News and Media

My voice

A friend had this video posted on facebook tonight.

It didn’t make me want to sing; it made me want to listen.

It made me want to use my voice better as a mother.

No more screaming. Only loving.

No more criticizing. Only encouraging.

No more frustrations. Only moments to embrace.

I am blessed by God to raise four beautiful daughters.

Sometimes I fail miserably, but because of God’s grace, I still have a shot every day at being their biggest fan. I get every day to become the kind of mother I want to be.

I hope someday when I am gone, and they are hanging with their children or grandchildren, my girls will have a moment when they say to themselves: “That was the voice of my mother coming out of my own mouth.” And I hope whatever they said was something that I would be proud of.

Sing, sing, sing

If I had another life to live, I think I would like to be a music teacher.
Abigail was chosen to be in the Knox County Honors Choir.
I am so excited.
I cannot wait for their concert.
I feel like I have ticket to American Idol or something.
Abigail’s director gave them this youtube link to hear one of the songs they will sing.
I cried when I watched it.
Maybe I am in the dark ages, but this choir PS22 is all over the place.
Check out their blog.
What an inspiring choir director.
He just made my day.
I e-mailed him and he e-mailed me back.
What a guy.

My Kind of Mom

I got an e-mail forward from my friend Trisha this morning.
I felt it really worth sharing.


There recently was a death of a 98 year-old lady named Irena.

During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw Ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an ‘ ulterior motive ‘ … She KNEW what the Nazi’s plans were for the Jews, (being German.)

Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack, (for larger kids.) She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog and the barking covered the kids/infants noises.

During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants. She was caught, and the Nazi ‘ s broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard.

After the war, she tried to locate any parents tha t may have survived it and reunited the family. Most of course had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted.

Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize … She was not selected.

* Al Gore won, for a slide show on Global Warming.

Time and Perspective

My last post was about Duane working at the same place for 40 years.

Now I just read a news story about a time frame of 2 years. It was extremely disturbing. I was going to post this tomorrow, but it is so disturbing, I thought it would make for a good April’s Fools Day….EXCEPT it’s NOT a joke!

Two mothers in Russia, were forced by the courts to re-swap their 2 year old sons. They had been sent home with the wrong mothers at birth.

“Both sons are having a hard time adjusting to their new homes”, are the words at the end of the report.

Yeah, duh?

This story reminds me of the mothers in the Bible who came to King Solomon with one dead child. You know the “real mother”. The one who said to let the other “selfish lady” keep the child because she couldn’t bare for Solomon to cut it in half.

I like to think I would be the mom who would give the other lady her son back, and tell her to keep mine too. It would break my heart to take a child away from the only mother he has ever known. And then I would pray like heck that some sane judge out there would be as wise as Solomon and let me keep the child that I thought was mine.

Can you imagine giving a child up after two years? I don’t care what the DNA tests say. Giving mine up (the one that looked like me or not) would be seriously life altering….like permanent residence in a mental institution altering.

At the top….that’s Bella at not quite two. Man she was so cute!!!!

Thank goodness no one mixed her up at the hospital. If she didn’t look so much like me, I would almost worry now.

Two minutes is all it takes to change a mother’s perspective….well, I guess not all mothers’ perspectives.

Is it just me or is the mom that pursued her mixed up child crazy????

A cat and a crow

A few years ago, I looked out the window to see about 50 crows hanging out in my backyard. We usually have a few crows, but 50 at once seemed kind of eerie. Eerie is a little understated, it was really a flashback into like viewing the movie Birds as a child.

Upon further observation, the 49 crows were watching over one that was hobbling back and forth along our back fence. After pulling on my big girl panties and convincing myself that the 49 would not attack me and eat me alive, I went out to see what was going on. As if on que at my arrival all 49 crows quickly flew away, abandoning the one. It was just me, the girls, and the crow. The crow could obviously not fly.

The crow tried to hobble away, but was looking rather pathetic. It couldn’t find an escape past our fence….not as smart as the neighborhood rabbits who have several holes or the government housing adolescents who hop right over and through instead of walking around. Kitty Bear had done her damage and with a hubby on permanent law school hiatus, the solution was up to me. Do you have any idea how big and scary crows are when they are hobbling along your fence line and hissing at you?

I went inside and secured a box and a quilt. And if you could have all seen me, scared out of my mind, repeatedly throwing this quilt and missing, you would have been embarrassed for me. I think my girls were a little disappointed in their supermommy’s skills. I finally cotton-lassoed that big black sucker in and then had to figure out how to get the bird filled quilt into the box. I went with the option of putting the box right over the quilt and using as much of the quilt to secure the bird in the box.

The real trick was removing the quilt to securely close the box without removing the bird too. Ahhhhhhh! My writing cannot do justice for the shaking in my bones.

We got in the car and listened to the crow shifting around in the box and making hissing noises. Trust me when I say this crow was not in its right mind. There was no cawing to be found anywhere in Knox County. The 49 other crows flew far far away and our boxed guy could ONLY hiss. I found new meaning to the phrase “pray without ceasing” and counted myself very blessed when we got to the UT Veterinary clinic without any incidence.

Two days later, I received the dreaded call. Despite the clinic’s assurance that they would do everything they could, they couldn’t save that darned crow. The emotional image of a release back to my backyard of freedom almost overtook my soul. What would happen to the other 49 crows who kept coming back to find their friend?

I guess they will have to go do some good elsewhere. Maybe one could watch the following video and take some cat nurturing lessons. I think that Kitty Bear is just a lost little kitten who couldn’t find enough love from that crow. I know she has the heart to make friends.

And now the video that has been sitting in my drafts for the past year.

You all know how I love animals. Well, at least Valerie knows…she always forwards me everything she gets about animals. If you have a few free minutes, watch this video of a crow who mothered a cat. It seriously brought tears to my eyes…I am just kind of funny that way!

Potty Rhyme

Check out this article.
The Japanese think we need more poetry in our public restrooms.
Their studies show it will cut down on t.p. use.
Here is the bathroom rhyme I always learned in California.
Mind you it’s from a drought and environmentalist state:
If it’s yellow, let it mellow,
if it’s brown flush it down.
If I see some stranger’s yellow or brown in a public toilet,
it surely cuts down on my paper use…
it’s called I won’t go anywhere near that toilet,
much less use the paper.
Do you have any un-obscene bathroom poetry that you love?
I love to find a cute or inspiring thing in a bathroom stall.
We should start a sharpie revolution for the environment.