Valentine's Day

The first Valentine's Day that I remember vividly was in 1986. We had just moved from California to Florida to Georgia, all in the span of less than six months. I was six years old, and needless to say, it was stressful on my little brain. My parents were no help.

I came home from school on February 14, 1986, full of joy from my bright pink and red trimmings, and dozens of little candies and Valentines from my new school friends. I was excited to share this with them, and for the first time in my life, I got home, and no one was there. Anywhere. I tried all the doors, rang the bell and eventually settled down to sob uncontrollably on my front porch and mourn my abandonment.

My first mom died when I was fourteen months old. Although I have always had her family in my life, obviously, I have no personal memories of her. My father did, and to this day does, love her very much. So, when he met and married my second mom, it was only natural that they come home and surprise me with their impromptu courthouse marriage with great enthusiasm and delight.

I wasn't having any of it. To this day, I make sure to remind them that it is the Anniversary of My Abandonment. It's a running joke, now, and it was actually my (second) mom that reminded me this year. I suppose I sort of gave up last year when I had to remind both of them that it was their silver wedding anniversary. These unceremonious people have never even bought wedding rings.

So, I've never really been into Valentine's Day, and I blame my parents. Today I completely forgot that it was Valentine's Day, despite putting together my daughter's Valentine's gifts for her class last night. The guy that I bought coffee from this morning reminded me. My husband texted me (naturally, he's perfectly fine with not having to buy any overpriced crap for me), and that was enough.

But, then, there was a knock on the door of my office (we have random crazy people show up that we'd rather not have to extract from inside of the building). My boss opened the door, and I heard a sweet voice ask if I was in. He let the sweet voice in, and an old friend of mine came to my desk and presented me with a gift bag containing a card, a darling tote she picked up because it "reminded [her] of [me]," and a gift she had lovingly made herself. The gift she made herself was a project she had done as a child, had always wanted to do again, and she timed the delivery of it to me, and to people all over (I know of at least four recipients - probably more - and we're not all local), to coincide with Valentine's Day.

Random acts of kindness and love. Now, that's what today should be all about.

Our Generation

I don't know if it's a sign of the times, or if maybe growing up as children of the eighties forced us to see waste and excess the way that we do, but it does seem that this generation - the tail-end of Gen X - seems to appreciate that although change can be good, sometimes the change we want is nostalgic in a way. And, maybe we just want to be left alone.

As I have gotten older, I've found that it really irritates me to buy certain things from the grocery store, and eggs are one of those things. So are garlic, green onions, basil, tomatoes, and many other "standard" kitchen items. Basically, if it's something I could grow or produce at my home, buying it just flat-out pisses me off (to the point that I don't mind quietly ignoring ordinances to put food on the table). Not to mention the fact that food really does taste better when all you have to do is wash the dirt off of it. This concept actually fascinates the children in my neighborhood, who can't understand why you'd grow something that you "could just buy at the store."

Well, you can't just buy a lot of what I grow (or try to grow) in a store. When I shop for seeds, I deliberately buy seeds that will grow white tomatoes, or purple brussels sprouts, or orange cauliflower. Not only is it fun to grow things in unexpected colors, but there are vitamin benefits in them, as well (which I'm not going to go into in this post). Another thing I'm known for in this neighborhood is my hot peppers. I've damn near killed a few people with those peppers, and they've all loved it. My garden is in my front yard, and I've had complete strangers stop to ask if they could look at it. Old ladies seem to find it particularly enjoyable.

Agriculture isn't taught in school any more, and it should be. Everyone needs to appreciate where their food comes from. Period. Not that long ago, knowing how to produce a tomato was a common knowledge that everyone shared. Some time ago, a friend of mine and I reconnected, and he criticized me for talking about my garden. He said it made me sound like an old lady. But, as I have continued to garden over the years, I have discovered that a really surprising proportion of my friends also garden. Not always in a big way, but maybe a couple of tomatoes and some herbs here and there. I have been surprised to find that this is fairly common. And, I love it. Our generation seems to want to get back to a place of self-sufficiency, even if it is only in some small way. There is a special pride people take in saying, "I grew this myself." And, they should.

Today, I bought four "bitties." They'll be here in April. The only color of egg that none of them will lay is white. One will lay dark brown (and probably speckled) eggs. The other three will lay either blue, green, or pink eggs. The breeds are specifically friendly and calm. My husband wants to name them "old lady names" like Mildred or Ethel. I want to name one Lula Belle. What has been the reaction of people to my want for chickens? Completely supportive, encouraging, and positive. It's this kind of thing that makes me believe that we are a generation that doesn't just say we want to make the world a better place, but we actually do try.

It all balances out in the end.

A close friend of mine was born into truly rotten circumstances. He was taken away from his parents at 9 years old, because his father was in prison and his mother was involved in drugs and various other crimes. He bounced around foster homes for years before landing in a group home for high-risk boys. Upon graduating from high school, he was shown the door, with basically the shirt on his back. He worked two jobs while pursuing a physics degree. Today he has a Masters' in physics, is happily married with three children, and has his dream job working for General Electric, and making a salary that is significantly above average.

My friend credits his success with one thing: he learned from not only his own mistakes, but also the mistakes of others. He saw what happened to himself and his brother when his mother began getting herself in trouble. So he decided that whatever it took, he would not repeat her mistakes. He remembered what it was like to be a lonely teenager with no one to give him any guidance - so he makes an extra effort to spend time with his own children. And his experiences as a child made him more resilient - meaning that when he was in college and wasn't sure how he was going to pay rent, it wasn't nearly the catastrophe that it would have been for some of the other college kids I knew. (After all, being a few days late on the rent does not exactly compare to being dragged, kicking and screaming, away from your parents at nine years old, does it?) So he didn't crumple and give up, and take the first job that came along. He finished college. He got a job. He started a family.

Another person I knew in college had the opposite problem. He attended an expensive, private college, funded by his parents. They also paid for his apartment, his car, and his insatiable World of Warcraft habit. Upon graduation, he got a job at Radio Shack. Not as a high-powered executive, but as a sales associate. It didn't pay well, there was little room for advancement, and from what I've been told, he hated it. Rumor has it that at one point he attempted suicide.

My point is that almost any set of circumstances can be an asset or a detriment to one's well-being. Adversity is what makes us stronger, more independent, and more able to handle whatever life throws at us. So who was born into better circumstances? The kid whose parents bought him everything he ever wanted, ensured that he could focus on his studies instead of having to get a job, and ensured that he had the best possible education? Or the kid born to drug addicted parents who pretty much raised himself and had to struggle for everything he ever had?

At risk of being verbally bitch-slapped for saying so, I truly believe they were somewhat equal in the end. One had a childhood packed to capacity with adversity and heartbreak. But that allowed him to take care of himself and sympathize with others in similar circumstances. The other had a fantastic childhood, filled with every opportunity a child could ask for. Except, of course, the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them. So when he was out on his own, he had no idea how to deal with even the smallest of problems.

We all have problems in our lives. And we all have periods that we think will never get better. The most important thing we can do is to remember the bad times, and use those memories and lessons to create our own good times. No one likes dealing with personal tragedies and hardship. But to the extent we can, embracing adversity as a "challenge" rather than a "brick wall" will enhance not only our own lives, but that of the people around us as well.

So basically what I'm saying (a bit more tactfully than usual) is that instead of throwing our hands up in the air and giving up, we should learn from our environment and experiences, and thank whoever you believe in that you live a life that allows you to be more prepared for future endeavors. More importantly, be thankful that previous bad experiences have created a person that is more than capable of handling whatever problems you are facing at this moment.

Yes, I am defensive, and here's why:

I lived in Los Angeles during my twenties. It was not a happy experience. Towards the end of that experience, I desperately reached out for comfort and community. I decided to join a church.

Church #1: An Episcopalian church in easy walking distance from my apartment. It was a fairly small church, and I emailed them to tell them that I wasn't raised in their denomination (I was baptised Methodist), but wanted to learn and join them. I was initially welcomed and encouraged to visit, but the woman I spoke with via email told me that I should know that they were no longer part of the Episcopalian faith. They had converted their church to Lutheran, and if I had an issue with that, she wanted me to be aware of that fact.

Well, I dunno. Should I? I googled it.

Apparently, the Episcopalians in L.A. decided to welcome gay people into their fold, and there was a rift in the church, which caused some churches to defect. I asked about this, and said, "I cannot be a part of a church that bases membership on exclusion." I was told that I'd "be more comfortable at another church."

Church #2: Also Episcopal, also near my house. They had an interim priest; a woman. She had South Georgia Roots. After we'd exchanged a few emails, I explained to her my situation about Church #1. She shut down and totally stopped talking to me entirely.

Church #3: I was curious about Islam, and was taking a religion class so I decided to do some research. The imam I contacted was warm and welcoming. He offered to be my teacher and my guide, and told me he would walk by my side the entire time I was at his mosque. He warmly welcomed my questions, and ended each email with "Blessings Be Upon You," and I felt like he really meant it. He always responded with extreme kindness and indulged my curiosity without regard for my Western ignorance. I regret, to this day, that I left Los Angeles without having met him in person.

And, that is the story of why it pisses me off to hear American Christians complain that they are oppressed and that American Muslims "have more rights" than they do. How about we all just respect one another and the fact that it's really special that in this country, our forefathers got together and said, "You know what? We're not going to piss on anyone's religion, and we're not going to let anyone else do it, either."

There's something wrong with my house. . . .

So, Saturday night, some old friends of my parents threw their annual Halloween party. And, it's always an awesome party. They go all out. The amount of time and energy they've spent in buying decorations, putting up decorations, invitations, catering, cooking, planning, entertaining, and taking down and storing decorations makes me almost too tired to attend the party. This year, they gave me a whole new reason to avoid their party: the remote controlled rat with glowing red eyes that they gave my daughter.

For my child, it was love at first site. She pet it, talked to it, and followed it around. Then she got the controls and all hell broke loose. The hosts of the party gladly gave it up to her. Apparently, it had woken the lady of the house out of a dead sleep several times after turning itself on and running itself into a wall repeatedly. At no point did I think this was going to be fun to take home.

Since coming home, my daughter has made it several new nests to sleep in, driven it around, worried about it, sung to it, hugged it, etc. And, it never stops turning itself on by itself. I'm at the point of being afraid to take the batteries out of it, for fear that it will continue to turn itself on and look at me with its glowing, red, eyes. While my child claps and giggles in delight.

Tonight, looking for an escape from the rat, I went to the bathroom. Typically, I am not afraid of spiders unless one gets trapped between its web and my face, but when you turn on the light of your bathroom, and a hairy, South Georgia tarantula (they call them "wolf spiders") isn't even scared enough of YOU to move out of the middle of the bathroom floor, it's time to shriek a little bit. My husband came to see why I was whimpering in the hallway, when I clearly needed to pee and be rat-free for a moment, but was distracted by the large, furry, creature that most certainly does not need batteries to be animated in the middle of the floor. He decided the spider had to die.

I like spiders. I like frogs. I like lizards. If it murders and disposes of the bodies of mosquitoes or flies, I'm a fan. I also have a problem with killing things of a certain size, or if they have hair. The spider is about two inches long, with its legs out, and my nearsighted ass can see hair on it from ten feet away. I ran off my husband, took a deep breath, and stepped over the spider. It barely flinched, but gave me a little room as it scurried another inch towards the bathtub. I knew it was bathtime for my daughter, and figured that between her noise and a little space, it would flee if given a chance. My husband gave our daughter her bath, we did our nighttime ritual, and I had to pee again (because I have a bladder the size of a walnut). The spider is in the corner of the bathtub and wall, close to the toilet.

CHEWING. CLEANING ITSELF. SETTING UP A HOUSEHOLD.

I still have to pee, and the rat is encouraging me to leave the living room with its glowing red eyes to confront Mr. Wolf. Yes, we have another bathroom, but I'm not completely convinced that something smaller than my hand should have the upper hand in deciding what toilet I should use.

A return to self-sufficiency

Hurricane Irene has come and gone. If you ask the news stations, it was the storm of the century and the coast of North Carolina will never fully recover. In fact, a little northwest of here, in the area that took a direct hit from it, it could very well be that way, although I doubt it. However, here in Jacksonville, a city filled to the brim with hurricane veterans who barely bat an eye until it reaches at least category 3, we had little damage. We had a lot of trees down, several leaky roofs, and the occasional business with a sign that blew over. We were lucky, to be honest. Normally even a category 1 will spin off some tornadoes that will cause at least SOME major damage. But not this time. So when the hurricane finally left, we all went outside to clean up the mess. My 7 and 5 year olds helped drag branches out of the back yard and put them in a pile, which was transferred to my husband's truck and taken away. It took about three hours, but it was done. While working, I saw many of my neighbors doing the same thing.

It wasn't until a few days later that I heard the first grumblings about the fact that the county was not going to pick up the debris from the side of the road. Apparently this only happens if the county gets extra money for being declared a federal disaster area. Since the president has yet to sign off on that for this county, we're on our own. Here's the problem: people are all upset that they have to clean up their own damn yards! Yes, I'm serious. I have heard some pretty horrible things said recently about President Obama for not declaring this county a disaster area.

The whole thing got me thinking. When did we, as a society, lose the ability to take care of our own affairs? Since when do we need the assistance of the federal government to pick up sticks in our yard? Have we become so spoiled that we are not willing to take responsibility for anything anymore?

A few months before I was born, my hometown had an enormous flood. The water was six inches below the ceiling of my grandparents' house, and everything inside was destroyed. After the water receded, Grandma and Grandpa cleaned out all the mud, ripped the walls out, redid the wiring and insulation, then put up all new drywall. By themselves. They did take some donated furniture from the Red Cross, but everything else was on their own. All of this while my uncle James (six years old at the time) was running around under their feet. And yet, Onslow County can not handle disposing of a bunch of sticks. That's pretty embarrassing - and if you don't think so, you are part of the problem.

This whole thing begs the question, have we become too prosperous? Most of us have never had to pick up the pieces and move on. We don't do our own repairs. We can't manage our money. When things go badly, we throw ourselves on the ground, flap our arms, and yell, "I can't do it! Send the government to come and save me!" In short, we are spoiled rotten. How do you think the remote tribes of South America handle natural disasters? They get up, say to each other, "Wow, that sucked," and get started picking up the mess. No one is going to do it for them. Sometimes they may have to rebuild a hut, and may never have done so before. So what do they do? They learn. You will never be able to do a thing for yourself until you try. Living in America has caused us to lose our drive to try, because it has become unnecessary.

At a time when America is experiencing serious financial problems, it may be a good time to start making unusually large budget cuts. Some may be painful. But this one is a no-brainer. Do not send federal funds to Onslow County. We don't need it. What we do need is a few citizens who are willing to get off their behinds and take responsibility for themselves, their family, and their property.

Giving

My first real experience in a big city was when I moved to Atlanta for college. This was the first time I had ever had to worry about my car being stolen. Or ridden a train anywhere. Or had to deal with serious traffic. Most importantly, it was the first time I had ever been face-to-face with the problem of homelessness. When I visited the school in the dead of winter, I cried like a baby when I saw someone asleep on a park bench, covered in newspapers. And I was utterly horrified when I offered to take the leftovers from my job at a restaurant and give them to homeless people, and my manager said I couldn't do it.

Then one day, I was on the train on my way to school when I noticed a woman in tears across from me. She told me that she needed formula for her baby, and didn't know how she was going to get it - and was out looking for a job today. I couldn't imagine seeing your own child hungry and not being able to solve the problem. So I gave her ten dollars. She burst into tears and thanked me about a dozen times. Half an hour after getting off the train, I saw her again. Coming out of the store with a carton of cigarettes, but no baby formula. I felt betrayed and angry that my money had contributed to lung Cancer, rather than feeding a hungry child. For the first time in my life, I understood the perspective of the people who refuse to help people who are begging on the street.

The fact is that there are always going to be people who take advantage of the system. Whether "the system" is welfare, unemployment, disability, or simply the kindness of strangers, you can never be sure that you are really helping someone who needs help. Sometimes, people will take advantage of you. It's horrifying to think that your attempt to help was a waste of time and money. But does this mean we should stop helping?

I spent a couple of months stewing in my anger about the deception on the train. Then one day, on the train again, a man and a woman got on. The man was well dressed and angry-looking. The woman, however, was thin as a rail with sunken eyes, hair that was all over the place, and obvious track marks on her arms. The well-dressed man spoke quietly with her. Although I couldn't hear what he was saying, it was obvious he was extremely unhappy. Without raising her eyes to look at anyone, the woman stood up, showed a hospital bracelet around her wrist, and announced to the train that she was homeless and hungry, and trying to get back home after she had been mugged and gone to the hospital to treat her injuries. She asked if anyone could spare a couple of dollars to help. The man sat down in a seat near the front and watched her every move as she made her way through the aisle, collecting change from the few people who paid attention to her. It occurred to me that this man was her pimp, or her dealer, or someone who was going to make her life a living hell if she didn't give him whatever money he was owed. Although I had no interest in giving this man money, it occurred to me that he may hurt or kill her if I didn't. Call me naive, but I gave her a couple of dollars anyway.

Our country, thanks to the Tea Party and a handful of other key players, is going through a selfish phase. Homeless people are deadbeats. AIDS patients are just reaping what they sow. And starving people in other parts of the world are not our problem, because Americans are the only ones that matter. Somehow, it has become acceptable to sit on our butts in our big houses with our plasma televisions and sports cars, while children in Somalia are starving to death. I was actually told the other day that Somalia could solve their own problems by overthrowing the government. Really? You can't read, know virtually nothing about the government, have no real access to weapons, and....well....there's also the problem that you are 25 years old and weigh 80 pounds, which most likely cuts down on your ability to fight effectively. Did you hear that, starving child in Somalia? It's your fault.

The fact is that as human beings, we all have an obligation to help however we can. You don't have to give away your life savings, but which is going to make more of a difference 20 years from now: If you drop half a million dollars on a gas-guzzling Italian sports car? Or if you take half of that money for a nice, reasonable car, and give the rest to a charity that provides food and clothing for a refugee camp? Which will you remember more: spending the afternoon sitting on the couch watching football? Or volunteering to educate homeless, pregnant teens about how best to ensure that their child is healthy?

The same people who bitch about the fact that the average American gives slightly less than $100 per year in taxes for foreign aid, are often the first to point out that America is the greatest country in the world. And it IS a great country. But it didn't become that way by being selfish and ignoring those in need. If that was the case, this country never would have survived the Depression. Yes, sometimes, we will unwittingly throw away our money for someone who doesn't really need it. But I bet the person who manages to live to see adulthood because of someone else's kindness will appreciate it enough to more than make up for the con artists. It's well worth the risk, in my opinion.

Answering....or not answering....the important questions....

Let me start by clarifying a couple of things. I am not, and most likely will not ever, say that there is no God. I am also not saying that there is a God, and am just as adamant that I will likely never say that. If you would like detailed instructions on what you should believe, then find another blog. There are plenty out there that will do just that - just not this one. I do, however, think it's an interesting discussion, and a question that everyone should seriously think through.

The science vs religion debate has been raging since Aristarchus became the first well known heretic for exhibiting independent thought. Probably even before that, actually. It's a pointless argument for a lot of reasons, not the least being that the basis of most of the world's religions is faith, not proof. You can not prove or disprove the existence of God. Period. As a scientist, I very rarely say that you can't possibly do something. But in this case, that's precisely what I'm doing. Science can't disprove it because any scientific principle that is used can be countered with, "God made that principle." Proving it is just as tricky, because a "miracle" cure could be due to modern medicine, The complexity of the human eyeball has been explained scientifically ad nauseum, but is still used as an argument to "prove" that God exists. And that vision of the Virgin Mary by the underpass? Yeah, that's probably just mold, which will make you sick if you camp out next to it.

The thing that people fail to realize is that it is okay to come to a conclusion without absolute proof. Scientists do it all the time. How many times have we been "sure" of something, only to have someone disprove it a few decades later? Once we were "sure" the Earth was the center of everything. Then we were "sure" the sun was the center of everything. Now we have a good idea where the center is, but have the sense to admit that we're not sure of anything. The important thing is to keep questioning. This applies to both sides of the argument. Science is worthless if one does not take the time to fully understand it and have the willingness to change your opinion when necessary. Religion is worthless if you don't question it and resolve that it really makes sense to you … as opposed to believing whatever your parents told you to without question.

The problem I have with this argument is that neither side answers the fundamental question: What happened at the very beginning? Quantum Fluctuations provide a pretty good explanation of how "something" could come from "nothing." But fails to answer WHY it happens. Mainly because the purpose of science is to answer "how," not "why." Religion has a similar problem. Okay, so God said it, and it was so. That answers the "why" but not the "how." Not to mention that it doesn't answer the question of "What created God?" Is it really okay to accept that God has "just always been," but not accept that energy and space (the only requirements for the Big Bang) have "just always been?" I admit that both of those arguments bother the crap out of me.

It has often been said that an organism only has the capacity to understand something simpler than itself. A worm can't possibly understand the inner workings of a more complex creature. In fact, it likely can't understand much beyond "Dig, eat, dig, eat." - because that is its function. Something as complex as a digestive system is beyond its capacity because it is totally alien for the worm. Humans, on the other hand, have the capability of understanding almost all animals…..except humans. Why do you think the study of Psychology progresses so much more slowly than the other sciences? Because we simply do not have the capacity to understand our own complexity, much less something bigger and more complex than we are, such as God or the science behind the creation of the Universe. If there is a God, we have no more hope of proving it scientifically than a worm has of explaining how it gets nutrients from dirt. If there isn't a God, I doubt we will fully understand the inner workings of the Universe. That, in fact, would make us Gods - which is not only mind boggling, but starts a whole new series of debates.

So my point is that I'm okay with not knowing. People who (frequently) tell me to "make a decision" and get off the fence of Agnosticism are asking the impossible. Don't get me wrong, I plan on continuing to TRY to figure it all out. We can always learn more, but we will never understand it all. So like a good scientist, I refuse to settle on a theory until I have adequate evidence. I have, however, settled on a couple of core principles. First, if there is a God, he did not give us intellectual abilities for nothing. We are allowed and expected to question, and draw conclusions in whatever way we see fit. (I would be seriously worried about my child if he never asked questions, and I suspect that God feels the same way.) Second, since questioning is an integral part of our existence, I find it hard to believe that a loving God would send us to hell if we looked at all the options, and chose the wrong one. Everyone makes mistakes. That is, after all, one of the core beliefs of Christianity as well.

Steel Magnolias

One of my oldest and most darling friends passed away. We knew this was coming. It just came faster than we thought. He left no children, but he did leave us the love of his life, who has become as much a part of my heart as he was. I will miss him for the rest of his life, as he always was, but I am grateful that he gave me the beautiful friend of his wife I'd have never known otherwise. She gives me a comfort and love that I can only ever hope to find some way to repay to them both.

This wonderful group of women has a foundation that has been tried, has been distant, has gone years without speaking, and it never matters. No matter what happens, happy, sad, or dull, each day brings us closer together, and I genuinely feel sorry for people that do not have what we have.

Acting like a grownup

I don't think there is such a thing as a perfect parent. We all screw up once in a while. All we can do is hope that we get it right more often than we screw up. I see nothing wrong with making mistakes in parenting. I do, however, think it's reasonable to expect each person to take responsibility for the welfare of their own children.

Here's an example: I took my kids to the beach today. There was another little boy there, around three years old, playing around in the water. After the second time he was knocked over by a wave and I had to pull him out of the water, I asked him where his parents were. He said, "Over there!" and pointed down the beach. At a woman a good 30 yards down the beach, lying back in a chair, with a towel over her face. Seriously, who lets their three year old in the water when they are not only not with them, but not even watching?!? After a while I wondered if she had fallen asleep, and politely let her know that her son was about to drown, she yelled at him, "I told you to stay here! Don't leave without me again!" Then leaned back in her chair and put the towel over her face again.

My point is that our society has become so lazy, they often don't even feel an obligation to raise their own children anymore. This is not just about safety, although that is possibly the most important part of it. It's about making the time and the effort to ensure that your child is ready to join society at some point. We assume someone else will take care of the problem - either the schools, the community, other relatives, or in the case of this poor kid at the beach, a complete stranger.

The problem is that we have become extremely self-centered. Parents used to ensure that kids had manners, responsibility, values, an education, and a safe environment. All of that takes a lot of work, and many parents today are so desperate for a break from work, they let the rest go. Well, guess what? You're a parent now - your needs are no longer the priority. I don't care how tired you are when you come home from work. If your kid needs help with his homework, you help him. You do not let him skip it for one night and assume the teacher will catch him up. If your child is misbehaving, you solve the problem. You do not throw your hands in the air, say, "I can't do anything with her!" and go back to watching television. I don't expect every child who is entering kindergarten to be a voracious reader, but there is no reason why they shouldn't be able to identify at least some letters, colors, and shapes, as well as writing their first name. And "He didn't qualify for Head Start" is not an excuse - you are more than capable of talking to that child about what color his shirt is, or show him the letters you see on a sign.

Yes, it's a daunting task. Yes, it's overwhelming. And yes, everyone needs some time off once in a while. But if you don't get that time off, then you just don't get it. Get over yourself and realize that your first responsibility is toward your children, not yourself. High school is over - it's way past time to stop being lazy and selfish.

The importance of freedom of religion

I learned something new today. Normally I like learning new things. But this was the first time in a very long time that I learned something I genuinely didn't want to know. Having grown up in southeast Kentucky and south Georgia, I'm more familiar than I would like to be with outright bigotry. I always thought it was limited to a few people, most of whom I wouldn't want to associate with anyway. Today, though, I learned that it is more widespread than I originally thought.

I didn't realize that there are intelligent, educated people out there who genuinely believe we should not have freedom of religion. Apparently freedom is good, but their choices should be "limited". Really? Because I thought that the freedom to worship as one chose was the reason the Pilgrims came to America in the first place. And the Quakers. And many of the Irish Catholics. And the Jews during the Holocaust. Hell, where would our country be without religious freedom? Would we even have a country?

Who the hell is one person to decide that everyone should HAVE to choose that particular religion? Isn't this how the holocaust started? This brings me to another concern. After 9/11, I think a backlash against Muslims was expected, if not acceptable. I expected it to blow over in a month or so. It hasn't. I'm seeing a growing movement against Islam in general, which ignores the fact that the vast majority of muslims are not terrorists. (For the record, not all Christians are abortion clinic bombers or Westboro Baptist Church members either, but I digress.) It's not getting better, it's getting worse. People don't want "them" living in their neighborhoods. Well known political leaders openly announce that they would not hire a Muslim. People get uncomfortable if they see them praying in public. (I don't remember ever seeing a Muslim complain about a Christian family praying at a restaurant before dinner). They go to great lengths to ensure that only certain religions can build houses of worship in their area.

Wake up and read your history. We need to stop this right now. If we don't, all it will take is one extremely articulate political leader to start it all over again.

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out --
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out --
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out --
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me.

-Pastor Martin Niemoller, Holocaust victim.

The Terrorists are Coming! Oh, Wait. . . .

I live in a fairly small town, deep in the heart of the Bible Belt. This is a deeply Southern Baptist town. The Baptists generally tolerate Methodists without much issue, but that's about it. As a teenager, I rebelled against my parents and joined a Southern Baptist church. They didn't understand it, but I guess they figured there were worse things I could be doing. In bible study, we were taught that Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Catholics weren't true Christians, but were actually cults. Seriously. Cults. Like, David Koresh, holed up in a compound with guns, FBI stand-off cults.

For some reason, Jewish people are oddly tolerated by the Baptists. I was told it was because they were "God's Chosen People," but unless they accepted Jesus as their lord and savior, they were going to hell, too. I never really was able to reconcile that. Also, because of the redneck, football, Baptist, culture, I find it surprising we've had a synagogue in our town for over a hundred years. It's not hidden in the outskirts of town, either. It's smack dab in the middle of town, and I can't ever recall anyone messing with them. The Mormons, on the other hand, decided they would also build a church in town, and all hell broke loose. The whole town became hysterical over it, but that was years ago, and the controversy has died down.

The next controversy is beginning. I was completely unaware that we had any sort of significant Muslim population in town, until today. Someone I know had posted the link to the website of an Islamic group that is trying to build themselves a mosque. In town. Near the college. I checked out the website, and it is modest, as are their building plans. They have also posted some of their legal documents, like their Articles of Organization, which is how I learned that they actually started to get serious about organizing two years ago. I suspect this is starting to make waves because they might be coming close to a goal of breaking ground. I honestly don't know, but I know my conservative Southern Baptist town well enough to suspect.

Fundamentalists ruin everything for everyone that isn't a fanatic, and the Christians seem to have a very spotty memory when it comes to their history. I think it would be great for this town to have more diversity, instead of just preaching whatever fits your current judgment of others. The very first thing you read at the very top of our Islamic Center's website is: Assalaamu-a’laikum (Peace Be Upon You). Welcome to our website. The Valdosta Islamic Center is a not-for-profit organization which strives to serve the religious, educational, and social needs of the growing Muslim community of the greater Valdosta Area. Also we reach out to the people of other faiths, convey the true principles and concepts of Islam, and build strong relationships with private, business, and public institutions around the area.

I guess we'd better hide our kids, hide our wives, because they're coming for us.

Thoughts on priorities...

America has one of the highest standards of living in the world. We have nice houses, pretty cars, and designer clothes. More importantly, we have good health care, and at least in theory, good education for our children. (After the past year, I'm having doubts about that last one....but that's another post for another day). But lately I have been wondering if maybe all of this luxury is actually bad for us as a society. Before you jump down my throat over this, let me explain.

As a child, I lived with my grandparents for a while. They live in this tiny house in a tiny coal mining town in Kentucky. This house was so tiny, as an adult I can walk from one end of it to the other in about twelve large steps. While I was there, most of my clothes came from Wal-Mart, or hand-me-downs from relatives. I had some toys, but not a quarter of what either of my kids has now. My building blocks were leftover pieces from my grandfather's woodworking that had been sanded down so I didn't get splinters. My grandmother grew most of our vegetables in the back yard. We didn't have cable, a dishwasher, a microwave, or even a shower - just a bath, which was never to be filled more than about three inches to save on the water bill. I know, most people reading this are thinking that this must have been awful for a small child. But here's the thing. It wasn't. It was awesome. Not because of the lifestyle itself, but because it took so little to make me happy. If Grandpa brought home a candy bar for me, it was like Christmas. If I got to take a trip over the mountain to go shopping, I felt like a world traveler. I doubt my kids would be so happy about such little things.

The house is another huge point in this argument. My house isn't huge, but it's a decent size. Way bigger than the one my grandparents live in. Everyone has space to get away from everyone and do their own thing - which seems like it would be good. But I think it occasionally causes the family to be a bit disconnected. If my husband is in the bedroom playing a video game, I'm playing on Facebook, my daughter is in her room drawing a picture, and my son is in his room blaring his Michael Jackson CD's, I feel that there is a lack of bonding. I'm not saying one should never have their own space, by any means. Just that maybe completely isolating yourself is not the way to go. I often sat in my room with the door closed at Grandma's house. But if something interesting happened, or if someone got hurt, or if dinner was ready, I was close enough to know what was going on. Sometimes it was simply an interesting conversation that I wanted to be a part of.

Grandma always wanted to be a teacher. It didn't happen, because of a number of things - not the least of which was the fact that she just thought it was important to be home for her children. And eventually, her grandchildren as well. Even on a teacher's salary, she would have made more than my grandfather, a coal miner who was ripped off at every turn by the coal companies (yet another post for another day). Many people would have spent their life lamenting the loss of an opportunity to do what they loved. Instead, she dealt with the little she had, and taught her children and grandchildren to read, write, and do math long before kindergarten. So which would you rather have, a big paycheck? Or an education? I'm not saying that everyone should stay home with their children. I don't. I do think, however, that if "stuff" was less of an issue, children would become more of a priority in our society.

On a larger scale, I think our society has problems with prioritizing. People don't have time to give a crap about their child's education, then wonder why the child is failing. We don't know how to fix things anymore, because we can call someone to do it for us. I can't sew or garden. We're horribly wasteful. We have very limited capacity for waiting for anything, which is why so many people are in trouble with credit cards and car loans. Honestly, if society collapsed tomorrow and we were forced to keep ourselves alive, my grandparents would probably survive longer than I would.

So is a bigger house, nicer clothes, and more options for entertainment really such a good thing? I remember feeling crazy in my grandparents' house as a teenager, because I knew that they had some extra money saved up, but would not spend it on central A/C or a real shower. A few years later when my aunt died, they still had that money to have her body moved to Kentucky and buried there. I don't think they would have taken a flatscreen television over that. Now that I'm a little older, I'm starting to think they may have had the right idea. Experiences are way more important than things, and I never missed out on an experience. And all the space in this house is nothing more than extra stuff that has to be cleaned.

Pretty

Growing up, I was always the ugly kid. I was too skinny. My hair was too short. I didn't wear the right clothes. Somewhere in my twenties, someone told me I was pretty, so I tried. I had pictures taken so I could prove that I once was. Now, in my thirties, I have acne, flab from a baby, and no one checks me out anymore. I can't remember the last time that someone told me I was pretty. Is this the doom of all women? Men get better looking, and women just get old and used up?

Learning

I love to learn, almost anything. I never want to be to old to learn.

I love to cooking, photography & knitting. I have many other passions in life, but those are the ones I seem to focus on, plus learning. Everyone has a passion, that they love to do. I immerse my self in my hobbies as an escape from day to day life or just to enjoy life more. Isn't that why we have hobbies?

The poor, pitiful military spouse

Let me start this post by saying that I have been married to a Marine for eight years. I've been through deployments, security forces, and recruiting duty. I've seen my husband go to really good units, as well as really bad ones. I even flat out told my husband's boss once that he was a giant asshole, and he agreed with me. I have two children, who don't always understand what is going on with their daddy. The Marines have made me cry more often than any single human being I have ever met. So what I am about to say is not just the ramblings of an outsider. I have a good idea of what I am talking about.

So let's get to the point. Military wives piss me off. Not all of them, of course. I have some really good friends who are military wives, and I love them to death. But there is a reason I don't go to the spouse events that they have all the time. I don't want to be associated with most of these people. So I've compiled a few pointers for how to not be a sad, pathetic, and annoying military wife.

1. Stop making it all about you. You are not a "hero" because you stay home and watch children. Don't get me wrong, if you're doing it for the right reasons, it is admirable. But seriously, not a big deal. Not even if your husband is a Marine. I see stickers all over town that say, "Marine Wife: Toughest Job in the Corps." Really? I don't know what you do in your daily life, but I don't believe I've ever had anyone try to kill me during my daily routine. I don't have to carry a 60 pound backpack when I'm doing my job. And if someone dies while I'm at work, I can call someone to pick them up. I don't have to throw them over my shoulder and hope I can move fast enough to escape with a body on my back. Yeah, I would say that makes a lot of military jobs a little tougher than mine.

2. Stop acting like a middle school student with a secret club. One of the reasons I don't do social events with the wives of the people my husband works with is because they look down their noses at newcomers. I have gone to events with people who enthusiastically called, emailed, and facebooked me, practically begging me to meet them. Then when I got there, I was treated like a leper.

3. Don't pity yourself. Deployment sucks. It's month after month of anxiety, anger, resentment, and confusion. If you need to whine about it occasionally, do so. But if every word you say has to do with how long your husband has been gone, it gets annoying and no one will want to talk to you.

4. Check your patriotism at the door. It's great to be proud of your husband. But a newborn in dress blues looks creepy, not cute. If your husband is in New Orleans cleaning up after a hurricane, that's awesome - but he's not defending our freedom, so stop telling everyone that he is. Just because your husband is in Iraq does not mean people do not have the right to think it's a stupid war. Because it is. And for goodness sake, stop turning every religious, cultural, and otherwise fun holiday into "a time to remember the troops." Seriously, you're ruining the holiday for everyone.

5. Grow the hell up. If you can't manage to live on your own for six months, why did you marry a Marine? Did he not tell you what he did for a living before you got married? Living in mom and dad's basement at 30 years old is pathetic, even if it's only while he is deployed. Stop whining, stop using guilt and forced patriotism to get people to do things for you, get off your butt, and take care of yourself and your children. Learn to change a lightbulb. Learn to change a tire. Learn to do yard work. That's what grown-ups do.

6. Keep your legs closed during the deployments. It's a common problem, but I don't think I need to elaborate any farther.

7. Quit being an idiot. The guy who shows up at your door asking to use the phone, then comes inside and comments on your electronics, your alarm system and your deployed husband is not just there to use the phone. You idiots who fall for this are the reason that people target military wives - because they think I am just as stupid as you are.

8. Stop asking for special priviledges. If your phone rings during a movie, and it's your husband calling from wherever he is this week, you still need to leave the theatre to talk to him. No one should HAVE to go to your fourth of July barbecue because you are a military family. And if you don't pay your bills, things will (and should) still get repossessed. Don't call the news and have them do a story about the poor Marine Spouse who lost her car because, even though she is getting several hundred extra dollars a month, she didn't pay for it and the mean ol' bank took it away.

It's a unique lifestyle, and it can be a little tough at first. But as you're sitting on the couch, watching Lifetime movies and eating ice cream while feeling sorry for yourself, there are thousands of people who have it way worse. You are a single parent for only seven months. You have a place to live, a steady paycheck, free medical care, cheap groceries, cheap day care, scholarship programs specifically for you, and an amazing support system, all provided by the Marines. Next time you think you have it bad, tell it to the single mom who can't get her child support, works too many hours to spend time with her disabled child, and doesn't know where next month's rent, her next meal, or her child's medical care will come from.

Getting Started

This is blog is by southern women who are opinionated & daring. I hope the world is ready for us!