Recently in Fruitless Complaining Category

DB Clinic 101

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This gem must have been written by 17-year old men for 17-year-old men, or at least the perpetual 17-year old men. The author, Isabella Snow, claims to be a woman, but for the life of me, I cannot imagine a woman selling out other women like this. Let's dissect this, shall we? C'mon, it'll be fun!

Dealing With An Uwanted Pregnancy

An unplanned and unwanted pregnancy can dramatically affect an otherwise loving long-term relationship. Some men rejoice, but others simply aren’t ready to be fathers. If they discussed the possibility and specifics at the start of the relationship, he may hope she’s going to stick to the original plan and terminate the pregnancy. And she might -- but for some women, getting pregnant can start clocks ticking and make them suddenly want to be mothers, despite previous agreements.

Guess what? They are mothers.

Prenatal prep: If possible, have this conversation at home while sitting together on the sofa.

Who writes this stuff? Got it? Sofa! Like the waiting room at the doc's office-bad. Dining room table-bad. Might bring to mind family dinners. Oh, don't do that thing where you get all your bros together and all gang up on her with you. She might catch on that this isn't about her. Taking her to Dave and Busters or Hooters-not good. She doesn't even like that place, Try Red Lobster and let her order what ever she wants. Even dessert. Chicks dig that kind of thing. That is if you can't do the whole "sofa thing".

When you’re ready to share your opinion, you’ll want to use a calm, steady tone. You’ll also want to take care with your word choice; pregnant women tend to feel like they’re carrying someone, as opposed to something, even if she is just a month or so pregnant.

Because they are.

Toss words like “it” around too many times, and she’s going to start feeling like she needs to defend “it” from you.

::snort:: Do this, Mr. Tool, and you're done. Take a long walk on a short pier. Fact is, if this is your intent, no matter how many crab legs at Red Lobster you buy, if you are asking her to kill her child so you can carry on doing who knows what...There are very few things that give women strength like love for their children. That pull you had on her, gone.

If you want her to really listen to you, paraphrase her own word usage.

Manipulate! The ends justify the means. Manipulate to get your way and what you want!!!

This is not the time to sugarcoat your true feelings. If you don’t want to be a father, you have every right to come out and say so.

Even though that was not what you were saying when you took the actions that made it possible to create this pregnancy.

Fatherhood will last for the rest of your life; if you’re not going to be able to cope with that, you need to make it clear so she can factor it into her decision-making process.

Let her know you totally plan on abandoning her and your child. Set the record straight. Be a man-er, well, you know a Bro (let's not go too far and use the 'm' word).

When giving your opinion, use phrases like “I need” instead of “I want.” This will be easier for her to process on an emotional level, and will also sound less demanding.

Again, manipulate her into to doing what you want, not what she wants!

A new baby means significant life changes: Food, diapers, medical care -- these things cost money you may not have. Who’s going to care for the baby while you’re working? Will you have to move to a new home? Will you have to sell your Harley and get a station wagon?


(This is a horrible article)

Take care that you don’t come across as whiny.

Because you're whining.

If you feel the need to make strong declarations, use words like “can’t” instead of “won’t.”

Even though "can't" means it's impossible and the truth is you simply "won't". Manipulate. Lie. Do what you gotta do, Bro.

If you’ve followed all of these steps and your woman decides to have the baby anyway, this does not mean you’re required to get married or move in together. You’ll probably want to provide for your child regardless, but if you’ve been clear about your intentions from the start, you are not obligated to contribute beyond what your conscience and the law expects of you. This was her decision, not yours, and the bulk of the responsibility is now hers.

After all your hard work, you still don't have to do the right thing just what the law forces you to do, which isn't much, so buck up little camper. Life ain't over. And you know what? You can use tales about how you take care of your kid to lure in the next woman. It works
I actually cannot believe there are articles such as these this day. Feminists, regardless of pro-life or pro-choice should be all over this. This article is not Dealing With an Unplanned Pregnancy. it's How to Get Your Girl to Do What You Want When You Can't Be Bothered. Disgusting.

HT:Jill Stanek

One of the many, many detestable habits of the chattering class kids is their trick of finding some eight-bit word (perhaps vaguely remembered from the days of Vocabulary for the College Bound) and then using, using, and using it again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Remember "gravitas" in the late 'eighties or 'early nineties? So-and-so had "gravitas," so-and-so didn't. Did the candidate have enough gravitas? Who did have gravitas?

And what exactly was this gravitas they were all yapping about? It certainly wasn't "real" gravitas , which was and is a very unfashionable virtue. By "gravitas" they more or less meant "appearing serious, though not too serious, on camera" -- or, put another way, "not being like that uncool unperson Dan Quayle." It was a three syllable word for "approved." So "gravitas" was everyone's new favorite word, and it was all gravitas all the time for about eight months, and then all mention of gravitas ceased.

"Gobsmacked" was hip for a while. Now the fashionable word seems to be "nuanced" -- 2,770,000 hits on Google, with the very first hit after the dictionary entries appearing in the same sentence as "Obama." Every word the President utters is "nuanced", because he's sooo smart and all.

But what "nuance" are they talking about? I thought it meant "subtle, delicate shades of meaning." Is that really a positive quality in Presidential speeches? Am I just a barbarian for thinking that speeches should be clear and unambiguous? Or is "nuanced" just another word for "I like it"?

Now we learn that Charles Krauthammer's writing lacks "nuance" because his paraplegia prevents him from not being "able to see the situations he's writing about." Now, am I understanding Joe Klein's nuances correctly? Writing at a remove precludes subtlety of expression? If that's the case, those people Twittering in the movie queue must be pouring out torrents of nuanced eloquence.

Well, enough already. "Nuance" does not mean "hypnotic". It does not mean "sounds nice." It does not mean "equivocal", it does not mean "plausibly deniable." It does not mean "cool" or "approved" or "unlike those terribly dull people who keep wanting to bring divisive words like right and wrong into the discussion."


I hereby declare a moratorium on the use of the word "nuanced" by any organ of the major news media.

This includes, but is not limited to, daily newspapers, their websites, and all content published therein; news and commentary on broadcast and paid television, news and commentary on broadcast and paid radio, and news and commentary on major websites.

Offenders shall, for each use of this word, handwrite the following quotation fifty times, using correct spelling and punctuation:

"Ready acceptance of vogue words...stands for the herd instinct and lack of individuality." -- H.W. Fowler

Repeat offenders shall, in addition to the above, spend an hour in the pillory, during which they shall read aloud, slowly and clearly, "Politics and the English Language" (Orwell, 1946) in its entirety.

SIGNED BY MY HAND on the 21 of May, in the Two Thousand and Ninth Year of Our Lord,


enough is enough already. Please explain to me why for crying out loud, why one of the countries most notable universities named after our Blessed Mother, 12K people who sought a Catholic education, none of those people in the auditorium knew what our faith is. I don't understand it. This campus should have bells chiming at noon, and everyone stopping and praying the Angelus, reciting the words "And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us..." Do they not know Christ was our Redeemer in the womb? My mother grew up in Harlem in the fifties and remembers the bells chiming for the Angelus, and she wasn't Catholic then, let alone attending a fancy, Catholic University.

We are lacking in formation. We are in worship. And we are lacking in a Catholic culture.

Shouldn't this be a sign? Enough of being a nice Church. It's time to be a Catholic Church.

Whew, just, you know, had to get that out my system.

In my inbox

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this is from a list I'm on:

Where's Howard?

52 U.S. Bishops, and not a Hubbard among them.

Peony needs a new pot

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I looked in my little saucepan and noticed that the non-stick coating long ago ceased to stick to the pot (hopefully it's not sticking to our innards either).

So it's time to go pot shopping. I think I'm done with non-stick (too fragile -- I want to use a whisk, darn it) and I'm growing leery of aluminum (reactivity?)

I was looking at this and liking it -- the price is right --

but it's almost certainly made in China, which doesn't have a great reputation for food safety these days.

Of course, there's always All-Clad, but... $100 for a pot? I'm not there yet.

I came across this one...

but when I take another look, it's non-stick.


I'm such an ingrate

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So now little Septimus is here, I am thankful to God. Thankful for my sweet, sweet boy, and thankful that physically, I feel good. I felt incredibly crappy for the duration of the pregnancy from morning sickness in the beginning to all the body aches and the inability to walk in the end. No more low iron issues. No more heaviness. I can walk. I can breath. I can eat. It's wonderful.

Before I had Septimus, I had everything ready-the stroller, the swing, the car seat. I just needed the baby. They say a mother forgets about labor after the fact, allowing her to have other children. I think that is a fallacy after so many children-I was in a sheer panic about labor prior to having Septimus. The memory of the pain was front and center. However, I do forget how incredibly sucky this part of motherhood is-the newborn stage. I remember it being difficult, but I forget how incredibly difficult.

Each day I get up and rush into the shower before my husband leaves. When he and the kids all depart the house at 7.25, I have this wave of panic run through me with the unrealistic realization that I have been abandoned. I don't think it is a totally abnormal feeling (right Moms?), and my normal course of action to stifle it is just get started. Get breakfast, get school, get a load of laundry in, clean the house, think of something fun to do later for my therapy (usually sew or bake something or get a work-out in), perhaps shop around on Etsy for a cute pattern to sew. Before you know it, it's 5.30, supper's ready and everyone you missed so desperately is home! And look what you accomplished! Someone read another chapter in their reader, someone has a new dress, the rug is vacuumed, another teeth cleaning is behind us for 6 months!

Now I have my 6th colic baby who screams from the second he opens his eyes until I can get them closed again (actually, I have to hold him while he sleeps or he wakesup screaming no matter where I put him). Or if I put him down. And I don't know why. And I don't care why. In the past we did chiropractors, cutting out wheat and dairy, music, swings, simethicone drops-everything. Now it's get passed the 3 month mark. Nothing else works.

I get about 5% of what I have to get done, done. I know many a wise Mom advises "just let him scream and do what you gotta do", but his screams have an instant physiological reaction in my body that feels like someone taking an egg beater to my nervous system. It's unbearable. So in the meantime, I just watch the house fall apart around me, get the bare minimum of school done, daydream about sewing projects I would like to finish before my kids get hold of the packages of bias tape and use them to tie each other up with.

I know this will pass because it always has, but when? Tomorrow? Next week? Will my family survive until then?

What's frustrating is there isn't a darn person around me who has a clue what it's like. They all notice the laundry piles up, but can't figure out why. They all know I am seriously grumpy, but Mom has issues. It never occurred to anyone that the reason why things ran smoothly before is because I was running things, not because it is in the nature of a toilet used by 8 people each day to simply be clean. My husband who comes home each day after a day of work is done for the day. He doesn't get I am not done. Not at 5.30 or when I go to bed at night. Never.

To counter my ingratitude, each day I do a mental inventory of my life. I love my life. I love my family, I love homeschooling. I love showing off my kids (if it's not the kind when they are screaming in public). I am thankful for a husband that brought me home a bottle of white wine the other night just because, and takes me out for a walk each night. I know each and every one of them is a blessing from God. I can't think of anything else I would rather be doing and I am doing what I always wanted to do for as long as I can remember. And I believe in what I'm doing.

So what's the deal? How can so much joy make someone so miserable? I get through it by offering it up and simply filing it under "Crosses to bear", but there has to be an answer. There is a better way to get through this period without a crying fit everyday at 10 AM because you just want to clean the bathroom without hearing screaming, and you can't. I know the answer is staring me right in the face, but I can't grasp it.

And I know I am not alone.

Peony, is it rhubarb time yet?

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It's been so cold and gloomy here. I'm having daydreams of rhubarb and strawberries and fresh jam...

Much talk in the Catholic blogosphere about the announcement of an apostolic visitation to religious communities, and of one snippy Sister's response. For some crazy reason, I can't help thinking that Sister Snippy's community hasn't welcomed any novices in a while.

Then there are all the other stories about Sisters of a Certain Age who abandoned their habits and their community life. Some of them left teaching or nursing behind; they felt called to Be Prophetic, which meant talking about how Prophetic they were, and maybe beating on railroad tracks with ball-peen hammers. Others might have stayed and are now school principals or hospital administrators, but their sisters are either also in administration or are retired. None of their sisters are still in the classroom or at the bedside. Some of these Sisters of a Certain Age have been reflecting on how Their Mission is Complete or Our Order is Moving Into a New Phase, which to the cynical might sound like happy-talk for We Have Had No Vocations Since The Ford Administration and We Need To Sell Our Land to Pay For Our Retirement.

Yet, strangely, there are still sick people that need nursing care, and children that need schoolteachers. There are still poor people. And, for whatever reason, the orders of Sisters that used to serve them have withered away.

President Obama, in one of those huge soggy blobs of legislation, killed a scholarship program that enabled some Washington D.C. students to attend private schools. So now those students are forced back into the D.C. public systems (motto: "Not good enough for Chelsea, Malia, and Sasha... but good enough for you!") Even if their parents could afford Catholic schools, where would they go? The Archdiocese had to close seven schools recently for lack of funds.

What would our country look like if the teaching and nursing orders hadn't collapsed? What if children in poor school districts had a choice, because the sisters were there to offer an alternative that families of modest means could afford? What if hospitals were well staffed with nurses who treated every patient as he were Christ Himself, sisters who were supported in their difficult work by their community life and their lives of prayer?
Imagine the good work that nursing orders could do by opening small, walk-in clinics -- especially ones open after hours, for hourly workers who can't afford to take time off work. Would our health care system be in such a mess?

I'm sure the sisters who ditched their habits and decided that they'd rather Be Prophetic than get their hands dirty are as convinced as ever that they are doing the right thing. But I can't help thinking that a better way to be prophetic would have been to keep doing the "woman's work" scorned by society -- teaching the children and caring for the weak and ill.

Just Fuming

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I have to stop reading the news because there is little I read that makes me happy or makes me feel hopeful. Of course, there is always hope, but my initial reaction when I read what our new president and congress are doing is usually "what the f**k?" So let's take yesterday's health summit. Pro-life groups were shut out. Via Jill Stanek:

Listen carefully. Richards wants universal health care because the "millions of women who come to us are primarily low income." PP's clientele keeps it from raising its prices, which have increased only slightly over the decades. PP needs government intervention to increase its profit. This is one of 2 reasons why PP wants mandated taxpayer coverage for all PP's services, including, of course, abortion.

I keep thinking about what it means to help the "low income". Why does it always come down to abortion and contraception? Millions and millions of dollars. I wonder what would happen if we took those millions of dollars and put them into true charitable causes-diapers, food, clothes, pencils, books...I not only wonder about the monetary, but the attitude if we didn't dump money into eugenics"women's healthcare", but actual charity. Would people associate sex with reproduction? Would we value children more?

I stumbled this from Greg Popcak today:

My feeling? I'm sick to death of these bleeding heart social conservatives who want a good education for poor kids. Why should we pay for the education of children who really just should have been aborted in the first place? Let's be real here. The Left is only pro-choice until the child is born, and then f*** 'em. I mean, get with the times people! Educating impoverished children is just sooooo '08. Its time to get with teh new social ethic. Crime, poverty, education, health care, inadequate housing and a host of other problem can all be solved if we just abort 'em all and let God (if she exists) sort them out. Right?

This Irks Me

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Watts Wastes No Time Losing Weight

(Jan. 13) - Less than a month after giving birth to her second son Samuel, Naomi Watts is flaunting her post-baby body -- making mommies everywhere jealous.

Of course, as a "jealous" mommy, allow me to state the obvious. Having a nutritionist, a nanny, a personal trainer, and a stylist and getting into shape a month later is not the same animal as being someone who's job it is to care for others besides yourself, and trying to find a minute here and there in between exhaustion to get back into shape. Also, the other obvious, these Hollywood starlets are having Baby # 1 and Baby #2 and the first, second, third babies do not wreak havoc on your figure the way 4 and up do.

So why am I whining about this...again? Well, Ia m grumpy and I feel with number 7 on the way, I have earned the right just to be a grump, and people need to deal...because oddly, it makes me feel better. Weird. I suppose I spend much of my time worrying about other people's comfort more so than mine, and now I am so uncomfortable, I am forced to address my own...or something like that. But I'm tired, I'm huge, I scare people when I walk into stores: "um, wow, anyday now..I bet. Do you need to sit?" "No. One month left. Go look at someone else!" It hurt when I walk and I still have to make supper every night!!! And my clothes don't fit.

I am NOT looking forward to delivering. NOT. NO! NO! NO! I do not see delivery as an end in sight, but rather than from the frying pan into the fire. I would rather stay like this as long as possible than go through post partum. If you read this blog you know it is the worst for me, I get repeated bouts of mastitis and post partum depression. The last two pregnancies (well, more to the point, the last) I tried very hard to be "pro-active" and do as much research I could on PPD, and found the factors I had control of, I do. The ones I don't-genetics, lack of help, drop in hormones, contribute just as much and there is little that can be done about it. This time around, I picked up on one aspect that I didn't put much stock into before-body image.

I stumbled on this gem of a blog:

I’ve never been a vain person, so I was surprised by my reaction to my appearance after delivery. I had gained a whopping 80 pounds during my pregnancy. After two and a half months of bedrest, what muscle tone I once had in my arms and legs was long gone. My abdominal muscles had separated. I had acne worse than I had as a teenager. My hair, which had grown so long and fast in pregnancy, was falling out in clumps.

I’d had a c-section (which invites its own host of body issues) and felt sick looking down at the mean, purple incision and dozen staples. My stomach, once tight and muscular, was a pouch of flab hanging over my beltline. After trying to breastfeed, my breasts were smaller than they were before pregnancy.

Even worse than my post-delivery appearance was the realization that, three months later, I still looked like I had JUST had a baby.

I mean of one of my friends told me this, I would tell her "oh please, you just had a baby, cut yourself some slack," and I would mean it. I never look at my post partum friends and think "eewww", but rather that she looks beautiful and she carries it so well.

I actually think there is a practical aspect to this. Not just the "well, that's nature-hormnoes, emotions, body changes, crazy grandmothers that tell you how horrible you look at 1 month post partum, etc". What does one wear during this time frame? Maternity clothes? Regular clothes? I tend to do sweats or yoga pants the second week (pajamas the first). I DON'T YOGA PANTS in real life unless I'm doing yoga. Or post partum. I can't fit into regular clothes, but I read somewhere that one should never wear maternity clothes PP because maternity clothes are meant to accentuate the lovely, round figure of a pregnant woman, and that should not be accentuated PP. It just looks wrong. So what do you wear if you are normal and not Naomi Watts? Oh just give up already. Just stew in your jealous mire, and hide yourself from the world until you can be seen again. Right?

I don't understand Feminism. Tons and tons of propaganda about not reproducing, but nothing for the benefit of women who choose to do what women are biologically inclined to do. It's OK to push the unnatural body image of celebrities to the point of post partum depression for lots of women, and then we can blame it on the evils of plain, old motherhood, not backwards cultural attitudes.

My mother purchased some clothes for my boys as a Christmas gift, but quite a few sizes too large. I have noticed a trend in women, myself included, that we tend to worry about "growing room". No obsess about it, to the point that the discrepancy between the actual size of the kid and the size of the clothing can be quite dramatic. It's like at a point in motherhood, your "practical" side kicks in, but sometimes it goes into overdrive. When I had one, I thought nothing about spending lots of money on tons of clothes, and would toss them out after the season, so why size up? Now I love hand-me-downs, I only shop sales or Goodwill, and do that bizarre sizing up thing. I have even been known to mend holes in the knees.

So my mother sized up, but I think she forgot who she was buying for-the miniature offspring of a 5'2" mother and a 5'10" father. My 4-year old still fits perfectly in 3Ts, my soon-to-be-7-year old is in 5T. My two oldest wear a 14 slim (and he just grew into a 14; hooray for growth spurts) and a 12 husky. My mother purchased jeans for the boys sizes 9, 16 husky and 16 slim, and in all fairness, I am sure that is the sizes of average 7, 9 and 13-year olds, perhaps one size smaller. We decided to exchange the jeans for the boys' current sizes instead of waiting for them to grow into them. My mother had no problem because when we walked in Christmas morning, she realised immediately that the boys were much smaller than what she bought for. Again, I do it too. I keep thinking they have to be larger than they are.

So we packed up the kids and decided on a trip to the mall. Rosey Posey had some gift cards and we were off to Macy's to exchange the jeans.

I hate the mall. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy shopping as much as the next woman. However, I long ago realized shopping for the sake of shopping is pretty stupid when it comes to money management. I also have this issue with materialism, I think it's bad for the soul (well, duh). But if you start to rely on shopping too often as a regular means of recreation, you easily lose your ability to discern between necessisties (even if that little necessity is in and of itself for enjoyment) and being caught up in just spending. So I make a point to never go to the mall just to go to the mall, I only go if I have something I am specifically looking for.

The mall was nuts, as I knew it would be the first Saturday after Christmas. Lots of people using gift cards and making exchanges. Luckily, we were able to get right to the table with the same brand jeans my mother purchased. We returned the old ones, picked up the ones we wanted, and even found Gorbulus' jeans were in a smaller-sized section, so they were a bit cheaper. He requested the "almost black" (dark wash) jeans. Ha ha, six-year olds with fashion opinions. As if they are real people or something. BY golly, that was easy! By the time we got to the register, I wasn't cursing myself for being so stupid to come to the mall on this day. I was happy I was able to find the same jeans, we had no melt downs as of yet. This was awesome. But there was a line at the children's clothing department register and every person in front of me was making exchanges. It wasn't too bad. Still, Macy's and little boys make lousy bed fellows.

Oh, and the people in front of us were special people. I noticed them right off because the husband looked a lot like Monsieur Le Pieu from Ever After, except in modern clothes. He had on a trench coat with a popped up collar, and Ralph Lauren shirt-he had a "look" going on and I always think men that aspire beyond well-groomed and are going for a "look" are flakes. I don't know. I suppose I don't see a man who is willing to chop wood, fix toilets, take the boys camping, take the garbage out, and not only change diapers, but catch babies when they are born. I see someone staring at themselves in the mirror while I am taking out the garbage. I also noticed depsite the fact this gentleman looked about 40, he had his iPod earbuds in his ear. Ugh. Then I noticed his wife had a huge pile of clothes for their 11-12-year old looking daughter they had with them. My boys were already falling on the floor from heat exhaustion and boredom (it's what happens to little boys when they are in department stores more than 5 minutes), and my husband was starting to sound ugly: "Get up! Do you see anyone else laying in the floor?!?"

So I was trying hard to shut out the goings on with my family a few feet away, and trying not to pay attention to the Le Pieu's because if I did, it would be like watching a pot of water boil knowing it would take forever to just ring up my jeans. But they wouldn't let me. One day I will do a prolonged psychological experiment to see when people are in public, if they have conversations in front of you in the manner they do because they either feel "on", or are just oblivious to your presence. I imagine it's both. But I was sucked in:

Mr. Le Pieu: I don't know of I should get the scarf.
Mrs. Le Pieu: I know...but you really want it don't you, I can see you want it. It's hard when you really want something.
Mr. Le Pieu: I'll be back.

He leaves and Mrs. Le Pieu starts directing the cashier to exchange these clothes and return these and out them on a gift card and the cashier doesn't know if she can do that because the purchases were made on a Macy's card, and my youngest boys are now playing tag running around their aggravated father in circles, and Berylla wants. out.of.the. stroller. NOW. Oh God help me and get me out of here.

Mr. Le Pieu returns with a huge grin, his iPod still in place and an orange scarf looking like he used the stylist to dress men in Gossip Girl-you know how all the men wear the ubiquitous fashionable scarves to accesorize, yet no men in real life accesorize to such a degree? Real men wear hats because their heads are cold. Period. Or because they are endorsing a sports team.

Mrs. Le Pieu: Oh look. See, now that's nice.
Mr. Le Pieu: (grinning). Yeah.
Mrs. Le Pieu: And the orange is nice. We have't had orange in awhile. We actually had an orange deficit! Now we're bringing the orange back!

"Wow!" I think to myself, "First JT brought Sexy Back, now the Le Peiu's are bringing back orange-these are exciting times we live in!"

Mrs. Le Pieu: Oh, and that's real 100% cashmere too. That's nice.

Finally, their exchanges of girl clothes were done and just when I thought they would leave, Mr. Le Pieu pulls out his Macy's card to buy his new orange scarf. No matter, that will only be a second, and my turn and we are out. The cashier states "$49.95". Now, how people spend their money is their business. But I couldn't help to think about all the things I could buy with fifty bucks besides an accessory used to bring back orange. And I thought about the millions of lectures I get (and will get) about how I should not have so many kids because they are expensive. It's true, if I didn't have them, I could be buying lots cashmere scarves for my husband. Think of all the colors I could bring back.

I have to say, when we got to the cashier, she asked of all the boys were mine and said she was impressed with our family, remarked about how busy I must have been, but it was all in the complimentary sense (or so she pretended). That made the experience not so horrible, but kind of nice.

Shortly after that, we decided we didn't want to stay in the mall much longer. The few stores we did go to, we met up with more odd people like the Le Pieus. And I am having a lot of trouble walking. It will be a while before we venture out there again. A long while.

Somethings I Can't Do

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I can do 4 loads of laundry a day. I can spend much energy fretting over how to pay the next bill, how to pay for Christmas or school books, or worrying about filling our increasingly larger vehicles with gas. I can deal with multiple fund raisers from school. I can be burnt out at the end of some days because lots of littles have a way of making the place constantly looking like a nuclear bomb went off despite my best efforts. I can deal with gestational diabetes, colic, mastitis, post partum depression. Tag team diaper changes, yep I do that. Sewing hand-me-downs to get more use out of clothes, sewing Halloween costumes, snow suits and coats, check. Three meals a day cooking mostly from scratch to stretch a budget as far as it can go while keeping meals appetizing, nutritious and made with whole foods. Let's not forget sleepless nights with babies, and getting up at 5.30 AM to start the chores and see the kids off to school. A house filled with every available spot of wall space covered with book shelves for kid's books, school books and "worthwhile reading", and an extra dresser in each bedroom. Yep. Such a pain, but I do that. Getting over the hump of first handwriting lessons, times tables and phonics. Teenagers, teenage music (Tokio Hotel anyone?) and teenage fashion. Yeah, kind of like purgatory.

All that stuff it passes, and at the end of the day, it's so worth it. There is no comparison between the work and stresses of having a large family brings and simply having my large family. Everyday I thank God for sending them to me. We don't have a lot, but we have each other and sometimes I think it can't get any better than my husband and children.

All that stuff above is hard work, but it is fulfilling meaningful work and I take it on gladly (well, not all the time). But I do take it on and I know better than anyone what it is to do all that in my home. I think God gives me the strength, although I'd be lying if I said without complaint. I love to complain. But I still do it. Everyday.

That stuff is incredibly easy to deal with, but I can't take take the remarks. I am at the end of my rope with the remarks. I can spread my laundry out throughout the day to make it more manageable. I don't know how to spread the nasty remarks out in my heart to make them more manageable. I don't know how to deal with either the lack of words, no congratulations, just admonishing looks used to teach me lesson in case I accidentally find joy at the arrival of another child. Am I supposed to think "well, at least they are not gossiping about me?" I don't know how to deal with overhearing another round of gossip about how I can't possibly understand or handle all the above life's difficulties with a family my size. I am tired of people who spend no time around my kids dismissing them all as "bad" and undisciplined, not because they are, but because they are simply there. Complete strangers who are around my children in not so fun situations like Mass, doctor's office waiting rooms, restaurants compliment us all the time. We must be doing something right once in awhile.

I don't know how to deal anymore. Each remark weighs on me heavier and heavier. Every lack of defense those close to me do not make while others go on rampages about my stupid choices to have my family hurts as well. If people close to me cannot see all the work I do, then what do they see about me? I don't want to know and when I get a small glimpse, it hurts. This life I have, it's not just what I do, it's who I am. This choice to not just simply take the stupid Pill already is not because I am too stupid nor because i am too holier-than-thou (depending on which family member you talk to), it's simply because I couldn't live with myself.

Jesus said:

Blessed are ye when they shall revile you, and persecute you, and speak all that is evil against you, untruly, for my sake: Be glad and rejoice, for your reward is very great in heaven. For so they persecuted the prophets that were before you. You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt lose its savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is good for nothing any more but to be cast out, and to be trodden on by men. You are the light of the world. A city seated on a mountain cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but upon a candlestick, that it may shine to all that are in the house. Matt. 5:11-15

This brings me comfort, yet I wonder if I dare be so arrogant to think He meant me too. I don't know, but it's all I got right now standing between sanity and deep, deep sadness.

Please, somebody stop me....

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My cube is close to the kitchen, and two women whose voices carry all-too-well are discussing the debate (they think Obama won). One of them is mentioning that the only president she can remember who balanced the budget was Bill Clinton.... "remember? He shut the government down, twice I think, in order to do it!"

and I SWEAR I am going to have to CHEW OFF MY OWN LIMB to keep myself from storming in there and shrieking NEWT GINGRICH CONTRACT WITH AMERICA !!!1!ELEVENTY-ONE!!!!!

I called my doctor's office because I was experiencing many symptoms that may or may not be associated with pre-term labor. They were noticeable enough to stop me throughout the day, so after conferring with fellow Momfolk, I figured a call to the doctor was in order. I hate calling the doctor and this is exactly why:

"Is this your first baby?

"No, number 7."

"Oh, well that's what your problem is! Everything down there is shot."

"Um, oh"

"Yeah, Hon', it's done, you have no muscle tone left. You're all used up.

"Oh, well, um..."

"There's nothing. Nothing to hold anything up."

"OK, then. I got it. Glad there's no cause for concern."

I kind of had a feeling that what i was experiencing was heightened sensitivity due to being a grand multipara, and I was relieved that is all it was, but dang. There has to be a more politically or medically correct way of stating things. Goodness.

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