not being lazy, but that would be bad for me. Because, conversely, being “unorganized” would mean that I would have to get off my butt and do something about it, right? I’ll think about it tomorrow.

Smart Moms

My mother was the smartest woman in the world. Of course, I didn’t realize this until I had kids of my own. Had I actually listened to her when I was younger, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble and heart ache.

My Mom’s early life was a nightmare. She was the oldest girl out of ten kids. Two of her siblings died very young. They were dirt poor and scratched out a living as migrant farm workers. Both of her parents were alcoholics, and all the kids lived with the most horrible abuse you can imagine. She started running away from home when she was nine years old. By the time she was fifteen, she ran far enough away that she wasn’t caught, and started living for herself.

She had almost no formal education, and didn’t get her first toothbrush until she was fourteen. But she was smart. She was canny and streetwise, and managed to successfully lie about her age and find work. By the time she married my father and started raising kids, she had done pretty well for herself.

The work she found was pretty unorthodox, and people still give me funny looks when I tell people about her. She worked in bars – first as a cocktail waitress, then as a bartender, then as a manager. She was running a bar in Alaska when she met my father. Alaska in the sixties was not as populated as it is now, and was still very much a no-man’s land. Being a woman in Alaska meant that you had to be tough, inventive, and have a sense of humor about life. She was one hell of a poker player, and once won $18,000.00, a cabin, and a Jeep in a poker game. And she made the guy who lost pay up. When she left Alaska, she sold him back his Jeep and his cabin.

She was determined that we wouldn’t grow up ignorant. I remember her setting out plates, cups, and silverware for a seven course meal and making us practice how to eat. We practiced how to speak without a southern accent, because she didn’t want people to assume we were stupid because of the way we spoke. We grew up all over the world, and my Mom made sure that we ate where the locals ate, shopped where they shopped, and visited shrines and historical places so that we understood a culture other than our own. We witnessed first hand the most incredible poverty and managed to grow up appreciating what we had.

Every year at Christmas, Mom would “adopt” a family she’d never met (and would never meet) and we would buy things for them. Not just toys, but clothes in all different sizes for all different seasons so that everyone in the family would have something to wear all year. We’d pick out a pantry full of food, and then buy gift certificates so that they could shop for perishables or just some of their favorites. She also picked out toys, jewelry, make-up, purses – you name it. She wanted to make sure that everyone was thought of. We all knew that this would mean less for us, but we didn’t care. We had more fun shopping for strangers than we did shopping for each other.

We weren’t rich, but we were comfortably middle class. My father was an officer in the Air Force, so we had everything we needed and most of what we wanted. My Mom, however, would take jobs cleaning houses after people moved out and would make us help. We’re talking some serious dirt. She never paid us, either, but made sure that we understood that hard work really was its own reward sometimes.

My Mom was our champion when we were unfairly treated, and our worst nightmare when we wronged someone. I stole a candy bar once, and she caught me. I was six. She not only made me walk back to the store, return the candy and apologize, she made me work every day in this man’s store all summer so that I wouldn’t forget the lesson. I swept and mopped floors, dusted shelves, restocked, cleaned windows, and cleaned bathrooms. Was I ever sorry for stealing that piece of candy!

I was the world’s biggest tomboy, but she made me take tap and ballet lessons. For every sport I played, I had to pick a “girl” activity for balance. I was smarter than most of the kids in my classes, and wherever we lived the school teachers wanted to place me ahead a few grades. Mom said, “No.” She let them place me in advanced reading, writing, math, and science classes, but kept me with kids my own age for social studies, art, and music.

My father was killed in a crash when I was fifteen, and my brother and sister were twelve. We moved to the farm my father owned and tried to put our lives back together. Mom was faced with three teenagers at home, had no formal education, and hadn’t worked in fifteen years. She studied, had me teach her some algebra, took the ACT and went to college.

For the next few years we did everything we could think of to make that woman crazy. We stayed out too late, drank underage, drove fast, dated people who were no good for us. She hung in there until we all moved out and were on our own.

She started getting sick the same year my Dad died, and managed to hide it from us until we all graduated from high school. Then she started going down hill - fast.

She was in so much pain that some days she really shouldn’t have been out of bed. But she got up anyway. She went to class. It took her eight years and she graduated in a wheelchair, but she finished with honors. She got her degree before any of her kids, and we had been given every advantage. She knew that she would never be able to work, but she finished college anyway. It was that important to her.

When my first marriage fell apart and I was a single mom with two babies, the first person I called was my Mom. She was so sick that some days she couldn’t take care of herself, but she made sure that the kids and I had a place to live while I went to school. There were days when I was ready to give up. I was working two jobs, going to school more than full time, trying to take care of kids and Mom, and trying to get my life back together. Every time I thought about quitting, I would take a look at my Mom and realize that my life wasn’t so tough. If she could do it in a wheelchair, then I could certainly do it without one.

My Mom died when I was eight months pregnant with my last child. That was over three years ago. I still miss her so much.

She taught me to be strong when I was weak, and she taught me to have faith when I was hopeless. She taught me to give help when I could, and she taught me how to accept help when I needed it.

She taught me that balance is more important than focus, and that moderation is better than excess. She also showed me that being intelligent doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re smart.

She taught me how to pick myself up and dust myself off when life knocked me down. She taught me to laugh when that happens, and not to lose the lesson. She taught me that being able to laugh at myself feels so much better than being able to laugh at someone else.

She taught me that people are almost always both more and less than what they may seem, and often at the same time. She taught me that every person has pride, and to trample someone’s pride will put you in danger.

But most of all, she taught me to be smart. Not to fear making a mistake, but to fear not learning the lesson. Not to cripple myself or my kids, but to teach them by example how to be strong and how to be brave. And she was smart enough to teach me by any means necessary.

Thanks, Mom.

Redneck Moms

Rednecks have been ridiculed since time began for being backwards, lazy, and uncivilized. I didn’t realize how many rednecks there were in the world until I moved to the capital of Redneck, USA. Over the course of time, I’ve been properly indoctrinated and have picked up an appalling amount of redneck tendencies. Hallelujah, pass the ammunition, AMEN! I am proud to say that being a Redneck Mom is not only really liberating, it’s sometimes kind of cool.

Only Redneck Moms get to say things like, “You boys get out of that tree before I turn the water hose on you!” and “You kids quit deviling that cat or I’ll light a fire in your pants!”

Only Redneck Moms get to go to Wal-Mart on Saturday in their pajamas.

Only Redneck Moms get to make Halloween costumes out of old sheets, spray paint, and Stitch-witch.

Redneck Moms have a lock on innovation. Can’t afford to spend $400.00 on winter coats, heavy gloves, and snow boots? No problem. Put baggies over hands and feet, add socks – instant gloves and waterproof boots. Cut out the top of a big garbage bag, cut a couple of arm holes and pop it on over a kid’s head – instant waterproofed jacket that doubles as a body-sled. Who knew that Ziplock would be a better insulator than Gore-tex?

Can’t afford a bunch of tools for home repairs? No problem. The Redneck Mom’s tool kit is cheap and easy to assemble. Get a shoe box, a claw hammer, a flat head screwdriver, a Phillips head screw driver, a pair of pliers, some duct tape and some WD-40. If it doesn’t fit – hit it until it does. If it doesn’t turn and should – WD-40 and a pair of pliers will fix things right up. If it turns and shouldn’t – duct tape will do the trick every time. Easy stuff.

Another redneck trick I learned the hard way. I cut my finger pretty badly, on a holiday when there was 18 feet of snow on the ground. Okay, so I’m exaggerating about the snow, just a little. Anyway – there was no way I was going to the ER for stitches. So, I called a girlfriend, and she told me to sterilize the wound, place the flaps of skin together, and apply some Superglue. I was a little leery, so I called the charge nurse at the ER and asked if that would work. She told me that Superglue was cheaper, less painful, and healed faster than stitches. And guess what? Superglue is evidently sterile, so there’s virtually no risk of infection. And you can shower with a Superglue patch. Who knew? I now keep Superglue in my first aid kit.

Other Redneck tricks include using hydrogen peroxide and baking soda as a stain remover. Salt and vinegar will clean copper bottomed pots and sterling silver jewelry. You can use a couple of car batteries, some jumper cables, and some wire coat hangers as an improvised welding rig. It works – I’ve tried it. We also made snow one year using a pressure washer, an air compressor, and some PVC piping. If a light bulb breaks but is still in the socket, cut a potato in half, spear the potato with the broken glass, and slowly turn the potato until the light bulb comes out. You can make play-dough with flour, water, salt, and food coloring. Redneck Moms can make earplugs out of chewed-up paper and pencil erasers.

Redneck Moms change tires the easy way. Loosen the lug nuts before you jack up the car. Once the lug nuts are a little loose, jack the car up just high enough that the tire can spin freely. Then use the tire iron to start the wheel spinning, and hold the tire iron in place. The nuts come the rest of the way off pretty easily. Reverse the process to put the spare on.

Redneck Moms don't take any crap from anyone. Do not mess with a Redneck Mom’s kids. She will sneak up on your car one night and put ping-pong balls or marbles in your gas tank. (Don’t ask me how I know that one.) Redneck kids know how to say, “Yes, Sir” and “Yes, Ma’am”, because Redneck Mom won’t tolerate bad manners. Redneck Mom will also put the fear of God into the neighborhood tyrant by marching his ornery little self straight to his Momma.

Redneck Moms never get taken advantage of on a car lot or by a mechanic.

Redneck Moms can make awesome Christmas tree ornaments out of popsicle sticks and tin foil.

Redneck Moms look out for each other, too. If a Redneck Mom is involved in some sort of tragedy, there’s another Redneck Mom stepping up to baby-sit, clean house, cook dinner, and pray for you in church.

I love being a Redneck Mom.

Mini-Moms, by Jessica Lugo

Where do I begin?! Being a Mini-Mom isn’t so bad, if you don’t include screaming babies, arguing boys, nobody listening to you….ect. Well, you get the picture.

I am the middle child of 5 yet the oldest. 2 blood siblings that are younger than me and 2 step-siblings that are older than me. The 2 younger ones always bicker and the 2 older ones don't live here all the time so they don't have chores and stuff.

My blood siblings are both boys. One is 4, the other one is 12. The 12 year old is a technical freak, an arguer, and annoying. He will find something to argue about and find something to correct. It makes my brain hurt. The 4 year old is a beater, a runner, and a repeater. If you say something bad, like a cuss word, he’ll say it! We all think it’s pretty funny, but we get in trouble for laughing because he gets in trouble for saying it.

When the steps come over, it’s war time……

“I call the computer and the quiet room tonight!”
“No the girls already called it, you fart heads.”
“What’d you call me?”
“A fart head. I could have called you a retard.”
“I dare you.”
“Retard.”

You get the picture…….

Most of the time, I’m a babysitter and housekeeper, but I get a break every now and then. It’s actually not as easy as it looks. You have to wipe noses and butts, feed everyone, yell at the baby, be ignored, and lose your voice. Us Mini-Moms get blamed for everything!!!! The baby doesn’t eat, “You need to feed him more!” The whole nine and a half yards more. Why couldn’t Mom have hired a baby-sit- wait……she did! She either quit or was too expensive!

I’m afraid to leave or, trust me, I would. I’m afraid the house will burn down or a boy will get hit by a car. I’m also scared to think of what else would happen.

We Mini-Moms also never get any privacy. I haven’t been able to go to the bathroom alone in forever!! That sounds really bad doesn’t it? I haven’t slept without the baby in 3 years! That’s how old Daniel is isn’t it? I haven’t showered alone in 3 years either……

This house is wacked. I can’t wait to move out. I might show my mom some mercy and take her with me when I go. NOT!!

Working Moms

Okay, first off, every Mom is a Working Mom – whether she earns a paycheck or not. Every Mom is a maid, a cook, a laundress, an EMT, a day care provider, a financial advisor, a landscape technician, a conflict mediator, a social worker, a teacher, a chauffeur, a dog walker, a pet groomer, a veterinary technician, a zookeeper, a social organizer, a cyber-cop, an enforcer, a judge, a jury, a prison guard, a spy, a battlefield general, a crime syndicate boss, a miracle worker…..I could go on and on. For those of us who also work outside the home, add to that the title of employee.

We are military wizards during the week. We get up every morning early enough to have a few minutes alone before we have to wake the masses. We stagger around, drink our coffee, take our showers, and get dressed. We then call reveille, supervise everyone’s early morning hygiene, feed the troops, hold muster, synchronize schedules, arrange transportation, reiterate communications plans, and send the troops out to do battle at school. Then we go to work.

We get in our cars, drive thirty or forty-five minutes (fighting all those other idiots on the road), finally get to work only to realize that we forgot to put on deodorant. Luckily, we have planned for this emergency (because it has happened many times before) and head for the ladies room to raid the “secret stash” in the locker or under the sink. We pilfer through hair spray, tampons, make-up, mouthwash, lotion, hair brushes, perfume, clippies and hair do-eys, and finally find the deodorant. But – horror – some other stressed out Working Mom has beat us to it and surreptitiously used the last bit!! After cursing and spitting about people who can’t respect someone else’s stuff, we say “To hell with it – I’ll go to Wal-Mart at lunch.” We go to our desks (or wherever), and put on the grouchy act so that nobody gets too close.

We go through the morning routine and actually get a lot done, because the word has spread and we are being avoided. The To-Do list is getting really short. Lunchtime is rapidly approaching. We watch the clock that last half hour like a fifth-grader awaiting the last bell of the school year. At last – lunchtime!!!!! We scramble for our purses, grab our keys in a death grip, and sprint for the parking lot at world record speeds in hopes that we’ll beat the lunch rush. We pull the Dukes of Hazard peel out and hit traffic only to get caught behind somebody in a hybrid with no sense of urgency. More curses, wild gesticulations, and steering wheel head bangs. Our antics do not please the other drivers, and a four car pile-up ensues in everyone’s haste to avoid the crazy woman stuck in the turn lane. We make an escape worthy of the best getaway driver and finally hit the Wal-Mart.

We dash for the door, blow past the greeter, skip the cart, hit the health and beauty aisle, grab our favorite brand (plus a spare), and then realize that we used Kathy’s hair spray last week so we really should restock. Before we know it, we’ve untucked our blouses and have $300.00 worth of “essential supplies” in a makeshift apron. We stagger to the check-out aisle and wait.

We finally finish checking out. We grab our loot, sprint back to the car, gun the engine, and roar back into traffic. Check the time – 20 minutes left. Check the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of the gigantic knot forming, and realize that foundation is not going to hide that. Park the car, sprint for the front door, hit the bathroom door like a freight train, launch our supplies into the secret stash, and make a beeline for the junk machine. We have 10 minutes left. We need chocolate, and we need it now. Tragedy strikes!!!! Some loser has taken the last candy bar!!! We buy a bag of microwave popcorn and a coke and go to our desks to sulk.

While we mutter to ourselves about all the injustice in the world, we check the clock. Ugh – four hours to go. We head for the bathroom, because we still don’t have any deodorant on. Take care of business and head back to our desks. Finish up what needs to be done, lethargically grab our purses and keys, heave ourselves up and trudge for our cars. Look down and realize that the steering wheel is bent. Again. Think about cutting some bangs to hide the battle scars. Check the rearview mirror. Yep, definitely need some bangs. Slowly cruise out of the parking lot and head home.

Flip open the cell phone and call the Mini-mom (a. k. a. the eldest daughter). Get the down-low on the situation at home. Mini-mom reports that everyone is being a butt-head, and that Aunt Flo is in town. The boys found some paint cans and thought it would be funny to take the lids off and hang them over the ceiling fan blades. Then someone hit the light switch. Mini-mom says it actually looks pretty good, but Dad is going to be mad because his deer head is blue. Sort of. It’s got some yellow on it, too. Also, the baby decided that he didn’t want to use the potty anymore, and so the laundry pile is bigger. Mini-mom reports that the aliens across the street have multiplied again, and there is an “It’s a Girl!” sign in the front yard. Did we get them a present? Mini-mom asks if a pack of birth control pills would be tacky. After all, they already have six kids – where are they going to put any more? Mini-mom also asks what’s for dinner, because the boys are driving her crazy. She says she fed them some mac-and-cheese at 3:30, but they’re hungry again. Anyway – she has to go. Someone’s screaming about who gets control of the remote, and she thinks that armed conflict is about to break out.

We hit McDonald’s because the concept of kitchen chemistry is just too much to bear at this point. Spend $43.78 so that everyone has a shot at getting something they’ll actually eat. Call the house from the driveway to get some help, and get attacked by boys. Mini-mom looks like she needs a drink. Too bad she’s only 12 years old. She needs chocolate.

Working Mom and Mini-mom open the emergency can of chocolate frosting, bust out some spoons and dig in. We enjoy a few minutes of silence while the boys stuff their faces and hope that they leave us some scraps. We do the math, and realize that Working Mom earned $85.00 today before taxes. Subtract 30% for Uncle Sam, subtract $343.78 for food and supplies, and we have a net loss of $248.28. Oh, well. If the government can engage in deficit spending, so can we. Right?

Military Moms

I joined the Army when I was seventeen (mostly to get away from my mom – ha!). I spent five years in the Army before I decided it wasn’t for me. So, instead of getting out, I joined the Marines. Smart, right? Five years and a divorce later, I left the Marines to go to college. After ten years in the service, you would think I’d had enough, but the National Guard had this great scholarship program. So, I found myself a Weekend Warrior. Turns out the “weekend” part of that statement isn’t so true. I had my first two kids while I was still in the Corps and my last one while I was in the Guard. I found out a few things.

1. Military life before children is vastly different from military life after children. After you have kids, you lose all your friends and have to find new ones. You still live for payday, but for a completely different reason. Likewise, you still don’t get much sleep, but making yourself tired isn’t near as fun as it used to be!

2. Before you have children, you truly believe that applying the proper training techniques, dispensing praise or punishment when warranted, and establishing a routine for everyone to follow will quickly bring about the desired results in the behavior of your subordinates. (NOT!)

3. Military training is grueling and painful. However, after twenty hours of hard labor you finally understand the meaning of pain.

4. You may be the toughest woman to ever walk the Earth, you may be able to field strip a rifle in under thirty seconds, and you may be able to shoot a bird out of the sky at five hundred yards with an M-4. These skills do not qualify you to breast-feed, change a diaper, or properly bathe a wiggling newborn. God really does watch out for the helpless, because that’s the only reason my firstborn survived her first six weeks.

5. The military should make all new recruits spend three weeks walking the floor with a teething or croupy baby. Not only does it teach you how to deal with uncontrollable stress, but you realize that you can function with virtually no sleep for as long as it takes.

6. Most military wives do not like military women. For some reason, they think that the only reason we joined was to sleep with their husbands. However, after having two babies fourteen months apart, I wasn’t even sleeping with my husband much less one of theirs!

7. Soldiers and Marines never get to really know their kids. Their kids spend all day being raised by somebody else’s mom. And when it’s time to go to the field or on deployment, your husband is probably in the field or deployed, too. That’s when your mother-in-law or your sister moves in to raise your kids, because an imposition of that magnitude requires family!

8. Returning from war to your family is a lot harder than you might think. You’re nuts, the kids are nuts, even the dog is nuts!!! Trying to run your household in an orderly, military manner invokes mutiny and you’re right back in a combat zone. Throw the rulebook out the window and learn how to play again.It’s not all bad, though.

The military taught me several lessons that work very well, especially with older children. It seems like I always had someone who had a line for everything, and a lesson for everything, too. Their wisdom has helped me quite a bit in raising my children. Feel free to use these:

1. “I can’t make you do what I tell you to, but I can make you wish you had!” Normally, this statement was preceded by an episode of willful insubordination, not paying attention, not following instructions, or overstepping boundaries. This statement was also closely followed by a period of intense physical training. I have found that ten minutes of push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks in rapid succession works wonders with children over the age of five.

2. “That was a boneheaded decision. If you can’t make good decisions, then I’ll show you what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life.” Normally followed by a series of meaningless but time consuming janitorial, landscaping, and “site beautification” activities. Scrubbing toilets, cleaning and polishing floors, pulling weeds out of rock gardens, and painting rocks seemed to consume a lot of my time when I was a young Marine. I may have forgotten what I did to prompt my indentured servitude, but I finally learned the lesson. I had to modify this approach somewhat, but my kids can dismantle a toilet, clean all the parts, and put it back together. They are also experts at picking up pinecones and sticks, sweeping the driveway, trimming the grass between the cracks with toenail clippers, and moving bricks or dirt from one side of the yard to the other. Best of all, there are a myriad of age-appropriate activities you can use in conjunction with this statement.

3. “Privacy? You have no privacy! I own the air you breathe!!!” Start using this one early. My kids fully expect me to pilfer through their rooms and property at any time. It eliminates their ability to accuse you of snooping.

4. “That sounds like a personal problem to me. Do you really want me to get involved? Because nobody will be happy if I do. I suggest you settle it yourselves.” I’ve altered this statement a little, substituting “kid problem” for “personal problem”. If you’ve already instituted the practices listed in items #1 and #2, it nips tattling in the bud.

5. “Okay, if you think you can handle it I’ll give you enough rope to hang yourself. And when you’re out there swinging, I’ll be there to cut you loose."

6. “There’s a thin line between tough and stupid, and you just crossed it. Think you might recognize it next time?” This statement never needed any follow up, since I was either hurt or embarrassed and that was punishment enough. I haven’t had to use this with my daughter, but my sons are a different matter. I’ve used this one several times after skate boarding accidents, falling out of trees, etc. Works well as a reinforcement to the lesson learned.

While we were deployed to Iraq, my husband and I worked for a pretty interesting guy. He came up with several "rules for combat". It may sound strange, but some of those rules apply to raising kids, as well. Here are the rules that I think of when things get really hairy at home:

1. “Don’t be that guy.” You know that guy. He’s the one who stands out because he’s doing something really bizarre while everyone else is behaving. I have to remind myself of this rule quite often.

2. “Don’t make fun of another unit’s idiot soldier doing stupid stuff; as soon as you do, your soldier is seen by the Brigade Commander doing stupid stuff.” Translation for moms who don’t fit in: Don’t make fun of some other kid’s behavior. As soon as you do, your kid is caught by the principal or the preacher doing something stupid or embarrassing.

3. “Everything relates to Pulp Fiction.”
a. “Normally you’d be dead as fried chicken right now.”
b. “It’s a little early in the morning for explosions and war.”
c. “If my answers frighten you, then you need to quit asking scary questions.”

4. “You can’t fall asleep when you want to, and you can’t stay awake when you need to.” (This is so true.)

5. “The guy waving at you today will be shooting at you tomorrow.” Translation for moms who don’t fit in: That “Stepford Mom” who is being so nice to your face will be gossiping about you as soon as you leave.

6. “If a soldier has done something stupid or illegal, someone has a picture of it.” Change “soldier” to “your kid”, and you have the translation.

Needless to say, military moms do things a little differently than other moms. We do things differently, think about things differently, and deal with things differently. We’re weird. We laugh in the midst of tragedy because laughing keeps us from crying. When we can’t laugh, we don’t call on our family or friends to cry. We find a place to hide and cry alone. We don’t understand most women, and we don’t want to be just like they are. However, we are exactly the same as all the other moms out there in at least one respect – we love our children just as fiercely and just as wholeheartedly as anyone else.