I know that the title of this post is oxymoronic - with the emphasis on "moronic" - but why does it have to be this way?

All your answers are flooding my Mac'Brain through it's wireless network. I know, it's the nature of the beast.

I'm too young to have seen Mr. Smith Goes to Washington when it was first released, but I can tell you that NOTHING in life is new! Cicero talked about it in ancient Rome, and The American Tea Party Movement talks about it today.

Before you judge me as some fringe political supporter, and disable my connection to your Mac or PC Brain by hitting that little 'x' in the corner, re-read the title of this post. I am referring to anything that is specifically 'Political'.

Unfortunately, the "Dictionary" link on my desktop (I have a paper version of the Dictionary on my bookshelf, but why get up and walk over there when I have it 'at my fingertips'?) lists five definitions of the word 'political', four of which support my sarcasm.

Is there anyone in existence anywhere in the United States of America that is truly Political: (adjective) of or relating to the government or the public affairs of a country?

Anybody?!

My kids (and yours) would love to have a viable country to inherit in about 10 years, so we don't have much time.

Being the project oriented person that I am, I was walking past my television this morning, and tut tutting at the accumulation of dust on the screen which sported finger painted pictures courtesy of my two sons. A great sigh of frustration and discontent involuntarily escaped me as I wearily went to get a dust rag and tackle the latest dusting project. Then it hit me. I was looking at this all wrong.

I actually love the dust in my house now. I welcome it!  The wonderful accumulation of dust reminds me of all the fun and exciting adventures and games I have enjoyed with my boys, the wonderful nights snuggled to my husband watching a movie, the invigorating runs I have taken with my dogs and the many orders I have fulfilled for my MommyLoves customers - all of which I have chosen to do rather than dusting my house.

I will smile the next time I see the intricate finger paintings on the T.V. screen,  and relive the good times between dustings. I wonder what other amazing adventures await between now and then?

What have you chosen to do rather than dust?

I am sick to my stomach.

'Outraged' does not even begin to describe my anger.

I have a 10 year old son.  Big, beautiful brown eyes, and a dimple when he smiles, which is often.

I have a 10 year old niece.  Freckles, fiery and all girl...who also plays a mean soccer game.

Two stories in the news made me do a double intake of breath when I heard and read them.

When Jerry Sandusky was seen in 2002 violating a 10 year old boy in the coaches' locker room at Penn State, no one called the police.

Called the police????

Maybe its the 'mom' in me, but I'd like to think that if I walked in on that, I would have gone 'Mama Bear' on the supposed adult, and made him go limp in more ways than one! 

An article by Bill Phillips explains the possible reason the assistant coach, who actually witnessed the violation of the 10 year old boy, chose (on the advice of his father) to report the incident to Joe Paterno only, and not the police, was because psychologically,

“Men are still socialized to not show vulnerability, so it’s easy for others to make us feel like we’re being too emotional, that we’re big babies.”

Men still know right from wrong.  A man having sex with a boy is a scene very few people would find 'normal', so I wonder how long it took the memory of that 10 year old boy's face to cause that assistant coach to start suffering from ulcers.

~~~~~~~

I then read another article about a 10 year old girl giving birth to a baby boy in Mexico.  The girl was only 31 weeks along when she gave birth, so the baby stayed in the hospital, while the girl was released to go home.  She visits the hospital daily to breastfeed.

Breastfeed?  A 10 year old is breastfeeding a baby?

Here again, my small, naive mind cannot conjure such an image.  The article went on to say that,

"The Puebla state Attorney General's Office is now investigating whether the girl could have been raped and who the father is..."

Could have been raped?

Since the article also points out that the minimum 'age of consent' is 12 (which also sickens me), is there any other option besides rape?   

I will not accept an excuse like, "she looked much older than she was", because once she opened her mouth to speak, SHE WAS 10!

Seeing a parent discipline a child in the grocery store using corporal punishment is one thing.  Seeing an adult sexually violating a child, or the obvious result of such an act is quite another.

Why are there still adults allowing the abuse of our most precious gifts ~ our children?

As Edmund Burke once said: “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”

Why is anyone upset that Joe Paterno was fired?

Why?

This is the first in a series of posts for every mom.  She is in all of us as we share our heart at our core, and can all relate.  This is just the beginning.

It was nothing like I expected.  For one thing, it was a lot messier, and I can't believe I had to actually deliver the placenta just like I delivered the baby.  Okay, it didn't hurt like labor, but I still had to push again, dammit.

The most unexpected part was when the amazing little squirmer was put on my rapidly deflating bump.  That feeling!  That feeling was totally different than I expected.  No one could have explained it fully to me.  Women don't talk about that feeling as much as they talk about the process, and the pain - of course the pain is always discussed.  The length and severity of labor is worn like a badge by moms just like trucks are worn by dads.

That feeling was totally overwhelming.  It pushed aside all else - all my fears.  My fear of becoming my mother, my fear that I married my father.  It all went away.

The climax of this exhausting act, the birth of my child, gave me that same soul consuming feeling as the climax of the act that created her.  Knowing that feeling is shared by generations and generations of moms gives me peace.  I know I will make mistakes, and I also know I will do everything I can to help my daughter grow to a loving, nurturing, strong woman who will someday experience that feeling if she so chooses.

Any journey that starts like that is bound to be incredible, because it is fueled by love.  Real love that is willing to sacrafice for the good of the other.  And, it starts with sacrificing sleep.  I can't wait to get out of this hospital!

I can't believe I am a mom!