Yesterday evening we drove over to Quiktrip to get a bag of ice and some desperately needed (by Monkey) bubble gum. While I was waiting in line, rather impatiently I might add as the bag of ice was dripping on my toes, I heard a very interesting exchange.

There was a very cute goth/punk/pagan girl standing in line in front of me. Her goth/punk/pagan boyfriend was talking to her very loudly. He said (and I paraphrase) “Now, you are next in line! Don’t let any of these other people push in front of you again. This always happens to you! You’re next! Only that guy was here before you were, all these other people walked up after you did!”

It may have sounded to an untrained ear as if he were yelling at her, berating her in public. But he wasn’t. He was addressing other people’s behavior problems in the most diplomatic means possible. He was putting everyone else on notice that his girlfriend was being treated rudely and he was not about to stand for it. I felt an immediate connection to this girl, to this couple. You may remember, from my last post, the man and his eight family members who tried to line-jump me at the food court. Well, this seriously happens to me all the time! Unless Hubby is with me. Nobody ignores Hubby. He is a big, tall, imposing guy and strangers don’t know he’s just a really nice man. The boyfriend probably sees that all the time, too.

The boyfriend was no where near as big as Hubby, but as he is goth/punk/pagan he probably scares the bejeebers out of people. I don’t say pagan lightly, they were both wearing/tattooed with pentagrams. I have never been scared of goth/punk/pagan people, why would I be? I used to dress like that. In fact, I still have an affinity for black clothing, kind of like Johnny Cash. Just call me The Mom in Black.

Anyway, not only was this girl dressed the way I used to dress, she was wearing nerd glasses much like mine. I looked at her and thought, OMG! This is me twenty years ago! Since she’s probably used to being treated like she’s a scary weirdo, (gasps, hushed and hidden whispers, mothers pulling their children away in fear that the weird may be contagious) I knew I had to say something nice and positive to her. Just to let her know that there is somebody out there who gets it.

I could’ve commiserated with her over the line-jumping thing, but it may be as sensitive a subject for her as it is for me. So I decided to compliment her appearance in some way. I liked her glasses and the very impressive spiked collar she was wearing, but I chose to say her wallet was cute. She was holding it quite prominently on the counter in front of her, almost brandishing it, but more closely, putting it on display. And I don’t blame her, it was a truly interesting wallet. It looked just like this one.

I absolutely love things that are dark and kind of creepy. Halloween is vying with Christmas for favorite holiday status. My favorite tales are supernatural ones: ghosts, Bigfoot, Loch Ness monster, vampires, ghost-lights, UFO’s. I don’t care for the gory stuff though.

So I said, “I love your wallet. That is so cute!” She answered, “Thanks! I got it on E-bay!” You can never go wrong complimenting a lady’s handbag.

Attention local grocery store chain:

Big bags of organic fertilizer (AKA bags of poop) + stacked right outside the front door + 90 degree day = REALLY BAD IDEA.

That is all.

We did an inordinate amount of running around this weekend, pretty much like always. We needed some stuff for the House and Hubby wanted some wine and wineglasses for Father’s Day. This was all on the whiteboard I keep on the fridge.

Along with some other things, all written by Hubby (except for ADAM, which was written by Monkey of course). He has the worst handwriting. To the untrained eye, our list may appear as this:

• Tvash Caus
• Smoke Detecnvs
• Surge Supressov
• ADAM
• o x o corn holders
• 11 choppers
• more chip clips
• wine
• wine glasses

Hug-and-Kiss corn holders? And don’t you think one chopper would be enough, even if you weren’t sure if we were talking about motorcycles, helicopters, or vegetable choppers. It’s that last one by the way.

We took the whole crew to Bed Bath and Beyond and came home with a bag full of this:

Apparently, the House is keeping OXO in business. The coffee mug and the (one) chopper are fairly self-explanatory, but I think some background will help on the other stuff.

Chip clips–I cannot tell you how many of these things I have thrown away, usually stuffed down in cereal boxes. We’re on about our tenth package of them. Hubby thought the big red ones would be good, he’s probably right, they are more noticeable. Maybe I won’t be so inclined to throw those away.

Corn holders–the set we bought last summer fell apart, because they cost about a dollar. And we’re gonna need them soon, it’s nearly time to go buy a couple of bushels of corn from Conrad Farms in Bixby.

Measuring cups and spoons–I don’t care for cooking, but I love to bake. Over the years, various pieces from my previous sets of cups and spoons have gone missing. The spoons have largely fallen prey to the garbage disposal, even some of the metal ones. The cups are a little harder to explain, I think one or two of them have been left in bags of flour. If it’s been a while since I baked anything, and there’s not much flour left in the old bag, I’ll start over with a new bag. It’s very likely that some cups have been thrown away with flour remnants.

We did buy two items not made by OXO–a little trash can for Monkey’s room (he loves having his own trash can and has been finding things to throw in it), and a sleep mask for me. I’m still debating whether I should wear it or not, at night of course.

That was yesterday. Today we went to a bookstore, finished grocery shopping, and ate an early dinner. Hubby took a nice, long Father’s Day nap when we got home. The kids absolutely did not stay quiet or calm, but he managed to sleep through all the ruckus.

After one of my many, futile tries at getting them to pipe down, I found this little guy.

For all the world, just sitting there, looking like he’s waiting for a bus. And then this:

The crime scene. And the culprit?

Pumpkin.

You know, that harried-mom-look. I really have to work on my facial expressions. A couple of weeks ago when we were at the grocery store, and my children were up to their usual antics, the cashier took a look at me and asked, “Are you o.k.?” Of course, I answered, “Uh, yes.” Now really, what am I supposed to say to that? Well, actually the little monsters are behaving even worse now than they did all day home, and let me tell ya honey, at home they were horrendous!

Tonight we planned to get carry-out from our favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican place but our plans were quickly dashed when we pulled up to an empty and dark building. The paper signs on the windows said they were closed due to the electricity being out. Still. (The storm that knocked out a bunch of people’s power was on Saturday morning.) So we went over to Utica Square and ate at Pepper’s, another of our favorite places. By the time our server arrived to take our drink orders the children were already fighting over the crayons. He asked us what we wanted and I said, “I’ll take a water and water for the kids, too.” He looked at me and asked, “How about a Margarita?” Surprised by the idea, I said, “Uh, o.k.” Then he quickly rattled off my options-frozen, to which I immediately and forcefully said, “NO!” He continued, “O.k., on the rocks and with salt?” I think I said yes to all that because that’s what I was served. Hubby must have ordered a pop, because it was delivered with the rest of the drinks, you know, the ones I remembered ordering.

So, this guy took a look at me and saw something in my face that just screamed “THIS WOMAN NEEDS A DRINK! STAT!” Well bless his heart for seeing it, because that Margarita was perfectly done and perfectly hit the spot. Hubby took a picture of me and my drained glass, with a caption of “Now happy momma” and put it on his Brightkite.

And I was “Now happy”, that drink really took the edge off. I am so at a place in my life where I get the “Valium Housewife”-thing. Not that I would do that stuff, but self-medicating with the occasional Margarita doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

I meant to write about Mother’s Day weekend way before now, but such is life. Friday was my open house at nursing school, where I was inundated with valuable information; and I’m really glad they gave us paper versions of everything or I wouldn’t remember a word of it. Saturday was Monkey’s Day. We dropped Pumpkin off at my folks’ and took Monkey to his first movie theater movie. We took him to see “Speed Racer”, thinking the racing cars would be a good fit for his little racing mind. He made it through about an hour. He liked the huge bag of popcorn and the giant pop he shared with Mama (two potty trips, thank-you-very-much), but the movie was a little intense. About half-way through, he closed his eyes and told me he wanted to take a nap. That means he’s scared and doesn’t want to look anymore. So when we asked him if he wanted to leave he said, “Yes.” So we played an arcade game on the way out and took him to Peppers for lunch.

We sat outside and enjoyed the beautiful weather. And Monkey spilled salsa on my feet. After lunch, we made the much-dreaded trip to the mall. But we didn’t have a choice because that’s where the Apple Store and Sephora are. I got my Mother’s Day presents a day early–an iPod and a nice, long time browsing in Sephora all by myself. Not only did I get my mom some great philosophy products, but I also picked up some perfume for myself, V by Valentino. It’s yummy. Now, I am not the fanciest of girls, but I LOVE Sephora! It’s like a candy shop for grown women.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been a bit of a Luddite when comes to all this computer stuff. That is until I needed to get proficient, fast, for my first online class. Now I have three blogs (how’d that happen!) and pay bills online and shop online and can even put together a pretty good Word document. But the last personal music player I owned was back in probably 1989, a Walkman that played actual tape cassettes. Most of which were mix-tapes recorded for me by sympathetic friends. Now, I am the proud owner of Pinky, a (big shocker) pink iPod nano. She is named Pinky, not only for the obvious reason, but also for Pinky Tuscadero, ex-love of the Fonz. I always loved her, and ached to be that cool. Wow, that’s a lot of pink.

Last night I went to iTunes and bought my first 50 songs. No albums yet. And if I do say so myself, that is the oddest mix of songs; I’ve got everything from Ministry to Mozart. Lot’s of Eighties, some modern electronica, and very dark classical. Oh, and Johnny Cash covering NIN’s “Hurt.” Just odd, I tell ya.

After I downloaded all my new stuff, I played with my new iPod for about 2 hours. I was bouncing around to the music and Hubby started laughing at me. He told me I needed to go to the kitchen and make a sandwich, a la Terminator. I cracked myself up today, because after we dropped Monkey off at school and came home, I went into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. All while dancing around the kitchen and singing out loud to the songs. But alas, no cybernetic assassins from the future showed up. Just me and my sandwich, and Pinky.

Some things the House does right:

1)We bought an existing house, 2)We walk Monkey to school in all but the very worst weather, 3)I quit taking the daily paper, 4)Reusable grocery bags! 5) Buy local food when available, 6) Don’t own a Suburban anymore, 7)Recycle the copious number of magazines that we always seem to have, 8)Re-use plastic bags, 9)HE front-loading washing machine, 10)Fluorescent light bulbs.

Things we do that aren’t so good:

1)Disposable diapers, 2)Buy water, 3)Forget to compost, 4)Forget to recycle everything else, 5)Old house is not well-sealed.

One thing we’ve done that is better for the environment, but is actually done to save money: curtailed or eliminated driving-for-fun.

Something we’ve done that is better for the world, but is actually done to spare our frazzled nerves and keep from pissing off strangers-that-never-did-anything-to-us: Take the kids on a real vacation (we always drive).

Someday(doesn’t everyone say that?), I’ll do better. Solar power for the House, hybrid or electric car, alternatives to air-conditioning for the House, gray water for the yard.

Things I need to do NOW: plant a vegetable garden, put up a clothesline, potty train Pumpkin, recycle everything recyclable, compost all plant matter, remember to turn off the power strips at night.

And I don’t care if this is Oklahoma and it does start getting pretty hot this early, I REFUSE TO TURN ON THE DAD-GUMMED AIR CONDITIONER IN APRIL!!!!!!!11!!one!!!!!!eleven!!!!!!

I really want to get my kids these books, mainly because they need to learn more about my politics than what they hear me grumble about everyday. As a mom, I find it absolutely essential to be politically active. We take the kids with us when we vote and that’s a big improvement over what I grew up seeing. My parents were too busy keeping body and soul together to teach us about political issues and I don’t fault them for it. I do, however, fault them for repeatedly voting against their own best interests when they did vote.

It may be out of fashion to refer to myself as a liberal, more people are using the term progressive, but I like liberal because I see nothing wrong, and everything right, with being a liberal. Especially since I don’t see conservatives caring about the things that are important in my life. Family values? Don’t make me laugh. Whenever somebody on the right bleats about “family values”, it’s code for “we hate gay people.” Check it, you’ll find I’m right. “Traditional family values” is even worse. The gay-hatred still applies but with a goodly portion of woman-hating dolloped on top. These “traditionalists” hate and fear women so much that they believe the only way to save society from the girl-cooties is to severely limit the rights of women.

But they don’t really care about families or children or women. Or old people or disabled people or poor people or people that don’t look exactly like them. As a woman and mother, I know that to vote republican is to vote against the very things that I love-my family, my home, my future, my children’s future, my elderly grandmother, my elderly MIL, my civil liberties, my country. And since I’m a decent human being, I also don’t want to vote against my neighbors, classmates, acquaintances, friends, or strangers in need.

Some mothers feel or claim that they are too busy to be politically engaged, but I believe that in order to be  good parents we are obliged to know as much as we can about the things that could negatively or positively impact our children. If people refuse to research the issues themselves and form their own opinions, then they will just believe what some politician, preacher, or pundit tell them to believe. These people are literally handing over their freedom, their free-will, their minds to someone else. Example: someone who believes that the administration (and political party thereof) that refused to expand SCHIP to cover more uninsured children actually cares about the “babees” involved in reproductive choice is uninformed at best, deluded and foolish at worst. If republicans actually cared about any children whatsoever, that care and compassion would not cease at birth.

Look, moms, if you truly care about your kids (and I know you do), get involved, get informed, get wise. Take the time, make the effort. If every mom in America voted in the best interest of her family and all other families, this would be a much better country for families. We wouldn’t have to make such hard decisions. Leave baby in daycare at six weeks just to work the job the family needs to survive or quit the job and stay home and lose benefits and income; buy insurance the family can’t afford or take a chance that no one gets hurt or sick.

There are many reasons that I am a liberal, but the most important one-my family. I am a liberal because I want my children to live in the best possible world. And I just don’t see that happening in the borrow-and-spend, amoral, corporate welfare, tax cuts for rich white guys, step on the little guy, war-mongering, no civil liberties future the republicans want to take us to at warp speed.

Maybe I should print up the world’s scariest t-shirt: I’m smart, I’m a woman, I’m a mom, I’m paying attention, and I vote.

This post reflects my opinion on recent events concerning the polygamist cult raid in Texas. The thoughts and opinions herein expressed are my own and in no way reflect those of the idiots who want to frame these events as religious freedom or parenting issues. The rape of underage girls is always a criminal act, calling it marriage can’t erase that stain. Fomenting an atmosphere in which this is acceptable is a criminal act; facilitating said rape by “giving” your children over to be raped is a criminal act. The state of Texas absolutely did the right thing in taking children out of this atmosphere. More than that, the great state of Texas did its job, correctly, by protecting their most vulnerable citizens from predatory adults.

Don’t bother commenting if you don’t agree wholeheartedly with my first paragraph. Apologists will not be tolerated.

As a mom, and more so as the mother of a daughter, and as a Christian, this story ignites my outrage. Look, I’m not categorically opposed to polyamoury, provided all the people involved are over 18 and all are giving informed, enthusiastic consent. That, of course, precludes children who shouldn’t even be exposed to this. There may be some people out there who grew up in such a household or who are raising children in such a household, and these people may tell me that everything is just fine and dandy. But I think that’s just too much information for kids to have to process. Honestly, the less I knew about my parents’ sex lives the happier I was. I knew they had the two of us, but beyond that, just ick.

But we’re not talking about consenting adults here. According to this story in The Salt Lake Tribune, many of the women and children removed want to return to the compound. A lot of people are going to seize on this and say, “It can’t be too bad, they all want to go back.” Children want to do all sorts of things that are bad for them and that we, as adults, must keep them from doing in order to keep them safe and healthy. I have a five-year old that would drink pop and fruit-flavored sugar-water all day, but I don’t let him. He also wants to cross the street all by himself, but since he can’t yet be trusted to look both ways and be careful, I don’t let him. I have a three-year old that likes to climb into the kitchen and turn the faucet so that it floods the countertop and pass-through, but I don’t let her. She also likes to eat crayons and would go through a whole box, but I don’t let her. Children do not have the judgment and knowledge necessary to make the best decisions all the time.

Those we might be tempted to think of as the consenting adults in this story, the adult mothers of these children, are neither consenting nor adults. In order to give consent there must be other options open to the person giving that consent. If there are no other options, then it is forced, obligatory. If the person in question cannot even conceive of other options, because of a lifetime of indoctrination, then there is no consent. The poor girl whose cry for help started everything was reportedly told that if she left she would have to cut her hair and wear makeup and have sex with a lot of men. So she could either leave into a strange and terrifying (to her) outside world or endure being raped repeatedly by an older man and be forced to bear his children. When the choices presented to her were equally horrifying, she was robbed of consent.

The other problem with the supposedly grown women who wish to return is the slippery concept of “adult.” What makes a person an adult? It can’t be calendar age alone. Some people are adults at 18, some at 25, some not until they have children of their own. And we all now the perpetual adolescents, the ones who never make that last leap into adulthood. I’m a grown-up, but I can’t tell you the exact moment I grew-up. But looking at it from a parent’s perspective, I can tell you what I want for my own children. Assuming I do a halfway-decent job at parenting, when they leave home and set out to make their fortunes in the world, my kids will be willing and able to make decisions and take the responsibility for those decisions. They will be able to decide on an educational and career path and be happy and fulfilled in their work. They will be able to successfully navigate in an often confusing world that can offer many pitfalls. As for more prosaic concerns, they won’t leave my house unless they know how to: cook a meal from start to finish, sew a garment from start to finish, wash and fold and put away laundry, iron, clean a house, balance a checkbook, make a budget, do minor home repairs, mow a lawn, get estimates for major home repairs, any of a number of things that adults need to know how to do but that I had to learn the hard way. And none of this “man’s job” or “women’s work” nonsense; their father is a much better cook than I, but I’m the one who puts stuff together. I guarantee that not a single woman coming out of that compound knows how to be a functional adult in this society. When you have been told your entire life that you are inherently less-than, that you need to leave all the decisions to the wiser, be-penised people of the community and household, that you are good for nothing except sex, housework, and baby-making–and here’s the kicker–and you buy into it, then you are not a competent, consenting adult.

These poor women have been so beaten-down, so dehumanized, so brain-washed that they didn’t rise up in a maelstrom of maternal fury at the mere suggestion that their little girls be handed over to men to be rape victims. I don’t know if they willing gave up their daughters like lambs to the slaughter, but they sure didn’t try to stop it. And they sure seem anxious to get back to that insular life. To that cult.

When I was growing up in the seventies and early eighties, Jim Jones and Guyana were current events not some distant memory. Cults were a very present danger; and I learned, in church, how to recognize and guard against cults. This polygamist group out west exhibits most, if not all, of the signs of a cult. To call them a sect implies that they are just another facet of christianity but make no mistake, this is a cult and these victims will need to be deprogrammed. It is a cult, call it a cult.

Here’s my deal, no matter how brain-washed a mother may be, if she doesn’t violently repudiate the rape of her children but instead meekly accepts it and even encourages it, she does not deserve to keep her children. By wanting to take these endangered children back into that compound, those mothers are stamping their approval on and actively encouraging the sex slavery of their own children. They know what will happen to their daughters because it happened to them.

My proposal to the state of Texas is: let these children stay with their mothers only if the mothers will undergo counseling and agree not to go back to the cult. If any of the mothers have so little regard for the well-being of their children that they would knowingly take them back into a life of rape and abuse and unending child-bearing, then their children should never be returned to them.

Real mothers don’t “keep sweet”, real mothers fight like tigers to protect their children.

No, not that. Ok, not only that.

The kids are with my folks this weekend. My parents took them to Easter services today, doubtless trying to de-heathen them. So here we are, Hubby and I, a couple of old smoothies on the loose. Last night we went out for dinner and then went to the bookstore; and today we went to the coffee shop, then on to a leisurely drive, and a late lunch. You know what we did the whole time? We talked about the kids.

Going out for meals without having to keep two unruly children occupied is a rare treat. And a trip to the bookstore without spending the whole time in the children’s section? My idea of heaven. But my favorite part was the drive. We ventured further south than we usually do, and even visited the new, partially completed Tulsa Hills shopping area. By the way, very little is open on Easter Sunday. But we eventually drifted back towards more familiar parts of town.

One of my favorite neighborhoods in Tulsa (aside from the one we live in) is the Riverview Neighborhood. With the quirky Spotlight Theater and large and charming McBirney Mansion, which is now a B&B, Riverview is a very diverse area. There are lots of cute houses and swanky apartments. The only thing lacking is a convenient grocery store. And the only thing lacking on the drive were two very demanding and loud children.

Hubby and I talked about them almost the whole time. About Pumpkin’s favorite movie (101 Dalmatians) and how uncanny her puppy imitation is; about how big a boy Monkey is becoming. And about how nice it was to be able to drive without someone saying, “Are we going home yet?” or “I’m hungry, I thought we were going to lunch!” Long, leisurely drives are totally lost on preschoolers and toddlers.

We spent the entire weekend trying to figure out what we used to talk about before we had kids. I tried, valiantly I might add, to steer the conversation to politics or religion, but somehow we always ended up talking about the kids. During our drive I tried to stay on topic with in-fill development and all the exciting growth happening in town. It was a bust.

Tulsa is home to some really wonderful architecture. And my boy wants to build cities when he grows up, so every neat building inspired some comment like, “Monkey would love that!”

What will we talk about when the kids are grown?