100 Reasons Why

When you first fall in love, it seems so easy to list the reasons why. It took me maybe a half hour to come up with a hundred of them, printed out on textured grey paper, rolled into a scroll, tied off with red ribbon.

A decade, four kids, and many trials later, it gets a little tougher.

Oh, I know I love him... I just can’t always remember why as I move through this endless pile of laundry and glance at that sink full of dishes. And I am vaguely distracted by a distant memory of life before him, when freedom meant being able to wake up a world away with no return ticket.

So I sat there staring at a blank screen wondering if it was at all possible to conjure up a new list without peeking at the old list.

I love you because...
Panic sets in. Do I even really love you still?

My fingers type... 1. Those beautiful blue eyes. 2. You never complain. 3. You root for my Giants. ♥

Before I know it, I am on number 15. You can find anything I lost. Then zing... 23. You let me sleep late... often. 39. You make a lot of sacrifices to get things for me. And 48. Any roller coaster, anywhere.

63. You’ll eat almost anything.
64. You take the dirty jobs.
66. “Honey can you get me a...” Always a yes.
67. That little dance you do.
70. You are kind to living things.

Oh, I am on a roll now. Elizabeth Barrett Browning ain’t got nothing on me.

74. You are generous.
75. You drove through the heart of Chicago during rush hour without getting us killed.
79. You like to make up and don’t stay mad for long.
88. You always remember my birthday and our anniversaries and every other special day. ♥

Huh, this isn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be. Did I really think I hated you just yesterday?

93. You agreed to more children.
95. You let me warm up my cold parts on you.
96. You forgive my imperfections.

And finally, 100. For thirteen years you have loved me completely and unconditionally and I hope you will continue to do so forever more. ♥

Done. Another list tied with another red ribbon. Happy Valentine’s Day love.


(Oh, my dear blog reader, you want the unabridged version? Look me up on EBay... I’ll sell you a copy, cheap ;-)

STFU Sarah

I’ve been a little too busy for the past couple of years to form a solid opinion of Sarah Palin. My mom loves her, my auntie despises her... It really has a way of ruining an afternoon tea at my house.

She just hadn’t ever done anything right enough or wrong enough to sway me either way. But that has all changed now.

You see when some apathetic big shot throws around the big R insult, Sarah’s opinion on it gets heard. Me, I write my heart out, leaving my blood and guts on the page and maybe a couple hundred or so people see it... a good 90% of whom are in the choir I am preaching to. But what Sarah writes on her FB account gets national coverage.

This woman is in a position to change things. She is in a position to stand up for Trig and for Kimani, and for all the intellectually disabled. Wow, what I wouldn’t give to be in control of her Twitter account for five minutes.

And so what does she do? She kisses Rush Limbaugh’s buttocks at the expense of her own child’s dignity. “Oh what Rush said? That was just satire, ha ha, and when you reference my retarded child using satire, well that’s ok.”

Here’s some real satire for you Sarah. Hope it breaks your heart like it did mine.

It Wasn’t Meant That Way

(If you landed here after an image search, this post is better for you.)

It's time for a little etymology lesson. There seems to be great confusion about the proper usage of the word retard.

Even Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel is a bit discombobulated. After all, he was only trying to vent his anger and frustration at an idea presented by a group of liberal Democrats at a weekly strategy session last August, when you know, it just popped out, “Fucking retarded.”

Once his slur came to light and was publicized as a big faux-pas, Emanuel apologized. He meant no harm to the mentally disabled. He wasn’t referring to them. He meant “retarded” in a different context... And guess what? Many bloggers are defending his use of the insult.

They say... What is with all this politically correct stuff anyway? Why are you so sensitive? Nobody calls mentally retarded people retarded... It just doesn’t mean that anymore. Everybody knows that the modern definition of it is: stupid, nonsensical, ineffective, useless, uncooperative. Golly, its the perfect catch-all for most anything that is annoying.

The word has Latin roots and by the 1400s it meant, “to make slower in movement or time,” and forms of the word came to mean to make something or someone late... think “tardy” or the French, “Je suis en retard” which translates into “I am late” (as in for a very important date.) The English version of the word is still used in this innocuous form today... a fire retardant mattress, a chemical that retards weed growth.

So how did the word travel from fire retardant pajamas to a playground insult? What is the bridge between “late or hindered” and “stupid or aggravating”?

Hmm, let me think, let me think... what is the reference of our shared understanding of the slur?

Is it...


No, no, that's not it.

Is it...


No, though that may be our shared reference for “ewww”.

Is it...


Nope, wrong again.

How about...


Ah, yes there it is. A mentally retarded person. A person who is mentally late, mentally hindered. She, and all those like her, are the reference we share in order to comprehend the meaning of Emanuel's insult, “Fucking retarded.”

There is no “other context” for the put-down. Whenever you say “that’s retarded” or “Stop being retarded” you are referencing my youngest child. You are saying that something is stupid, like my daughter. That it is useless, like my daughter, worthless like my daughter.

The medical community (uh, unlike general society) has figured out the connection between the insult and the basis for our understanding of the insult, and they have moved to change the terminology used to describe people like my child. She is now intellectually disabled.

Do you know why they changed the terminology? Because mentally retarded people are not a synonym for stupid, or ineffective, or useless, or uncooperative, or worthless. So do them a favor and delete the slur “retard” from your vocabulary.

If you are not willing to do that, then maybe it is time to admit that something in your upbringing has retarded your sense of decency.

My Three Little Words

Back in my Triassic period, one of the fastest ways to get a pink slip from me was to pop out with three little words... “I love you.” Yup, premature enunciations of love would get a guy’s boyfriend status revoked. I had two golden rules... don’t tell me you love me and don’t ask me to marry you.

I love you, I love you, I love you... I’d heard it uttered in the dark by a frightened mother. I’d read it in ink-stained poetry. I’d heard those words professed by lovers, drunken men, and snakes... at times, all one and the same. I'd heard it threatened through clenched teeth and seen it hanging from a noose. I’d heard it in English, French, Italian, and even Albanian.

I’d heard it enough to know that it did not mean what it was supposed to mean. And therefore, those words did not trigger in me requited sentiments, no, no, instead they brought cold anger and contempt.

For I had already learned that love is a verb, not a capricious noun made up of pheromones, hormones, and other such sweet aphrodisiacs. So the rule was don’t tell me, show me. Because if I can’t tell by your actions that you love me, then let’s just stick with like.

My husband was a quick study and he took my warning seriously. He soon figured out that to get into my heart he needed to demonstrate my three little words... blood, sweat, and tears.

After all, those actions of love were given for me by a King and I would expect no less from a husband. He gave willingly all that was needed, and eventually I proposed to him.

These words were read at our wedding, “Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death;” Sgs 8:6. And while we sport no visible branding, no colorful appellation tattoos, no vials of blood worn ‘round the neck... they are there in spirit.

Now when I hear the words “I love you”, I am at peace because he has earned the right to say them.

Picture credit: Armor for Man and Horse: The Metropolitan Museum of Art

There’s a Monster In the Pantry

One day I opened the kitchen pantry door and found a Lego troll, armed and dangerous, guarding the peanut butter.



I picked him up by his ugly green head and tossed him back in the toybox. Then I heard him yell out, “I’m not the only monster in your closet!”

Are You Really Prolife, Really?

I think most Christians would be quick to say that they are prolife, and to their credit for what that label is worth, they most likely are. But in our culture isn’t that label just a more positive way of saying anti-abortion, or perhaps pro-birth?

I am not writing today to argue the issue of choice. Nope, today I am thinking about what it means to be prolife. To me, being prolife means you “do things to give a person all the life to which he or she is entitled (C. Everette Koop)."

But the question is, who am I responsible to do this for? Certainly not just my own children... surely orphans are “entitled” to live as well... aren’t they? “Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter.” Prov 24:11.

So here is my big question... why are so few Christian families adopting orphans? Is it just that they are blissfully unaware that there are languishing children out there desperate for a loving home? If so, news flash friends... there is a child waiting for you.

No, not a cute white American made newborn... other children await you. Children who are facing life in mental institutions... children with repairable medical issues who will eventually die if they are left untreated.

“Once our eyes are opened, we can't pretend we don't know what to do. God, who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls, knows what we know, and holds us responsible to act." Prov. 24:12

These are real people, real children living in orphanages, real children just like Kimani... waiting, waiting. How can you look at them and then turn away? Their pictures haunt me. I dream of going to get them.

Here are two very good reasons why you might not want to go rescue them; You do not have enough money or space for a(nother) child and You couldn’t handle a (special needs) child. Did you know those are the two biggest abortion reasons? Not enough resources and can’t handle a child. You don’t accept those excuses from pregnant women...

I attend a large church. I am part of a large Christian circle. There are very few families who have adopted orphans. I see so many perfect families around me. Happily married, middle-class parents with two or three darling home-made children. They say they are prolife and when it comes to voting against abortion rights, they are.

But what about when it comes to Anna?

Addicted to Starbucks

Somebody really loves vanilla lattes with whipped cream. Don’t panic, it’s a solo.



Oh no, I think she might be an addict just like her mother... because look what happened when we took it away.



Just to prove that I am not the worst parent in the world... I’ll let you watch her eat some nice healthy fruit for breakfast. For those not in the Ds community, this is a big deal... some kids don't like to eat. Kimani’s SLP is amazed by her abilities when it comes to food. Guess we got lucky in this category.



p.s. Dear grandparents, do not call me up and chastise me about the coffee. If you do, I will write a book about my childhood...