Politics in General

Wow, after reading Elise's blog and then reading the comments I have a sudden, almost irrational well-spring of political thoughts rushing up from my guts into my head and out of my fingers. My hear rate is at like 120.

Listen up people. Democratic Washington is your enemy. They are not here to help you. They are here to smile at you and flatter you and tell you exactly what you want to hear and to make promises to you that they will make things better, they will help you, they will be a force for change if you will only go with them.

Democrats are basically Satan.

Let's be clear. They are really only here to feed their enormous egos, surround themselves with their well-heeled, over-educated, pretentious little cliques and try to somehow fill in the hole they have in their hearts for some unnamed crime the people, the United States or the world has perpetrated on them.

Politicians are not normal. No normal person would run for public office because normal people are raising their families, working for real money, going to church and holding church callings that take up a lot of their time or volunteering. And normal people are doing these things without any desire for recognition or without any need of a following.

It's only the kooks who are waving and smiling and shaking hands and looking sincere and regurgitating really well written speeches from some of the best, most misguided writers of our day.

Do you think Obama writes his own stuff?

Do you think his wife writes her own stuff?

None of these people do and elections are like a big game to them, run by these advisors and managers, to see if their guy will win because if he does....it will mean millions for everyone involved. All they have to do is promise to help you.

Why are Democrats willing to give so much help? Why are Democratic voters in need of so much help? Who is paying for all this help? I don't need any help. What I really need is for my elected officials to quit promising to help people and then doing it, and lining their own pockets at the same time, with my tax dollars.

We are idiots for thinking that any of this is fair, above-board or even ethical. Or thinking that our vote matters in the least.

I know it doesn't matter in Utah. Thankfully I live in a Republican state, so my electoral votes go to McCain.

Who, by the way, isn't fancy or shiny and is a little old and something is wrong with his right arm, but he is a bona-fide war hero. Did you go to war? Did you fight for your country? Did you languish in a prisoner-of-war camp for 5 years and wonder if you would ever see the light of day again? Nope, you didn't Mr. Obama and neither did we, but if we had or if you had, you would deserve some degree of respect for putting your life on the line for us so we could go swimming and eat ice cream and read novels and watch our boys play baseball.

The day I heard Michelle Obama say that this was the first time in her adult life that she was proud to be an American, I was finished with her and with the whole black/victim/we-shall-overcome issue.


This is about my right to work, raise my family and keep the money I earn and the Republicans, although not without fault, are the group that most closely matches my own beliefs. Maybe they have read Atlas Shrugged or The Fountainhead.

Is McCain perfect? Is Bush perfect? Is the new VP Nominee Palin perfect? No. But they love their wives and husband, they love their children and all children, born and unborn, and they love their country.

Just like me.

I Am What I Am (I feel like Popeye)

Lorraine did this on her blog and challenged me to do it also.

Here it is:

i am: alone a lot of the time and I am okay with it.
i think: people are really struggling.
i know: that all the answers are in the Book of Mormon.
i want: my family to be safe, physically and spiritually.
i dislike: teachers who have to prove how intelligent and over-educated they are.
i miss: seeing my family everyday.
i fear: that I am too judgmental and critical.
i feel: like I am doing the right thing going back to school.
i hear: Peter Gabriel's-So.
i smell: can't smell, all plugged up like usual.
i crave: a full body massage.
i cry: when I know that my kids or grandkids are sad or in trouble or indistress or sick.
i usually: do things right away.Or else I forget them altogether.
i search: for something delicious, nutritious and no effort. Does it exist?
i wonder: what Kevin will be like when he gets home.
i regret: not being kinder to people.
i love: having all my family in my house laughing, eating, wrestling, playing kanga-minton....
i care: about my fat tummy, but not enough to do anything about it.
i always: want to help everyone, even if they don't want me to.
i worry: that people I know and love won't make good decisions.
i am not: obsessed with my appearnace.
i know:that Heavenly Father knows my name and cares about me.
i remember: the last time I went to college, all four of my kids were little, I taught early morning Seminary and was the Little League President! I did it then, I can do it now.
i believe: in the Gospel.
i dance: hardly ever which is sad because I LOVE TO DANCE!!!
i sing: in the car, by myself.
i don’t always: think about the other person before I say something.
i argue: with people who need a smack down.
i write: little essays on my blog and assignments for class.
i win: at all my smackdown arguments.
i lose: even though I win.
i wish: my husband would build the Neville Compound like we fantasize about!
i listen: to what people are really saying.
i don't understand: how anyone can care about politics.
i can usually be found: sitting on the couch reading or doing homework.
i am scared: of leeches too!
i need: can't think of anything, pretty content.
i forget: little things that clue me in to the fact that I am realy getting older.
i am happy: because everyone in my family is trying hard to be righteous.

Thanks Lorraine for the invitation. Diana, you are next!

The Joan Syndrome or That's What Mother's Do

Last week I was lucky enough to spend a few days up in Washington visiting our friends and seeing beautiful places. While visiting in my friend's perfectly clean homes, I tried to do a little housework, like making my own bed, washing and folding my laundry and doing a few dishes. Why? It wasn't my house. I didn't have to do anything. I was on vacation even.

I then traveled to Provo to paint Megan's dorm room and then to Ogden to visit Kelly, Lorraine and Cora. There was no sitting. Only working. Why? Why can't I just relax and visit. Because I like working. I have to feel useful. I have to feel like I have accomplished something or am working on accomplishing something. I have to feel functional and task-oriented. It is part of my self-esteem now. I like to call it "The Joan Syndrome."

Let me explain.

When I was a young mother I was often pregnant, nursing or wrangling small children, which I was happy to do but which I also felt was exhausting. Not to mention the morning sickness and the interrupted sleep and the breast infections and the teething and other assorted childhood illnesses. Needless to say, although I kept a sanitary, livable house, there was much I could have done that I simply did not, could not, accomplish in a day.

Then, about every three months, out of a clear blue sky, a living hurricane would be seen on the horizon and a strong wind would blow my mother into the house. (Any witch reference is unintentional.) Within 10 minutes of entry, the dishwasher, washer and dryer would be running, the vacuumming was done and the vacuum was already put away and she was scrubbing the bathroom with Comet and promising the kids they could play a little baseball out on the lawn.

Then, while I was taking a nap (it was exhausting just watching her) , she would run to the store and stock me up on the basics like eggs, milk, cheese, bread and chocolate chips. Before my husband could get home from work, dinner was in the oven, a batch of cookies was cooling on the counter and all laundry was folded and put away. It was a miracle. She was a miracle.

I got to help Lorraine out just a little bit last week and I had so much fun playing with Cora, who, by the way, is a-cora-ble, and straightening up just a little bit. But what my visit reminded me of is that during those years of young motherhood you never really feel 100%. You are always a little tired, or really, really tired, a little sick, a little hungry, a little overwhelmed and it's nice when someone who loves you and who is through their childbearing years can swoop in and just take over for a day or two.

Thank you Joan. And you're welcome Lorraine.

Gramma Jaaannnnnnaaaaa!

So I just put my little friend Grace in a car to head back to her mommy and daddy. I didn't think it would be a big deal but I am not ashamed to say I cried a tear or two.

Because Brad was recovering from his appendectomy and Elise had plenty to do taking care of him and Claire, I volunteered to take Grace home with me this week. I knew that I could devote 100% of my time to her; I had nothing else going on. And I also knew that because she was moving to Texas, it might be a long time before I see her again.

The first words I heard every morning this week were, "Gramma Jaaannnaaa, wipe me." It's good to begin your day with a smile. We ate Frosted Mini Wheats every morning for breakfast. We watched Dora the Explorer way too many times. Then Backyardigans. Then Wonder Pets. We went to the water park every afternoon. We got a happy meal on the way home. We played with Polly Pocket. We ate cookies. We bought some school clothes.

I had forgotten how repetetive and monotonous young motherhood is.

But I had also forgotten how wonderful a small child can make you feel when, right before they fall asleep, they say, "You know what, I love you." Or when they pull your hand over to where they are and say, "I want you to be by me." Or when they are trying to tell you something that doesn't come out quite right and you both look at each other and start cracking up.

So, I enjoyed being a grandma this week. Now it's back to reading novels and watching Pride and Prejudice. Also boring, but what's a grandma to do?