Let Me Explain A Few Things To You...

Okay, I have to address this.

"This," of course, is the story about the cheerleaders in Kountze, Texas who want to display biblically themed banners at pep rallies and football games.

*sighs*

They're claiming it is "free speech" and they should be allowed to do it. And, of course, it is free speech... but they cannot be allowed to do this.

"But why, oh, Toasterpop?" you ask.

I will tell you why. If these cheerleaders were acting as private citizens, or as regular students, holding up their banners from the stands like the legendary "John 3:16" Guy, there would be no problem. I, personally, would have no problem with this. It would be great, they could do it all they wanted. They might offend some people, but as they say, it's free speech, and they're allowed.

However... they're not acting as private citizens. They're cheerleaders, and they are acting at a school sanctioned event, as representatives of the school. A PUBLIC school. That's when those banners stop being free speech. If the school allows them to use those banners, the school is then allowing these cheerleaders to "proselytize" to every person in the audience, including their fellow students.

What's wrong with this?

Nothing, if you assume that every person in that audience is a Christian, and goes to their church, or follows their particular brand of Christianity.

The problem is, and it seems to be a concept that a lot of Christians can't grasp, not everyone is Christian. Not everyone sitting in those bleachers at the pep rally, or in the stands at the football game, are Christians. Or belong to the same church, or denomination, as those cheerleaders. Let's face it, some denominations are very particular about how they worship and express their religion.

Now, as you know, the Constitution of the United States has a Bill of Rights, allowing us all equal protections under the law. However, another concept that most Christians seem to be unable to grasp is... the Bill of Rights does not protect the rights of the majority.

Let me state that again.

THE BILL OF RIGHTS DOES NOT PROTECT THE RIGHTS OF THE MAJORITY.

It protects everyone. That means non-Christians as well as Christians.

That means non-Christians, be they Atheists, Agnostics, Pagans, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Viking, you name it, have the right to attend a public event and not be proselytized within an inch of their lives.

It also means that if those Christian cheerleaders get to use biblically inspired banners at the football games, then Wiccan students can bring out Wiccan themed banners to the game. So can Buddhists. And Muslims. Yes, if they want to paint a banner that says, "Allah Hu Akbar! Go Team!!" then they can. And the Texas State Attorney General can't say diddly squat, because HE SUPPORTED THOSE CHEERLEADERS.

If you're going to allow it for one group, then you have to allow it for ALL OF THEM.

Because public schools are government funded entities, and therefore cannot support one religion over another. And a football game/pep rally are events sponsored by that publicly funded entity, and those cheerleaders are representatives of that publicly funded entity.

Do you understand now?

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."

If you're going to allow one to pass out religious materials in a school, or have meetings, or have religiously inspired banners, or to pray at meetings, games, etc... then you have to allow them ALL to do it. ALL OF THEM.

Get that through your heads. This is not a Christian nation. It is a nation made up of people from many countries, and of many different religions (or lack of them). It always has been.

And that, my friends, is the way it is.

Because creativity needs to be nurtured...

The Impossible Son has one class period that at one time might have been called "study hall." However, this one is more interactive, as it's basically a tutoring period because our district fell way behind on math and reading scores ("hmmmm, wonder how that happened?" Jo asks sarcastically). So... he's getting extra help in math and in language arts.

So, a couple of days ago, they were working on "correcting sentence fragments," basically changing fragments and making them into whole sentences. And the example given was "at the station," which had a finished example of "I can meet you at the station tomorrow morning."

Then the teacher made the mistake of saying, "But that's boring, I'm sure y'all can do better than that!"

Heh.

So... these are the sentences my SON came up with. His "corrections" will be in italics. You might want to put any liquids far from the computer, and don't drink anything while reading, because some of them are surprisingly hysterical.

Don't say I didn't warn you!

1. Before the dance I killed a vampire.

2. While we worked on the experiment my friends turned into zombies.

3. Once the baseball season begins, THEY WILL COME!!

4. Ahead of me, he watched me with a bat.

5. After the summer vacation, vampires came.

6. Without a pen or pencil I can't kill Bigfoot.

7. Opposite the park he still watched me, but with Bigfoot.

8. When she began to speak a bear came, wielding a sword.

9. Even though the temperature was warm, the bears took over.

10. From my seat, I could see the orcs coming.

11. Next to the library, they were still watching me.

12. How the rumor spread was because of the duck.

13. On top of my dresser was a honey badger.

14. Past the principal's office, they continued to watch me.

15. When they are found, we take them to NARNIA!!



I think my personal favorite is #6. I laughed so hard when he read that one out to me that I nearly drove us into a ditch. Though... a bear wielding a sword is pretty funny, and so is a honey badger on a dresser. I wonder if it cares?

For eleven years old and having virtually no writing instruction beyond what I cram down his throat during those times he's willing to sit still for it, that's not a bad fledgling effort at letting his wonderfully weird sense of humor show through. What kind of bothers me, though, is the teacher had laughed and said, "This is weird. It's crazy, what's up with this??"

And then I remembered, "Oh, wait, that's right, they don't have things like irony, humor, and creativity here." Because, you know, this sort of thing, well... it's normal at my house!

Yes, yes, I'm getting sarcastic again.

Still, I'm proud of what he's done, and happy to see his creativity developing. I can't wait to see what he does next!

Because it matters...

I shop at Hobby Lobby a lot for my crafting needs. Not because I think it's the best or anything. I do it because it's the closest variety crafting store to my small town, being only twenty minutes away in San Marcos.

I don't enjoy it, though. I like their beads, but sometimes, the selection is a little too... similar, and I can't find things I need, certain gauges of wire, or the right size hammer, or yarns. And then there's the relentless piping in of "inspirational" Christian music, which seems to be played on the same tinny piano. Constantly. Don't get me wrong, for those who enjoy it, it's probably blissful and serene. But for me, not so much. When I'm shopping alone, I tend to pop my earbuds in and listen to my iPod. Most of the time that I go there, though, I have the rest of the family with me and need to listen for them. So I end up cranky and short-tempered.

Well, I won't be shopping at Hobby Lobby any more. I'll shop online or drive my ass into Austin if I need stuff now, because after reading this, I'm not so keen on them any more:

Hobby Lobby Lawsuit Against Affordable Healthcare

Yes, you have freedom of religion, bully for you. However, I also have the freedom to take my pocketbook elsewhere. And I will. When you find a clump of cells more important than the person carrying them, you lose my sympathy. And my money, if you're a business.

It may be inconvenient for me, but... no thank you, Hobby Lobby. I'll find somewhere else to spend my crafting dollars.

For Your Amusement...

I slipped this lunch note into my daughter's lunch earlier this week...

It's no secret that we are HUGE geeks. And yes, she enjoyed the heck out of the note. It's like a mini fan fiction, isn't it? I've gotten both kids halfway through the second season of Stargate Atlantis so far.

Speaking of which, why has Netflix removed Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis from their instant view lineup? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET MY STARGATE FIX NOW????

*FUMES*

Because my daughter's mind is just as warped as mine...

This is what happens when the Impertinent Daughter gets bored halfway through an assignment to write a journal entry as if she were a colonist who had managed to survive a year in one of the New World colonies in the 1600's...



"Friday, August 29, 1600-something -- Sunny. The recent arrivals to the colony were a great relief to all of us as they came with supplies. I mean, we have been trading with the Indians for food and some of their supplies, but... it isn't the same as using what we good English folk are used to using. Besides, if there is anything our new arrivals (and some poor, clueless souls here) should worry about, it's the werewolves. Those bloody pests have been getting too many a man as of lately! Tomorrow night is the full moon and some of the stronger men are going to go hunt them down and rid our colony of these beasts the illness. I think it may come from the water? Or whatever we have been eating. We basically live in a swamp. What the Indians don't give us and that the other colonial men pick up is probably not good for us. And then there's the natives themselves! I've seen some in the woods outside of the borders of our colony, but they don't venture too near. Probably because we're all obviously diseased here and they don't want it. Besides, they've got their own problems. I hear the werewolves are getting them, too. The infestation is worse than I thought diseases are spreading to them and from us no less! But, at the moment, that is of no matter, I have survived a year here in this new world colony, even if it is crawling with moonlight freaks a little dangerous... it is an occurrence worth writing about!"



Part of me wants her to turn it in just like that, but I'm fully aware that as it's only day three, and she doesn't know the teacher well, it's probably a little too early to be testing the bounds of the woman's good humor. Still, she's awesome, and incredible, and I love the skew in her humor!

Werewolves. Heh, heh... briliant!!!

Because they put the lime in the coconut and that song won't go away!!

Sometimes, sitting down to write a blog post is ridiculously easy, because my kids will do something, or my mom will say something, or I will do something that I feel compelled to write down. It's my way of programming it into my memory bank so I don't forget it.

Other times, though, writing is unbelievably difficult. It's difficult to pull the words out of my brain, or to flog my brain into thinking of something worth writing about.

It's not that my life is uneventful. Because, seriously, there is always something going on. Always. It's just deciding whether or not it's blog-worthy.

For instance, my son has started junior high, and with it, he has also signed up for band. Yes, I finally have a band-geek in the house. And I thought he was going to be a percussionist, because that's where his interest was for the longest time (and still is, I admit it), but... he tested well on trombone, and they are woefully thin on lower brass while being embarrassingly full on percussion. So... my son is going to play the trombone.

As you can see... at present, the trombone is bigger than he is! I have no doubts, though, that he will grow into it.

This is beside the adventure of what the Impossible Son being in junior high means for all of us, most especially my husband. I say that because he seems to be even more reluctant than me to relinquish the baby that once was for the teenager that is coming. I admit it, I look at our son, and I see the cheerful baby that used to reach up for me, that would take every step the Husbandly One did, one small fist firmly gripping the seam of THO's jeans, the other reaching out to explore whatever was in reach. I see that baby, and then I blink and I there he is, my son, lanky, overly long arms and legs and awkward angles, lengthening jaw and too big feet and I think, "Where did my baby go?"

I thought that with the Impertinent Daughter, too. I looked at her when she was at that awkward in-between stage, missing the baby, and getting to know the teenager, and now I'm watching her turning into a young woman... and it's both incredibly cool, and extremely freaky.

And they're both having a growth spurt at the same time. This means we literally cannot keep enough food in the house. As soon as we bring it in... it's gone. And remember, my kids are the kind who like to snack on frozen veggies as a "cool treat." So, not only are the fresh fruits and veggies we bring home from the grocery store disappearing almost as soon as they come home, but so are all the frozen veggies, too! Crackers, granola bars, raisins... ham, chicken, leftover spaghetti sauce, bread... it's all disappearing, and I'm not sure where the kids are putting it because it's not showing on them at all. Except for the increase in height factor.

This leads me to a weird little aside. We were leaving the junior high after sixth grade orientation last week, and the Impossible Son had asked me if I knew any trombone players when I was in high school band. I laughed heartily and said, "Kiddo, my first real boyfriend in high school was a trombone player, and he was taller than me!"

"Really?" Mr. Impossible peered up at me, and really, he doesn't have that far to peer up any more.

*sigh*

"Yep. He was six feet, three inches tall," I said with a grin.

"How tall were you?" he asked, and that's when I came to a complete halt and kind of stared blankly in front of me. Because it only just then dawned on me. I was only 4'10" when I was dating Mr. Tall Trombone Player. No, seriously, back when I was dating him, I had no clue. I never thought about it, except that I found it awkward to hold his hand or to kiss him, because he was so much taller than me.

I went to his senior prom with him, and he had to pick me up to dance with me, my feet dangling two feet above the floor, because otherwise, it hurt his back to bend over and hurt his knees to crouch down and dance!!!

Oblivious Jo was oblivious.

*shakes head*

Of course, seeing the look on my kids' faces when I told them that was hysterically funny, because I had to give them a comparison scale, so I said, "Imagine if the Tall Blonde's husband was standing next to... Grammy." Grammy is THO's mom, and she's shorter than I am. It was an apt example.

"You're not 4'10" now, are you?" asked Mr. Impossible.

"Nope. I'm about 5'3" now," I said. "Still short, but not as short as I was back then."

The Impertinent One spent a lot of time snickering about that, and I just laughed it off, because really, it is funny! And no, I wasn't blonde, I was a ginger back then, so... chalk my obliviousness up to inexperience and general nose-buried-in-a-bookishness.

In the meantime, the Impertinent Daughter has started her junior year of high school, and this year, we actually have textbooks in our science and math classes!!!!

And the people rejoiced.

Mrs. Sees-Plots-Everywhere has so far been quiet, but the Impertinent One reports her prowling on the periphery of the school, eyeing students and saying nothing. Yet. It can't last, of course, but we shall see.

Still, the Impertinent One seems determined to worry about every single little thing that it's possible to worry about, and it's quite a challenge for THO and I to calm those worries with sensible advice. Or lots of hugs and chocolate. Or jokes. Jokes work. Sci-fi marathons, too. Or general nerdiness. That seems to help from time to time.

So, as you can see, there's been quite a lot going on, it's just... kind of hard to decide what to write about, to choose just... one, or two.

And now, to go bake some cookies to throw at the kids so there's something left for the rest of us to eat!

The Clothesline Blues

You know, I have a totally new appreciation for now much work my mom did for twenty three years when it came to laundry. You see, my mom didn't have a clothes dryer until 1971. Up until that time, she hung our clothes to dry on a clothesline. All of them. This includes sheets, blankets, and bedspreads, too.

Let me tell you something, that's hard work.

The reason I have this new appreciation is because our clothes dryer is on the fritz. Well, actually, the dryer runs just fine, it just doesn't heat. So the clothes take forever to dry. I suspect an issue with the igniter or something (it's a gas dryer). Therefore, I've started hanging our clothes out on a clothesline in the backyard. And it takes all day.

It's hot and dry in Central Texas, which is a good thing for drying clothes, but not so good when it comes to having to be out in it. But I have remembered little things my mom used to do, like... turning all the pants and shorts inside out so the pockets get dry. Then I remembered that I should basically turn everything inside out to reduce fading from the sun.

I remember dancing through the sheets when I was a kid, loving the way the cool fabric felt against my hot skin, and Mom fussing at me about getting sweat, or dirt on her clean sheets.

I completely understand why she wasn't happy when I got dirt on the sheets. Because it meant she had to do it all again.

I also remember her snapping the clothes sharply as she removed them from the line, to get lint and pollen off, before folding them and putting them in the basket. My son said, "Why don't you just dump them in the basket and fold them inside?"

"Because I don't want to drag them inside, and then fold them and then put them away. I'd rather fold it now, so it doesn't have a chance to get more wrinkled before I put them away," I said.

"What's wrong with them being wrinkled?" he asked with a frown.

"If they're wrinkled," I said, turning to look at him, "then I have to iron them. And believe me, I do not want to iron the clothes. Not if I don't have to."

"What do you mean, iron them?" he asked. "Why don't you just throw them in the dryer to get the wrinkles out?"

*insert hysterical laughter HERE*

Mom would do laundry one day, washing, and hanging stuff out to dry, folding it and bringing it back in. Then the next day... she'd iron everything Shirts, dresses, Dad's boxer shorts and handkerchiefs, his undershirts, her dresses, shirts, and pants, my sisters' clothes, my clothes... AND... all the bed sheets and pillow cases, as well as any curtains she might have washed.

EVERYTHING got ironed.

And yes, she taught me to iron, too. And you know what? I hate it, every bit as much as she did. And I really, really, really don't want to do it now. My family can sleep on wrinkled sheets, I really don't care. I'm not embarrassed about wrinkled sheets, and I'm also not worried about germs in the bedclothes, so... I see no need to iron them.

My mom, though... she ironed. She folded and put away. She hung clothes. She baked from scratch. She sewed all my sisters' and my clothes. And you know, I had no clue. I had no clue how much work she was doing. I knew she worked and worked hard. But I had no appreciation for it, for what she did, and how much drudgery was involved.

Because it is. It's drudgery. It's never-ending, because no matter how much of it you do, it is never done. As soon as you finish up one load of clothing, there's more waiting to be done. People like to talk so nostalgically about how happy the fifties were, and how women knew their place and were so happy doing it and wouldn't it be great to go back to the fifties??

HELL, NO!!

I do not find satisfaction in housework. I don't feel complete because I just did three loads of laundry and put it all away for people who don't seem to appreciate it and end up throwing most of it, still clean, mind you, on the floor. I don't find joy in washing dishes, nor do I hum with satisfaction as I dust the shelves, or sweep the floor. I don't enjoy endless, repetitive tasks. I don't know very many people who do, male or female. So no, I don't think the fifties were so great, and I bet if you ask a lot of the women who had spent the forties working as Rosie the Riveter if they enjoyed giving that up and spending their time doing grunt work at home, being good little homemakers and baby raisers, you'd probably hear a lukewarm, "I did the best I could with what I had."

I should know. I've asked. There's a reason feminism went big in the early sixties.

And I have to tell you, if that dryer doesn't get fixed soon, my "Feminine Mystique" will be a mystery to my family no longer, and I will be declaring my independence and maybe even burning my bra in the backyard. By the clothesline.

Because, seriously, this BITES!!!