live from the guillotine

“Love in Five Songs”

This is a paper that Veritas had to write for one of her classes. I found it on the desk top and thought it was just great!!! The assignment was to create a play list of 5 songs circled around one theme. - VAL


Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up. -James A. Baldwin

    In music, one theme is more common than any other: love. Love is what makes the

world go round, after all. Most music is written about summer love, first love, unrequited

love, or the love of a lifetime. Different songs resonate with different people, depending

on the kinds of love they’ve had in their life. As for me, I have several songs that remind

me of love in it’s many forms: familial love, parental love, and romantic love.

    “Swagger,” by Flogging Molly, is the favorite song of my two-year-old niece,

Kaylee. When we drive around together, on our way to get ice cream, pick up my 

younger siblings from school, or to the park, I play this one for her. It’s a mostly

instrumental piece, with rollicking bagpipes and wild drums. The only words are, “Don’t

know where I’m going, don’t know where I’m going, hey!” yelled by a bunch of Irish

guys, so it’s easy for Kaylee to sing along. Her eyes light up, her toes start tapping, and

her head starts bobbing. She smiles up at me and says, “Sing, Aunt Cessy!” and her pretty

blue eyes make me melt a little inside. Even though it’s not technically a love song,

“Swagger” never fails to trigger a flood of love for the most precious little girl in my life.

Training - By Val

Considering my mother has not had the time to post anything on her site I figured I'd give a small update for everyone who cares.

The family is, thank the Lord, taking a small break from running around Texas going to all Willard's sporting events. He finished up his summer basketball season by winning every tournament but one. His baseball season was a total waste of time as the coaches were idiots and managed to blow the entire district tournament for us. As my dad said after the last game, which our coach intentionally walked the #3 batter putting the tying run on 1st, "Son your coaches are just idiots."  The good news is that might have been the last straw and we might get another season with Coach G, but only time will tell.

Veritas has started working at one of our favorite restaurants in town which is going to be bad for my hips. The place serves the best chicken fried steak you could ever dream about and I constantly find myself going over there "to visit" her.

Vision is working on her cheerleading and enjoying the last few weeks of her summer vacation. She has spent most of the summer trying to convince my mother and I that she needs a hardship license. Her hardship being that she might need to go to the mall and no one can drive her???  As far as I know she's taken anywhere she wants to go and more. She's also brought up the need for a cell phone but I'll let my mom discuss the reasoning behind that.

Mom's Not Old!

Today, July 26th, is the birthday of the most special person in my life.

My mom.

Now, I know everyone thinks their mom is the greatest woman on the planet, and no other mother can compare, and it's kind of a cliche. But in my case, I'm right. My mom is AWESOME.

I don't know anybody who doesn't like her. Well, that's not true, I can think of several people who hold grudges against her, so let me rephrase that. Nobody with half a brain doesn't like my mom. Among my friends, the reactions range from, "Your mom is the best History teacher I ever had," to, "Oh, can we PLEASE hang out with your mom?!" to,"I'm not gonna lie, Veritas, your mom is freakin' hot." Which is, in itself, a tribute to a very unusual woman.

When Willard said on her Mother's Day slideshow that he loved her because, "You've always been there for me when I'm sick and you always bring me a trashcan when I need to throw up." Oh, man, she laughed at that until she couldn't even see, but she doesn't understand. When I was little, getting sick was always the highlight of my month, because Mom would be there, with her cool hands and soft (for once) voice. It just made us feel loved.

Mom may try to hide it, may try to tell you she's tough as leather and meaner than a snake, but really she's a big softie. When we made her that slideshow, and put the Boyz II Men song "A Song For Mama" as the background music, she cried like a baby. When we graduate high school, she always cries during her speeches about how great we are. When Valentine graduated college, there went the waterworks again. Regular bawl-bag, my mom. And we love it.

She's also just about the funniest woman you will ever meet. That's why my friends like her so much. I will never forget the time I was sitting on the back porch swing with my boyfriend, and she came out there and said, "Look, it's getting late, are you going to kiss Veritas and go home or what?" And oh boy, when she and Dad get together, there's no stopping them. Another boyfriend was subjected to an interrogation about his driving skills and made to promise that he'd bring his proof of insurance when he picked me up for our next date.

Then again, there's really no stopping my parents about anything. If you have been a friend of one of the Guillotine children for any length of time, you have been subjected to the sight of Mr. and Mrs. G dancing around the kitchen to old country songs, singing them to each other in dramatic voices. And when you're there when they get the RealRhapsody going, trying to outdo each other with obscure '80s music, you are officially part of the family.

Another way to tell whether you're officially part of the family is if Mom has given you the Desk Talk. Do not DARE to set a drink down on her desk, ever, because she will pick it up, hand it to you, and say, "Let me tell you something...." Then, because we've heard it so many times, one of us kids will pick up with, "Her daddy made her this desk when she was in high school. See how her sister carved her boyfriend's name right there on that drawer? This desk is very special to her, so do NOT set your drink on it and leave a ring." In fact, my very best friend is reading over my shoulder as I type this, and she just picked up a drink and stuck it on a coaster, a guilty look adorning her face.

That's not the only story we can recite, word-for-word, with our mom. She has a tendency to tell the same story over and over again, and sometimes we'll just steal the story in the middle and finish it Mom-style, with many hand gestures and emphatic declarations. Dad's favorite part is when I stand behind her and tell the story along with her, making exactly the same emphatic hand gestures, with the same expression on my face. And she says we don't listen when she talks! How else would we know that it is a Very Bad Idea to let your cousin talk you into tying your bicycle to the back of his motorcycle so that he can drag you down the caliche-topped road? Also, in case you were wondering, caliche hurts quite a lot when you smash into it at a high speed. Just another in the long list of life lessons we've learned from our mother.

That list is a very long one. My mom is one of the most discerning women I've ever met. She can take a problem, think about it for two seconds, and think of six solutions that you never would have dreamed about. Or she can take what you think is a great idea and point out at least three reasons why it's one of the worst ideas in the world, and you're thinking, "Man, I'm glad she said that before I made THAT mistake." Not that I speak from personal experience, or anything.

She has a face that makes people tell her things. You know that friendly-looking stranger you ask to take a big group photo for you when you're on vacation? That's my mom. You know the person you randomly pour out your latest problem to while in line at the grocery store? That's my mom. She just has a way of making you want to tell her everything. Because you know she's not just waiting for her turn to talk, like most people. She's actually actively listening to what you have to say. That's probably one of her best qualities (not that she doesn't have about seven hundred best qualities).

Another of her best qualities is her resilience. Our air conditioner goes out, and she says, "Well, at least we don't live in grain silo like my grandmother!" Typical Mom. She always makes sure you don't sweat the small stuff. She has often asked me, "Veritas, in ten years, is this really going to matter?" She's the queen of seeing the big picture.

So, even though she's now an old woman, I hope she can remember that. In ten years, she's going to wish she was still twenty-seven.

Yeah, she's turning twenty-seven this year, didn't you know?

Just for Trish

Despite my long, long, long post just below, I have to add this little bit just for Trish because she so wanted to hear about the basketball tournament this weekend with Mom and Dad in attendance.

Mom always lectures us about getting loud and rude during the games.  Our behavior upsets her.  She "pats" me on the leg and says, "Now Lana, shhh!" She always does this right up until the time that she is actually yelling things because she's just such a basketball nut she can't help herself.  Myself, I just yell and enjoy because I know eventually Mom will get so into it she will start yelling too.  Trish had hoped that we would be able to capture video of this event, but sadly, that didn't happen.

I'd also love to have video of Viagra's last high school baseball game at the Christian school when Daddy announced to all the shocked Christian school parents in the stands, "Well, this game is pretty much like screwin' a skunk.  Just hold your nose and get it over with."

Try as they might, they will never forget our family.  It brings a warm smile to my face every time I think of it.   I love my family.  No one is ever confused about where they stand.  There is no tiptoeing around, questioning, hedging, wondering if all is well.  We're kinda in your face that way.   It makes things simple.  I like simple.  If you wish to argue, you can.  If you wish to roll your eyes and ignore, you can.  If you wish to stomp off and have a tee-total fit, you can.  And everyone still loves you because your family.  What's not to love?   

In the final game on Sunday, Mom was still holding up valiantly, scolding me, scolding Val, pretty much scolding everyone she could lay a hand on.  At one point Val said something particularly nasty and Mom turned to me and said, "This is what you've raised, Lana?!?  Are you proud of this?"

I was sitting there thinking to myself, um, I wasn't raised in a vacuum,  when Dad had finally had enough and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Just call it on both ends of the court!  Both ends of the court, ref!!"

With that, Willard fouled out of the game.  As I glanced back over my shoulder to half of my raising, grinning like mad, Mom finally broke down and jumped into the fray.  Now granted, she was gracious to the refs and only attempting to aid our team to victory,  but I am not exaggerating when I say she bellowed at our players, "PASS THE BALL!  PASS THE BALL!  PASS THE BALL! PASS THE BALL!!!"

She was a trifle upset with the individual hotdogging going on, I guess, and attempted to offer constructive advice at high decibels.   That's my  momma.  As Val said, "I only yelled one thing!  Gran was relentless."   

But as Gran said, repeatedly, she'd rather Willard play hard and foul out than not hustle and lolligag around.  Me too.  I guess the apple doesn't really fall that far from the tree.

Oh yeah.  My sister's husband, Uncle B, came to the games with my darling nephew and neice.  My sister, Henny, was off with her girlfriends to celebrate her birthday, but Uncle B joined us with the kiddies.  Good times.  Hogan demanded I swim with him in the pool Saturday afternoon.  "Come swim wif me, Aunt Lana!  Come swim wif me!"

Who could turn an offer like that down?  And Baby Ella.  She is so adorable.  She grabs your face with her two little 8 month-old hands and dives in for kisses.  I was happily mauled.  Who, I ask you, can get bent out of shape by a completely idiotic call when the cutest baby in the entire world is kissing your whole face?  Well, as long as we are up by 4 or 5 points. 

Good Times.

Wow...Already July!

So I got a postcard from my "friend" Trish addressed to Lana, the not-blogger.  Ahem.

Willard just wrapped up baseball season.  The district tournament was all last week.  We had a good team, but the less said about the coaching staff the better.  Or, as MrG explained to Willard on the way home from the final game, "Son, your coaches aren't stupid, they're just ignorant!"

It takes a lot of ignorance to give away a 7 point lead two nights in a row, but amazingly our crack coaching staff was up for the job and Willard will not be advancing to the State Tourney this year. 

In addition to spending all of our weeks either practicing or losing baseball games for no good reason, Willard has also been playing in select basketball tournaments on the weekends because his mother is nuts.  The last two tournaments were the 1st and 2nd weekends in July, so we played baseball all week last week, then loaded in the car Friday night to head to West, Texas for a 6 o'clock tip off.

My parents met us because they wanted to see Willard play and my mother is a basketball nut.  She's mentioned that Willard should probably give up football because he could get hurt and it would ruin his basketball season.   She's not kidding.  It was a fun weekend,  Willard's team  won the tournament, trophies were passed out,  and as usual the refs were a little on the weak side.

Now I ask you, how could it be difficult to get high quality refs at a summer weekend, 7th grade basketball tournament?  Surely people are lining up for the amazing pay, the prestige of calling this level of sporting event, and the added bonus of being seriously and continuously abused for hours on end by screaming fans.  Who wouldn't want this job? 

This basketball thing has been an eye opening experience in a way I'd never expected, however.  Willard's city league team coach, Tony, has been pestering him for the last couple of years to play on their team or Willard has been pestering Tony.  I forget who pestered who last.  Anyway, when we finally agreed, initially the other coaches were not nearly as excited about Willard playing as Coach Tony was.   I'm pretty sure it was because Willard is a white boy and everyone knows white boys can't jump, but it turns out that this particular white boy is the rebound king.  Or as Coach Tony explained his  conversation with the other coaches to me after the first practice, "I told you he got game!!!"

Indeed, Willard's game landed him a starting position on the team and the entire family took to calling him token since he was the only white kid to start.  But it was bizarre, because although Willard was one of the three token white kids on our team, our entire team was the token black team in all the tournaments.    I'd been under the impression that race relations were vastly improved in Texas in 2007 and I'm sure they are compared to twenty years ago, but this summer I found out we still have a very, very long way to go.  I wasn't really prepared for the hostility and nastiness we encountered in practically every venue, but it would not be an exaggeration to say every weekend we suited up and found ourselves on "that black team" and temporarily we were living a much milder, 21st century version of the novel Black Like Me.

In other news, Vision went to cheer camp last week and was nominated to try out for All-American.  She had an individual try out while at camp and now my baby is an All-American cheerleader!  Since she's also a World Champion of the Universe, assuming no life on other planets, she the All-American World Champion of the Universe.  And that's just THIS year.  In non-eye-opening news, teenage girls are still just as bitchy as they were when I was in high school.  She had a difficult time with some of them, but as I've told her often enough, "Don't get in the mud and roll around with the pigs."

She didn't and I was proud of her.  She's a kind and gracious All-American World Champion of the Universe, except when it's her night to clean the kitchen.  But that's another story.   

Veritas shined in High School Musical.  Her dancing was fantastic.  I was thrilled and amazed.  I leaned over to MrG and said, "Am I prejudiced, or is she the most amazing child on that stage?"

And he said, "Of course she is.  It's obvious."

The 2nd weekend in June, we held Veritas' high school graduation ceremony.  It was small because she was the only one graduating, but it was just lovely.  She looked beautiful, our speeches were funny and well received, everyone seemed to have a great time, and she is ready to take on the world.  Valentine made her a Windows Media presentation with pictures from babyhood to graduation and it was equal parts wonderful, touching, and amusing.  Vision and I stayed up until 3 a.m. the night before scanning all the pictures into the computer, so  let's just say contributions were made by all.   

Veritas is now working at a very popular local restaurant and on her first day one of the waitresses said, "Don't you come in here all the time with that family with all those kids?"

My oldest son, Viagra, put together a city league softball team this summer and the old man, MrG,  is playing on it with him.  Let's just say it's been an entertaining month.  Valentine and Veronica, my daughter-in-law, got us all lined out with T-shirts to match the team, so its a coordinated cheering section.  Before the kiddies tattle on me, I have to admit I missed their ranking tournament and have yet to attend one of the first two games.  I was exhausted what with keeping all the shirts laundered, but I think Val's dog wore my shirt to a game. 

I also babysat the pumpkin for at least one game and as she informed me yesterday, she's perfect.  Of course she is!  Veronica was standing in the kitchen yesterday afternoon telling me the pumpkin said earlier, "My shirt is perfect just like me."

And I looked at the pumpkin, who happened to be standing beside me, and said, "You're perfect, huh?"

And she said, "You too, Granny.  You're perfect just like me!  We're perfect!"

I'm going to argue with that ironclad logic?  She also insisted on helping Pappy get dressed for his softball game last night.  She came running into the kitchen and announced, "I dig, and dig, and dig and find Pappy's shirt in the clothes.  It's green!  I find Pappy's green shirt.  Say thank you, Pappy."

Speaking of Pappy, we almost lost him Monday.  He got into a wreck on a little winding and twisting farm road and totaled his truck.  The front looked like a smashed beer can.  Happily, he walked away with no damage except the poison oak, but it was scary watching the wrecker pull that truck out of the fence and tree line.  I'll be happy to never do that again as long as I live.   When I got back to the office, one of the guys I work with said the office manager told him I freaked out a little when I left to pick up MrG.  "What should you say in that situation," he said, "so that you don't freak out your wife?"

I said, "Start with I'm just fine.  Then say I've had a wreck, then remind her that you are just fine."

And he says, "Well what did MrG say?"

I laughed and said, "He said I'm fine, but I think you might need to come get me."

"Well, that sounds pretty good.  What was wrong with that?"

"The last time he called and said 'I think you might need to come get me', he damn near died!"

All's well that ends well, and MrG drove his new truck into the driveway last night.  He said the kids wanted to take a spin and test the leather, so they were leaving.  I didn't know which kids so I  said, "The little kids?"

"The little kids? Lana, the 'little kids' are almost a foot taller than you are!"

Doesn't matter.  They'll always be my babies.  And speaking of babies, our air conditioning went out yesterday.  Now we're just sitting around sweating and waiting on the repairman to arrive tomorrow.  It's July and it's Texas.  Valentine was whining about how hot it was earlier and I said I was embarrassed to whine.  My MaMa lived in a grain silo without electricity, let alone air conditioning when she moved to Texas.  I'm gonna whine because the fans just aren't cutting it?  I don't think so.  Well, not out loud where anyone can hear me.  Family reputation to think of and all that. We're made of sterner stuff than the rest of you crybaby losers.

Dang it's hot!!   

(Yes, I know I left out the fish fry, or actually both of the fish frys, and the 4th of July extravaganza, but this has gone on long enough.  The fish fry at our house was great.  The fish fry at the lake was also very excellent.  The 4th was a bit damp, but still great.  Young teenage girls I'd never seen before, or since for that matter, attended at Willard's request and it was weird.  Veritas' theatre friends in sequined hats were propped about in lawn chairs.  I have a feeling it's going to continue to be weird for a very long time.  Or as Viagra said, "Here we go.")

Oh yeah.  Val got a job! Well, another job, but that's another story. 

While Our Internet Connection Was Gone Like the Wind

As I mentioned, our internet connection has been down for several weeks and the story is so boring I won't bother recreating it here.  A good deal has happened in the last couple of months and here is a recap in no particular order.

Valentine moved home to save money, pay on her college loans, and look for a job in her degree field.  She's had several offers, but none she's been excited about so far.  Either they don't pay enough for her to live in the locale in which they're available, or they're not really appealing.  I figure she might as well wait until the right thing comes along or until Willard mutinies against sleeping on the couch.

Speaking of Willard, he's well into baseball season and his team is doing well.  We were all sitting in the stands and as he came up to bat, we heard a little girl whisper behind us, "That's Willard!  He's AWESOME!!!"

And her friend said, "He does the high jump too!"

We all busted up laughing and my oldest son sighed and said, "Here we go."

I've been trying to work it into casual conversation ever since.  As in, "Hey Mr. Awesome, come take out the trash!"

Willard's also been invited to play on a select basketball team, which means we have baseball during the week and basketball on the weekends. At his game last week his rebounding and hustle was simply nonexistent and I became frustrated enough to shout, "For heaven's sake Willard, stop pussy-footing around and get in this game!!"

At which point the entire crowd turned around to stare at me as if I'd yelled something obscene.   I stared back at them wondering what on earth and then  it finally dawned on me.  I threw my hands up and said, "Didn't your grandmother tell you that all the time?"

The team he played against was so incredibly huge none of us could believe they were 7th graders.  Valentine said, "For cryin' out loud, that one's got a tattoo!"

A parent sitting next to us said, "They probably all drove to the game."

And I said, "Hell, they'll probably stop for a beer on the way home."

Turned out they were 8th and 9th graders and needless to say, they beat us like a drum.

Vision went to the World Champion Cheer Competition in Baltimore, Maryland the first of May.  Since there is no proof of life on other planets, I told her if she won she'd be cheer champ of the universe.  Vision's team did win cheer champ of the universe, but she didn't like Maryland and Pennsylvania.  She walked in the back door, dropped her bags, and the first thing out of her mouth was, "I hate yankees!"

It seems the girls were mocked and made fun of everywhere they went because of their Texas accents.  I said, "Were they laughing when you got up to accept your first place trophy?"

Vision also tried out for junior varsity cheerleader in April.  I don't know how many girls were trying out, but there were only 8 spots on the team for freshman.  I asked Vision if she thought she'd make it and she looked at me like I'd lost my mind and said, "Of course.  Duh!"

Sure enough, she was right.  Duh! 

Vision and Willard had their last day of school Thursday. MrG and I attended the awards ceremony at the junior high last Monday and they did pretty well for their first year of school.  Vision made the A honor roll and was awarded the outstanding science student, as well as outstanding computer science student.  I've started calling her my little cheer geek.

Willard made the A/B honor roll and he was not a happy camper because his sister beat him.  He also won outstanding science student, but he's still bitter.  He was looking at his grades online last night and muttering over his B in English that caused his downfall.  Not that we're a competitive family or anything.

We're also getting ready for Veritas' graduation party in June.  It's hard to believe my dramatic little sweetie is graduating from high school this year.  It seems like only yesterday she was a 4 year-old who was forever announcing, "This is not cute enough for me to wear!"

She's gotten a part in the play, A High School Musical, so we've been trying without much success to shoehorn in graduation things between her classes at the local college, her plays, and her job.

My oldest son, Viagra, brought a proud tear to my eye on his birthday when he asked me to order him all of Thomas Sowell's books on culture for his present.  Now when we meet for lunch, he's been sitting in his truck waiting and reading until I arrive.  It's one thing when you make the kiddies read things for their own good.  It's quite another when they choose to read those things on their own. 

And speaking of my fabulous kids, they all got together and made me a lovely Mother's Day windows media show.  They all picked out their favorite pictures, wrote me sweet notes, and it was so touching I cried like a baby for approximately 2 days and watched it 300 times.  Well, so far.  It was so good MrG was tearing up at the end.  My favorite comment, however, was Vision, who was telling someone about it and said, "It's great.  Mom goes from fat to hot to fat to hot over and over again!"

My second favorite thing was Willard's letter in the video about why he loves me.  He began with, "Mom, you've always been there for me when I'm sick, and you always brought me a trash can when I needed to throw up."

High praise indeed.  He ended it with, "P.S. Valentine!  Don't micromanage this paper or you will die!  Thank you."

Hopefully in the next week, I'll have time to post all the kid's letters.  They were all amazing in their own ways, but my daughter-in-law's was perhaps the sweetest because she married into this family and is stuck with me, but she seems to like me anyway.  Go figure. I never once brought her a trash can when she was throwing up.

In other news, my flower garden still looks fabulous.  As I mentioned earlier, I always loved my Granny's flower garden and I adored  my Granny and that is why I wanted the pumpkin to call me Granny.  Everyone kept saying it sounded old and I should pick something else, but every time she calls me Granny I feel like I'm the most wonderful person in the world.

So to ice my cake, the other day my sweet little pumpkin went to McDonald's with her mother for a happy meal and asked if she could please eat in Granny's flower garden.  According to her mommy, she toddled down the steps, plunked herself right in the middle of Granny's flowers, and ate to her heart's content.  It's the continuity, you see, that puts the smile on my face. One little girl, well over 30 years ago, dreaming in her Granny's flower garden and fast forward to the present.   Another precious grandbaby, sitting amidst Granny's flowers, enjoying the beauty.  And, no doubt, trying to kill it with too much water.

   

What We've Been Up To

(Requested by The Divine Ms. M, who is living out in crazy Californy, and needs an update.)

As I may or may not have mentioned, both my 13 year-old son, Willard, and my 15 year-old daughter, Vision, were inducted into the National Junior Honor Society this past month.  When the kiddies began school this fall, I fell back on my parent's rule: B's will be barely tolerated, A's will be the preferred grade to bring home, and C's will allow you to spend all of your free time at home studying and scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush.

After I became familiar with the course work, I decided there was no excuse to make less than an A in any class, so the rules were revised:  On second thought, don't show me a B either. 

And here they are, showing me A's like good little kiddies:

I'm posting this picture because it's hilarious.  My "babies" are towering over me and I'm wearing 3" heels.  To all you new mothers I'd only say this; get your bluff in early.  This could happen to you!  We all had a fabulous time as can be seen here:

Well.  Almost all of us.  Valentine, my 23 year-old daughter, demonstrates one of my patented guillotine parenting methods.

My grandbaby, the pumpkin,  celebrated her 2nd birthday two weeks ago.   My how time flies when your getting old and your knees begin to talk back and say things like, "You're kidding, right?  We are not wearing those shoes to work.  Just try it and see how fast you wind up face first in the driveway, lady!"

But seriously, the pumpkin's getting so big I can't believe it.  She talks in complete sentences and she's smart enough to blame things on her aunts now.  Just the other day I walked in the back door to find her pouring her juice in the floor.  She looked up, looked down at the puddle, pointed at my 17 year-old daughter, Veritas, and said with a completely straight face, "Sessie did it!"

Here are a couple of recent pictures of our way too smart for her own good granddaughter:

Yesterday was my 24th wedding anniversary and we all went out to eat to celebrate the fact that neither of us had killed the other in the preceding 365 days, again this year.  I wanted to get my front yard fixed up for spring, so my son, Viagra, and my daughter-in-law, Veronica, came along to Lowe's and helped me pick out flowers to plant in all my pots while MrG picked up a few things for some honey-do's.  We had it down to a science this year.  We skipped right past the lengthy rows of lovely plants I'd already murdered these past two years and if my old timers kicked it, I'd look at Veronica and say, "I killed that last year, didn't I?"

We arrived home with only the hardy group of colorful survivors and while Viagra went home to put the pumpkin down for a nap, Veronica helped me plant everything and it all looks fabulous.  Since we only bought things that I actually kept alive, the flowers didn't appear to be silently condemning me this year and muttering under their stoic leaves, "We who are about to die salute you!"

A couple of the whatchamacallits, Veronica's favorites by the way, were already blooming out this morning as if they were actually excited to be here.  Or, wondering where in the hell was the water already.  I bought one group of what I like to think of as Granny Hogan flowers.  They were the ones I loved most in her flower garden.  Surely they'll live since they realize how meaningful they are to me, right?

I'd promise to post more often, but that would probably be a big fat lie.  Vision has cheer tryouts all week for her gym team and cheer tryouts all next week for the high school cheer team.  My cousin calls her gym team the mercenary team, which makes sense and also cracks me up.  They don't cheer for pride, honor, and love of school; they cheer for fame, glory, trophies and jackets.  Additionally, my mother-in-law is coming back next Monday to stay for a week and have her eye surgery.    I'm not going to tell you what my cousin calls her, but let's just say we'll be busy getting the house ready.

And taxes.  Don't forget the taxes.  I'll need to cram those in somewhere.  And speaking of whistling while you work, Willard was mowing the lawn Saturday and wanted me to go get McDonalds.  I said, "Well just have an oatmeal fruit snack to tide you over and we'll go when you're finished.  You said you really like 'em!"

Willard said, "Mom, I only like 'em in the morning before my taste buds wake up!"

Stuff

After working full time for a couple of months, I've noticed weekends have shrunk to approximately 2 hours.  How did that happen?  My best friend gave me a book to read two weeks ago and I've not managed to crack a page.  I have time to write during work hours, oddly enough, but no time once I get home.  It's nuts.

I am still enjoying my job.  The people that I work with are very nice and as an added bonus, entertaining as hell, so that's great.  I did get a huge chuckle this week when on casual Friday I wore my hand tooled, brown leather clogs.  To the casual observer, they look mostly like those pointy-toed shitkicker boots the older generation wears, at least here in Texas.  My 2 year-old nephew, Hogie, loves 'em.  Sadly, no one in his family wears boots, bless his heart, so when I met my sister and the Hogster a few weekends ago to hang out for the day, Hogie was thrilled with my "boots".  He'd recently gotten a pair of hiking boots, spied mine, and exclaimed, "Aunt Lana!  Boots!!!"

And then he kicked his little foot in the air, pointed and yelled, "Hogie's boots!  Aunt Lana's boots!  Hogie's boots!"

Even if we do say so ourselves, Hogie and I have some excellent boots.  So I'm wearing my excellent boots at work and one of the guys says, "Cool boots!"

And before I can say anything, the office manager laughs and says, "Lana has a lot of shoes."

And I said, "Guilty!   I just can't seem to help myself.  I'm sure there's a 12 step program somewhere to address it, but I'm just not ready to admit I have a problem."

In non-shoe related news, Veritas is in the play, Our Town.   They had dress rehersal  Thursday evening and invited,  I'm not making this up,  all of the deployed soldiers' wives to come and see it for free.  Which was a very nice thought, of course, but I said to Veritas, "That is among the most depressing plays I've ever read, let alone seen.  What are y'all trying to do?  Get them all to kill themselves in a fit of depression?   How bout inviting them to see a comedy, fer cryin' out loud?!?"

Speaking of comedy, Willard had a track meet Friday.  He won 2nd in the discus, shot put, and high jump.  As I commented to MrG on the phone since I was at work and missed it, "He's got himself a ladies' room trifecta!"

He also had a baseball tournament today and he started in right field.  Yes, right field.  He did a bang up job out there and actually threw someone out at the plate, from right field,  in the 2nd inning.  His older brother started that tradition, throwing kids out at the plate from the outfield, and Willard is keeping the torch burning bright.  I'll say this about my boys; they've both got a cannon.  Actually, I said that very thing and MrG laughed and Valentine said, "How come it's always her boys when they do something good?"

MrG said, "Because they're my boys when they screw up."

Well, duh! Between games,  MrG was visiting with his buddy, the coach, and my daughter-in-law, Veronica, strolled over and announced, "Willard should be playing short stop!"

MrG turned to Pedro and said, "Have you met my daughter-in-law?"

After the baseball, MrG and the kiddies ran out to the lake to fish and tootle around in the boat.  The tournament starts at 9 am tomorrow, so we'll have a full day.  All the kiddies are home, or around and hangin' out, and life is sweet.  Everyone always looks at me like I'm crazy when I say I have 5 kids, but most days it's one of life's sweeter blessings.  Always hectic, mostly hillarious, endlessly entertaining, and boundless love and sarcasm.  What more could a person ask for?

Still Feeling Pretty Darn Good!

Dear Barley Green,

I never thought I'd be writing a letter like this, but.....

Seriously, though, I'm back to me and very happy for it.  It takes a lot of energy to be this big of a nut.  Due to a long and complicated set of circumstances I have no desire to detail here, we are now the proud owners of a trampoline.  My girls set it up in the backyard Monday and the pumpkin cannot get enough of it.  She wore her daddy smooth out as soon as he got off work Monday evening. After an hour, he collapsed due to burning calf muscles and his wife, Veronica, and I headed outside to save him.   I didn't make it longer than 15 minutes before I was exhausted, but we had fun and the kiddies were amazing that their ancient, decrepit mother could still jump.   I told 'em I'd show 'em a flip Tuesday, thank you very much, so thank goodness it rained and has continued to rain for the last two days.  What on earth was I thinking?

Vision, the pumpkin, and I had a good time in San Antonio at the cheer competition.  We also took Vision's friend, B, so we weren't short on noise.  Like an abject moron, I forgot to take a stroller, so I packed the pumpkin and her various baby paraphernalia all over downtown San Antonio for two solid days.  I felt like I'd spent the weekend with a merciless weight trainer who was determined to get my arms buff enough to body double for Linda Hamilton in T2 in two short days.  Except for that whole not being able to move my arms Sunday night, I'd say it's working well.  I've decided to carry the pumpkin around every weekend, when we aren't jumping of course, until I look totally buff for tank top weather or break my neck attempted that flip.

We got to hang out with my cousins, which is always great, and my youngest son, Willard stayed behind to spend a few extra days with my cousin's son.  Amazingly, my cousin Mel had his pink button down and lime green sweater lost by the cleaners, of all things, and wasn't able to attend the cheer competition this weekend because he was unable to sport the cheer team colors.  We were all devastated with the lack of quality cleaners in the greater San Antonio area, but he managed to go out to eat with us Saturday night due to the lax dress code.

Willard and MrG are headed to Lake Amistad Friday for a weekend fishing trip and the girls and I were going to just laze around the house.  However, Veritas, my middle daughter, got wind of the fact that Ron White was performing at Ft. Hood this weekend and managed to score us some tickets.  Yes!!  Have I mentioned today how much I love my kids?

So, Veritas, myself, my oldest daughter Val, and my daughter-in-law Veronica  are off Friday night for an evening of hilarity.   I think  Ron White cracks me up like nobody else because he's from west Texas and we think alike.  Well, except he makes a living being funny and I just entertain friends and relatives in my spare time.   And even if Ron doesn't pluck me out of the audience and decide to take me on tour with him, which is barely possible, it will still be a fabulous evening. 

Wow! This is Hard!

Mom called and wondered when I would ever update  my site, so I thought I'd jot down a few things in the interest of posterity, because working just might kill me.  Just kidding!  I'm actually starting to get in the swing of things.  Why, I didn't go to bed before 10 pm a single evening this week and that is serious progress.  I'm now faithfully, for me, taking my barley green health supplement which has upped my energy and ability to think past lunch approximately a gazillion percent.  I am now seriously focused until around 6, at which point I'm still able to drive, but the details of the evening are a bit fuzzy.

For those not in the barley green fan club, it's a health food pill or powder that Mom swears by for excellent health and abundant energy.  Taking barley green, Mom is able to curse the refs during every televised Dallas Mavericks game with the same enthusiasm regardless of tipoff time.   On the down side, it's like drinking liquefied hay.  Yum!  The pills are better than the powder, but I swear I am picking straw out of my teeth, enthusiastically and with great energy!, every morning around 10 am.

Veritas is doing very well at the community college this semester.  Even though she doesn't think math is her strongest subject, she's making A's in Algebra.  As I told her, it isn't that you don't get it, it's that you hate it AND your lazy.  One of the funniest things I've ever seen is Veritas sitting at the dining room table doing a math lesson.  There she sits, haranguing each and every single problem in an impromptu soliloquy, usually followed by a hearty slap to the book for approximately 5 minutes before she ever gets down to the business of actually working said problem.  No wonder she has difficulty when each and every lesson turns into a theatrical production worthy of Hamlet.  Well, if he'd been running about the castle obsessing about a deadly Algebra problem.

Vision is still a national cheer champion, squared!  Amazingly, we've racked up  another national championship since last I posted, which is not coincidental since one of the reasons I have no time to post is we're off to yet another national championship this weekend.  You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a national cheer championship event in the great state of Texas and so far we've attended every single one.  Tomorrow, we will be headed to San Antonio for the competition, along with Vision's best friend who moved to Houston after Christmas and is spending Spring Break with us, and the pumpkin. 

Yes, the grandbaby is going with us.  It seems Granny going to work has put a major kink in her former lifestyle.  She misses me during the day and has been asking to come to my house and "see Granny!", but I'm not home.   She came over last night and I was not allowed to sit down for 1 minute before she was yelling, "Granny!  Granny!  Come here.  Come on.  Look.  Look, Granny.  Granny, let's go!"

So of course, when Vision suggested the pumpkin come along this weekend, I was guilt ridden, but riding my barley green high, and I said yes.  She'll probably get such a great big dose of Granny this weekend that she'll think twice of asking after me in the future, but I'm looking forward to it.  I miss the little rascal too.

Willard will be accompanying us as well.  He's going to hang with my cousins and their kiddies while Vision, pumpkin, and I beat down a few more cheer teams before the "world championship."  Well, Vision will be in charge of the beat down.  The pumpkin and I will just scream and yell our way through the competition and we are very good at it.  She's a lot like her Granny.

Willard is also now full on into track season.  He's competing in the discus, the shot put, and the high jump.  He won first in discus the first meet, but the best kid had the flu.  He's taken second place in the following meets, but he's trying like the devil to get good enough to beat the first place kid, who happens to be one of his best buddies.  As we all know, the medal for second is in the ladies bathroom, so I won't mention his 3rd place win in the shot this week.   

Additionally, baseball season is upon us.  Willard is on a team coached by a good friend of MrG's, so who knows how long it will be before I screw that up with "helpful advice."  When MrG and Willard came home from the first practice Thursday night and MrG filled me in on the team meeting, I immediately questioned some of the coaching decisions.  MrG rolled his eyes and said, "Let me get you Pedro's number.  Y'all need to talk!"

My oldest daughter, Val, is still working as a reporter and looking for a job.  The police department is determined to convince her to come to work for them since she's been so fair in all her articles, but the salary they're offering isn't blowing her skirt up.  We spent a weekend writing cover letters and applying for jobs a few weeks ago.  It went well for a while, but around 5 pm, this was before the barley green miracle, I was ready to just type, "Don't be stupid!  Hire me already!  You're an idiot if you don't!" on her cover letter.  At that point, I suggested we email my sister, Henny, who knows all about this stuff since she was recently the boss in charge of hiring in a fairly large company and she would be able to word everything much better.

Maybe.  She's also the mother of the most adorable 3 month old baby in the world, in addition to my excellent 2 year old nephew, Hogie bear, so she's not getting a lot of sleep either.  She should listen to Mom and have a grass slurpee already.  The most adorable 3 month old baby in the world, Ella Jo, is either happy and laughing like a loon or mad as hell and not taking it anymore.  All at high volume.  I said to Hen, "She reminds me of your sister!"

Be that as it may, Hen's wording paid off as some yankees may offer Val a job.  We're waiting on the details, but those of the northern persuasion certainly seemed enthusiastic to talk to her.  Thank God for Aunt Henny and yankees!

My oldest son, Viagra, is working in the pest control business and also as a volunteer pitching coach for his old high school baseball team.  If you'd like to know where not to eat with the chummy companionship of approximately one million roaches, never mind the vermin, in the Central Texas area we can hook you up!  I had time to type this mess of pottage up because the girls all went, with Viagra's wife, to his game this evening.

And because I've mentioned everyone else in this long, rambling missive, let me just take one paragraph to appreciate my wonderful daughter-in-law, Veronica.  Since I started work, she has helped me pick up the kiddies, take them where they need to go, and I couldn't have made this work without her.  We don't get to pick our kid's spouses, but if I'd have gotten a pick, I'd have picked her.  She's a keeper.

Is it just me, or am I starting to sound like I'm accepting an Academy Award?  Yeah.  I need to go to bed.  The barley green is fading...

 

Tired All Over

So I got a job.  I've had a job before, of course, 20 years ago to be fairly specific, so I didn't think it would all that different today.  Hey.  I've done this, right?  Get up.  Get ready.  Drop the kiddies off at school.  Drive to work.  Work.  Drive home.  Pick kiddies up.  Visit.  How hard could that be?

Turns out I'm way older than I was 20 years ago.  I know.  It surprised me too.  I started on Tuesday.  Wednesday night I was absolutely exhausted, but still plugging along, and I noticed I had a huge fever blister on my lip.  I almost never get those, so I said to MrG, "What is up with this?"

And he said, "You're stressed."

And I said, "How could I be stressed?  I don't feel stressed.  It isn't that hard.  The hardest part is finding something to wear when I have mom clothes instead of work clothes."

And he said, "But there's that huge, honkin' fever blister.  You're stressed."

Maybe it's like going on vacation in the mountains.  First, it's difficult to breath and then after becoming acclimatized, everything goes back to normal.   Personally, I think it's the wardrobe dilemma.  I have exactly 3 pairs of pants that will work for the office.  They're all black.  As I said to Mom last night, "It's a good thing it's casual Friday tomorrow or I'd be in terrible shape.  I'm outta pants."

Which means I have to go shopping this weekend so that I can dress for 5 days of work.  I hate shopping.   Hence, the fever blister.   

We'll have to see if I shake off the tired thingy.  I know people work, raise kids, and blog, but for this week, I've been way too sleepy to even read the news, much less comment on it. As for the humorous personal stories,  ditto.  As my daughter, Veritas, often quips, "Today Mom has way too much blood in her coffee stream."

Truer words were never spoken. 

Oh Yeah...

We got back this evening from the Cheer Power nationals and we rocked that joint.  Vision has a 1st place gold (colored) medal formed of tastefully molded plastic and a National Champion jacket.  Coming off our disappointing "national" competition last weekend, we took that championship back in one week.

And that's only the state of Texas.  Given the fact that we have yet another "national" competition yet to go this year, we might well chuck our national champion jackets to the way side and go for the universal championship, unfortunately titled, The Final Destination.  No, I am NOT making that up.

Best competition cheer team name ever from this weekend:  Wolverine Slicer Blades.

I had been concerned about the state of the nation, what with the baby boomers all crapping out on the terror war, hiding under the national bed like frightened, self-absorbed toddlers, shrieking for mommy to just make it go away.   John Warner, Chuck Hagel, and the rest of the beeline to defeat chorus of Republicans, allow me to introduce you to the next generation.

We have cheer teams, largely composed of junior high girls, named Wolverine Slicer Blades.  We also have a senate, currently soiling itself and heading for the exits, based on some bad poll numbers.   The house seems to have it's collective finger in the wind, awaiting future polling?  The  Wolverine Slicer Blades will be choosing your nursing home and deciding on your social security benefits.

If junior high cheerleaders can figure out winning, perhaps you guys can too.  Vote wisely. 

My Baby Girl Graduates!

I've been meaning to post this for over a month, but I've been waiting on the pictures.  This past December, my oldest daughter, Valentine, graduated Summa Cum Laude from Tarleton State University with a degree in Ag-Economics.  We are so very proud of her.  Not only is she dedicated, hard-working, and smart as a whip, she's also beautiful, witty, and just great fun to be around.

Pursuing her degree, she struggled through the death of her roommate caused by a drunk driver, various irritating and liberal professors, an adviser who inadvertently extended her studies yet another semester, all the while working one and sometimes two jobs to make ends meet.   Yet she persevered through all the trials and finished like an all-star, 3rd in her graduating class.

I'd like to take credit for all of the above, but Val has always been the captain of her own destiny and all the praise goes exactly where it belongs, to her.   I have no idea what she will do in future years, but I'm betting it will be not only worthy, but impressive as well.  She's that kinda woman.  There are no words to express how delighted I am about the person she is and her potential for the future.   The sky really is the limit.  May all her dreams come true.

I love you more than anything in the world, baby girl.

The world is now your stage.  Knock 'em dead.

(Family pics after the jump)

 

Cheery Good News

In addition to our cheer competition this weekend, the event also had a Coach of the Year contest.  The girls were encouraged to nominate their favorite coach and explain in a one-two page essay why their coach was special and should win this award. 

Over 1600 coaches were nominated.  Vision wrote an essay about her favorite coach, as far as we know, the only essay submitted for this particular coach, and Vision's coach won the award, a beautiful plaque, and a $100 cash prize.    We didn't stay for the last awards ceremony since it was so late, but Vision's coach called her this afternoon to let her know and thank her for the lovely nomination essay. 

It was very cool and we were excited to know we did win first place after all!  (And for new readers to this site, the below post was totally tongue-in-cheek.  Even I'm not that anal!)

The Cheery Weekend

We spent the weekend in the metroplex for CGA cheer nationals.  No, I'm not going to give them a link because we were robbed, people, robbed.  On our first day of competition, we nailed all of our stunts and only had a bit of trouble when we bobbled the scorpion.  As any fool would've seen, our dance and cheer section was excellent, but the deduction for the aforementioned scorpion glitch was .5.  We so had first without that scorpion problem, going into today's finale at 7.22 with the leader at 7.35.  If we could nail the scorpion, we'd nail the championship. 

Alas, today we got our scorpion points, but came up short in what must have been complete and utter incompetence on the judge's part.  I have no idea what they were thinking, but  I'm pretty sure they were out partying with Michael  Irvin  late into the night Saturday.   It's the only explanation for our  3rd place showing.   

Once again, we were done in by the Rebel Yell.  I note with not a little amusement that at least a third and possibly half the girls on Rebel Yell were African-American.  I'm not sure where the irony begins or ends.

We stayed with my sister, Henny, and her crew and had a wonderful time.  More about that later, but as everyone was trying to console Vision, encouragement rang out.

"Remember, there's always next time!"

"Remember Cheer Power nationals are next weekend!  Get 'em then!"

"Yeah!  Remember San Antonio is next week!!!"

And Willard, God love him, was trying to help and yelled, "Yeah!  Remember the Alamo!"

Silence.  Stare.  Blink.

I said, "Willard.  The second place team at the Alamo was slaughtered to a man."

I'm sure he meant well.    

Clarification

In my post below, I scorned the politicians who want to pass a nonsense, non-binding resolution against Bush's  military surge in Iraq.  It's not courage, or a better plan.  It's political CYA and it's repulsive.

However, there are many patriotic Americans who support our troops, love this country, do want this country to win, and oppose the surge or doubt it can be successful.  It's obvious who this later group is because they articulate what they believe to be a better plan for ultimate victory.  It's lose faster vs. win differently.

And riddle me this?  What if the Democrats and the left, from the moment things started to go down hill, had voiced their opposition to Bush's plans while vigorously supporting the mission and doggedly determined to see it through to victory with their own plan of attack?  If the nation had been completely united behind the idea of defeating our enemies and vocally so, there is no telling what Iraq would look like today.

As has been so often repeated, you go to war with the military you have.  And, you go to war with the nation you have.  As Iraq has clearly demonstrated, we can go to war with this military, according to many senior commanders the finest fighting force to ever set foot on the battlefield.

Yet Iraq has also demonstrated our military cannot go to war with the nation it has.  The severe and long reaching consequences of that have yet to be felt and will be long lasting.  I do know that after having witnessed the craven political posturing and relentless drumbeat for failure by our Democrat elected officials and media, not to mention the crippling and deadly politically correct restraints placed on our fighting men and women by hysterics on both sides of the aisle, I will probably never again vote to send our troops to war.  Frankly, they don't deserve this shit and the above people who've horribly frustrated their mission don't deserve their protection.  More, they are barely worthy to shine their shoes.

So to all of those who think we should give peace a chance, negotiate with killers, sit down at the bargaining table and achieve peace in our time, love, and cultural understanding without the all this unpleasantness,  I have one thing to say.   You'll get your chance to implement your plan.  They'll show up on your doorstep sooner or later and you'll have every opportunity to see how it works.  You'll bring your rose-colored glasses, your earnest attempt to understand their cause and alleviate their people's suffering, and your utter and complete contempt for lethal force.  They'll bring drills, acid, an automatic machine gun, and a dull knife to saw off your head.  If you're lucky, they won't demonstrate the process first on your wife and children before they get around to you.  Get ya some.

 

Voting to Lose

The Senate is prepared to vote on a non-binding resolution condemning President Bush's plan to send additional troops to Baghdad.  More troubling is the number of Republicans considering signing onto this plan to leave our troops in the field while stabbing them in the back with this meaningless, self-serving garbage.   It will embolden the enemy and put our troops in peril.  Yes, I absolutely do question their patriotism.  Of course the Democrats, with the exception of Joe Lieberman, are a lost cause, but Hugh Hewitt has come up with a plan to get the attention of the Republican senators in question:  Hit 'em in the pocketbook by taking this pledge:

If the United States Senate passes a resolution, non-binding or otherwise, that criticizes the commitment of additional troops to Iraq that General Petraeus has asked for and that the president has pledged, and if the Senate does so after the testimony  of General Petraeus on January 23 that such a resolution will be an encouragement to the enemy, I will not contribute to any Republican senator who voted for the resolution.  Further, if any Republican senator who votes for such a resolution is a candidate for re-election in 2008, I will not contribute to the National Republican Senatorial Committee unless the Chairman of that Committee, Senator Ensign, commits in writing that none of the funds of the NRSC will go to support the re-election of any senator supporting the non-binding resolution.

And then let them know you're serious:

NRSC
Ronald Reagan Republican Center
425 2nd Street, NE
Washington, DC 20002
202.675.6000
webmaster@gopsenators.com

Then e-mail Senator McConnell and Senator Ensign, and tell them too.  Senator McConnell's phone number is  (202) 224-2541. Senator Ensign's phone number is (202) 224-6244.

As Hugh states so eloquently:

GOP activists and donors built the GOP senate delegation, as well as the majority that was punted away.  They can disassemble it as well, and GOP support for a neoappeasement resolution is exactly the way to start that process.

The Congressional GOP has to realize it cannot have it both ways --you can't be for victory after you were against it.

And GOP senators --alone or as a group-- definitely cannot count on the support of the base if any of them vote for appeasement.

Any senator who votes for this nauseating, vile, troop torpedoing resolution needs to be voted out of office.  As Cassandra states in this related, must read post at Villainous Company:

Can anyone really blame the Sunnis and Shia for wanting to kill each other when they see American Republicans and Democrats unable to work together after two centuries?

Be sure and read the whole thing.

Update:  It's already been voted out of committee:

WASHINGTON (AP) - The Democratic-controlled Senate Foreign Relations Committee dismissed President Bush's plans to increase troops strength in Iraq on Wednesday as "not in the national interest," an unusual wartime repudiation of the commander in chief.

The vote on the nonbinding measure was 12-9 and largely along party lines.

"We better be damn sure we know what we're doing, all of us, before we put 22,000 more Americans into that grinder," said Sen. Chuck Hagel of Nebraska, the sole Republican to join 11 Democrats in support of the measure.

And here we have Chuck Hagel, appeasing the enemy AND giving the Democrats political cover with his vote.  Shameful.  And then there is this from the same article:

Sen. Chris Dodd, D-Conn., said he wanted to change the measure to say flatly that the number of troops in Iraq "may not exceed the levels" in place before Bush announced his new policy. The suggestion failed, 15-6.

This vote completely unmasks them, does it not?  To actually do something requiring the courage of their convictions might put them in political danger if they are later blamed for stopping the President's plan.  So, they trot out this non-binding show resolution that does nothing but give them political talking points while undermining the mission by simultaneously discouraging the troops and encouraging the enemy.

Wanna know why political discourse is so nasty in this country?  It's just this sort of callous political calculation, combined with the desire to see Bush lose at all costs, and scant regard to the effect on our men and women serving in time of war.  It's disgusting to those of us who support the troops and the mission.   Newsflash:  If Bush loses, the troops lose too.   And so does  the United States of America.

Bzzzt!

President Bush urges us on to victory.  A good portion of the chamber sat on their fannies and refused to cheer on even the possibility for victory of our American soldiers and our great country.  That is ALL I need to know about State of the Union.

State of the Union

Before the State of the Union address by the President of the United States, the political commentators at FOX news are talking about Nancy Pelosi's dress, or as Brian Wilson remarks, "It's sea foam green."

Sea foam green?  Will we examine her choice of shoes next? That's about all I need to know. Let me guess, she's wearing running shoes, all the better to lead our screaming exit out of Iraq.  We're in the middle of a damn war and chatting about Pelosi's wardrobe selections.  I don't know, is sea foam green the ideal color for retreat and defeat? 

I suppose we should ask the French.  They know all there is to know about fashion and surrender.

Helpful News

One of the most troubling things about the mainstream media's reporting from Iraq is the lack of information about what is actually taking place on the ground.  Just today the AP reported the following:

The two U.S. Marines were killed Sunday in separate attacks in the Anbar province, an insurgent stronghold west of Baghdad, the military said.

What city?  What were the Marines doing there?  What was their mission?  Was it successful?  How is the situation in that area going?  How many Iraqis are taking the lead?  How many of the locals are working with us?  Overall, are we making progress or losing momentum?  These are just a few of the answers I would want to assess how we are doing and that is just one area of operations.

Reading most news accounts, the death toll is practically the only piece of the Iraqi puzzle the average American learns about.   This is much like picking up a local newspaper and reading about burglaries,  murders, rapes, DWI's,  car crashes, and finishing up with the obituary column.  Without the supporting context of city council meetings, elections, weddings, football games, business startups, and community events it tells nothing at all useful to someone not familiar with the city.

And Americans were not familiar with Iraq, nor over the past 4 years have they become familiar with Iraq.   The media serves up little but death.   It is into this environment the president's new strategy for Iraq has been rolled out and Americans, seeing nothing but death and destruction in Iraq, have turned their backs on Bush and in doing so, the Iraqi people.  We are being polled over a situation we'd be hard pressed to make a decision about having so little information and all of it relentlessly negative.

The people on the ground in Iraq, however, tell a different story.  The American people need to hear that story, both the good and the bad, before they make a decision this country will surely regret and yank our troops out of Iraq.

Toward that end, I refer all my readers to the courageous bloggers now or recently on the ground in Iraq telling the story of our troops, who they are, what they're accomplishing, who they are working with, and what they need to win the war.

First is Bill Roggio blogging at  the fourth rail :

I'm back in Iraq for a brief embed with a Police Transition Team in the Habbaniyah region, which is just west of Fallujah. This will complement my coverage from Fallujah in December of 2006, and will allow me to compare and contrast the state of the Iraqi Police in the two regions.

As Bill mentions, he was in Fallujah riding with the troops in December, 2006 and he's now back in Iraq and blogging about our troops' transition teams raising up the Iraqi Army and Police.  I recommend going to his site and reading every entry he's posted about his ride-alongs with our men and women and Iraqi troops.  In his first post he describes the mix of American and Iraqi troops and the overall situation on the ground.  In his second post he goes on patrol with Iraqi troops.  In his latest post, he discusses the strengths and shortcomings of the Iraqi troops and includes problems stemming from ineffective or corrupt higher command and government agencies. 

Additionally, Bill Ardolino of INDC  Journal is blogging his embed with troops in Fallujah and writing newspaper articles for The Examiner.  He has several excellent stories: An Interview with a Fallujah Civil Servant:

INDC: So how do you gauge the chances of success of getting the tribes to stop being two-faced and start looking out for law and order in Fallujah?

Yusef: "The tribes will follow, they will be on the side of the powerful person, the powerful group. If we have that power, they're going to be on our side. Right now the insurgents are more powerful, so they are going to be on their side."

INDC: So how do you get that power?

Yusef: "More Iraqi Police. If [Fallujah] recruits more police, it is a good thing, that means we'll get that power, and at that point tribal leaders will be on our side."

A companion piece to the above story is in The Examiner.  Here is An Interview with Lance Corporal Nathan (Chad)  Yeager.  On why he went to Iraq:

One of my good friends who I'd gone to high school with, he joined the Marines right out of high school, and he got married to another one of my good friends, we all went to high school together. And they moved to Washington state.

But anyway, he came over here - he was in Ramadi - and I think he was two weeks 'till he came home. And they got ambushed one night, and they couldn't get anyone on the radio, so he stepped out of the humvee. He was the vehicle commander.

Right when he stepped out, the guy on the roof hit another IED and it killed him. The sad thing was, he was supposed to be home in two weeks and his little girl was supposed to be born in three. And, I don't know, it really bothered me. I had to bury him, and right after I buried him my unit asked me if I wanted to volunteer, and I was like "Hell yeah."

Here also an interview with a Fallujah Police Officer:

INDC: You mentioned that you hate the insurgents, is that just more now because you've been shot or did you have a different opinion of them before?

Mohammed: "They hit me and they also killed some of my family. Actually they killed my uncle who used to be an Iraqi Army soldier, and they killed him and burned his face. And then they actually started threatening us as well."

INDC: They burned his face?

Mohammed: "Yes. It's a substance called "tizar," it's like, acid. They put it in his face."

I recommend going to Bill's site and reading all his articles on his time in Fallujah.  After reading all of the above, do not miss the excellent Michael Yon's 3 part series Walking the Line, as he travels all over Iraq with the senior enlisted soldier in Iraq, Command Sergeant Major Jeffrey Mellinger.  From Part 1:

I plan to spend the entirety of 2007 with our troops at war, until sickness, wounds or worse send me home, or the military tires of my presence and catapults me over the wire. Having spent most of 2005 in Iraq, I know what this means. “Drive-by reporting,” as some commanders call it, is worse than no reporting at all. The only way to approach describing what our troops experience, and what is really happening in Iraq, is to go the distance.

Part II can be found here.  Part III can be found here.  Do please read them all before making a decision about what we need to do in Iraq.  If our soldiers can volunteer to fight and possibly die for this country, the very least we can do is read their stories, listen carefully to their thoughts and assessments, and trouble ourselves to make decisions very carefully based on facts, resolve, and clear thinking.  The question should not be how quickly can we bring our soldiers home.  The question should be how do we win the battle for Iraq?

With that in mind, go over to Mudville Gazette, the blog home of active fighting man, Greyhawk, and learn about what "the surge" really means for our soldiers.  (Hint: It isn't what you think.)  Or as Greyhawk has titled his post:  A Beginner's Guide to Getting Your Surge On: Or "How to stop choosing the wrong damn side in this war".

 

Fun With the Net

When I started this blog and talked about my husband, I nicknamed him MrG.  A couple of years later, he began chatting on a few fishing forums and used MrG as his login handle.  Then, when he mentioned me, he called me MrsG.   Willard's basketball coach also frequents the fishing boards and he and MrG were friendly there long before Willard started school this year.

That proved a tad tricky when Willard skipped school and went fishing.  After all, I couldn't send a note saying he wasn't feeling well when the following Monday MrG was going to post on his latest fishing trip with accompanying pictures of Willard grinning like a fool with his latest catch. 

The funniest thing, so far, happened yesterday.  Willard called to make sure I knew when the game started and I couldn't remember how to get to the out of town junior high.  So Willard put Coach on the phone to give me some hasty directions and he said, "Hey MrsG!"

Every time I think about it I giggle.  I don't post on that particular forum, so I didn't know Coach's internet handle.  Otherwise, I probably would have greeted him the same way.  MrG's other fishing forum used to have a politics board and I posted there off and on as MrsG.  I chatted with a large number of very nice people and "know" them and think of them only by their nicknames. 

Ironically, some of the nicest and most complimentary comments I've gotten about things I write were on that fishing forum and started out, "Hey MrsG!"  The internet's an interesting place, isn't it?

I'll Swanny!

We stayed up pretty late Friday night yakking because Val was home, so I had a bit of trouble dragging myself out of bed this morning at 7.  Yes, I know it's not that early, but it certainly feels early when you stay up until 1 a.m.  Plus, it's always daunting for a perpetually freezing person such as myself to get out from under the covers on winter mornings.   

Anywho, I dropped Willard off at the school, then Vision off at the cheer gym, and hurried back home to get in a couple of hours sleep before I had to pick Vision up again.  Threw my clothes off and jumped under covers with the human heater, MrG.

MrG, Val, and Veritas left for Willard's first game but I just pulled the covers over my head and tried to ignore them.  I should have paid a bit more attention.  MrG called to say the hog was ready and needed to be picked up before noon and could I please run over and grab it?

A friend of MrG's  gave us a wild hog he shot and it was being processed.  It's been years since we've had any wild hog meat, so we decided to try it.  I have no idea why it was critical it be picked up this morning, some sort of swine emergency?  It wasn't big enough to be taking up  that much space, but I threw the covers off and started shivering and scrambling back into my clothes.  And I couldn't find my pants anywhere.  Under the bed?  Nope.  Under the blankets?  Nope.  Behind the chair?  Nope.  My pants didn't just get up and leave, ya know?

But then a dark suspicion flashed in my mind and I realized that perhaps they had.  I picked up the phone, dialed Val, and yelled, "Are you sitting in that gym watching Willard wearing my pants?!?"

Silence.  Chuckle.  "Maybe..."

What kind of sick child steals her mother's pants on a freezing winter morning?

Assorted Blatherings

The first game of the basketball tournament was this evening.  Willard's team lost and is now in the self-esteem boosting "consolation" bracket.  However, I had to laugh out loud because they didn't have the ability to keep those happy, fuzzy thoughts going in the brackets themselves.  In order to direct the team to the next game, the winner has to go to one game and the loser has to proceed to another.  Hence, Loser #1, Loser #2, Loser #3, etc.  Vision and I were chuckling about it and she said, "Which losers are we?"

"The cute ones!"

It was an irritating game, but within 4 or 5 right until the end.  The refs let the kids beat on each other just a little too much for my liking, but they were fair about rarely blowing the whistle.  Willard played a fine game, but he kept looking at the ref like, aren't you going to call that?!?  I finally said, "He ain't gonna call it, Willard.  Stop being a baby and take the ball to hole NOW!"

We could have won, but for some retarded reason the coach kept taking the starters out.  Other than the kid in foul trouble, I have no idea why.  Perhaps they want to make sure losing is just a fact of life before the kiddies get to high school and finally just give up.   

Willard, of course, attempts to coach the other boys from the bench.  I told MrG last night, "Look at him trying to run the team while sitting on the bench."

And MrG said, "Yeah!  I wonder were he gets that?!?"

And I said, "Oh, shut up!"

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Veritas' play opened tonight.  She will be performing in her first supporting role, that of a butterfly.  Since the weather was awful this week and Texans south of the Metroplex never drive in snow, they really, really stink at it.  So, play practice has been canceled, tech Sunday was ruined, and when all the ice melted yesterday, the cast had their first practice in almost a week with opening night the next evening.  Needless to say, the director was losing her mind when she called Thursday.

Veritas almost didn't take a part in this play because the director was, as she put it, "a bit of a ditzy liberal who has all sorts of nutty ideas!"

I just looked at her and said, "Yeah, I'd just not do it then.  Should you actually manage to make something of an acting career you won't need any experience dealing with anyone like that in Hollywood, now will ya?"

She took the part.

Must Not Whine, Must Not Whine

Several months ago Vision and her friend, Brenha, were fooling around on the school playground after lunch and Brenha tripped and slammed her knee into Vision's mouth.  It slightly moved one of her front teeth, but since she's getting braces in the next little bit I wasn't too concerned.

My bad!  At the dentist today while finishing up some dental work for Vision, the dentist called me back to look at the xrays.  The blow killed the nerve, the tooth is dead, and it needs a root canal.  What kind of fluke, bizarro world deal is that?!?!

In happier news, Willard has a basketball tournament this weekend.   No matter his struggles in football, he is rockin' the court this year and it's been fun to watch.  Not only has he scored, conservatively, a bajillion points, but he's so good at reading the court and finding the open man.   And I appreciate that about him, because  nobody likes a prima donna ball hog.

The open man, however, has to know the ball is coming and Willard is also good enough with the head fake that half the time the boys don't realize the ball is zinging it's way toward them until it hits them in the hands.  Still, if they catch it they have a shot.

Even Willard's hyper-critical older brother has been impressed.  Tonight for the first time he said, "Did you see that?  I can't even do that!" 

I document this here, for posterity, since humility has never been Viagra's strong suit.  Also, it's only a matter of very short time until Willard starts beating Viagra like a red-headed stepchild and I think we are closing rapidly on the tipping point.  Fun times!

What to Say?

My oldest son remarked last night, "You never post about anything important any more, do you?"

That left a mark.  Of course, he was talking about the fact that I'd neglected to write up a blow-by-blow from Willard's basketball tournament.  Be that as it may, one of the reasons I started this blog was to promote victory in the terror war.  As I wrote to one of my cousin's recently, how do we define victory in order to rally for it?

The majority of the left, along with their willing media accomplices, were determined to drag the Iraq invasion kicking and screaming into a quagmire even before the invasion, so their opinions today are as dubious as their motives. But as many on the right side of aisle have recently begun to concede they were wrong about the war I have been more inclined to read and assess the situation.  Not in the context of merely Iraq, which is only one piece of the deadly puzzle, but in the overall "big picture"of the war on terror and the list of enemies we have and need to defeat.

There have been several summaries regarding Iraq of where we are and how we arrived here, but I remain bewildered by the lack of determination and fight in pundits, bloggers, and the average American citizen.  The mistakes that were made need to be corrected and in some instances are being corrected.   Every recent report from the soldiers on the ground suggest we can still win if we have the grit and patience to see it to a rightful conclusion. 

So what is a rightful conclusion?  One in which the Iraqi army and Iraqi police can protect themselves and their people and work with us against terrorists and the regimes that support them.  The glimmer of that objective is almost within our grasp according to our fighting men and women.  They need but time and training, so why is everyone ready to throw in the towel?

I'm disappointed in Bush for his huge communication deficit and he and his administration are responsible for some of the defeatism.  I'm repulsed and disgusted with liberal politicians and the media using this war for political gain at the expense of the national good.  I'm irritated and frustrated with the American people who initially supported the war and then decided it was just too hard and messy to finish.  People, we have not yet seen hard and messy, but it looks like it's coming.

What, exactly, do people think will happen if we just pack up and leave?  The terrorists, greatly emboldened, will just follow our soldiers back home and hello to the reality of the non-fiction version of 24 coming to a city near you. Imagine THAT recruiting poster for al Queda and Iran alike: We kicked their asses out of Iraq.  Now let's finish the job!

Millions of people can tune in each week to support Jack Bauer and the CTU teams, but we can't support their real counterparts fighting in Iraq?  It's just plain crazy-making and what I'd really like to say about it isn't the least bit publishable.

To paraphrase a very good friend and close relative of mine, right now we've got them playing AWAY games instead of HOME games.  That all by itself is and continues to be a victory and we should be thankful for it.   If  all we've managed to accomplish is take out Saddam's regime and keep the killers busy in the sandbox in a holding pattern, it still goes into the win column at this time.  Did your child's elementary school blow up this week?  Mine either.

So with all the talk of the surge into Iraq, it's important to remember we need to stay and win and we need to deter Iran.  Whatever it takes.  Because if we fail in Iraq the American people will have learned at least two lessons.  The first and immediate lesson is that the middle east isn't ready for democracy and doesn't deserve our help again.  So to hell with all that help the Iraqis build a new, better country noise and forget any possibility of any similar undertaking in the future.  Then as the terrorists turn their attention to Afghanistan to rid themselves of us there, we'll probably bail out on them as well. 

And when the bombs start exploding over here, as they inevitably will, we will have a good many dead civilians and the second lesson.  When we figure out who carried out the attacks, they will have a dose of shock and awe and good many dead civilians.  We won't concern ourselves with changing their society or helping them make a better life.  We'll just kill as many people as necessary to keep them from attacking us again.  That is what withdrawal from Iraq, and incidentally the middle east, before we finish the job means.

It's a recipe of death in our streets and genocide in theirs being cooked up by those who either do not understand the consequences or willfully refuse to see them.  It is not a matter of if, but of when it happens.

So chose carefully, American citizens, because the resulting carnage will be the consequence of foolish wishful thinking and partisan sniping right now.  The Democrats vote to cap the troops, thwart Bush's surge, and "redeploy" will also bring about a redeployment of the terrorists.  Buck up and support the mission or prepare for the terrorist redeployment to a city near you. 

Goofy Things

Today Willard came home with a note from his 7th grade science teacher.  He has a project that consists of collecting recyclable materials and using his collected goodies to assemble a plant or animal cell model.  According to the note, it will account for 2 major grades, one for the product and one for the presentation. 

So far it sounds like a great project, right?  And this leads me to the irritating portion of the handout which states, "Your parents were informed before Winter Break of this project and should have helped you to collect materials in order for you to turn your project in by the due date."

Your parents?  Your parents?!?!? Well, no, Miss Science person.  I most assuredly should NOT have helped a 13 year-old boy collect anything related to this project nor am I responsible for any part of his project.  I have no intention of helping a 13 year-old collect "paper clips, bottle lids, foam pieces, buttons, beads, can tabs, or ribbon, etc." I did all my own projects in 7th grade science, made an A, am not interested in repeating the process at the age of 42, nor would it benefit my boy if I did so.  If Willard isn't able to do this little project all by his lonesome, he has a great many problems and 7th grade science projects are the least of our worries.

What is wrong with parents and teachers when a note like this needs to be sent out in the first place?  I know there are parents who don't have these things around the house, they may be horrible parents who don't care for their children at all, but any idiot can find this kind of junk laying around all over town and make it work.   If the kid has bad parents, the teacher should toss the hope of reaching out to the losers under the bus and try to reach the kid instead.   And, incidentally, stop trying to nag me with pushy notes to do my child's homework in the process.

My sister and I combed alley dumpsters for returnable soda bottles back in the day.  Some days we'd find enough to cash in and purchase a Snickers and Coke from the corner store to split between us.  Some days we'd hit the jackpot and get a Snickers and Coke each.  I was 10 and she was 7, so I know a 13 year-old can do it.  And no, we didn't have poor parents or bad parents, we had parents who didn't hand us money so we made it work. 

Which leads me to my other point.  What kind of lesson are the indulgent parents trying to teach their children when they do all of this nonsense for their junior high students?  They aren't being helpful; they are creating needy, dependent, unappreciative slackers.  The kid's job is to go to school, complete projects independently, turn them in on time, and get good grades.  Leave them alone and let them do it.  It's for their own good.  And if they don't do it, ground their little fannies until they improve their attitude and their effort.  Otherwise, they'll be living in the family basement for eternity expecting everyone else to do things for them because their parents have never insisted they learn how to do for themselves.

As a special, added bonus to this information, here's another clue.   Doing all of these type things alone,  unaided,  struggling and finally pushing through end up being exactly the self-esteem educators and parents try to hand out like Pez to kiddies, but in reality must be earned by the kiddies themselves.  Let 'em work for it.  It makes them confident and proud of their accomplishments and they'll thank you later. 

And fer goodness sake, stop carrying your kid's backpack around for him.  It's embarrassing for the both of you.      

Quick Update

Sorry if I haven't responded to comments in the last several days.  I've been busy cleaning and decorating.  Since I'm such a master of procrastination, I always put off my ideas until I'm fixin' to have company.  Then, of course, I want to implement all of them immediately.  So, a big shout out to all the kiddies for the hel