From this blog.

Yes, my son will be reading this book, with the school’s support.

Damn, I’m good.

HumanEvents.com

What is your take on global warming and how is it affecting our country?

A changing environment will affect Alaska more than any other state, because of our location. I’m not one though who would attribute it to being man-made.

-Sarah Palin

http://www.newsmax.com/headlines/sarah_palin_vp/2008/08/29/126139.html

 

Thank God, a politician without her nose up Gore’s ass, or on the Bandwagon that Makes Us Look Responsible and Smart and Good.  She actually THINKS and researches and knows what she’s talking about!!!  What are the odds????

I think McCain made an absolutely brilliant choice, a person that actually thinks for herself – she told that bandwagon to go away.  And I’ll bet she doesn’t pay Al for carbon credits, either.

 

Gotta love ‘em, yeah?

I was pleased with how my photo shoot turned out with my 15 year old… he grumbed and mumbled and groaned the whole time I was telling him to “work it, work it babeeeeee”, but after he saw the final results, he was okay with his mother dragging him down the street and to different places.  Like, it’s so totally uncool, dude.

And heaven knows the teenager must be pleased, or the whole house pays for it.

 

My 10 (very soon to be 11) year old son loves to read.  He has a WILDLY vivid imagination – the boy can write short stories that can rival a much more experienced soul.  He, like the rest of the family, loves scary movies.  We thoroughly enjoy our Friday nights, turning the lights out, making popcorn, and snuggling on the couch to watch a great thriller. 

Stephen King started the same way.

In the past, some of my son’s teachers, such as his art teacher, really encouraged his imagination by letting him write his short stories and draw his wonderfully detailed pictures (of skeletons, zombies, and the like – no big deal) under the table.  In other words, they aren’t “appropriate” (whatever that word means) for school, per se, but the teachers realized reading is fundamental (hey, that sounds familiar), encouraging art and creativity is key to helping a child grow, and most important, it’s completely and utterly harmless.

So my son went to the bookstore last year to pick out some new books for young readers.  Among the books he chose was one called Death and the Arrow, by Chris Priestley.  Mr. Priestley writes lots of books for young adults.  He is very talented.  The writing is clear, the book is fairly short, being 161 pages or so, keeping the interest of a pre-teen through the entire novel.  And, it is a gripping tale that really encourages the mind to invent the scenes and maintains the desire to keep reading.

Each year, the children in our school are told they must read a certain amount of hours each week, and Mom or Dad must sign a sheet noting the times and the book that was read.  This is great, no problem.  It is, however, a problem, when my son is told his book is not appropriate reading. 

Not appropriate?  I’m sorry… it’s not about butterflies and bunnies, so it’s not appropriate?

Last year, in the fourth grade, it wasn’t appropriate.  This year, in the fifth grade, it’s not appropriate.  Way to encourage the mind, teachers.  Is this why more and more children are being homeschooled?  To avoid censorship and control?  I’m not happy about this.  I will, however, be contacting the teacher, and then possibly the school board.   I am the mother.  You will not, with your prudish rules and ridiculous guidelines, stifle my children. 

You can bet my son will be reading this novel.  Twice if he wants to.

Last night darling hubby held his annual Fantasy Football draft in our home. To those unfamiliar with this primal male practice (yeah, yeah, I know some women are involved too, but “primal male” always makes me picture men in a circle beating their hairy chests shouting Argh Argh and being all powerful and manly and stuff, k?), a group of men gather with their stash of football magazines, “insider” information, printouts from sports websites, spreadsheets, paper, pens, and beer. And meatballs.  And shout Argh Argh.  But I digress.

So our men draw cards to decide who gets to go first in the draft. Just like the pros. Well, the pros don’t sit at a kitchen table and draw Bicycle playing cards, but I mean they go in a specific order. ‘Cept the pros go by the Suckiest Team Ever for Last Year. My favorite team has been able to go first or nearly first for a really long time. Maybe Parcells will make this change. Either that or I’m going down to Miami and applying for the quarterback position. I think I can do better.

I digressed again. Anyways, so #1 (or the Ace) gets to pick his player first. You can see him quiver in anticipation of getting to be first.  Like the shot heard ’round the world, two little initials that every man in every draft wants to be able to say first, are shouted out like a old lady with blue hair screaming BINGO!   LT, if you get hurt this year, millions of men will singlehandedly (is it singlehandedly if millions do it? I dunno… but I digressed again) increase the stock of Budweiser by drowing their sorrows in alcohol. Be safe, my man. Be safe in your Journey.  I will pray for you.

That man sits back, looking smug, and sighs with relief.  And I’m sure he’s close to needing a smoke even if he’s never picked up a cigarette in his life.  Yes, he would say it’s as good as sex, at this very moment.

And so it goes, A through K, and back down again, until finally the “dregs” of the NFL are chosen for their team.   So now each man, glassy-eyed in anticipation of the season starting, has a roster that they think is the Best of Any Man, anywhere, in the world. Really. It’s perfect. Their quarterback will have more completions and will run in more touchdowns than any other QB ever. Their defense will sack the opposing team’s quarterback at least 6 times a game, and intercept double digits each week.  And on and on.

And in a few weeks it will begin.  Let me first say, I am a HUGE football fan.  I know all the fancy words that Madden spews each week (“all he needs to do is throw the ball and they can score”), and I can follow all of the commentator’s pretty drawings all over the screen, that are clearly there to help the men that have to stay out of the Circle of Manly Men until they grow chest hair.  So, I’m a fan.  I love to watch football.  But I love to watch the WHOLE game.  Like, the Steelers vs. the Dolphins.

I don’t wanna watch for Roethlisberger vs. Miami Defense. 

This is what a Fantasy Football Widow has to listen to for three hours every Sunday afternoon, Sunday evening, Monday night, and sometimes Thursdays.  It no longer matters who actually WINS the games, don’t be ridiculous!  It no longer really even matters what the scores are, although that does play a part in the QB’s, or RB’s, or defense, or a plethera of other players’ ultimate individual points.  They get so many points for a pass, for how many yards it is, for the kicks, for the interceptions, blah blah blah. 

I give points for cute butts, but the guys refuse to add that as a category.  Whatever.

Anyways, then begins the Cursing.  The trades that fail.  The beadie-eyed scanning of injury reports posted on the Internet.  The rush to submit your latest lineup.  The aggravation when you realize your running back’s team is on a bye week.  The grumpiness for an hour after every game.  The shouting at the TV because the QB threw to Bob’s player instead of yours.  The concern over the injury – not really for the player, mind you, but for the lost points that week that may have pushed you into first place for the League. 

Why, you ask, do I not participate in Fantasy Football?  Well, I don’t want these Chest-Beating Men to be deflated when a woman kicks their collective arses for the year.  *grin*

Ah, football.  How I miss you.

I read this poem in my surfing this morning and thought it was beautiful… so I took an old rose picture I had in my computer and added it… I think it’s really meaningful!

Picture of the Day – August 22, 2008

August 22, 2008 – 2:14 ET

Thanks to Trevor for sending this in… If you have something you would like to see as our picture of the day, submit it here…

Glenn Beck – Current Events & Politics – Picture of the Day – August 22, 2008

Why, YES, I am the one and only Queen of My Own Blog (this to the person that keeps trying to get her immature comments posted).  I don’t have to post any comments I don’t want to.  This is why I have them being moderated.  I will not participate in the drama of your (“your” being a general term for anyone that doesn’t like what I post) life, I will not post your negative crap.  As a matter of fact, I have them set as spam now – once you try to post something that I don’t like, I spam you.  I’ll never see another comment from you again.  Ain’t it grand?????  I really wanna stick my fingers in my ears and waggle my tongue, but I’m above that. 

Eh, who am I kidding.  I’m not above it, but you can’t see me so it’s not nearly as fun. 

If my blog were a more professional dig where I invited healthy debates and discussions on issues, maybe.  But as of now, my blog is not a democratic entity.  It is under Dictatorship Rule.  Everyone does NOT get a fair shake at voicing their opinions.  I only approve the ones I like.  I can do that.

This is my Sunshine and Rainbows Out My Butt Happy Place, and I will keep it that way forever and ever and ever.

The family had so much fun yesterday making Funnel Cakes together… we saw the recipe on the Food Network, my real addiction, and tried it out – easy as pie funnel cakes!!!

All you need is 3 cups of any baking mix, 1 cup of liquid vanilla coffee creamer, 1/2 cup of milk, and two eggs… blend them well. I put them in an empty ketchup container (or is it catsup container? hm) and drizzle into a pan of hot oil… only takes a few minutes in there… drain on paper towels, sprinkle some powdered sugar on it, and dang it all if you’re not at the fair in your own kitchen… it was so fun my teenager even helped out.  I wish I took pictures, no one will believe that he did without proof.

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