Eddie... What Happened?

This morning I woke up and started to browse the news to see if anything important had happened throughout the night and I was struck by this picture:

That is Eddie Van Halen, the guitar virtuoso that I adored in the 80's. He looks a lot like the Aunt that we all have in our families that we only see at funerals and family reunions who smokes 2 packs of Camels a day and carries a flask in her purse. Folks, Eddie Van Halen has turned into Aunt Viola. *big sigh*

Back in 1980, Eddie, who I always thought was better looking than his drummer brother Alex, had big hair and tight pants. He was a walking dream I tell you. I would have killed to go to a Van Halen concert... but my parents only allowed me to go see The Monkeey's. I do admit to a crush on Davie Jones, but I passed him up in height in the 4th grade so my crush diminished.

In 1980, Van Halen looked like this:

When I met my husband back in 1990, he was a clean cut kid who was in the military. By this time I had moved on from my big hair band obsession with Eddie Van Halen and was looking for a more "shaven" kind of guy. One day looking through some old photos of my husband I came across his rock band days. My husband was the drummer of a band that he and his brother started (sound familiar?) My husband had long hair that he not only permed, but he also teased to the height of 4 inches! He wore tight spandex pants with bandannas tied around this ankles and his shirt was ripped in all the right places. He was bea-U-tiful! I teased him about it, but I secretly swooned inside because I was in love with a ROCK STAR! I had achieved all of my goals of the 80's... to meet and fall in love with someone my parents would freak out over! Too bad my husband was now a responsible citizen and no longer a drummer, but I could secretly cherish my hidden rebellion.

In the mid 90's Eddie cleaned up a bit as well and started looking like this:

Very nice if I do say so myself Mr. Van Halen! So what happened? He went from King status, to No status. Van Halen is making a come back (complete with David Lee Roth) and I am excited to hear how they will sound. Eddie has gone into rehab, or celebrityhab as I like to call it, in order to show his fans that he is going to "bring it" with the new Van Halen. Personally, I have grown out of my pantie-throwing, high-pitched screaming concert days (It was hard being a Monkeey's groupie!) and hope that Van Halen can offer me something that I can turn up in my minivan and roll down the windows while I drive toward freedom... at least that is how they used to make me feel. I doubt my husband will have to pound on our bedroom door and yell "TURN DOWN THAT DEVIL MUSIC!" The way my father did years ago, but maybe I can get an eye roll, or a "Eww gross music mom!" from my kids with the new Van Halen. Basically, I hope they sound like they did in the 80's, but all hope of them looking like they did back then has died.

This all is proof that I made the right decisions in my life... I could have given up everything and started following Van Halen around the country until Eddie noticed me and fell in love with me and then I would be stuck with a guy who looks like this:

But I was smart and found a guy who looks like this:

Man did I luck out! And my mother thought I would end up with the manager at Jiffy Lube! HA!

Pancakes

The beauty of having a 12 year old when you are pregnant:

Oldest: "Mom, what is for dinner?"

Me: (laying half conscious on couch) "Uhmmm, cereal?"

Oldest: "I could make pancakes for everyone."

Me: "You have always been my favorite"

Not only did she make the dinner, but she also cleaned the kitchen when everyone was done. She is going to rule the world one day!

I Want to be a Good Thief

ARGHHHH! I am so sick of winter! I am tired of having winter coats thrown all over the house. Today, the hooks in the cleaning closet fell and all of the winter coats that were piled on top of each other came crashing down. That is so irritating to me because we live in a small house and I have no where else to put these stupid winter coats! I piled them on the hooks in the garage and the ones that did not fit... I have decided to give to Good Will.

I feel like running through the house screaming. There are signs of a long winter indoors everywhere. Toys scattered, sweatshirts strewn over chairs, socks stuffed under beds and hanging out of the hamper and windows tightly closed in rooms that smell of dust. Laundry loads are heavier with long pants and heavy sweaters and the shoe pile outside of our garage door is the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro! I cannot wait for warm weather!

I am also getting tired of being pregnant-you know the "I hate my body" trimester. I seem to be more exhausted during this last trimester than I did during the first. Thank God for cereal, Easy Mac, and hot dog singles or my children would starve.

I long for summer weather when all we wear are flip flops and shorts. All of the winter coats will be packed away in the attic and the winter shoes will either be tossed away or put aside for the next child in line for them. I can't wait to live on burgers on the grill and cold pasta salad and the thought of walking in the evening to DQ makes me look out my window at the snow and want to flip it off.

A few months ago I was in love with winter. Early nights with the fire going and warm stews on the stove. I enjoyed tossing an extra blanket on my children's beds and turning down the thermostat at night in order to sleep cuddled up. Today, if winter was a person and knocked on my door, I would sick my dog on it!

I want to tell my kids "GO OUTSIDE!" I can't wait to sit on the back patio watching the little one play with her scooter or ride her bike, or to see my older kids running with their friends damp with sweat and beautifully tanned by the sun. I can't wait to hear my husband come home from work at night and say to the kids "Everyone get your suits on!" as he takes them all to the pool and gives me a hour alone in the summer evening.

Summer also means that I will no longer be pregnant and grumpy. I will have a precious little baby to hold each day. A little one who will smell so sweet and will bring about more love in this house than we imagined.

This winter dread is my Lent. Lent is always so long and dark for me. I wait for Easter Sunday just as I wait for the summer wind to blow through my hair. I do not wait patiently, I wait anxiously.

I was reading about the two thieves that were crucified along side of Jesus, Gestas and the good thief Dismas. This winter I am acting like Gestas-complaining and shaking my fist at God and saying "save me!" I need to come out of my Lenten dread and have more of the views of Dismas the good thief. Even after Jesus promised him heaven, he still had to suffer-but he knew the miracle that had taken place inside of him through Jesus Christ. It is so hard to look upon our suffering, or our sadness as a blessing because we have been saved by Christ. It is much easier to be like the bad thief and complain and demand help. Yes, this Lent is long and dark, but I hope that by the time Easter comes I can smile through my suffering... knowing the miracle that has taken place within me.

Oh let the warmth flow~

And the Winner Is.... Not Me

Well, we did not win the Jackpot. Next time my husband tells me to go to the store to buy a lottery card I am just going to tell him to roll down the window and toss the dollar bill out into the wind-because that is basically what we do.

I have never understood the whole buying lottery tickets thing. I know we will never win, so why even try. It would be like buying a pair of size 2 jeans... I know I will never get my rear end in them so why put myself through the hope only to be let down.

This morning as my husband was stepping out of the shower to get dressed for work he said "What if we won? Should I still go to work?" Now, it being 4 a.m. and his leaving the bed left a cold front to move across my back, I replied "Nah, just climb back in bed... we'll go mansion hunting later this afternoon after our massages and facials."

Could you imagine being that rich? My family is very blessed with what we do have and I can sit here and type "I wouldn't want all that money" but I would be lying. I would love love love to be filthy stinking rich! Do you ever picture it? Imagine life with lots and lots of cash? I know I know I know, it is a sin to want more than what is given to us... but for just a moment be a sinner and pretend you are rich. How would you live your life? Would you do things differently?

I personally do not think I would do too much differently... other than live in a house with a maid, a cook, have a pool, a hot tub, and use really expensive hair care products. I would still homeschool, and I would still blog. :)

I may vacation more than once every other year and I would drive a Cadillac Escalade... but I would still be me right?

Does money change people who are grounded in their beliefs and in their lives? What do you think?

One Day I Hope You Have A Child JUST LIKE YOU!

My mom says that I say things to my kids that she would have never said to us. Now, I don't know what happens when you get old (my Mom turned 64 yesterday) but I believe my mother is going through some sort of "selective remembering" thing. I grew up in her house... my upbringing is the source to who I am, how I live my life, and yes, how I discipline my children. Now, my mom says I am more vocal and open with my kids--well, I remember my mom being pretty darn vocal with me! A few great quotes I remember are:

1. "When I was a kid, my mother used to tell my brother that she hoped he would one day have a child just like him... and somehow I got that kid!" This is my mother speaking to me when she was close to losing her cool.
2. "Just don't tell anyone you are my child!" This is when I was heading out the door to the bus when I was in elementary school and I apparently did not brush my hair/brush my teeth/wash my face... and so on. I remember thinking "Well who's kid will they think I am? Everyone knows you are my mom-duh!"
3. "Shit! Shit!Shit!" That was my mom's favorite word when I was a kid.
4. "GOD BLESS AMERICA!" That was the term she used to let me know that I had better leave the room and quick because she was about go postal on me. This usually made me giggle at her, which in turn got me a smack on the rear.

I can go on, but I don't want you to think that my mom was a yeller (she was) like I am. Some days I say something to my children and I think "I sound just like my mother!" My mom was always funny when we were kids. She loved to dance in the kitchen and she always sang the song "Bushel and a Peck" by Soupy Sales to us. She also single handedly potty trained my little sister in 3 days. My older sister and I were locked out of the house for the entire three days (she just threw food out the door at us) I remember watching through our screen door with my mom yelling "GO GO GO!"and clapping her hands behind my sister while Claire ran to the bathroom crying. To this day my sister can't pee without weeping-but my mom gave it her all I tell ya!

The most profound memory I have of my childhood-and I like to remind my mother of this every chance I get-is the day that my mom was laying on the couch and asked me to retrieve her book for her. My mom loves to read, and apparently she loved to lay on the couch as well! She also locked us out of the house... but that is another story for another time. Anyway, She asked me to get her book and I complained and whined about having to stop what I was doing (which I am sure was something important like watching Woody Woodpecker) and stomped the entire way to get her book. (I am also sure that this book was something by Dr. Spock, who I always thought was the guy on Star Trek, but apparently he was a child-expert.) When I came back with her book she sat up and gave me a kiss and a hug and said "That is for doing this chore for me" and then she slapped me across my face and said "and that is for complaining about it!" I stood stunned!

As a mom myself, I think that lesson is classic! We read in so many child books how to raise our children, but as for me, my mom taught me how to raise kids-with sarcasm, love, honesty, and the ability to scream loud enough to get your point across--but not loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

I call my mom when I am at my wits end with my kids and she listens quietly and offers bits and pieces of sound advice or Biblical quotes. She isn't fooling me though... I know she hangs up the phone and says "HA HA! I don't feel sorry for you one bit!"

Thanks mom~

You Big Baby!

The other day when I was at the Doctor, she was trying to figure out my due date (even though I know exactly when this baby was conceived-I was there.) There have been some clerical differences recorded on this matter and she wanted to get it right-you know, because babies always follow their due date schedule. Anyway, she finally decided that May 3 is the actual date-which I had been telling her for 20 minutes. I guess she is one of those people who have to figure things out on their own... I live with a person like that. I can tell my husband "Look, that truck is red!" and he will have to look at the truck, take a sample of the truck paint, analyze it, call other men to discuss the paint color and then finally decide that yes, the paint is indeed red... but I digress.

We finally got down to business and my Doc pulled out her trusty measuring tape. Now, this always strikes me as funny. It is like they are going to hem the baby's pants and they want to make sure they have it right. I feel like I am consulting a seamstress on the progress of my pregnancy rather than an educated OB. When she finished measuring me she said "WOW, you are big!" Honest to God she said that. Now, if I was a weaker person this would have hurt me, but I was OK with it. I know I am big--I am having a BABY for goodness sake-what am I supposed to be skinny? Plus, I wanted to say "No shit Sherlock." But I didn't. Then the Doc said, "Oh, but you are measuring right where you are supposed to be." So I took that as I am supposed to be big and I could get on with my day-thank you.

http://laurathecrazymama.blogspot.com/ Laura and I were talking the other day about baby sizes. She has had some whoppers let me tell ya! One was over 10lbs! That just makes me cringe. I have had my fair share of big ol' babies. Both my oldest and my son were 8 lb. 12 oz. and our little one was 8lb. 11oz. So I figure this baby will be around the same. I love to hear of babies that weigh 5lbs, or even 7 lbs... because I think--man, I bet that is so much easier! I mean, having a 6 lb. baby would be like a walk in the park in my opinion--seriously! I do not mean to belittle anyone who has these little babies, and who only gain24 lbs during pregnancy and who only say one little peep while pushing and then it is all over with--because the baby is so stinking little. No, I am jealous of you! I fantasize about having a healthy baby that only weights 7lbs, just to see if it hurts less on the way out~

I am the lady on the maternity ward that the other moms hear screaming, and then grab hold of their Anesthesiologist and say "Do whatever you have to do to make me feel nothing!" During the birth of our first baby, my husband even had the nerve to shush me because he thought I was being too loud. From that day on, the rule has been that he is not allowed to talk during any of my labors. I watched the "Baby Story" on the television the other day and there was a mom who came in with her hair all styled, her nails all perfect and when it came to popping out that baby, she just squeaked a couple of times and the baby was out. I thought this only happened in the movies! In my real life I have hair plastered to my head, my blood vessels are popping all over my face, I have what looks like a bird's nest in the back of my hair from all of the writhing, and eventually my head spins around... and that is just on the car ride to the hospital!

So, I have decided that this is all due to the fact that my babies are all over 8lbs. Heck, this baby is probably well over 7 lbs. right now and I still have 8 weeks to go. If I could somehow either dilate to 15, or have a little baby my labors may be easier. Darn that Eve I tell ya! I have said this before, but I think women got the raw end of the deal in the whole "Adam and Eve" situation. Let's look at this shall we? Eve is tempted and picks the apple--but does not bite first, no she takes it to Adam who is her husband and offers him the apple. Adam, obviously whooped by Eve's small hips and curvy legs decides to lead him and his wife into this temptation... and then he turns coward and blames the entire ordeal on Eve when God comes calling. God banishes them and tells Adam that he will have to sweat and work hard to toil the earth in order to live... and he tells Eve that she will have painful childbirth. ( I am aware that there is more to this story, but you get the idea). Well... the last time I saw my husband sweat and toil the earth is in the summer when he mows, and we actually have a lawn service. Men, somehow have gotten out of their punishment just like Adam tried with his finger pointing to Eve. Women on the other hand still have their physical punishment of labor. Sure, we can get epidurals or have a shot that makes the room look like a 70's flashback, but we are still pushing something the size of a watermelon through something the size of an orange! There is pain involved... and it usually lasts for about 18 years. Women don't get into these situations by themselves either-it takes a man saying "Hey, you are looking rather nice tonight." and then 9 month later we are in unspeakable pain. I bet if Eve decided to go shopping for some new vines to make a nice new hammock for her and Adam none of this would have ever happened, she would have forgotten about the whole "be as smart as God" thing and been excited about her new find. If only Eve had discovered her Paradise designing sense early on we would have all been spared the pain of childbirth. This is something all pregnant women dream about I am sure...

C-Section via Metro Train Doors

We went downtown DC yesterday because we have family in town and what else do you do with family in town but drag them all over tarnation showing them the sights! Actually, my beloved husband kept the kids while I was able to go downtown. It is a different world out there when you get to do it without children, and I felt like I had a free pass out of prison for the day--It was liberating to eat what I wanted, when I wanted and without having to share it with little people with sticky fingers.

We zipped up to the metro station because I did not want to look for parking downtown and we headed to Union Station for lunch. When we finished we headed back down to the metro to catch a train to our next destination. Well, standing there was a mom and her two daughters all with suitcases, so when the train came I offered them to get on the train ahead of me. As I started onto the train-halfway on, halfway off, THE DOORS STARTED TO CLOSE! My little sister had gone on ahead of me and our friend Steffie was still behind me on the platform!

We all start yelling/screaming/laughing (because as I have said before, when bad things are happening you can't help but laugh at the person they are happening to--in this case it was to me!) I had my sister in the train pulling me, and I had Steffie outside of the train pushing me... and I was pretending I was Superman and made of steel and I could open the doors with my bare hands.

The thoughts going through my head as I was halfway in the train and halfway out of the train were these...
"Surely the Conductor will see me and open these doors."
"If I get in, Steffie will be left on the platform and she does not know how to find her way out of a parking lot let alone around DC!"
"I wonder if these big doors make my butt look smaller"

And then visions of that poor Chinese woman whose stroller got caught in the train doors a few years back and dragged her and her baby down the platform that the news played over and over again on the television flashed through my mind and I started to panic! My hair was all wind-blown and I did not want to be on the 9:00 news being dragged down the platform with messy hair! I would have felt better about the entire situation if I had had a chance to primp before being dragged to my death.

Eventually I was able to use my super-strength and pry the doors open long enough to get myself in AND Steffie. Whew! We were safe! We all sat and started to laugh--my sister said all that she could see was my feet and my tummy sticking through the doors. After we settled down a bit I looked around me. Do you know that the entire train car was full? Do you also know that most of the passengers were men? No one came to our rescue. No one helped to pry the doors open for the pregnant lady who was about to have her child popped out of her tummy like a pimple by the closing doors. We all scratched our heads. What ever happened to helping those in distress? It was like a Seinfeld episode, only Jerry and George would have been the men sitting on the train NOT helping because they would have had to touch a pregnant woman.

Thankfully I have the strength of a power lifter from Vegas and was able to free myself. I have decided to slather myself with self-tanner and buy a string bikini (maternity style of course) and enter in the next "Mrs. Buff USA" Watch for me on TV!

Pasta Weesie

When I was just 9 months old, my parents moved into my childhood home. Right next door lived Jimmy and Steffie. They became fast friends with my parents and became a part of our extended family. As I grew up, I remember spending many hours with Steffie in her garden, or in her house "playing." Steffie was a bit younger than my parents and she did not have any children of her own, so my sisters and I became her "children." She has always had a way of finding joy in every situation and if anyone knows how to be happy--it is Steffie. Even when the outlook is bleak, she sees the silver lining. Steffie immigrated from Germany (she is Ukrainian) when she was just two-years old and her parents became like grandparents to us kids. Her mother, Mama A (which we have always called her) is still alive and well and has made all of my babies their Baptismal blankets and she can make the best potato salad and stuffed cabbage in the world!

Anyway, yesterday Steffie turned 60! We flew her out on Thursday and have been going nonstop since. To give you an idea of the rare personality that Steffie has, she came down for her birthday breakfast looking like this: You should know... she does not usually look like that!

My little sister Claire also flew out for Steffie's birthday... Steffie decided to spend her birthday with two pregnant ladies and three hyper kids-I call that crazy, but she calls that FUN!

Steffie also has a special relationship with my husband... they love to fight. We went to the Pentagon to meet my husband for lunch yesterday and the two of them had an argument over what Steffie was allowed to eat! My husband refused to let her eat anything other than a fish sandwich (the Catholic police are always on patrol). Her thinking was that it was her birthday so she had a special dispensation... plus she hates fish sandwiches. The two of them proceeded to argue until the military police surrounded the area, threw in some tear gas and then cuffed them both and hauled them off to the loony bin. OK, that didn't happen, but you can see where their "arguments" can take them. I leave them be-they both enjoy the banter too much.

Years ago, after I had my oldest, my dad decided to convince our oldest to start calling Steffie (who is also our oldest's Godmother) Weezie. If you have ever seen the movie Steel Magnolia's, you may remember in the end when Olympus Dukakis's character talks to Julia's Robert's baby boy about an evil which named "Weezie" I believe in the south they would say "Weeeeeza" Anyway, she said Weezie was Shirley Maclaine's character-and in the end the baby boy slaps Shirley and runs off crying. So, my dad has called Steffie "Weezie" for 12 years now. She didn't care-it does not ruffle her feathers, and she just goes with it. A different person would get ticked, or be bitter, but Steffie embraces everything.

Well, last night we went to Carrabba's for dinner. OH MY GOODNESS! It was flippin' good! On the menu is "Pasta Weesie" It is grilled shrimp and mushrooms over Fettuccine Alfredo--to die for! Steffie, in all of her 60 year old pride ordered the "Pasta Weesie" because it was obviously named after her because of her birthday!

What a great way to look at life!

Is there a Contractor in the house?

Ahhhh, all toilets are flushing in the house today! There are no leaks to report and I have taken the yellow police tape off of the bathroom door so all can visit the commode at their leisure.

I bought a new tank the other morning from a man with the name of Bob (not Gomer or Bubba as predicted) and brought it home for my husband to install. I left for the evening because I am no dummy... handyman projects and this house do not mix well. Upon my return I saw the old tank sitting sadly in the garage as if it was being punished and I thought "Could it be? Did it actually happen? Was my handyman husband able to actually install the toilet tank?" I was excited beyond words... that was until I walked up the stairs and saw parts and pieces of toilet tank all over the floor as if there had been a toilet autopsy happening. Something bad had happened here, I could smell it in the air.

My husband declared "They gave us the wrong part! I cannot fit this black thingy in the hole and get the tank thingy on top of the bowl thingy to screw it together." OK, those weren't his exact words, but that is about all I could comprehend. Then he said it... the words that I KNEW would be next... he said the dreaded "You are going to have to go back to Toilet Tanks R US and tell them the gave us the wrong part!" UGH!

So the next morning I trekked back to the land of toilets and declared that we had the wrong part-my husband said so! They looked at the part, looked at me, and then said "Your husband who cracked the original tank by screwing the bolt too tight says that THIS is the wrong part?" I quietly took the part and backed my way out of there before Bob could catch his breath from his laughing seizure. Men... they think they are so funny.

When my husband came home I told him the news. "Sorry honey, you are not a toilet installer, although I know it is on your list of things to do before you turn 40, but this is the right part... you just need to do it again." But then I offered the only support I could muster and, in thinking that I wanted a fixed toilet AND a happy husband I said, "I am going to call expensive professional handyman tomorrow and have him come install it." I mean, let's face it folks, my husband is an intellect. He has beautifully manicured hands and his face is just so darn pretty that he was just not cut out to install toilets. This is a man who is always prepared-he collects napkins from fast food restaurant and puts them in my glove box "just in case" for goodness sake-he has too many other things to worry about than installing this toilet.

Well, God answered my prayers because as fate and luck would have it, there just so happened to be a contractor standing right across the street finishing up a remodeling job on our neighbors house. My quick thinking intellect husband decided to go ask for some advice. I watched out the window as my husband-the protector of all toilets in our house-woo'd the contractor. He complemented his truck, his work ethic, his talent of fixing things (a talent my husband so desires) and when all else failed... he offered him cold hard cash.

20 minutes later we had a fixed functioning toilet in the bathroom! The kids did a little happy dance-either to show their excitement that the toilet was fixed, or because they had been holding it for 3 straight days-not sure which. The most amazing part...the contractor would take no money. What a guy!

What is the moral of this story you ask? Well that is simple... anyone can fix a problem, you just have to realize what your talents are and use them wisely. Also, just because we spend a lot of time with our toilets, that does not make us professional toilet tank installers~ask for help when your bowl starts to overflow!

Famous by Relation

I have a famous person in my family... well not really famous, more like "just happens to be on TV." Has anyone seen the reality show "Juvies" on MTV? Now, some of you may be saying, "MTV? *gasp* Oh Lord Above no!!!" I know I know, you spend all of your time on your knees praying... but I watch MTV now and again---I need to keep current on who is shaving their heads and which Hollywood star is running for President because they do after all have a 10th grade education!

Anyway, back to the show "Juvies" It is actually really good. If I were a teen and watched this show I may think twice about joyriding in grandma's car or stealing a stereo from the neighbor. It is about kids who go to the Lake County (which is in Indiana-where I grew up) Juvenile Detention Center. Now, I like to watch for a second reason... I always wonder if I will see anyone I know on there. So far--I have seen a lot of people! It is kind of like the time I was laying in bed flipping the channels and I turned to Jerry Springer (sometimes you just gotta slow down and stare at the car wreck!) and who do I see in the audience by my LITTLE SISTER! I woke my husband up yelling "Claire is on Jerry Springer!" She was not actually ON Jerry Springer (we are an Irish Catholic family, we drink away our dysfunction and then go to Sunday Mass... we don't go on the tele for all to see.) but she did buy tickets to go be in the audience. She has since repented and lives a life of marital bliss and piousness.

OK, I keep digressing. During this show, the juvenile delinquents are brought before a judge who then decides if they will stay at the center or go home with a parting gift of an ankle bracelet... much like the one Martha Stewart wore after her stint in the big house. My cousin, who is also my Godmother is the prosecuting attorney Kathy Guzek. I did not even know she was on the show--because to be honest, she is not the type to call the family saying "watch me on MTV!" and then run around screaming because she was able to meet Carson Daily. (He is a past VJ on MTV-just to keep you current). No, I was watching one day because like I said I wanted to see if I knew anyone on there and there she was! I was so excited. I have to say, she is one tough cookie on these kids... and on the parents.

Parent: "He is a good boy who follows the rules in our house"
Kathy: "So he was following the rules when he was out with his friends drinking?"
Parent: "No, he is not allowed to drink at our house"
Kathy: "Oh so what you are saying is that he follows the rules at your house but what he does outside of your house is OK? Did you know he was drinking? Do you allow him to drink? Do you always make excuses for you son?"
Parent: "I, uh, um, huh?"

Like I said... she is tough. She does her job well. I think America has gone soft when it comes to kids. We have parents who do not discipline, or when their kid gets in trouble they blame the school, the town, the teacher... everyone but the kid. When I was a kid, my mom smacked the junk out of me in the church parking lot because I was not where I said I would be. I told her I would be waiting by the back doors, but I had gone across the parking lot to the town Custard Shop where all the kids hung out. She gave it to me good... and then looked up to see Fr. Mark on the other side of the parking lot. I got in trouble for that one too! She said that I better pray that she was not in Father's sermon that Sunday! My mom is a good Catholic, she brings prayer and guilt into just about every situation! I was sweating all during Mass let me tell you!

Now, I am not saying that I support smacking the junk out of your kids... but I do believe in discipline. Last year I worked for a bit in a group home for girls. I was finishing up my degree and this was my internship. I went in and did group counseling and every week I took different girls to court to be in front of a juvenile judge. Parents were required to be at these court appearances. Most did not make it. I came to the sad conclusion that many parents today are selfish. It used to be that parents would sacrifice for the well-being of their children. Today, we see kids on the news and in the paper who have been forced to sacrifice their security, purity, innocence, and protection because mom wanted a new boyfriend who beat them, or dad is in jail due to drugs and the kid has been in 7 different foster homes in 7 different years. We hear news of horrible abuse to children-torture and neglect. The thing that frightens me the most is that one day these children will grow to be adults and who has been there to teach them how to be an adult? They are going to share this world with my children... that thought keeps me up at night let me tell you.

Now, I am not saying that my kids will not hit road bumps along the way, and I am also not saying that all kids who come from dysfunctional families are destined for a life of crime and drugs. I am saying that we need to pray. We need to pray for our children. We need to remember Who is was that entrusted them to us... they are not ours-they are God's children. When I became pregnant with our third child I remember dropping to my knees and feeling so humble that God would hand over one more of his children to me-a sinner.

Some may say that "It takes a Village" and this is true to a point. But first and foremost it takes a parent. It takes a person who is willing to place their children first in their lives. When I first started homeschooling, many people asked me why. I struggled with this answer for a long time and then one day it came to me the true reason why my husband and I made this life decision. You see, when we get to heaven we do not want God to look at us and say "did you have enough you time? Did you get to spend quality time alone? Did you fulfill all of your personal desires?" No, we want Him to say to us "I gave you my children, and you took that vocation seriously-in giving to them, you gave to Me." And then St. Peter opens the Gates and says "Come on in! We have pedicures to the left, massages to the right, and the chocolate bar has just opened!" Oh yeah!