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Archive for February, 2009

Cute Things Falling Asleep

sleeping beauty

Yes, I did steal the title, but maybe it’s OK if I link to the cute things site. Anyway, could there be a better title for this photo? I thought not.

This picture was taken some 12 years ago. The cute thing on the right will be a teenager, Sunday at 2:37 p.m. To celebrate, we are taking her on a special vacation. To that place down South where giant mice run the place and people deliberately seek out experiences that elicit terror. (What in the name of all that’s sane are we thinking?) It will be her first time there, and her first time on an airplane.

I hope to fully participate in this extravaganza, but just in case my illness doesn’t permit, I believe our accommodations will be pleasant enough that I can just hang out and read and still have enjoyment aplenty. I owe a huge thank you to Charlotte, who is a most excellent consultant on all matters related to the happiest place on earth. The planning would have done me in, had I not had the benefit of her considerable knowledge and experience.

I’ll be back in about a week. I’d surely appreciate your prayers for safe travel, a body that cooperates with the program, kind strangers and the like.

Be ye kind, one to another (Ephesians 4:32).

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Jif dropped LG and me off at the Hallmark store a few nights ago, to get Valentine cards for our little nieces. Having been pretty sick lately, I am way behind on such things and haven’t had the energy to drive myself there, stand and browse through the cards, etc.

Of course, while there, I took the opportunity to look for a card for Jif. I was deeply engrossed in the husband cards when someone came up from behind, grabbed my shoulders and squeezed.

“No, don’t get that one!” I heard my husband say.

My initial inclination was to make him go away, but I need all the help I can get, so I jokingly said, “Fine, you pick one. Get one you really like.”

He quickly scanned the cards and picked up one I’d already rejected. The photo on the front was the legs of a man and woman standing on the beach, their bare feet making impressions in the sand.

“Here, this one. With these people stuck in the mud.”

Yup; if there’s an image of us these days, it’s two people stuck in the mud. Together.

(When I went to don Legolas’s gay apparel for his annual VDay appearance, I discovered he was MIA. LG is at a sleepover, so I can’t ask her to help locate him. He may make an appearance later in the week. Or not.)

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Let’s get a posse together and go beat the crap out of the “OctoMom!” Who’s with me? Isn’t that, after all, the right thing to do? Beat a woman who has just given birth to 8 children, and has 6 at home? No, probably not the right thing to do. We should probably kill her.

Pardon my tongue-in-cheekiness. I’m just so over the hatred of this chick. Clearly, I mean CLEARLY, there are mental health issues here. It is unfortunate that children are at the center of the controversy. I wish them well. But condemning their mother does no one any good.

And hell, if we’re going to hate welfare mothers, I don’t think we should start with her. I think she actually saves the taxpayer some money. She can get all fourteen welfare checks in a single envelope. Postage is going up to $.44 in May, people. Do you know how much we save by supporting fourteen children all at the same mailing address?

Seriously, the kids are here. I mean, if this were ten months ago and the news report was that this woman was considering having more kids, then yea, I might have added my voice to those saying, “Don’t do it!” But they’re here. Labeling them as a mistake, an abomination, a burden, etc., can only hurt. The children. And they’re the ones we need to be considering. Making a negative example of Suleman by condemning her, withholding assistance from her, whatever . . . who does that help? It’s not as though there are hordes of other mothers of six who are hoping to give birth to eight more, and we must turn the tide of this dangerous fad.

There are 14 sweet little kids whose Mom has some serious issues. And whose doctor has some explaining to do, in my opinion.

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Cheatin’ Hearts

bittersweet-hearts

Infidelity. This is not the most romantic post for Valentine’s Day, but I find myself thinking about it (thanks to Oprah) and I decided to query the innernets as a hole for the answer to a question I have long pondered.

Let’s say that one spouse has cheated on another. It could be either gender, but just for ease of discussion, let’s say it is a heterosexual marriage, and it is the male who had an affair. This cheating male comes to couples counseling with his wife, who knows that there are problems, but does not know that her husband has been unfaithful. The husband asks to speak to the counselor alone, during which time he reveals that he has had a sexual relationship outside the marriage. He says (very sincerely and convincingly) that it is 100% over and will never happen again, and that he does not want his wife to know about it, because knowing can only hurt her and can’t possibly help the marriage. He wants to look toward the future, not the past. As the counselor (or even as a friend or family member), do you honor his request not to reveal the infidelity to his wife? (Incidentally, confidentiality is not an issue; both clients have been informed that “the marriage” is the client and that the two partners do not have confidentiality from one another in this setting, the way they would if either of them were coming alone for individual counseling.)

Possible answers:

A. You keep his secret. He makes a valid point — while telling all might relieve his guilt, it would only hurt his wife and the marriage. If he really means that it is over, is truly sorry and is determined that it will never happen again, then no good can come of requiring him to tell his wife. Let his mistake be left in the past while they go forward to improve their marriage.

B. She has to know. They can’t really move forward if there are lies in the past. Besides, if she knew the truth, she might not want to be with him anymore. And she has a right to base her current and future decisions on reality, however hurtful, and not on lies and illusion.

C. Some other answer.

What do you think, oh, wise and powerful innernets?

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Two things to know about the Fairchild family for purposes of this story. One, our house is a wreck. We are not the best housekeepers during the best of times. But now, between years of WTF Disease, holidays, a monster virus that recently attacked us all, and life in general, our house is a mess. Two, there are burglars in our neighbhorhood. Burgling. For a couple of weeks now, mostly at night when residents are in their beds. We are not panicked, but we are a bit uneasy. (Truth be told, the messy house panics me more than the burglars right now.) Oh, maybe there’s a third thing to know about us: we’re nuts.

Jif informs us, “They’re taking mostly laptops, credit cards and video game equipment.”

Looking around, I say, “Good luck to any burglars that get in here! They won’t be able to find anything.”

“Or maybe they will. Hey, maybe they’ll find some of the stuff we’ve misplaced!”

This inspires me. “Maybe we can make a deal with them . . . they can tidy up while they’re pilfering. Like, ‘OK, you can have the laptop, and I’ll throw in the portable DVD player if you’ll take this pile of boxes out with you, too…’”

Jif ponders their fate, “It’s really not safe for them in here. I mean, we know where the hazardous areas are, but an unsuspecting burglar is liable to trip over a stack of magazines and hurt himself!”

“That’s all we need, to be sued by a burglar who broke his neck just trying to do his job…”

“Can they DO that?” LG chimes in.

“Well, YEA (sounds like DUH),” I educate my child. (Sounding all legal-like) “If the conditions of our domicile impede the man’s ability to perform his job in a reasonable and customary manner . . . that’s on US!”

“No way . . .” The kid is on to us, now.

Jif is philosophical. “We really have nothing to worry about. They’ll step one foot inside, take a look around and say, ‘Damn! Someone’s already been here!’”

“Yea…it’s sad, really. Poor burglar would go to all that trouble to get in, and then just sit right down and cry in frustration…”

“We’ll hear them in the night. One of us will wake up and go, (stage whispering) ‘What’s that sound?! Do you hear that?! It sounds like someone . . . it’s someone . . . sobbing! Call 9-1-1!”

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