more of the whole not posting thing.

I'm really to busy this week to be posting, but since I have received some requests for misadventures of the Dayton family, I will oblige.

We drove to Philadelphia. Or, if you're HB, Philadeedelphia. Kind of like Scarlett O'Hara and her Fiddle de dee, that's where we are.

To get here? Drove down I-81. That is a mistake. If you plan to drive in the SOUTHERLY direction on I-81 from the NORTHERNLY part of Pennsylvania (let's talk about spelling... how did Pennsylvania ever happen?) you should really reconsider. I will sum up the experience this way: Traffic was stopped so often and for so long, I taught my children how to do Chinese Fire Drills. And they all are in car seats. Also, Miss O drove for six miles.

Just kidding.

Or am I?

No, really, I'm kidding.

Honest.

Anyway, we have been hanging with the Well-Read Family. Everyone's in love. Miss O and the Well-Read Son are now betrothed. They were walking around Philadeedelphia holding hands and it's just wicked cute.

In other Philadeedelphia-related news, I was not surprised to learn that it costs $2 to visit Ben Franklin's grave. Also, not surprisingly WHATSOEVER, I learned that shooting in broad daylight with the aperture WIDE FREAKING OPEN is a mistake. I'm talking about shooting with a camera, too, for the record. And OF COURSE I learned this lesson after we had gotten back on the train to return to the Well-Read Household, and I saw that all of my pictures of Ben Franklin's grave were so overexposed that I could barely tell what they were. I took them to show to The Mister, because he likes Ben Franklin. Sorry.

I brought bread and pickles and jams to the Well-Reads, and for the other bloggers who came to partay on Sunday. I gave some to HER and HER and HER and HER. But? No bread for Bossy. She didn't come to the party. The Mister was disappointed I didn't get to meet Bossy.

And as disappointing as it is to be ignored by Bossy, even worse?

Please sit down. Really.

We lost Beloved Blanket. Wee Man's Beloved Belovey is gone. There is no sign of that thing. We're still in shock.

Condolences can be emailed to: thedaytontime (at) gmail (dot) com, Dear Wee Man in the subject line.

Thanks for your support.

it happened one sunday

Hotslings aren't just for infants.

In fact, HB was having a colossal temper tantrum little moment after church a week or so ago, and I put his punk ass my darling third-born son in the Hotslings while The Mister carried Sweets home.

I should have photographed that. Or caught some video. Because that kid was out of control.

It's not often that a two year old being special can be used as a marketing tool. Parishioners stared as I tossed HB up on my shoulder and slipped him down into the sling.

One kindly granny shook with fear for my life and shouted a warning, Look out for his pointy little elbows. Want me to whack him once with my cane?

Never fear, kindly granny, I replied in a most nonchalant fashion. I've got Old Bessie, my trusty Hotslings, at my side.

But it's just a piece of fabric! she shouted, unconvinced of the power of the Hotslings, What good can it possibly do for you in this moment of grave peril?!?!?!?

WHAT? I called back to her, unable to understand what she was saying over the din that was my son. What did you say?

IT'S JUST FABRIC! A PIECE OF COTTON!!! YOUR DEMISE IS IMMINENT!!!

Oh, no, Kindly Granny! The secret is in the... oh, never mind, I'm not telling you what the secret is! Then it wouldn't be secret any more.

And while we were shouting at each other, in a most neighborly way, I had arranged the padded rail comfortably behind the screaming person's knees. I pulled the sling tight, over my right shoulder, to lock that little snot my charming son in place.

He kicked and he screamed and still he could not escape the clutches of the Hotslings.

Yet still he flailed.

Still he screamed. He was dedicated.

He tried to kick me, but he couldn't.

He tried to punch me. MUAH-HAHAHAHA.... I laughed my I'm The Mama And I'm Winning Laugh.

A gaggle of kindly grannies gathered and gaped as we gregariously gabbed about my great garment. (Okay, it's not technically a garment, but I wear it so often, it might as well be one. And also? I had a great thing going with that alliteration there.)

Then we got tired of the screaming, and I walked home. The sweet, darling, light of my life had fallen asleep in the two minute walk up the street.

And that is how Hotslings saved Sunday.

on father's day

I wonder about you.

I wonder what you've been doing for the past eight years. I wonder if you were ever happy. I wonder if you'll ever be happy. I wonder how you can live with a person for so long, and then just walk away. I wonder how it's possible to (and I'll use your words here), Just not think about them, part of the them being me.

I wonder what happened to you that getting involved with another woman, an inmate especially, seemed like a good idea. I wonder why you talked about the guards who screwed the inmates in such derogatory terms, while at the same time, you were falling into that. You knew the statistics about STDs and AIDS and all of the versions of hepatitis that fester in a state prison, and you subjected my mother to the danger.

You know that I've been a parent for over six years now, and you never bothered to contact them. Which is fine with me, because really? Explaining to a child a) that there is another grandpa; and b) that he just up and moved away one day... well, it's not easy and it's not fun. Also? It doesn't make sense.

Nothing you have done has been easy. And yes, I could make a list, but what's the point? It matters, but it doesn't.

I wrote you a letter and told you that I couldn't have a relationship with you if you were going to lie to me. And I haven't heard from you since. I don't even know what it means, that you haven't tried. Are the lies better? Or is it something else?

Here's what I want you to know: I'm great. Really, I am. My husband and kids? Also wonderful. We are happy and doing fine. I forgive you for the way you treated me, my mother, and my brothers. But I don't miss you, and I don't want to talk to you.

Sincerely,
your daughter

week in review

nurse the baby...82% of the time
wear something other than pajamas...2% of the time
eat proper meals...4% of the time
have inane phone conversations...2% of the time
twittering my life away to win the Sling and Swaddle Journey...10% of the time

wait... where does sleep fit in my schedule?

oh. i see. so *that's* the problem.

**********************************************
if you people would just please follow me on Twitter, my game id is @Mom_17, maybe i could take a nap or something. i'm not winning. i want to win. and remember, if i win, i will donate all the prizes to Teen MOPS (except the camera, which i will give to mah mama).

i'm seriously considering sending bread to anyone who does a blog post about the contest and sends their readers my way. and you can ask irish gumbo or joce or manda or julia or steph or jill or the mister about how freaking yummy good the bread is. and in a few days, my friend k from down in philly, yo, will know about how freaking yummy good the bread is. because i'm bringing it. because she told me to.

see. *i* follow directions.

will you follow directions, AND ME ON TWITTER????? @Mom_17.

be there or i will lose and cry forever and blame you.

phone conversation in which i ask about raising "pets" in my yard

We are thinking about increasing the critter population in our yard. And by critters, I mean useful ones, like some hens and a little goat to mow our lawn for us. And by us, I mean The Mister.

So I called the Woman Who Has Access To Such Info.

Me: Hello, this is Pamela Dayton. I'm wondering what the ordinances are about pets in the village.

Her: Hello? Is someone there?

Me: Yes, I'm here. This is Pamela Dayton, and I'm calling to find out about what kinds of pets we can have in the village.

Her: Oh, yes. Hello. You want to know about pads in the village?

Me: No, I want to know if I can raise some hens and a pygmy goat.

Her: Do you mean, have animals?

Me: Yes. That is what I mean.

Her: Well, I think you can raise pretty much anything except goats and chickens and animals like that.

Me: That is why I am calling. I want to raise a few hens and a pet goat.

Her: Hello? Are you there?

Me: Yes, I'm here. What are the ordinances regarding pets?

Her: Well you can't raise a cow in the village.

Me: That's alright. I just want a pet goat.

Her: I'll check on the rules about chickens.

Me: We aren't going to have roosters, just a few hens. And a pet goat.

Her: Hello? Hello? You can't have roosters. It's just not allowed.

Me: I understand. I just want to know about hens and goats.

Her: I'll call you in a few days about the chickens. But I know you can't have roosters. Why would you even want to have hens?

Me: We eat a lot of eggs over here.

Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.

Me: And the goat.

Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.

Me: And also the goat.

Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.

Me: We want to get a pygmy goat, too. Will you look into that?

Her: In a few days.

Me: Chickens AND A GOAT.

Her: Okay, then, so I'll call you back about the chickens.

Me: Awesome. Have a great afternoon.

p;eople in my house are drunk. maybe. or not

i'm having a little typing problem.

the problem is that my fingein

fingers are a little tingly.

and that's okay.

also

my face itches when i have drunk too much.

which may or may not be happeing

happenine

happening rith

right now.

a friend of amanda's from college got herself knocked up.

oh yes she did.

good work, amanda's frine

friend.

my fingers are getting faster but i have to reallyreallyreally concente

concentratet

con c

concentrate.

hz.

no[

n

nop[d

nop

nope.

finally. nope.

i win?

lesson of the week: in which i lecture on blog etiquette to an absolute moron.

If you're following me on Twitter...

WHAT? You're not following me yet? Come ON people. The month is one-third over. I need your help here.

You may have seen my tweet about my Very Special Visitor, Anonymous Troll-type Person. Or Jackass. I'm just tossing that out there so you have a choice in the matter. Choose away.

My VSVATTP/J did some digging... all the way back to March of last year, long before most of you experienced the enlightenment that is the dayton time. Or whatever it is I've got going on here.

And it must be that my VSVATTP/J has not ever encountered a Mama Bloggah before, because this is his/her response to a post about the barfing flu:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "not so much with the sharing":

umm gross... y would u make a blog about this?

VSVATTP/J, there are a few things we need to discuss if you are going to be allowed to "make a comment" on the dayton time.

1. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.
2. My entire blog, contrary to what you may have read between the months of November, 2008 and April, 2009, is not all about the barfing flu.
3. The little bit you read? It's called a post. Here's a little SAT analogy for you: post is to blog as chapter is to book. Does that clear things up for you a little bit? No? As I re-read your highly intelligent commentary, it occurs to me that you may have never read a book. And that's okay. If you're two days old.
4. You make potholders. And birdhouses. One does not make a blog.
5. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.

And despite being whatever it is that my VSVATTP/J was after reading that post, he/she KEPT ON READING.

Yes, I'm scratching my head over that one, too.

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":

pooop

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":

...

This post? Was a review of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. No, I didn't get paid to do it, I just reviewed the thing because I expected it to suck, and it lived up to my expectation.

Friend? Poop only has 2 o's. And the comment with the three dots? What does that even mean?

This last comment (if you're counting, we're up to FOUR comments by my VSVATTP/J now) shows that VSVATTP/J has fallen right off the silly wagon into a vat of stupid.

The post was short, so have a quick read:

re: why?
The decision to keep Jayci Yaeger's dad in jail raised a lot of attention, and prison officials let him visit with his daughter earlier this week. It was a short visit, and Jayci passed away Friday morning, March 28th.

Join me in saying a prayer (or two) for this family, and for the myriad other families around the world who are separated from the ones they love and are suffering, because no matter what the cause of the separation and suffering, it's just plain awful.

And kids don't need to know about either one.

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "re: why?":

heyy u should send that girl some pickles and send me,anonymous some cash haha jk

My dear VSVATTP/J, you truly are a jackass. I cannot send that girl some pickles because she is dead. And they don't FedEx pickles to heaven. Also? I'm not sending pickles out any more. Please know that if you choose to return to my blog and leave comments that reveal your level of jackassery to my readers, you will be mocked. So be sure to bring your big boy pants. Or your big girl pants, if you're into that sort of thing. We embrace everyone here, except for the obviously stupid. Have a nice day.

posting about not posting

Super exciting, I know.

But the weather's been nice.

And I have been playing in the dirt.

With my boys.

And there haven't been any naps.

Except for Sweets. He's a good sleeper.

So?

I've got nothing.

Except beds and beds full of tomatoes and other things.

And a pretty yard.

The End.

a tribute to a missing woman

We here at the dayton time have been feeling a certain emptiness deep in our souls. Or soles. There's a bit of je ne sequoia or something along those lines that causes us to wander around in the dark, bumping into things and feeling sorry for our multiple broken toes.

We find ourselves questioning everything... Cereal for breakfast? Do I really want to drink coffee today? Is the sky blue? How long will the former President be in hiding?

The most important question is this:

WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS THE STEENK?

I just don't know what to tell the children when they ask Mama, where is the crazy lady with the hair who used to look in our windows and blow us kisses and wink lasciviously at Daddy?

How do you answer such a difficult question?

To ease their troubled minds, The Mister and I hosted the BRINGING STEENKY BACK dance party. I did my best to conjure up The Steenk's Infamous Dancing Face. It made my children smile through their tears.











If anyone has seen Steenky Bee, please email bringingsteenkyback@gmail.com . Hopefully we will be able to pinpoint her location and begin to stalk her accordingly. Be sure to check back here for updates.

And HB is carrying me in that last picture. I know you are wondering.

so i went to a conference this weekend

I spent Friday night and Saturday at the Women of Faith conference in Rochester, NY, and you would know that if you follow me on Twitter so I win this contest I'm in right now to have the most followers on Twitter hint hint. Yes. Click the link, and follow me and mah babeh on the twitters. I will send you pickles if that's what it takes.

I don't usually talk about my beliefs as they pertain to God and God-ish sorts of things. I'm not the evangelist sort of Christian who talks about it much, or beats people about head, neck, chest and knees with a Bible. I have never felt comfortable being around people who like to talk to the random person in the grocery store parking lot about Jesus. Not that there's anything wrong with that... it's just not me. I prefer to live my life according to my beliefs, and to talk about it when the subject arises.

That said, if you ever want to question me about what or why? You should. Really. Here or in an email. Because I wear my big girl pants every day, and I am okay talking about them.

So I went to this conference, where the theme was A Grand New Day. There was talk about things that haven't gone well, loss, grieving, addiction... it was a real upper there for a while. But then a woman got up on the stage and spoke about how the Bible is full of stories about people who just didn't have their shit together. Or their stuff. They also didn't have their stuff together, or their acts together... I'm a classy dame, I tell you.

And the moral of her stories was this: God is knows we are not perfect, and He loves us just the same. There is nothing we can do to cause Him to love us more, just as there is nothing we can do to cause Him to love us any less.

I have heard this said before, but for some reason, it sounded different this weekend.

When I got home, I told The Mister I got two things from the conference:

1. I should find my birth mother.
2. I should write a book.

And yes, I know what the book is going to be about.

And no, I have no idea how to write a book.

But I am going to research both. I'll keep you posted.

emailing it in friday: dear jenny

dear jenny,

i apologize in advance for the lack of capital letters. my left shift key doesn't work and i'm too uncoordinated to use the right one.

four short people is a lot of short people. not too many, just a lot. and did kindergarten morph yours into materialistic little so-and-so's? because my daughter? materialistic. and also a little so-and-so. meh.

i took my team to the tattoo parlor last week when i got my nose pierced. elliott was in the sling when the nice lady crammed a cork up my nose and poked a sharp stick through it. oddly enough, it didn't really hurt, it just smarted and made my eyes water. in that moment, i was even more astounded by the supersensitive body parts people get pierced than i usually am.

but the weirdest thing of all was the excessive amount of taxidermied animals lining the ceiling. it was like somebody sat at the off ramp of noah's ark and picked off every other animal. there was one of everything. well, not an elephant. okay, maybe not one of *everything* but there were a ton of critters there. alright, not a *ton* either, but you get my point i'm sure. the kids liked the sample tattoos on the walls. wee man said, mama, why does that mermaid lady have stars instead of nipples? are they tattoos?

yep. something like that.

and in my defense, i had taken them to the zoo for the entire day before i took them to the tattoo parlor, and the trip to the tattoo parlor was much shorter than the visit to the zoo. so i'm really not a terrible mom, just one with questionable motivation some days.

let me know how you are. hopefully my shift key will be fixed soon so i can send you a proper email.

xo

pd

why i'm going to the pediatrician's office in my pajamas

first, i would like to address the not-actually-helpful hints some of you cough*churchpunkmom*cough tossed my way about Using The Right Pinky Shift Key.   which is what i used to type the whole Using The Right Pinky Shift Key both times i just typed it.  it's just awkward, alright?  about as awkward as actually typing awkward was each of the three times i typed it, and it just keeps getting awkwarder.  even more awkwarder than the word awkwarder.

moving on to my second item, why i'm going to the pediatrician's office...

because elliott has this raspy little voice when he cries that sounds just awful.  and also? the boogers.  the boogers have been visiting his nasal area for more than 10 days, and they are thick and yellowish-greenish, kind of like what a mountain dew milk shake might look like if anyone was ever gross enough to make and consume such a thing.  the thought of a mountain dew milkshake is actually more grosser than the boogers right now, as the boogers and i have a special bond.  and that bond is called THEY ALSO ARE ON MY CLOTHING.  

item the third... in my pajamas.

i wore a skirt yesterday because my bashed-to-hell knee couldn't handle wearing pants.  and walking around with no pants is not super conducive to chasing a certain 2.5 year-old boy down the street, and also wearing no pants is considered, well, an invitation to, ummm, well, if you need me to tell you, maybe i shouldn't explain it to you.

side note: why is it that any word ending in IN i add an extra G at the end? probably because i'm not from the south?

anyway.  jeans hurt my knee.  and maybe you're right, maybe i'm being a big baby, but my knee freaking hurts and it is unpleasant.  also i cannot kneel down on the ground to retrieve items that have been thrown in my general direction because it hurts and also my knee doesn't bend that much.  and no, i'm still not going to post a picture.

so, yes, it's way late in the afternoon as i type this, and i'm still in my comfy pink pajama pants and The Mister's nasty old supersoftie black T-shirt with paint (dry) all over it.  i was cleaning today, and making peanut butter, and carrying people back to time out, and holding my little Raspy-utan because he just wants to be held and can you blame him?  and i've been trying to do a good job twittering today, because, hello! i want to win the Hotslings/Miracle Blanket game. and i had to wash diapers today, and also i had to take down the play tent in the living room because certain short boys who can walk were being ridiculous and i'm mean, so when i went to toss the pieces and parts of the play tent in the pack and play, because i'm, you know, busy, and that was a good place to stick it, i found a nasty, wet, poop-filled elliott diaper, sitting there, in its cover, creating a stink.  eeeeeeewwwwwwwww.  i feel confident that i was not the person who put the diaper there, on the baby's comfycozy sheepskin (i just typed sheepsking) to rot, because i am quite fond of this new invention they have for wet cloth diapers and it is called a WETBAG.  and the idea behind the glorious invention called the wetbag is that you put the used diapers in it.  you know, SO THEY CAN GET WASHED WITH THE REST OF THE NASTY DIAPERS.  

also? i forgot to eat lunch. thank the good Lord that wee man and i made the single most amazing cake i have ever eaten in my life.  because cake, and cake alone have been sustaining me today.  also coffee.  and skittles.  don't ask.

oh... and all of you who commented that you were laughing at the story of me falling on my head and breaking myself? you're great.  i like comments, and i love to make you laugh.  seriously.  there wasn't an ounce of snark or sass in that statement.  

now please excuse me while i go eat more cake.

i only get hurt on tuesdays

today started out pretty normally.

but before i get into it, i apologize for the completely inappropriate lack of capital letters and punctuation other than periods.  the left shift key on my keyboard isn't working and i don't know how to use the one on the right.  so there.

the baby slept well, hb slept well, wee man and miss o slept well, the mister slept well.  i slept on the edge of the bed, carefully poised to neither fall off the bed into the co-sleeper nor roll to my right on to hb.  who has claimed my bed for his own.  meh.

miss o got on the bus, no muss, no fuss.

i got a little work done, and even showered.  because my scalp had this itch thing going on and it was fifteen kinds of wrong and nasty.  possibly sixteen kinds, but i was so grossed out i stopped counting.  or ninety kinds.  so. ick.

we went to the playground, i had some adult conversation... no, not adult-themed conversation, just a conversation with another adult.  wee man can do the monkey bars pretty much by himself.  and hb can jump off things onto my head.  it's awesome.  and elliott... well, he can sleep in the hotslings like a champion.

we went to the grocery store and i bought reese's pb cups and skittles in the bulk bags.  for myself.  the children are under the impression that i am going to share but that belief just adds them to the growing numbers of misguided youth in america.

we stopped to see the mister at work.  that was nice.  he told me i was the hot wife.  i was having good hair today.  because i washed it.  that always helps.  and also it was about 80 percent humidity, so my hair was about 80 percent curly.  yes, the correlation is that spot on.

we got home.  whilst i took elliott in the house, i heard the garbage truck.  a certain person cough-mister-dayton-cough did not pull the waste management container out to the street.  of course, i'm just calling it a waste management container because it manages our waste, not because it's necessarily the company who fetches our waste. cough-yes-it-cough-is-cough. i ran up the stairs in the house to fetch the stinky bag of overnight pee slings, ran down the stairs and out the front door.  i ran down the sidewalk.

except i didn't run down the sidewalk.

my left ankle bitch-slapped me by rolling in a certain direction that is unnatural, and i flew, headfirst, down the sidewalk.  oh yes, yes i did.

and the garbage man saw me.

and so did the two guys putting siding on our neighbor's house.

and so did my kids.

it was awesome except for the part where, you know, i couldn't stand up, and my head was resting on a bag full of stinky vile diapers, and the only pair of jeans that really fits me had a two holes in the knee and were covered in blood, and also the huge gross open wounds on my right knee.

go ahead and thank me for not posting a picture.  because those suckers are oozing the yuck.

i'm walking around a little because i don't know how to sit down, and also i'm in this twittering contest and i'm in the lead right now with the number of followers and i think that's cool and the mac laptop in our possession is crap and i can't tweet from the sofa.  

what... you didn't know i was in a twitter contest sponsored by hotslings and miracle blanket... well hop your little self on to twitter and sign in or sign up and follow me, i'm @Mom_17 .

i like winning things.  and there's good things to win in this game.  so go follow me, please, pretty please.

also i'm walking around because i told a friend i'd make a bunch of bread for her this week and i don't know how to back out of things.  also i can't really back out of the bread making because it was half made when my ankle hated on me.

it feels like it's on fire right now. 

at least i'll be cozy warm in bed tonight.

certain tragedy often causes us to fight.

In light of the tragic murder of Dr. Tiller in Kansas, I am re-posting just read the whole thing, from October, 2008.  This post provoked interesting comments the first time around, also quite a lot of email (some pleasant, some not actually pleasant).  Be advised that I will delete nasty troll-ish comments faster than you can flip me off.

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

Abortion.

Are you making the cringe face now? Because truth be told? I am. The word itself makes me terribly uncomfortable. The procedure? I can't even think about what that is like. Mostly because I don't know. And also, because I don't want to know.

This isn't the post where I defend abortion. I will not defend abortion. This? This is the post where I say abortion isn't the problem.

Abortion is one symptom of a culture that has ceased to care. A culture so self-centered and wanting and lacking in kindness that people are without hope. And without support. And without a soft place to fall.

Think I've missed the mark? Look around. Bigger, better, more, more, moremoremoremoremore. 90-hour work weeks, unbelieveable amounts of debt both personal and national, predatory advertising geared toward children. People do not have the time to rest. There is no time! Not enough! Not a minute for real, tangible relationships, just a quick comment here, an IM there, txtmsgs. It's a race. A race for everything.

A race where the winner drops dead of exhaustion and the losers walk away alone, and with nothing.

This is the society in which we live. A society that makes it too easy to drop off the radar. A society that can't seem to find the answers to the problems that appear when person after person becomes lost and alone.

It's sad.

Abortion makes me sad. The procedure itself breaks my heart. I was born a just after Roe v. Wade made abortion a right. I was born to a 16 year old child whose only contact with the birth father was at the time of conception. That's a lot to think about, no? If there was anyone in the mid-to-late 1970's who was a 'good candidate' to have an abortion, it was my birth mother. Lucky for me, it seems she chose to hide her pregnancy instead of ending it.

Overturning Roe v. Wade will not make abortion to go away. It will make a bad situation worse. It will alienate, stigmatize, and cause suffering of the worst kind: Suffering alone and in silence.

Abortion is one end result of a flawed system.

• Sex education. Teaching children ALL the ways not to get pregnant. Let's be real: aside from the power-motivated sex crime, people really like having sex, and they are going to have sex. This includes children. Providing contraceptives will not cause children who aren't having sex to have sex. It will protect the ones that are.
• The media should chill the hell out with all the sex they are selling to children. It's enough, already. And parents?
• Parents need to get a grip. What are your children watching on television? What sort of trashy dolls are your daughters playing with? What sort of conversation goes on inside your home? Be the parent. Not the friend. People don't have babies to increase their social circle. They get hobbies and join clubs. You aren't going to be more credible in your child's eyes if you try to be a pal. You are going to be credible by being a hard-ass with open and loving arms. It will suck for a while, but you'll survive.
• Organizations who are opposed to abortion should put their fingers away, roll up their sleeves, and get to work supporting pregnant women. All pregnant women. There is so much intimidation and condemnation from the Right-To-Life crowd, but there's not much said about the Right-to-Lifers trying to change anything but legislation.

And the people who intimidate and condemn in the name of Jesus? Grieve me to the core of my being. Because the Jesus I know and serve was not about that. The Jesus I know hung out with the people who were pointed at. He spent time with the people who were alone and needy. He loved. He cared.

Those WWJD bracelets/bumper stickers/random paraphernalia have infiltrated our society, yet the asking of the question, "What WOULD Jesus Do?" doesn't seem to happen often enough to make me believe that asking the question is the point. I don't know exactly what Jesus would do, except maybe cry for all the broken people living in our world. But I do know this:

In His last moments, as he hung on the cross dying, the criminal hanging next to Him realized Jesus was God, and asked to be forgiven for the things he had done wrong in his life. He was forgiven. And, if you believe what the scripture has to say, he was welcomed into Heaven. There was no finger pointing, no inquisition, no judgement. Despite all he had done, he was loved.

There is a serious lack of love going on in this nation. There are too many people looking to advance agendas, and there is too little consideration for others. Maybe, just maybe, if we put our fingers away, and got down to the business of protecting and educating and setting people up for success and learning how to care about each other, our nation would be as great as we know it can be.