They Know Not What They Do

When I got home from church today and checked my Facebook "stalker newsfeed" (as Meredith calls it), all my New Jersey friends were making their usual mundane comments about their everyday lives. But every one of my Kansas friends was decrying the murder of Wichita abortion doctor George Tiller in his church this morning.

New Jerseyans, as a whole, are not that up on the abortion fight that has been centered in my hometown. So, a little bit of history. Tiller was one of the few abortion doctors in the country who would do abortions in the last trimester, when a baby is considered viable outside the womb. Fifteen or so years ago, Operation Rescue staged their "Summer of Mercy" protest in front of his clinic, and he's been a lightning rod in the abortion conflict ever since. Recently, he's been in court defending himself against charges of corruption in how he gets "independent doctor" opinions regarding the necessity of the abortions. And Kathleen Sibelius was questioned about her relationship with Tiller while being considered for Secretary of Health and Human Services.

It's abominable, this act. I'm so incredibly sad. I'm sad for the many people who knew and loved this man, including some of my friends, apparently. I'm sad for the worshippers at this church who will live with the horror of the moment for the rest of their lives. I'm sad for arrested suspect, who is apparently (if his motives are what we suspect) extremely confused and disturbed. I'm sad for the family of the suspect, who will be shadowed by this for the rest of their lives -- and who will bear the wrath of the extremists in the pro-choice movement for the actions of their unwell loved one.

I'm sad for my pro-choice Christian friends who have expressed their inability to forgive this man -- after all, they have been forgiven much. I'm sad for the angry pro-choicers who are raging at their ideological opponents, blaming them for the acts of an insane person, forgetting that both sides have their share of wackos. I'm sad for the pro-lifers who may have made some ineffective and unwise moves in their history but who are sincere in their love for their fellow man, even George Tiller. I'm sad for the whole country who will have to deal with the rage and ugliness that will ensue in the days to come.

Oh, the sadness that has come out of this fight. I told a friend recently that I'm confident the vast majority of the country would agree on a lot of the questions involved in this issue: about late-term abortions, parental notification, reducing the number of unwanted pregnancies to begin with. Why can't we focus our collective energy on the areas where we agree?

I believe abortion is murder. I want legalized abortion to end. But for now, I'd rather settle for reducing the number of abortions overall by working with the other side on the areas we can agree on. That seems to make more sense than the all-or-nothing route that has made Christians look like hate-mongerers and inspired the unbalanced among us to kill for the sake of saving lives.

SALSA!

My family loves salsa. The girls eat chips and salsa for snack two or three times a week. I got very excited when my friend Eileen made homemade salsa for us when we stayed at her house in Jersey. It looked easy! Throw things in the blender and hit the button. I can do that!

Now, realize that usually when I have these thoughts ("Easy! I can do that!"), I am woefully mistaken. But not this time. I LOVE my homemade salsa! And even better, so does the rest of the family!

So, as I was mixing up a batch this morning, I was thinking . . . why does salsa not qualify as a vegetable? I mean, here are my ingredients: tomatoes (canned right now, but I'll try fresh when they're available), onion, garlic, jalapenos, fresh cilantro and lime juice. LOADS of veggies in there! Nothing fatty, nothing processed, nothing sugary. I think salsa could downright qualify as a health food! (And not even in a Bill Cosby kind of way. "Eggs -- eggs are in cake. Milk is in cake. Nutrition!")

Of course, I am conveniently bypassing the question of the sodium-laden chips we dunk into the salsa. Maybe I can look for a healthier version of those. I'm also conveniently ignoring the fact that my girls don't usually eat any of the vegetables -- they just coat their chips with the sauce.

No matter. There's gotta be some nutrients floating around in the sauce, too. LOVE salsa. Thanks, Eileen!

A Marital Implosion

Leslie has become a huge "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" fan. She DVR's almost every episode as they re-run, so I've seen much more than my share of the Gosselins. And I've usually found them relatively enjoyable.

Until yesterday. Leslie taped the season premiere and we watched it over lunch. I'd heard all the rumors floating around about the couple, but I'd heard they'd decided they weren't going to address them at all on the TV show.

Wrong.

For an hour and thirteen minutes, I got more and more depressed watching these two people whose marriage is clearly coming apart at the seams. I almost cried. How terribly sad. Why in the world did they do this episode? Shut off the cameras! Get thee to a counselor! I heard somewhere that Jon only agreed to do another season if Kate would agree to marriage counseling -- and that the producers had to talk her into the counseling. More rumors . . who knows.

But there was no denying the train wreck witnessed on the season opener. Jon's apparently not living at home much. Kate expected this to be their last family picture. Only one minute of the customary commentary with them sitting together on the couch. All sprinkled in with shots of the sextuplets fifth birthday party. Too sad.

For anyone who has watched the show much at all, this really shouldn't be a big surprise. I've frequently cringed at the way Kate speaks to and about Jon. And the deer-in-headlights looks he has afterwards -- or the shrug-and-eyeroll -- tell it all. She shames him. Shame on her. I often tried to excuse it; I mean, it's not like the couple isn't under tremendous stress. But it looks more and more like a pattern of behavior -- rooted in a pattern of thinking and beliefs -- than a temporary stress reaction. And why they continue to add the stress of displaying it all for public consumption, I will never understand.

I prayed for them this morning, because it made my heart heavy to watch them yesterday. And I apologized to Keith for anytime I've treated him with such disrespect. God help us all. Marriage is HARD.

Am I Boring?

Our family spent about nine hours yesterday at a pool party next door. If you know Keith or me very well, you know that is not exactly our kind of thing. We tend to be homebodies, much to our girls' chagrin, I think. But the Lapkes invited several neighbors we didn't know yet just for us to meet, so we were there. And it actually was a pretty good time. Nice people. Good music. Decent weather. Hot hot tub.

Lexi Lapke spent the night here with Leslie afterward. I found myself wondering this morning what our home and family must seem like to her. Their house seems to be the hoppin' place in the neighborhood -- the spot where all the kids hang out, and sometimes their parents, too. By contrast, we must seem dull as the dry, brown grass.

An old friend I've gotten in touch with on Facebook (could I ever express the impact Facebook has on my life these days?) recently shared with me her memories of my family. Unbeknownst to me, her own family was in crisis at the time. She remembers my home as a place of peace, security and predictability. Mom would always make dinner . . Dad was always a little stern-looking . . the bathrooms were always clean . . . church was every Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening. She said our family made her feel loved and safe.

Funny. I always thought we were boring. I could never imagine why a friend would want to come home with me to my house. Boring, boring, boring.

I wish my mom was around now to hear what my friend has to say about the home she made. She would really have liked that. And I suppose I would be thrilled someday to hear that one of the girls' friends found our home to be a safe haven. I guess I can live with not being the hoppin' party place. Gotta be me, after all.

Breathe In . . Breathe Out . .

My heart is still pounding. About 15 minutes ago, we heard an earth-shattering shriek from Eastin's room and went flying up the stairs. Eastin was on the floor, staring at her arm, and her soccer friend Erika was standing beside her, staring at her. They had jumped off of the top of Eastin's bunk bed together. Yes, Eastin was told when we first bought the bed that no one was allowed to jump off the top. Apparently, that important instruction slipped her mind.

When I reached down to help her pick up her arm, I SWORE I saw it bend slightly in the middle of the forearm. Oh, no! Oh, no! It's broken! I thought. Of course, I didn't say that out loud, but I'm sure my face said it all.

However, as we all calmed down a bit, we discovered that although the arm hurt like crazy, Eastin could move her fingers. And eventually she tried moving the whole arm and could do that, too. Before long, we were all laughing about it, including Eastin. But I still felt sick to my stomach.

It's amazing how the mommy-brain kicks in at moments like that. As I sat on the floor holding her injured limb, I found myself talking calmly. But my mind was racing: the minor-emergency center up the street . . . keep Erika calm, tell her it's OK, it's not her fault . . . something flat and solid to rest Eastin's arm on in the car . . . an ice pack . . . Keith can take Erika home . . .

I think it was less than a minute, really, that we sat there before we figured out that her arm wasn't broken and she was going to be fine without professional intervention. But in my mind, I already had friends signing her cast.

She's got an ice pack on it now while they watch a bit of "The Little Mermaid", before we take Erika home. (I add that fact just to give me an excuse to revel for a moment in the music of this show. "Each little clam here know how to jam here under the sea . . each little snail here know how to wail here under the sea . . each little slug here cutting a rug here, that's why it's hotter under the water, yeah we in luck here, down in the muck here, under the SEA!!!" Really -- great stuff.)

In any case, she seems to be fine. Deep breaths. I'll probably be fine, too, in another hour or so.

It's a Mean, Mean World

I was watching Fox News late last night (don't any of my liberal friends throw things at me!). There's a show on there late on weekend nights -- "Red Eye" I think it's called. It's a group of people commenting on the week's news. I don't like the show -- because these people are like so many news media-slash-entertainment jerks who try to be funny and just end up being mean.

Now these mean people happen to be on my side of most of the issues (most of the time), but they're still mean. Such jerks are not limited to the left or the right side of the political spectrum. They ALL frustrate me.

And they're not even limited to the political world. I read internet articles once in a while about American Idol (yes, I know . . it's over this week, my obsession will stop then), and I'm stunned at the viciousness of people about some contestants. These are ordinary folks that they don't know personally, who are making themselves vulnerable to the world, taking a chance on a dream -- and people absolutely trash them for no good reason! It's disgusting! I mean, it's one thing to say you don't care for a particular contestant; it's quite another to call him an arrogant, ugly, untalented [bleep] and throw a party when he is voted off! Particularly if you work for the media -- you're supposed to be a professional! I realize they wouldn't do such things if it didn't earn them viewers, but the fact that it does earn them viewers is just as disturbing.

What in the world is wrong with our society? What ever happened to manners? To civility? To a sense of just plain decency? No wonder our government gets in such stalemates on important issues -- we've forgotten how to disagree without being disagreeable.

I watch my kids' favorite shows on Disney and Nickelodeon, and probably a good three-fourths of the humor in them comes from sassy, sarcastic comebacks between kids. Or even worse, between kids and adults. I know, that's nothing new. Children's entertainment has been like that for years. Maybe that's a big chunk of the problem.

Personally, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the unkind words, and I'm disgusted at the cold, mean hearts they reveal. What I'm going to do about it, I don't know yet. But I may start with turning off the TV, if I have the gumption to fight my kids on that.

Who Said Summertime Livin' Was Easy?

We have 1-2 more weeks of school left (depending on how motivated the girls are to finish things up). And now I've got to figure out what we're doing for the summer. I've learned from history that if given nothing specific to do with their time, my girls will spend all day long watching TV or playing on the computer. Not what I want for their three months of academic freedom.

So I'm exploring the available activities in the area. The third week of June is Skill School at our church, every morning. We'll all be busy with that. The week after that is a drama camp at the Community Theater. The Sioux Center Recreation Department has very inexpensive tennis lessons in July, two lessons a week. And the Art Center has five different two-week art class sessions through the whole summer.

The homeschool group doesn't do much over the summer -- apparently, even the social activities they've tried to arrange in the past weren't well-attended. But one mom organized a group of families to play Ultimate Frisbee once a week, which may be fun. And I'm hoping to get a few of my own friends to commit to an afternoon a week getting together at a local playground or something.

I don't know why I always think I'm going to get so much other stuff in my life done when summer comes. I'm either remarkably optimistic or just plain stupid.

Now, I realize that some of my friends will tell me, "Gwen, you are not your children's recreational director. You don't need to sign them up for all these activities. Leave them alone; let them get bored. Then they'll find their own fun stuff to do."

Maybe so. But maybe not. Am I a wimp to not try that? I think I might have more courage to let them manage their own entertainment for the summer if they had more friends to be entertained with. If I knew that neighbors would be stopping by frequently to invite them out to play, I'd be OK with that. But we haven't met many of the neighbor kids yet.

That's my biggest hope for the summer. Friends in the neighborhood for both girls. Good friends. Nice kids. Girls that I can trust them hanging around without my direct supervision, and that I can stand hanging around my house without annoying me to death.

Why does making new friends have to be so hard . . .