Having 19 Kids would be Awesome! If...

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar have 19 biological children.

How in the crap does she do that??? Oh, and she homeschools. OH, and the family, um kids and parents, built their 7,000 square foot home. What the crap?

I did some digging around on these Duggars. No, I didn't just watch one episode of their TLC show 19 Kids and Counting. I've seen about 15 episodes and read their book. Here's what idiots who like to spew without facts say about them and how I'd respond based on my (voyeuristic) observations:

1. Don't they know about birth control?

Yes, they do. Michelle took birth control early in their marriage when they thought they'd have 2 or 3 kids. But she miscarried after having her first son and realized the birth control she was taking contributed to that. That would be enough for me to change my mind. Birth control is a booger! Ladies, you know how annoying it is to remember to take the pill. Plus those nasty brown spots on your skin pop up. And dishing out $40 a month for that trash? I'd rather make babies too. In fact, I am!

2. They need to stop contributing to overpopulation.

I taught public school. Anyone who's been to a mall in the last month would agree that a little abstinence from people who don't love their Creator wouldn't hurt. An overpopulation of greedy, self-centered brats does nothing to honor God. I'd prefer folks who collect babies like Webkinz, whether they make 2 or 19, to please stop. But watch a Duggar episode and you'll see these kids are respectful, put others before themselves, and put God before it all. Mom isn't yelling at her children, Dad kisses her when he comes home, and they have devotionals every night. Oh the scandal! Mamma Duggar, please have 10 more!

3. It's not fair that the older kids have to take care of the younger ones.

I don't think it's fair you let your kid get addicted to video games. Or be a family moocher. Or graduate with nothing more than useless, forgotten book facts. 51% of high school seniors flunked a basic personal finance exam. The average college graduate is a complete idiot with zero real experience. The Duggars learn about construction (they built their paid-for "mansion" together over 3 years), child care, education, nursing, restaurant management, budgeting, and most importantly the Word of God. Way to go for encouraging your kids to contribute more than disobedient back-talk to the family!

4. They are a burden on society.

While everyone else stupidly "bought" a sick amount of house with no money and then cursed the bank when THEY couldn't make their increased ARM, the Duggars pay cash for everything. Cars, businesses, land, and HOUSES. And no, their parents aren't wealthy. They made huge sacrifices early on to accept having children without knowing if they would have enough space or money to take care of them. They lived in a 2-bedroom house with six children. Then, when they had enough cash saved they bought (outright!) their second and third (the pre-fab mansion) houses. On one income! Michelle homeschools her children and doesn't take advantage of the public school system they generously fund with property taxes. Their children will, in turn, become responsible people who encourage others to do the same.

Kids are NOT burdens! Our culture treats them like collectibles or expendables, but Psalm 127:3 says Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.

5. Girls wear long skirts and have weird long hair.

And your kids wear black and get piercings. Modest skirts! Shirts that don't show 2 inches of boob! Call the authorities!!! I think this is an individual family decision. While I don't look like they do, if they're convicted to dress the way they do and it honors God, awesome!

6. Those people need to stop breeding like rabbits.

You need to carefully look at each of those children before you compare them to rabbits. They are children of a God who knew them by name and tell you how many hairs are on each of their heads, way more valuable than animals. According to the Duggars, they didn't start their married life intending to populate a school room. It was a decision they made to take how ever many children God brought to them...by enjoying the heck out of each other physically! How is your bedroom life? And the phrase "in God's time" when it refers to babies is ridiculous when birth control is involved. If you're convinced that it's truly "in God's time" doesn't birth control completely negate that? I'm not commanding you to go commando, but at least admit that you're taking matters into your own hands.

7. They had to do a reality show just to pay for the kids.

This is just ill-informed drivel. The only contributions TLC made to the house was hiring a designer to pick colors for their house and helping out with landscaping. Everything else was paid by them.

8. With 19 kids, how would you ever get to know them.

Since Michelle homeschools, she's with her children most of every day. Consider that your children go to a randomly chosen school, sit in rooms with 30 random kids, and get taught by a stranger who may or may not like his job and subject. Then your kids do hours of homework before falling into bed. You get the worst piece of your children while complete strangers teach them things you may not agree in a room full of THIRTY influential (for the best or worst) other peers.

My hope is that this family would challenge us to really think about our notion that 2.5 children is more than enough. That if God truly blesses people with children, then our conception of what children actually "need" is far off the mark than what they really deserve. Please pray about this. I know I am.

New Beginnings

If I'm in a room of kids and adults, I'll always end up with the kids. The reason being: kids are accepting, quick to forgive, and quick to love. They don't judge my shirt stains or whisper that I've put on a few pounds.

This is why when we bear children, there's this exciting part of us that feels we have a second chance. These new beings know absolutely nothing about us. They don't know the stupid stuff we did in college or that we cussed out our parents. We take great pains to create a new version of ourselves for them. Mom knows how we gossiped with the best of them in junior high, but these tiny folks don't.

Don't believe me? People who guzzle gallons of Coke insist their Precious only have water or milk. Great, sailor-worthy swearers take a bar of Dial to their mouths around Junior. Having kids is the only time we truly get a clean slate. A potential do-over to avoid screwing them up like our parents did to us.

Aside from knowing Christ.

It's beyond difficult to understand that God sees his son when he looks at me. He knows I seek comfort in food, worry about stuff that doesn't matter, and waste time he's given to me--but accepts me because I ask him to be my friend. He knows all the ugly stuff, that nobody else could imagine about me, and still pursues my heart. A twisted part of me wants my kids to love me like that without knowing my past, but with half a brain they'll see through the facade after a few short years. They accept me in a passionate, I-don't-give-a-rip-what-others-think-of-me way.

I'm learning from the way they adore me to love God.

I do get a new beginning, but I can't look to my kids for that. Only God issues do-overs.

Attack of the Drone

If you've ever been a teacher or parent (or a dude in front of a football game) you have surrendered to the dreaded automaton voice aka Drone Speech.

I've noticed it creeping up the last two weeks since the Hot Tamale is really pushing the behavior envelope. When I used to work in prison, er public school, ten seconds into Drone Speech would completely unravel classroom discipline. In the family arena, the voice materializes around 4:30 when tempers, dinner, and thinning patience converge. Drone speech invades everyone at one point or another, sometimes in the form of nagging, but not all nagging is automated. I nag vigorously with flare most of the time.

Some people don't even know they have this capability for Drone Speech! Others use it EXCLUSIVELY!!! (And annoy the watchuzis out of the rest of us!!)

How do you know when you're infected with it??

1. Your voice sounds about a half octave higher.

2. You use the words "ok" and "ready" way too much.

3. The children or folks being addressed are completely oblivious to the words coming out of your mouth.

4. You move very quickly and find it hard to focus your eyes.

5. M-o-n-o-t-o-n-e.

We're (God and I) working on identifying when I start to talk like one of those pull-string toys and zipping it shut before it annoys people, namely Hubs and the HT. SkippyDon would heart me even if talked through a creepy voice modulator--he's no yardstick for my parenting success.

Maybe it's as close to an out-of-body experience as we can get, this Drone Speech, because when it turns on I feel about a second behind the present. Deliberate, intentionally chosen, seasoned speech is 80% of discipline. Shoot, it's 80% of relationships! I must slow down, stop to think, and forget pushing my agenda when the Hot Tamale starts to freak out or it gets as nasty as day-old fries.

SLOW DOWN. Breathe. Pray. And focus. The other stuff can wait.

FREEEEEEEEDOM!!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, service men for making it possible for us!

We take it for granted every day.

Happy 4th everybody!

My Apologies to the Elderly

Wheelchair users, blue hair lovers, and nursing home gangs beware! The Hot Tamale WILL freak out fifty yards away from you!

Naughty Grandma is doing a bang up job when she watches the kiddies every Wednesday and Thursday morning. She straps them in a stroller and wheels them a couple blocks down to a retirement community to expand their horizons. Visions of sweet little ones crafting God's Eyes and lovingly gifting them to the infirm and lonely brings a lump of choked-up-ness to my throat.

Hooray for soul beauty!

Our spicy munchkin has other plans for these hearing impaired folks. Mom pushes them up to a man who's fishing in the community catch-and-release. "Say hi, sweetie." Terror! Sheer horror! Gnashing, clawing, get-me-outta-here-or-he'll-kill-me-with-his-freeze-ray looks (or so the Naughty Gma says).

The Fish Man makes it worse, poor thing. "Well hi there little fella!" (Talking to her but clearly not noticing the long hair and pink shirt.) Claps three times right in her face. Oh no. Not good. More terror-filled agony. So the elderly gentleman leans closer in. "Whatsa matter?" Even more yelling! "Can I showya howda fish?" By this time any aquatic dweller within five miles has found a hiding spot well beyond diving range.

This charade continues on for a few minutes until the Naughty gives some lame excuse about lunch.

Fast forward to this weekend--our visit with the Great Grandfolks. My Hot Tamale did her best to make her Great Grandfather feel like a two-headed, tarred and feathered leper. At least he didn't realize it was him she was fearing. She sprinted away from him at every sighting shouting, "No? no? no?!?" By the end of two days she barely mustered a bye-bye wave.

What is it with kids and older people? Why do they freak out?!? Maybe it's the way they tend to invade space, or their smell, or the slow way they talk. Maybe kids act the way some of us feel when WE visit with the elderly. My dear HT, we both need some work here. We'll get comfortable around older folks, I promise! After all, we'll be walking in their shoes before we know it!

Unca Monkey

My sweet, sweet pea! My dancing queen! Sunup to sundown you thrill me with new words, new looks, and new naughties!

Match the Hot Tamalified word to their less creative meanings:

A. Paco 1. downstairs

B. Unca Monkey 2. spoon

C. Chuch 3. Church

D. Ah wub vew 4. Red Mango

E. dow tairs 5. I love you.

F. poons 6. Uncle Marty

G. Gang goo 7. Thank you

That LOOK on your face! You have a deliciously devilish ME look. Congrats--the teacher stare is genetic, like webbed fingers or long noses. Just know that I will always have had more practice making it and will win EVERY time in our little showdowns.

Dunking in the pool--listen to me! On THREE your hold your mouth closed because we're going under, got it?? Not four, not seven, not twenty-two, THREE. When we go tomorrow we'll practice more. You're very close to getting it.

Favorite song: Chug-a-lug by Roger Miller

You dance like the roof is coming down! Tippy toes, spins, crazy head movements, all very Cunningham-ish, which is, well, not the Latin side of you I'm afraid. The best part is the beginning when they yell "Whoop whoop whoop whoop".

Hot Tamale, you know EXACTLY where Red Mango is and start having a fit a block out. Dad's Toxic Skittle doesn't hold a candle to my Key Lime Delight.

SkippyDon and you have a good thing going. You are so patient with him on too-long car rides when he loses it. You pat his arm and say "goo goo ga ga" and then both of you laugh. It makes me want to pull over and video tape it, but we both know you won't do it for the camera.

We are entering a new phase in our lives, honey bun. The reign of SELF! You will soon see that the world doesn't spin on your pinky, that other people not only have needs, but that you need to put them before your own, and that no means no. This will be very painful and involve a good number of tears, but just know that God will pull you out of that pit if you ask him to. You'll even enjoy it more that looking out for number 1! Even though I will mess up many, many times, I have your soul in mind, which is way bigger than soda pop-flavored jelly beans.

I think my next note to you will document these times of "sharpening" or "growing". It should be good.

Love you, love you, love you! Get some sleep.

Barista Blessing

I earned a nice, steamy lump of coal on my head yesterday.

[Since stupid Starbucks doesn't offer free wifi (not yet, but word has it they're caving--ha HA!) I headed to Hastings, a really cool college town video/book/music megastore. Needless to say, it's not Starbucks quality. I knew my 16 oz. decaf soy no foam latte would be substandard, but still. Anything over $3 that doesn't have adult-only juice better be at least decent.]

I stare at the menu board (fully knowing my order but unable to prevent the obligatory gawking) then ask if they have soy. The Barista or Coffee Creator or whatever burns through my face with Queen Victoria's best and smirks. "No."

So what that soy is clearly listed as an option? This chick stole my stare! That's my look!

I reluctantly impart the espresso orders, adding a few extra adjectives for good measure, and then...that look...again! Sheesh. This is the worst customer service ever. Starbucks baristas give footrubs with one hand and delight you with quips about the cooling rate of milk while they whip up a beverage. What got into her? Exchange change without a single word and slink to a booth, avoiding all eye contact. I wouldn't put it past her to spit in my drink. Better keep an eye on her.

So I pick up said beverage and, no surprise, it's terrible. At least I'll get some internet for my $4.25 cup 'o bitter.

As soon as I sit back down another customer approaches the counter. He has a limp and a speech impediment. His speech is slow. And it's clear that this isn't the first time he's been here. Oh great. This chick's gonna rip a whole in him.

But as I spy on their conversation, this hardened, lousy latte maker transforms. She asks him how his day is going and knows him by name. They chat about her upcoming wedding, his favorite movie, and the ridiculous heat. And just at the point that gets uncomfortable for most people, she parks it on a stool outside the counter and lets the barrage of questions continue. She talks to him in a respectful, yet simple manner so he understands. She beautifully preserves his dignity. This continues for 40 minutes. He follows her as she wipes the tables and restocks drip coffee, all without a hint of unease. He leaves reassuring her that he'll be back tomorrow.

Should any of my children enter the world a bit slower, a bit more talkative, a bit socially unaware, I pray that they meet this wonderful woman who makes dreadful non-soy lattes. I pray that people like me (who forget that baristas have souls and exist for purposes greater than making my hot beverage) would not judge, as I did in such an ugly and superficial way.

God bless you, barista babe.