Billy: Mooooommmmm! My mouth hurts.

{He doesn’t have his third set of molars yet, and I checked inside his mouth to see if he was sprouting anything. Nope. And he kept pointing to his cheeks instead of his gums. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and began to assume he was delaying his schoolwork.}

Me: Well, I think it’s really bad here, Bill. I’m pretty sure this condition will kill you in 80 years.

Billy: Eighty years! I’m going to die in eighty years! Ooooh, nooooo! I’m going to die….Fritz, did you hear that? I’m going to die in eighty years!!!!

I tried not to fall off my chair from laughing.

Me: Billy, do you know how old you will be in 80 years?

Billy: No…

Me: Older than Grandpa.

Billy: Which one?

Me: Both of them.

Billy: (finally laughing at the joke) Oh! Oh! I’ll be older than Grandpa! Oh! Ha ha ha.

Dying is ok, as long as you are older than old.

In contrast to the Duggars, who fall in the “Quiver-full” category, are the Shakers, who believed in celibacy, even for married members.

Of course, celibacy means no intercourse, which generally means no children either (one notable exception!). Hence, the number of Shakers in the world today is seven (down from a peak of 6,000 in the 1830s).

My point is this: if you don’t procreate, you are relying on converts to carry on your values. Chances are, your values will go the way of the Shakers.

But that’s ok, my kids will support you in your old age: they’ll pay their taxes and social security tithe; they’ll be soldiers and defend your freedom to live how you want; they’ll vote and ensure you have the freedom to say whatever you want to say (even if you fling hateful diatribes in their direction); and hopefully, they’ll have the Christian fortitude to love you despite how you feel about them.

Because that’s the way this evil Catholic mom is brainwashing them to behave.

{Note: blogger doesn’t like me today, and I can’t link to my post from yesterday about the Duggars…in case you want to know what in the world has set me off.}

Here’s Pete with no cast. What a big boy. I have to take him back in a month for another torturous session with the X-ray machine to check the healing, but so far so good.

Fritz: Mom, can I have some more chicken?

I’ve waited over 8 years to hear that.

Lemon Chicken with Thyme for dinner tonight.

Bill sent me an email asking me if I remembered the family with a bunch of kids and a website about their life…

…of course I remembered the Dugger family with 15 kids. But I couldn’t remember their names or other details, so I went to ProLife Search (which is powered by Google), and started typing in things like “family with 15 kids,” “mother of the year with 15 kids,” “one big family,” “TV show about a big family,” etc. One of my searches gave me this link, which is a thread discussing the show that aired on Discovery (?) Channel about them.

The vast bulk of the writers (one of whom nicely listed a link to the Dugger’s website, which is what I wanted, so it wasn’t a complete waste of my time being there) were incredibly, hatefully, judgmental. I just don’t get it.

I mean, why the hate? Why the leaping to conclusions about what kind of people they are? I don’t expect everybody to think this is a great thing (I personally don’t desire to have 15 children myself, but maybe I would feel differently after I had another 5 or 6!). But this family is labeled as ultra-conservative, scary, religious freaks, bad bad bad bad bad. Basically, the accusation seems to be that by the very fact that they have “irresponsibly” had so many children, they were guilty of child abuse, neglect, and the ultimate sin of failing to expose their children to real life.

Now, I don’t want to characterize all these people who used choice curse words and other impolite speech in their diatribes about the personal decisions made by one family as hypocrites, but I would like to point out that many of them salivated at the idea of exposing these overprotected rugrats to alternative lifestyles including homosexuality. Again, I just don’t get it.

I mean, please just take a brief glimpse in the mirror, folks. How can they spit venom, call them all these names, accuse them of abusing their children…and then get even more mad that these conservative, religious nuts don’t accept alternative lifestyles with open arms? Um, to each his own, as long as the Highest Power you follow is yourself? If God commands it, and you follow it, you are wrong, but if you do something because it makes you feel good, then the rest of us should happily accept your personal choices?

I’m not trying to judge the Duggards one way or the other. I know lots of people (some are fundamentalists Christians, some are Mormons and some are Catholics) who do happen to feel that having as many children as possible is God’s Will (I don’t even know if this is truly the Duggard’s position or not). I don’t happen to agree with that. Being open to life does not mean seeking pregnancy as often as possible. Most women achieve a natural infertility due to breastfeeding, and that seems to me to be part of God’s plan. I disagree, but I don’t hate the Duggards for their beliefs. I’m not threatened by their beliefs.

Is all this hatred out of fear? I just don’t get it. I don’t understand how the criticizers can also be upset with what they assume is hatred on the part of the Duggards to others not like them. It’s ok for me to hate you, but not ok for you to hate me?

Billy: Mom! I forgot about Saint Nicholas!

Me: Mmmm? (As in: where are we going with this?)

Billy: Mom! Is Saint Nicholas Santa Claus?

Me: Yup. (Seriously: where are we going with this?)

Billy: Mom! Saint Nicholas is in Heaven!

Me: Yup. (This isn’t looking too good…)

Billy: That means Santa Claus is in Heaven!

Me: Yup. (Wow, good logic there, kiddo. There are some adults who can’t manage that.)

Billy: How does he get down here with all our presents?

Me: Do you believe in miracles? (Can we talk about this in December?)

Billy: I don’t know how he does it, but he does it…

My neighbor’s son got in big trouble the other day at school.

He was running…

…at recess.

He’s a kindergartener.

Yeah, I think he’s borderline hyperactive…some Ritalin will fix that up right quick.

And then they’ll complain about childhood obesity…

Last night, Jenny laid out clothes and said they were “for tomorrow.”

This morning, she picked out different clothes to wear. I pointed to the other clothes and asked her why she wasn’t wearing them.

“They’re for tomorrow,” she replied.

She needs to get with Katie and learn that today is tomorrow.

Today, I am wearing tan pants and a light blue shirt. To be more specific, I am not wearing red or white or navy blue. Why? Mainly because I got an email telling me to wear red, white and blue today to show my patriotism and support of the troops or whatever.

I’m not going outside and hanging an American flag today, either. Truth be told, there’s already one out there, and I’m too lazy to take it down (well, too short). I wouldn’t normally want to take the flag down, but when someone tells me I ought to be flying it, then I want to do the exact opposite.

I’m not going to drop everything today at noon for a moment of silence. And I’m not going to think fondly of all 3000 victims of 5 years ago and know in my heart that they are all in heaven as another email boldly proclaimed. I wonder if the author of that email also thinks that 70 virgins greeted these martyrs when they got there?

(Ouch, yes, that was biting, I’ll admit.)

I WILL pray for the victims and their families all day today, as I do on other days throughout the year. I WILL pray for peace. I WILL pray for justice. I WILL pray for freedom and for our country.

And I will pray for an end to spam emails.

Or rather, I will pray for an end to emotionalism, as described by Eric Scheske in this Catholic Exchange column from a year ago. I really don’t want to spend the day crying, as I did 5 years ago. I really don’t want to spend the day angry, as I did 5 years ago.

Patriotism is love and loyalty to one’s country. Time and again, the sages warn those seeking marriage that love is not an emotion, it’s a choice. This applies equally to patriotism. I choose, happily, to live in this country. I will defend the cause of freedom in any way I can (primarily by voting in every election). Symbols like the flag and wearing our nations colors are fine and dandy. But like wearing a wedding band, it is not the outward display that makes you committed to a cause, but rather the actions of daily life.

Have you hugged a soldier today? I did. Now that’s showing support of the troops.

Friday, 3 pm.

It’s afternoon cleanup time where I (and 4 helpers) spend 10 minutes straightening up the day’s messes in order to make room for more.

Where to start?

First the classroom (aka: the dining room). Katie is tasked with picking up the castle made from base ten blocks, and the other helpers are sent to different rooms with specific chores. I spy the magnetic pieces of our United States map puzzle all over the floor, pick up a handful and put them on top of the puzzle board on the table (a future job for Fritz). Next to the board are scattered pencils which I gather and place in the pencil box while filtering the other debris in and amongst them: a damp kitchen towel, a dirty cup and straw, a broken crayon, a CD (relocated from the den by Pete), and some random pieces of trash.

I snap the pencil box shut, put it on the school shelf, and stoop down for another handful of puzzle pieces only to discover an abandoned dress, socks and pink tennis shoes. I pick up those instead and take my now full armload to the kitchen. Trash in the proper receptacle, dirty laundry thrown in the laundry room just off the kitchen, dirty dishes in the sink and I’m off to the den to replace the CD.

In the den, I see a huge stack of CDs, pulled out of the bookshelf by the baby earlier in the day. Throw them on the shelf (in no particular order), and then pick up a dozen colorful daggers along with the rest of the Pop-Up Pirate game. Close the door to the shelf and remind myself again to put a rubberband around the cabinet handles to prevent this from happening tomorrow. I straighten up a few piles of paperwork on the floor, turn a despairing eye on the mess on my desk, and head back to the dining room. Along the way, I find a few more items of clothing and more shoes which get placed on the steps to go up later.

Back in the dining room, I pile the rest of the states on their board and call Fritz in to assemble the puzzle. I thank Katie for cleaning up the base ten blocks and ask her to take the Playmobile residents of the now demolished castle back to their former home upstairs. The last remnants of schoolwork are placed in the proper folder or cubby to safely remain for the weekend. Billy cleans up the 100 pieces of a Fantastic 4 puzzle which had been scattered all over the only large non-carpeted floor besides the kitchen and bathrooms – the tile entryway. Jenny puts the animal block puzzle together, and all the puzzles are returned to the puzzle cabinet, which needs straightening badly (some other day).

Finally, I put the chairs under the table and head to the living room. A not-oft used room, thankfully, I gather a sippy cup and a few more random items of clothing, put the talking sit-n-spin and the pretend lawnmower off to the side, and check the bottom of the double stroller (which is usually parked in there) for hidden treasure and discover another pair of shoes. Shoes on the stairs, clothes in the laundry room, cup in the sink…where I find Jenny who really wants to do the dishes. I tell her she has to wait until I do the breakable ones.

Next stop: the family room. Helpers put cushions back on the couch, take light sabers out to the garage, pick up dozens of books and return them to the shelves. I gather more shoes and clothing (you’d think we had no closets, dressers, or hampers in the place) and some miscellaneous trash and go to my last stop: the kitchen.

Torture time is over for the kids, and I release them from cleanup duty. Jenny, though, really wants to do the dishes and is waiting impatiently for me to permit her. I load the breakable bowls and glasses into the dishwasher, handwash the muffin tin from this morning and the heavy skillet from last night (forgive me, Flylady, for I have sinned…), and hide the dish soap lest she use all of it as she’s been known to do. She gets to dive in and play wash dishes, while I clear the counter of peanut butter, bread, Ovaltine, Cheerios and Corn Flakes boxes, raisins, and undesirable peels from apple slices (some opt to eat around the peels instead of enjoying the entire slice). The counter and kitchen table get wiped down removing the last traces of jelly, peanut butter, mayo, milk, and bread crumbs.

You know what? It’s time to start chopping onions and grating cheese for dinner.

And lo, I hear the sound of CDs being thrown on the ground…