No Longer Human

This has never been a political blog. Most of the time I find politics too bland a topic to discuss. Or maybe I have just been too comfortable to feel the need to discuss it. If a topic concerned me some I would think about it and maybe talk about it with those closest to me, but I always just figured everything would work out and there was no need to get up in arms.

The current healthcare situation, however, has me sleepless this very early morning. Yesterday I viewed a video in which Obama was asked whether or not a 100-year-old woman with a sound mind would be eligible for a pacemaker under his new plan. He skirted the question a bit and ultimately answered that there was a point in life when painkillers needed to be considered as an alternative to procedures.

Is this really healthcare for everyone? No. It is healthcare for those the government determines are worthy of healthcare. Will everyone who needs care get it? No. Only those who meet certain criteria. The elderly will be told to take a pill and wait to die.

I guess I should not be surprised that the government is once again trying to limit the definition of "human." After all, for decades we have known that there are those who are too young to fit this definition (as far as government is concerned anyway). Babies, in many cases through the ninth month of pregnancy, are brutally and legally murdered everyday. The barbaric and torturous methods used to kill these babies is unconscionable and yet our society accepts that it is okay because they do not fit into our convenient little box of what makes a person a person.

Now we are moving into a time when not only innocent babies, but also the elderly are outside the scope of what the government deems human. Who's next? The mentally ill? Single, white males? Christians? What's your demographic? Are you next? Or someone you love?

I realize that healthcare needs reform. This is NOT the way to do it.

Mountain Man

Yesterday the weather was crazy in our city. We had quarter size hail at our house and I hear there were places in the city where there was baseball sized hail. Can't confirm that though. You know how people like their fish stories. Anyway we received so much hail that our grass was completely covered and it was piled about a foot high where it was coming off the roof. We were also under tornado warnings at various times throughout the evening. Fun times.

After the initial storm had passed, our backyard resembled a small lake. While I love the rain and we really needed it, I was dreading having to take the dogs outside. I knew that the next few days were going to be filled with constant paw wiping every time we had to let them out and back in again.

I left Brad with all the kids while I went to the store to get us some dinner. Upon my return I noticed that the back door was standing wide open. I didn't give it a second thought as I closed it and wondered why I am the only one who cares about things like that.

A few minutes later, Brad was looking out into the backyard and noticed the dogs were out there. Our dogs either stay in the house or in their pen in the backyard. They are not allowed to be out free in the yard because I don't want to deal with the kids tracking poop into the house on the bottoms of their shoes and because Junah can tear up a beautiful yard in no time. But, there they were frolicking in the lake and becoming saturated with mud.

So Brad immediately turned to Meyson, then Brianna, then Cody asking them all the same question in a loud and stern voice:

"Who let the dogs out?"

I know what you're thinking. No, nobody said, "Who, who, who, who."

Instead they just stood staring at him with gaping mouths and innocent eyes. I quickly interceded with, "I think you are forgetting the most likely suspect," and understanding flooded Brad's face right away. "Where's Memphis?"

Memphis is a boy in all ways. He saw an adventure before him and could not restrain himself from indulging. He was trekking around the swamp, backpack (probably full of survival gear) strapped on, full-sized shovel in hand. He set out to conquer the wilderness and defeat the enemy. He must have been dodging danger from every direction because he felt the need to camouflage himself using mud and leaves. He smeared them from head to foot. He was ready for anything.

And the look of joy that overcame him was unmistakable. This was the most awesome adventure, until...

He was scooped up by a big, hairy monster, otherwise known as DAD, and handed off to a smaller (but just as scary) monster who threw him into a tub full of ...CLEAN WATER!! Oh the horror that befell the hero. Cut down just when things were getting interesting.

He had a really good scrubbing (and so did the dogs) and was soon warm and dry and safe. I'm sure he is just waiting for his next adventure to begin.

Silas' Take Part 3

Ok, so I know it's been a long time since I updated you on my life, but I have been very busy! I am still a very happy baby but I am especially happy any time I have access to food. You know I can feed myself now. I really like cheerios, graham crackers, oyster crackers, peaches, and cereal bars. Oh, and I can hold my own bottle. See, I really am a big girl now. And I can prove it. I weigh in at 21 pounds which is only 5 pounds less than my big brother Memphis.

I don't let that weight difference get in my way though. I can hold my own with Memphis which scares my mommy to death. I just grab a handful of his hair or skin when he is being rowdy and he screams like a girl. I really love him though. He always greets me with a hug and a kiss when I wake up and I give him my biggest smile.

I tried to crawl for awhile, but it just wasn't working out for me. I found that the army crawl works great. I can go from zero to gone before my mommy and daddy know what happened. Then my mom put up this thing in the doorway that I can't crawl over. My brothers and sisters just hop over it and I cry because I haven't figured out how to nibble through it yet. I have two teeth that are perfect for nibbling.

I like to test out my new teeth on everything so I know what they can bite, but my mommy doesn't like it at all when I do that. She says things like, "yucky" and "blech" but I don't know what that means. Tasted pretty good to me. Except this one:

My family likes to slap their hands together for me a lot. At first I was kind of confused but then I tried it. Now I like to slap my hands together all the time and mommy says, "Silas, you're clapping!" Ok, if you say so.


I have the best Daddy in the whole world. I like to go see him right away when he comes home. He smiles and laughs and snuggles with me. I think he is wonderful and I really like his hat too.

I surprised him really good one day when he came home and watched me pull myself up to standing using a box that came in the mail. He really laughed a lot.

I see a lot of people I don't know everyday, but some people I keep seeing over and over again. I finally figured out that this is my Nana:

And this is my Mamaw:

I love them both very much! I tell them by smiling and bouncing and flapping my arms wildly when I see them.

I guess that's it for now. It's about time for another bottle and I can't miss eating time! Talk to you later.

Oh, and did I mention that I love my tongue?

And here's an update on my hair:

Who Are You Kidding?!?

My brother told me about this website he has been using to keep track of his calorie/carb/fat intake. Since we are making a conscious effort to eat healthier I thought it was worth a shot. I went to the site, just messing around with it to see exactly how it worked, and I became curious as to just how badly I had eaten that day.

I found spaghetti with meat sauce just fine, but when I decided to be completely honest about what I had eaten, I typed Krispy Kreme into the search field. Nothing. Chocolate donut. Nothing. Donut. Nothing.

Are you kidding me? Of the thousands of people who use this website there is not anyone out there eating donuts? Come on! Ok, maybe there is some politically correct way of saying donut. Fried dough. Nothing. Pure cholesterol. Nothing.

I have come to the conclusion that those who use this website may need a companion site that is titled, "Truthday" or something like that.

In The Name of Cake

Today Cody, Carson, Brianna and I made a cake that is only comparable to what the food must taste like in Heaven. It is called Gooey Butter Cake. Try it. Today.

Anyway, this cake has to cool for awhile so that it doesn't drip down your arm. I don't care personally if it drips down my arm. I'm not ashamed to be caught licking my arm when it is Gooey Butter Cake I'm trying to retrieve, but I'd rather not have to give all the kids a bath afterward.

EVERYONE is very impatient for it to be ready. They keep standing over it, breathing the incredible flavor in only for me to shoo them away for fear of a lovely drool topping. Carson wants to know when, wwwhhheeeeennnnn will it be done. What time can we eat it? How much llloooonnnngggeeerrrrrr?

I told her that I am incapable of computing the speed at which heat leaves a solid object, but that she was welcome to google it if she wished. Instead she held up one little finger while a sly grin matriculated on her face and she said, "Tell me when it will be done or.....bellybutton squish!!!"

That means I must quickly shield my bellybutton before it is brutally assaulted by her tiny needle of a finger. It's not the worst thing she's ever done in the name of cake, but I will spare you those details.

Anarchy

The other day I was driving down the road, thinking about what I am sure was something very important. My thoughts were interrupted by a sticker I saw on the vehicle in front of me at a stop light. The sticker was a 12-inch high anarchy symbol.

This symbol always catches my eye because in my young teenagerhood I used to scribble it on anything that would stand still. Why? Because it was cool. There. I've admitted it.

The day came, however, when I realized what anarchy really meant and I couldn't imagine ever wanting to live that way. I like comfort, you see.

I was not yet old enough to drive when I abandoned this symbol as a mark of my own rebellion, so when I see it on a car I am forced to believe one of two things about the driver: They are either the type of adult that I do not want my children around, or they just think that anarchy is a cool idea in innocent theory.

Upon further examination, I realized that the car in front of me held the latter. A little below the sticker was another one. One that revealed that the driver is a part of a collegiate athletic team. Organized sports.

Not only that, but this student was driving a mini-van. Yes, that's right. He was a mini-van driving, collegiate athlete-ing, anarchist. Hmmm....Perhaps he has not found himself yet.

The Addict

"Hello, my name is Memphis and I am a Girl-Scout-Cookie-aholic."

"Hi, Memphis!"

"It all started when my mom agreed to be the cookie mom for my sister's Brownie troop. Hundreds of boxes lined the walls in our home every January. Thin Mints, Tag-a-Longs, Samoas...you name it, we had it. Those cookies called my name day and night. I would tear open boxes causing my mom to go nuts about having to buy another box. I would climb the shelves in the pantry, grab a box of chocolaty-minty Thin Mints, hide in a corner and devour as many as I could before my crunching gave me away. Then my mom would whisk me to the bathroom to wipe the goodness that had escaped off of my mouth and she would mutter something about my shirt being trash now. It only got worse from there. I know I'm an addict, but truth be told, I'm just not ready to give it up yet. Maybe I'll be back in March when cookie sales are over."

"Bye, Memphis!"