Happy Valentine’s Day! You’re a Blast!

	My heart and Valentine’s Day were not in sync this year. Our body lost one of its Faithful to depression.  He quit his life Thursday. That news reduced everything to the bone. It also distilled how important it is to move forward in Unity, especially when it feels arduous or immaterial. The children handmade their Valentine’s. The Baby was very serious about her penmanship.  As a kindergartener, it was her first, official class-set of Valentines.
	It evolved into a whole family endeavor. The Oldest Girl, The Middle Girl and The Baby chose the design. The Papa shopped at four stores to secure all the necessary supplies.
	We made candy rockets.  The tube of the rocket is a roll of Life Savers; the blast off flame is a red feather (that was The Oldest Girl’s brilliant adaptation as the original plan was to cut construction paper, blast-off flames), and the capsule module is a Hershey’s kiss. Glued on one side of the rocket in red card stock their message shouts, “Happy Valentine’s Day!  You’re a Blast” There is a yellow, To/From snippet each child filled out and decorated for their classmates.
	The Boy unwrapped 82 rolls of LIfe Savers. The Mamma was captain of the glue gun.
	The girls manned the assembly line. Our family worked together to create something beautiful together. Doing so unified us by sharing gestures of love and affection for our family and friends. I never wanted to make Valentine’s less, nor thought they were more worthwhile. The activity magnified the heart.
Well baby I’ve been here before I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew ya I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Well there was a time when you let me know What’s really going on below But now you never show that to me do you? And remember when I moved in you? And the holy dove was moving too And every breath we drew was Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

His Legacy Perseveres

Three years ago today, Steven John Metsker, 49, passed from this life.  He left behind a wife, Alison, and his two daughters, Sarah-Jane and Emma-Kate.  His love of his family was his North, heart, home and compass.  Though his formidable talents enabled him to write books, master his profession, deliver value to his colleagues and clients, and serve as an eager, able and wise mentor as reflexively as most of us draw breath, his passion in life was to breathe Light into the dreams and talents of his community.  As such, Steve supported Alison’s passion for Maine, travel and cooking, and delighted in camping trips and school excursions with his daughters.  He was an especially present father, and foreshadowed the shifts in relationship that would evolve as his girls moved into their teenage years with relish.  Unlike the wary concern of many parents, Steve, looked forward to figuring it all out with girls.  He opined that he was aware that there would be difficulties ahead, but that he was certain that it would all be resolved because of the strength of their relationships thus far.  He spoke with deep confidence about their relational base, the homes they had carved for each other in their hearts.

Steve loved figuring things out and enjoyed an intellectual base that would have intimidated the rest of us were he not so generous and humble.  Truth be told, he was something of a genius with language.  He worked his swift mojo with computers as well as puzzles, and woe be unto the poor soul on the opposite side of a gaming board.  He’d never make an opponent feel bad about it, but there was no winning a game of words, logic or strategy against Steve.  He respected people too much to simply let them win, and yes, he really was just that brilliant.  He was the kind of man who got up every morning at 5 a.m. to work until his family rose at 7 a.m., so that he could develop his interests, author his books, and study new trends in trade journals, yet would be available for family time. He balanced his excellence and intellectual appetites with service.  He was an ardent supporter of his wife, daughters and co-workers, especially those colleagues fortunate enough to work on his teams.

A signature phrase that Steve shared with such teammates was a single word of encouragement, commonly repeated, that became something of a mantra within his firm, “Persevere.”  With a simple nod, shoulder clasp, or characteristic smile, when Steve said, “Pesevere,” it meant more than be persistent, or refuse to stop.  When Steve said, “Pesevere,” he asserted his complete faith in the person to whom he spoke.  When he said it, it became a talisman, a promise that the solution sought was possible, and that the party working the puzzle had the mind, heart and pencil sharp enough to excavate the solution.  This was Steve’s essence as a husband, father and mentor, it was his passion in life to breathe Light into the dreams and develop the talents of others.  More than a brilliant intellectual, Steve was smart enough to realize there is no higher degree of mastery than to support others as they stretch toward their goals. He steadfastly partnered others in their journeys to pursue the calls upon their lives despite difficulty or obstacles.  Steve modeled value and perseverance.

Steve was my husband’s best friend.  My husband doesn’t love many or often.  His reserved nature is balanced by fierce loyalty.  Once you are in with my husband, you are all the way in.  My husband loves as deeply and well as he does selectively.  Above all else, my husband loved Steve Metsker .  This kinship was further seeded by an absolute respect for who Steve was as a husband, father and professional.  Steve was a daily picture of quality through relationships that my husband honored. Nothing prepared my husband for the gifts of Steve’s friendship or the grief of his death.  He was undone by both in turns.

The last time I saw Steve was in the hospital shortly before he passed.   During the visit, Steve and my husband chatted about work, critiqued movies and discussed audio book titles.  When it was time for us to leave, I challenged Steve to a family game night, qualified by the caveat that we did not have to face him in Trivia.  Among his final words to me were, “I want that.  I want all of that.  I want all of it, the games, the family night, those times.” As we walked to the door and looked back to extend our good nights, Steve waved at us both, nodded, and smiled his perfectly hopeful, completely encouraging, totally loving, perseverent smile.

Steve understood his situation and its potential impact.  Private communications he had evinced this.  He was clear, but chose to remain hopeful.  Steve dwelled in possibilities, a fairer House than Prose to gather Paradise.

Our thoughts have returned to him like magnets over the days, months, and now years since he left us.  He had called us to persevere, and in our own truths, and along our own paths, each of us has attempted to put our feet to that charge and walk it out as a way to continue to love him intentionally and connect with his character.  Over the span of time, I have been struck by how much more intensely spiritual a word persevere is than what I had originally heard as Steve coined it as a legendary, firm pledge.  As I have sat with it and partnered others who grieve Steve, I recognize his mantra is as much an oath of faith as it is a cry to continue onward.  To persevere is to accept the difficulties of a situation as a matter of course.  It demands we grok the darkness of despair, confusion and inertia that precedes epiphany, healing and movement.  It maintains that each of us is perfectly positioned to manage the dynamics in which we find ourselves immersed, because we innately intuit that we are simultaneously Provided with the resources, talents and ingenuity to surmount those challenges and reconcile growth.  To persevere is the pearl of great price.

As C.S. Lewis asserts, “The virtue of courage is a prerequisite for the practice of all other virtues otherwise one is virtuous only when virtue has no cost,” and Steve no more wished to pass when he did than did we.

He did not go gentle into that good night; he did rage, rage against the dying of the light.

That said, Steve died as he lived.

Courageously.

Well.

Aware.

A model of perseverance.

As certain as he was of potential outcomes, I contemplate the poetry of his charge to persevere.

He left us with this single call and the humble model of his excellent life.

I like to believe he knew how much he was loved and needed.

I like to believe he knew how much we would call upon his strength and example as we strove to persevere in the vacuum of his premature demise.

I honor how majestically Alison, Sarah-Jane and Emma-Kate have lifted each other, Faith, Light and Love to persevere.

Grace beyond Mercy, they vaulted their own brokenness to help us Rise.

I honor Steve’s family who celebrates his anniversary with tears and pedicures.

With pedicured and well muscled feet,  they deeply commit to walking out his legacy in their lives together.

We miss you, Steve.

We love you, buddy.

We persevere.

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Trophy

Last night 12 year-old boy comes home with a plastic trophy filled with candy after the school dance:

The Boy:  I won this.

The Mamma:  Really!  Wow!  How fun!  Was there a dance contest?

The Boy:  Uh.  No.  Cutest Couple.

The Mamma:  Couple of what?  Socks?  You didn’t wear gloves….

The Boy:  Cutest couple, <mumble, mumble that sounds suspiciously like, ‘You stupid, old woman,”> Cutest Couple, Mamma, not nicest pair.

The Mamma:  Oh. <The Mamma lowers head between legs and frantically breathes in-and-out of Chipolte take-out bag.> What do you mean couple? <She gasps breathlessly, after slowly lifting her head.>

The Boy:  I took K.  We were a couple.  Everybody voted.  We won.

The Mamma:  <From ground, The Husband checking carotid artery for pulse, croaking, not groking.> What exactly do you mean you took K?

The Boy: <Looking down at his mother as if she’s not only acting like a complete idiot, she has the IQ to match,> I texted her two weeks ago.  She was my date.

The Mamma:  <Unable to speak as The Husband frantically tosses Ativan down her throat as if candy from a Peez dispenser.> Hmmfff?

The Boy:  Yeah.  No big deal.  We were like very causal.  Meant nothing.  We were just, you know, the cutest couple.

**************************************************************************************************

Yes, it really happened.

Aspects of the conversation were changed to protect the innocent.

No, The Husband did NOT really medicate me.

Absolutely, I am way too immature to handle this.

Most days The Boy and I compete to see who can act the most 12.  I often win.  12 was one big year of pain and dysfunction for me.  I remember it vividly enough to have flashbacks.

Yet, it’s not like I shouldn’t have seen this coming…

When a series of events culminated to The Boy’s cellphone being confiscated for a couple of days, I can now look back at the encounter through a different lens.  When it happened, The Boy looks at me with such agony that it was as if I had chopped off his manhood.  He was mortified.  As we rarely have to consequence The Boy with anymore than a good talking to, I thought he was simply indignant that I went there… used my big, bad Mamma power and took his phone.

Come to find out when he got the phone back the morning before the dance, he had 17 messages waiting for him.  My boy like had to explain… I didn’t have my phone with me… I’m not ignoring you… We are still on for the dance… See you there….

Glory!

My son is old enough to have to manage dating situations and massage the esteem of girls.

<The Mamma lowers head between legs and frantically breathes in-and-out of Chipolte take-out bag desperately hoping that is the only part of girls he will ever-ever massage.>

The Husband’s out of town… where’s that Ativan bottle?

How calmly does the orange branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer,
With no betrayal of despair?

How calmly does The Mamma blanch
Observe The Boy’s strutting panache
With a righteous cry and much prayer,
With total and transparent despair…

There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Field Trip Release Form

The following Field Trip Release Form from my daughter’s school did little to inspire my confidence:

Translation:

THE SCHOOL

000 Ways You Can Sue Avenue
City, State, Zip
109.940.0242

FIELD TRIP RELASE FORM

I, the parent/guardian of ____________________________________, wish for my
son/daughter to avoid the social ostrichization of being the only student in his/her class NOT able to attend this field trip unless I sign this snarky, prophylactic document that permits him/her to go to _____________________ on the following date ________________________.

I am aware that we live in the Land of Lawsuits, and potential plaintiffs, em hm, I mean, parents, have been known to sue in response to the wayward goings-on that must have occurred at previous school’s field trips, or we wouldn’t need this form to protect you from further litigation.  I understand that this may well be another one of those off campus excursions wherein a student, potentially my son/daughter, may be injured, maimed, run-over, or fall victim to some other kind of bloody, painful and unexpected bodily harm.  I do hereby expressly promise not to blame your school or peeps if my child is physically or emotionally traumatized as a result of his/her participation on this trip.  I understand that it is entirely possible my son/daughter will experience harm, up to and including apocalyptic doom, during this school sanctioned sojourn, but you’re telling me upfront that were that to happen, it is my problem alone and that you are not to blame, nor will you accept the legal responsibility for the care and protection of my child in your custody.  Furthermore, I understand that if I don’t sign this form written exclusively for the legal protection of you and your school, not my son/daughter or family, you will not permit my son/daughter to travel with her classmates on this trip.

_______________________________________
Signature

________________________________________
Date

_______________________________________
Relationship to Student

*********************************************************************************************

I, the parent/guardian of _________________________________________, submit to the my son/daughter’s participation in this school activity/trip to ______________________________
on the following date ______________________________________.

I consent to any and all emergency medical treatment, as deemed necessary by by the school’s staff or authorized agent being provided for the above child without notice to me and without any further requests for permission from me, because as I was told, this calamity was entirely possible as a result of the school trip, and it’s still not your fault. Furthermore, as you do not take legal responsibility for the parental locus you extend to my child while in your custody, of course you will not guarantee that in the event of an emergency you will contact me in a timely manner to participate in the treatment plan of my injured/slain/comatose son/daughter, neither do you even promise to contact me at all.

You feel no obligation to state that you will make every effort to secure the safety of my child during school related trips, and instead alert me that is it not your job to call me when things to go bad, but I must sign-off on this too, or my kid still can’t go on the class outing, and it makes you mellow to know you’re legally protected before you embark on this endeavor.

And yes, there are better ways to write these forms that might cause less trouble and parental anxiety, but my piece of mind is no more your problem than if my son/daughter gets hurt.

_______________________________________
Signature

________________________________________
Date

_______________________________________
Relationship to Student

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

curses Childbirth Wrought

There’s not one change in our bodies most Mommies don’t accept like Purple Hearts, but Glory, doesn’t it do a repackage on our original model design?

curses Childbirth Wrought

BLOATED afflicition,
bane CELLULITE,
BIGGER HIP burden,
calamity CHANGE IN VAGINAL CHARACTER,
VARICOSE VIEN cross,
curse CONSTIPATION,
LARGER SHOE SIZE disaster,
evil eye WEIGHT GAIN,
STRETCH MARK hydra,
jinx INCONTINENCE,
HEMORRAGIC MENSTRAL ordeal,
misfortune PROLAPSE
DRYNESS pestilence,
plague DEPRESSION,
SAGGY RACK scourge,
torment MUFFIN TOP,
GREY HAIR tribulation,
trouble HORMONE IMBALANCE,
MEMORY voodoo,
vexation IDENTITY.

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Top 10 Things I Do that I Don’t Want My Kids to Do:

1. Think girls are worth less than boys.

2. Believe Wheaties in an old Cool-Whip bowl is a great dinner.

3. Reject mistakes as part of the mastery cycle.

4. Judge fragile insides by the robust, outward appearance of others.

5. Lie awake at night wondering, “Why me?”

6. Consider the F-word clever because it can be every part of speech.

7. Opine school clubs and extra-curricular activities are a waste of time.

8. Say “Yes,” when the right answer is “No.”

9. Say “No,” when the right answer is “Yes.”

10. Employ anger as a versatile, default emotion.

Spit!

Wait!

I mistitled the list!

It should read: Top 10 Things My Mom Did That She Didn’t Want Me to Do.

And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

TXT Spells Love

<Sniff!>

The Boy left in the custody of his grandfather at high noon today, ready to do battle for his honor and house.  He carried with him 8 swords, body armor, billet-doux from his three sisters sweet, and a boyish grin that belied the certain, hairy shadow evident on his upper lip.

He will spend his next 3 days dueling bouts against other youth warriors of the blade.

This is the first travel competition The Boy has done without a parent or coach.  It was an even toss this morning to determine who was most anxious:  The Boy, The Grandpa, The Papa or The Mamma.

His travel kit included entertainment:  books, The Papa’s iPod Touch, and a cell phone.

The cell phone was a highly contested item when we gave it to him for his 12th birthday.  We felt like we had caved to a want our budget couldn’t afford and his need did not justify.

Little did we know that a blink later, he would not only need a cell phone, but we would need him to carry one to offer us communion like The Bread of Life.

Cell phones text:

Jan 14, 2011 3:23 PM (GroupMe w/ The Boy established.)

Papa:  Hey The Mamma, it’s The Papa.  I added you to the “The Mamma & The Boy” GroupMe w/ The Boy.  Reply #exit to leave or #help

The Boy:  Testing testing 1 2 1 2

Jan 14, 2011 11:14 AM

The Mamma:  Gottcha!  xoxoxoxo

Jan 27, 2011 11:51 AM (The Boy & The Grandfather just departed.)

The Papa:  Miss you!

The Mamma:  Love you, Son!  Have a blast.  xo

The Boy:  Miss you 2

The Mamma:  Xo.  We will now leave you alone for at least 5 minutes!  Ha!  Good work getting it all done so you could go well and free!

The Boy:  Thanks. Girls ok?

Jan 27, 2011 12:17 PM

The Mamma:  Every girl in house cried. Especially The Oldest Girl. And yes, I do mean me too.  Well begun?

The Boy:  Yep

The Mamma:  Very good. xo

Jan 27, 2011 3:oo PM

The Boy:  Just stopped for bathroom and gas.

The Papa:  Cool.  Deep into _journey_?

The Mamma:  Eat something too.  Love you!

The Boy:  Not sure. It’s getting chilly.  Huge hills with tress covered in snow, very pretty. What are you guys up to?

The Boy:  We are gonna stop later for a sitdown meal

The Mamma:  Very yummy.  Yay!  I just finish with the Mcs.  I am getting my hair done and Papa is working/with the girls.

The Boy:  Cool.

Jan 27, 2011 4:19 PM

The Boy:  In _landmark_.

The Papa:  Yee ha!  Making great time.

The Mamma:  Really?  Wow.  Doing well?

The Mamma:  Been thinking about what a big weekend this is for you, how much opportunity you will have to fence over the next couple of months. Makes Mamma happy, happy.  Xo

The Boy:  Only 2 hours and 26 minutes left.

The Mamma:  So good.  Bet you are hungry.  Did you start the Card book?

The Boy:  Yeah

The Mamma:  Like it?

The Boy:  Yeah.  Two hours in. Is great.

The Mamma:  Every time I read anything about time, I think of Anthony’s Chronos living backwards, outside of relational intimacy.

The Boy:  Yeah. That was a strange book.

The Mamma:  Love how you love to read.

The Boy:  =)

The Mamma:  Oh, wanna have The Oldest Girl take in your Js to Ms F, so you get all good props for being prepared?

The Boy:  Sure.  That’s fine

The Mamma:  Rock star. Those turned out well.  Xo

Jan 27, 2011 4:30 PM

The Boy:  =)

The Mamma:  🙂

Jan 27, 2011 4:50 PM

The Mamma:  Hey.  What’s your theme song?

The Boy:  My theme song?

The Mamma:  Yeah. Pumps you up. Sings your creed…

The Boy:  Oh uh. Actually the song If It Gives You Hell by All American Rejects

The Mamma:  Good one.

The Boy:  Why?

Jan 27, 2011 6:57 PM

The Boy:  At hotel.

The Papa:  Cool. Plenty of time to get a bite and some rest.

The Mamma:  Hotel nice?  relax and have great eats!  xo

The Boy:  Yeah sounds good.

The Boy:  Gonna leave phone to charge while we eat

The Mamma:  Ok. Enjoy.  Xo

Jan 27, 2011 8:14 PM

The Boy:  Back.  Had the biggest meatiest cheesiest lasagna ever

The Papa:  Oh, yum. Nice carb load for tomorrow.

The Mamma:  Delicious!  Way to carb load!  xo

The Boy:  Yah

The Mamma:  Love!  xo

The Boy:  Just opened my suitcase. Tell girls hello for me?

The Mamma: 😉 Xo (The girls secretly handmade scrum-dil-i-ic-ous cards and hid them in The Boys luggage.)

The Mamma:  Hugs from us all!  We love you.

The Boy:  MONKEY (The Boy had left me with his most recent first place trophy, THE MONKEY, to keep during his trip.  I snuck that into his suitcase too.)

The Mamma:  I know, right? 🙂 xoxoxoxo

The Boy:  Yay

The Mamma:  To remind you you’re a winner.

Jan 27, 2011 8:59 PM

The Mamma:  Going to bed soon?

The Boy:  Soon

The Mamma:  K. Want to talk, or just ready to get still?  Xo

The Boy: Kinda tired and wanna get still.  Love you and good night.

The Mamma:  Good night, Boy.  Godspeed.  Love you.  xo

The Boy:  Night, poopsie.

The Papa:  Night, buddy.

The Mamma:  xo

The Boy:  Night dude

I no longer have any idea why I thought, “He doesn’t need a damn cell phone!”

That damn phone texts.

That Boy used that blessed phone of his to keep us connected with his travel in an easy, conversational, relevant, real-time way.

TXT spells LOVE!

xoxoxoxo

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

the Onion Makes Me Cry…

the Onion makes me cry again today with their post New parenting Books Sparks Outrage:  (Their satirically brilliant post below.)

New Parenting Book Sparks Outrage

Last week, Penguin Press published Amy Chua’s book Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother, which criticizes “Western” parenting and advocates an “Asian” approach that includes forbidding playdates and being highly critical of children in order to make them more successful. Here are some other tips from the book:

• Take your children to Chuck E. Cheese’s and let them play any game they choose, then make them watch as you burn their tickets
• Ice cream is a great motivator for kids; promise them that if they do everything you ask, they can have some when they turn 18
• Inform your child that televisions receive all of their power from flawless renditions of Brahms’ Violin Concerto in D
• Only let your children have a pet dog if they can tame the most rabid dog at the pound
• Should your child express interest in spending more time with his or her friends, simply pack up and move several hundred miles away
• To ensure academic excellence, inform your children that there is a mark higher than an A-plus and then shame them for failing to attain it
• Replace their frail little limbs with less fragile prosthetics
• Remember, you may have to put up with one or two suicides before you finally craft that perfect child you’ve always wanted

I love the clipped tonal quality of these outrageous suggestions. I imagine a stiff-lipped, speaker with the impeccable posture only genuine, Zen control can erect from the human spine. Her words intone this clearly elucidated smack from the diaphragm, like a Cambridge neurologist enunciates a prognosis. The tension is delicious, and unsavory enough to make  readers worry if they can get to the potty on time.

Anyone with a finger on the pulse of the media cycle knows Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother did more than strike a vein of controversy, it severed an artery. The blood spray has stained even the coolest of shirts. People are well beyond offended by Chua’s book, commentators are rabid and hysterical.  High pitched and raving, these percussive utterances spit from the throat though loose, moist lips that splatter saliva as rapidly as they shoot words of outrage like machine gun fire.

What exactly has our American, parental panties in such a bundle over this one? Why is everyone so offended?

Why Battle Hymn of The Tiger Mother Sparks Such Outrage

Penguin Press opened Pandora’s box last week with their release of Battle Hymn Of The Tiger Mother, by Yale University law professor, Amy Chua.  Certainly, Chau unapologetically details how she and her husband chose to raise their two daughters in “the Chinese way,” that emphasizes academic excellence and individual superiority over social engagements and extra curricular activities. However, the backlash of controversy in response to her book exposes the very insecure fish bellies of modern parents.  Here are some possible reasons our American, parental panties are in a bundle:

• We’re more like Ron White than Sartre.  Like yesterday we were snuggling on a beanbag chair naked, eating Cheetos, and we said, “Yeah.  We could make a baby.  How hard could it be?”
• My daughter is the Props Manager of her high school’s Drama Club.
• My daughter plays concert Kazoo.
• My 187 pound, 12 year-old daughter goes to the bathroom whenever she wants, usually during Oprah commercials.
• We wanted our 15 year-old daughter to play Carnegie Hall too, but she had to drop out of school to go to rehab before her baby is born.
• We’re going to get around to teaching our daughter Mandarin Chinese once she brings up her F in English.
• I don’t know which friend’s sleepover my daughter’s attending; she hasn’t been home since Friday morning.

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Headlines

Part of the rhythm of my daily behaviors include email, texting, Google, cnn.com, interacting with blogs and phone conversations.  I admit being more plugged in than some users, and far less than others.  Compared to The Husband, who also tweets, Facebooks and develops iPhone apps, I am a lightweight.  Round about Thursday last week, I wondered if I have become desensitized by my exposure to news stories.

Note that in my list of things I typically engage in during the day, TV was not among them.  I don’t watch local or national news broadcasts.  I realized years ago I had neither the schedule nor stomach for the pundits of media.  I hadn’t realized how little I had insulated myself from the dismal tone of national coverage. Like radiation mutates cells, has my attitude slowly distorted into ugly shades over time?

I’ve captured headlines since Thursday for your consideration:

31 Dead in Moscow Suicide Airport Bombing

31 confirmed dead and over 200 injured in a terrorist suicide booming in Moscow.

Steelers Versus Packer Super Bowl

NFL predicts record breaking sales for these two rival teams with zealously loyal fans.

You Know You’re An Extreme Parent If…

More information about Tiger moms, includes something of a check list to see if you are an extreme parent.  I failed. I think.  Help out on this one.  “You know you’re a great guide to your child if…”

Why do we care Julie Bowen, of the hit TV comedy Modern Family, shared a picture of herself breastfeeding her infant twins on Lopez Tonight?

Julie Bowen… Hot body on a hot show?  Certainly.  Her breastfeeding jugs (however lovely and life-giving to her suckling babies) worthy of a news story?  Not.

Why do Ugg boots cost $140-200 dollars?

These are boots that market ugly.  I don’t understand.

How can Don’t Ask, Don’t tell military expulsions cost $50,000 per expulsion.

Clearly, this begs the even more obvious puzzler, why are we still expelling soldiers, sailors, marines, and guards men on the grounds of homosexuality?

Woman versus Police Horse

Really?  Really?

What exactly makes Kat Von D a celebrity again?

Leather, body art and Reality TV, right?  Or is it the men on her arm?

Even if you like junk food, this year’s review of school lunches will trigger your gag reflex and convert you to wheat germ.

Tough Times for Men and Women in Blue

Please God, let it not be, we’ve become desensitized to cop killings.

I do not understand, but accept acts of unspeakable violence are part of our social fabric.

I do not like football, but concede millions of people are ardent fans.

I can not, however, understand why we’ve become a nation of celebrity-peeping Toms.

I do not believe our fiber has so dissolved that slapping police horses and killing cops is ubiquitous.

I reject this cynical bias.

_Stop_

I know the world is messy.

_Stop_

I know there are horrors enough in the dark to keep me up a lifetime of nights.

_Stop_

I know reports of such sells fear and ads.

_Stop_

I know nothing seems special compared to these suicidal-homicidal-psychotic-chicken-paste oozing-Packer-under-dogging-ugly-boot-lactating-horse-slapping-inked-out- nymphs-headlines.

_Stop_

I get that the neighborhood 7th grader who stuffed mail boxes and plans to collect old blankets and towels for SPCA animals this Saturday morning doesn’t play with the same panache .

I see why a surprise bridal shower for a soon-to-be-deployed-Army-doctor doesn’t compare to a hip check list that let’s you know if your helicopter parenting has escalated into extreme parenting that races your kids down a highway to nowhere.

I know, too, however that the only eternal commodity of this world is relationships.

Community service matters.
Surprise showers matter.
Calling your mom matters. Especially when you don’t want to and do anyway, because she really wants to connect with you.
Showing up matters.
More walking, less talking matters.

I don’t find recent headlines inaccurate as much as I suspect their motives.

They seek to incite, not to edify.

This is a bittersweet world, however, our potential to be of good use to each other bests our capacity to get it horribly wrong, and is less often the stuff of headlines.

As for me and my house, we look for reasons to believe that this is true.

Faith does not impair reason, it imbues Mercy.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Vocabulary’s Eloquence

The Boy brought home this delicious vocabulary chart this afternoon.

It has sat next to my work station in the kitchen all night, and I have picked it up several times to simply admire its subtle eloquence.

I have had more interactive, geek fun with this simple chart than I care to confess here.

You all know about my sink fetish now, (see Verdicality Grooming if you don’t know what I mean and track down the references) and I had wanted to go at least a week before further discrediting myself. However, isn’t this chart simply elegant?

Ask me.
Come on,
ask me;
I know you want to know.

What  kind of twisted, geek gaming is to be had with a diagram of such subtle grace?

Ah, me… so much fun:

1. First, and obviously, a Mamma’s gotta see if she doesn’t know more of the definitions than the kid, right? Game on! Who cares if he’s in the seventh grade, and I am supposedly better educated, it’s competition hour, Baby!

__No. It’s not important. I am not going to tell you who won or how many I knew the first time. And unlike my son, I didn’t have time to preview the list before we fenced terms__

2. Aren’t you just drawn like a magnet seeks North, to write down as many words you know that fit the terms’ patterns? Challenge level players must recite lists alphabetically for points to count.

3. Submissions!  Certainly there are some juicy, grand terms not included in the chart!  List as many as you can.

4.  Emendations!  Clearly there are terms that made the cut that are just too on the chin.  Which such obvious bricks would you toss from the load?  Justify each answer with a Haiku.

5. Make word-chains sentences.  The only words in sentences must be terms in the same order as the graph and the sentences must make contextual sense.

What’s sad about my idea of fun this week, is that I have done each of these activities.

At least once,
if not more,
and others not listed,
and People,  I enjoyed it.

Words simply fascinate me.  I love their consistent flexibility.

I love their liquid and transformative natures.

I see words in a chart, and I don’t see bars, I greet freedom.

Words invite us to wander around Purple, regal fields of intentional Creation and render possibilities.

Language liberates captive ideas to bridge discovery and miraculous healings.

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!