Bathroom Politics

Right now I'm sitting in my guest bathroom. It is the safest hidey-hole we have. We are under our second tornado warning of the day. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a deep-seated fear of storms. While I sit here though, I can't help but concentrate on the sentiment just uttered by my firstborn, "Mommy, these tornadoes are attacking our world!"

As quickly as he said that, I thought...No, I know what is attacking our world; and, just like that, as a gift to me from him, he gave me my out. I am no longer concentrated on the storms that beat my country home. Right now, I am on my internal soap box.

I'll tell you right now what is attacking our world. It's apathy. People don't give a shit. I'm guilty too often of this. People don't care if others are discriminated against or wronged or run over in some way. We largely don't care to let our government have the reins without holding them accountable or asking questions, or let's face it...without giving two shits what happens once less than fifty percent of those eligible have decided to vote for an R or a D.

Thomas Jefferson warned against this. He said in as much that we need ideological rebellion by the citizenry every twenty years. So, it's been a long time since the Civil Rights movement, two cycles of supposed-to-be-rebellion, with nothing. Are things so great that no one is moved to action? For eight years we unwittingly sat back and allowed Cheney and Rove to sit at the helm with their arms stiff up W's backside.

I got a C on a paper in my Comp. II class a few years ago on an opinion paper. My paper at one point equated the struggles of homosexuals to the struggles faced by African Americans during the Civil Rights movement. Apparently, that was a very un-Democratic thing to say, and because of my opinion, I was given bad marks. In fact, in the margin of the word document that I had submitted, this was the professor's only criticism, "How can you compare what African Americans have gone through to what the gays are going through?"

Right then, I realized that this almost passive in-fighting and this desire to keep things copacetic is what undoubtedly keeps people from participating in democracy. Jefferson also said that in order for democracy to work, the citizens have to be active participants. I'd been thinking about this for weeks, and then this happened:

In one of my education classes, this guy was telling about one of his student teaching lessons. He told us the subject matter, Africa in a ninth grade World Geography class at Tupelo High School, and he told us his teaching strategies: a PowerPoint presentation, asking leading, thought-provoking questions, and my favorite, class discussion. He opened it up for questions. No one spoke, not even the young Hermione Granger-ish girl that ALWAYS has something to offer. He wondered if he had done something wrong, when Hermione raised her hand and handed him a piece of notebook paper. It said, "I'm really sorry. I have taken a vow of silence. We are protesting the bullying of gays in our school."

Upon reflecting on this, I have hope. Those students (many of them) were taking the opportunity to participate in their democracy. They had seen injustices and were not going to stand for it. Jocks and cheerleaders and geeks and drama kids and goths and gays united one day to say, "This is bullshit, guys." It makes me nostalgic for Bobby Kennedy and the 60s; though, I was not there. It makes me a bit less cynical, and it makes me feel like--even if it's only a group of fifteen-year-olds in North Mississippi, somebody gives a shit.

New Year's Resolutions are for Nancies!

I'll take your New Year's resolution and raise it one broken promise. I don't care to make them, but when I bent my super hot body to make a snowball, my pants split. Maybe you have a point!

The other night on The Biggest Loser, this five hundred pound Italian guy lost over thirty pounds in a week and mused, "Can you see my abs?" I ask, "Can you see my ass (in my busted jeans)?"

It really happened! I bent to make a snowball, and . . .

Social Experiment: Perry County, Tennessee

While in town for a get-together with friends, I went to the Food Giant in Linden, TN. While cruising the aisles with my bum-wheeled shopping cart, I passed by a number of adolescent to mid-twenties young men. The first I passed looked down immediately refusing to meet my eyes or return my fake-smile pleasantry. I thought...Weird. Perhaps he is just socially awkward. When I passed another young man and he did the same thing, I most earnestly felt that I was deep within the Twilight Zone. Surely, this isn't something that is taught to young men in Perry County. "When you see a lady, don't you dare look in her eyes. They're all just like that damned Eve. They're here to pull the wool over your eyes and make you get them pregnant."

I then thought it was my duty to seek out other young men (most of them worked there) to verify my paranoia. I looked for them, and my results (without a control group) were startling. They all did it! They all looked at the floor. Now, one would think to inspect themselves before drawing too many conclusions, but I didn't think it was necessary. I had checked the mirror before I'd left my mom's house. I wasn't wearing any potentially revealing even accidentally revealing clothing. I wasn't wearing makeup, so I was neither strikingly beautiful or painfully unsightly. No toilet paper on my shoes. No fancy clothes, accessories, etc. There was no reason for these young men to be just plain un-Southern in their angst. They outright refused to greet me or meet my half-smile. I thought for a moment that there was a strange, Emmett Till-type mentality in the town. They were afraid of me maybe.

I do think that these boys are taught either implicitly or explicitly that they should not look into the eyes of women. It's sort of disgusting. They are hobbled by their raising. How are they expected to make anything of themselves? What if a woman is the interviewer? Or...is any semblance of communication with women possible for them? Is it even anticipated that they will cross the county line?

What is it, friends?

Frodo Died.

Frodo Bagadonuts June 10, 2003-Dec. 9, 2009
My husband and I just came inside from burying our darling Frodo Bagadonuts. We buried her next to her daughter, Little Jerry Seinfeld who was hit by a car nearly four years ago. Frodo was only six-years-old, and we can't imagine what must have happened to her. She started acting out of sorts and puking Monday morning, and then today she was in a near coma, barely breathing with a shallow heartbeat and rousing only to dry heave. We tried to force water into her mouth with an infant medicine dropper, but I'm afraid it was too late.



I cherish Frodo for so many things. She was honest-to-God the sweetest dog on the planet. I always talk about how dumb my dogs are, but my goodness are they loyal and loving and as much a part of our family as any of the humans. The day we got Frodo I watched her delicate one-pound body hop through the grass like a grasshopper. We watched her attack moths and her shadow and plush toys for what seems hours. At least she was doing something; we were just amused watching her play. And I called HER dumb!



From the second I was pregnant, I'm convinced, Frodo knew it. She was always in my lap and lying around with me for the weeks I didn't yet know, and then for the remainder of my pregnancy, she was a mommy's girl through and through. It was only a little while before I had Ethan that Frodo had some babies of her own. She and Cosmo became parents a month before Ethan's due date. It was from that litter that we got Little Jerry. She and her parents were great pals and such a comfort to us. I don't care how shallow it is...when you've had a shitty day, sometimes you need the love of a dog.



As you can imagine, this is all a bit much for me right now. I feel like I'd be better off getting in bed, but as Frodo slept with us nightly, this will not be easy either. Plus, I just don't think that a blog could do Frodo justice. I miss her.

He read a book today. Oh boy!

It was only a few nights ago that my sweet and precious and lots of other pleasant adjectives son read his first book independently. He turned five on November 2nd. You can only imagine my excitement. The joy I felt was unparalleled. I have never been more proud. I didn't really think that illiteracy would be a problem in our household; that's not it. I (wow) am just...I say "excited" too much. I have been working with him since in-utero. But, really...we've been working on phonics since before he turned four. He read with prosity, y'all. That was the most amazing part.

Here's the book he read, Biscuit's Big Friend.

Fifth Lead Vocalist for Van Halen is Hot for Yogurt--She's Got It Bad,So Bad: She's Hot for Yogurt.

I changed my picture so that you would all know that I still think about my blog. The girls said I should blog some more, so I will eventually. Somehow, I have become addicted to Facebook, and while I'm there, I say everything I need to say ( a lot of times through fact-based quizzes). It's a little embarrassing, but I'm okay with it. I have become so laid back that I'm apathetic. That is definitely not a virtue.

The good news is these days I have a lot of energy. I wish I were home more so that I could get things done. My bedroom is really clean right now which may not be a super big deal to you, but it was so dirty that it became our way of life. When I cleaned the room, exciting things started to happen in the bedroom: exciting, private things. It could be a combination of the tranquil, serene room and the fact that I quit my birth control pills. We are not "trying for a baby" (like it says on the Sims). I just didn't want to take them anymore. Seemed like an unnecessary expense really.

Gosh, sorry this is horrible. I'm speaking in sentence fragments. I'll tell you the truth. I'm watching an Activia commercial over and over. Most of the time I like the TiVo for skipping the commercials, but when there is an advertisement for something as provocative as a shit-party yogurt, I can't help myself. This is what I look like when I eat Activia. Bowel pain makes me look sex-ay, 'cause all that diarrhea means I'm gettin' skinny.

I Cried During Bible Class

At church yesterday, there was a woman with her infant grandchild. They were sitting in the pew right in front of us. He was sucking on his fist and cooing and grunting and doing all those baby things. It reminded me of what my body refused to do for me and of what my body had taken from me twice. Damn these ovaries! Damn them! They're covered in cysts and refuse to release the proper hormones. The result is one very sad woman.