In Wake of the Orlando Massacre: My Letter to Sen. Ted Cruz

Dear Senator Cruz:

Let me introduce myself. I am one of your constituents. I come from a strong Conservative Christian family that loves Jesus, America, and believes in the Constitution, and I am CONCERNED, sir.

I am concerned because we have lost balance as a nation, and we cannot afford to turn our heads, while lamenting "that's so sad" over instances like the Pulse NightClub shooting, or heaven forbid, those babies at Sandy Hook, any longer. Jesus showed us that love is a verb by taking up his cross and spreading out his arms to show us just how much. If we love our country, our fellow man, woman, and child in America, we must realize that love is a verb. I believe there is a balance to be found between personal liberties and safety of a nation from violence.

I'm not suggesting an all out ban. If a person has been investigated for terror or otherwise flagged by a professional community (like a psychiatrist, or someone of similar evaluative means), perhaps certain access should be limited to them. That isn't a slippery slope, that's called discretion. Protection from those who would take the lives of innocents is easier when we think of similar analogies.

In a school setting, all students have access to education. Let's say one arrangement/environment doesn't work for one student because the student has different needs beyond what we can provide. Their LRE (least restrictive environment) becomes slightly more restricted/structured. The student still gets an education. Nothing has been deprived from the student. But now, the other students in the original room aren't distracted, fearful in their surroundings, or undertaught.

Or, should that idea not fit, consider parallels with how we treat alcohol. Again, I'm not saying ban weapons. Establish better regulatory practices and education. Liquor was more popular than ever during prohibition, but, since the 21st amendment or reversal, where are we on alcohol related deaths? People make dumb choices. We do have age limits (which might discourage some), checks in stores where it is enforced, but what I think is most helpful is two things: one, businesses will cut a person off when they sense the individual may become a hazard to themselves or others. Some of those businesses have a policy on number of drinks served per person, even. This is wise. Second, sitting down and discussing alcohol frankly: what it is, what it does, and the concept of moderation actually has significant impact when conversation is open.

Let's not turn a blind eye to this. Regulation is not a bad thing altogether, and to me, it's a part of a social contract of living amongst other humans. I respect personal liberties insomuch as there needs to be a balance between them and the greater good. When unfettered liberties splash around recklessly, other people are violated. That's not okay.

Sincerely,

L.B.-- wife, mother, and proud American

Rounding out the day: A Second Post, and Projection of Future Self

I spent the majority of my day plotting how to rid my house of mice. (Insert ax, bomb, pointy knife, noose, etc. here). If you're rather protective of mice, please note: I'm interested in getting rid of the ones IN my house, not on the entire planet. Mouse Death in moderation, dear friends.

Nature Google for my peace loving side suggested that I implement an essential oil such as peppermint or eucalyptus. Because mint will dry up breastmilk production, we have none in our home, but eucalyptus I do have. Ahem, DID.

A message board writer mentioned that mice hate Bounce dryer sheets. Bounce is a dollar or so out of my budget, so I grabbed the Kroger brand and doused several (fifteen-twenty) of those bad boys in eucalyptus oil and placed them strategically around my kitchen and in the attic.

I then implemented PHASE II: If You Don't Leave, Fine, Here's a Snap Trap with Peanut Butter. Phasers set from stun to kill, homies.

Phase III is where I fiddle while Rome burns.

In all seriousness, Phase III will be me going to the Container Store and purchasing thick plastic storage containers for the pasta, rice, flour, sugar, cereal, and cat food. I imagine a truly dedicated rat could gnaw through a tightly-sealed plastic container, but in the interest of a toddler who may grow several feet in height overnight (as they are prone to do), I thought thick plastic sounded better. Plus, I drop things all the time being clumsy as hell.

The next topic of address in my writing prompts is me in seven years. Let me tell you what I DON'T want to be still doing in seven years: Waging World War Freakin' III on the mouse population. If I had to guess, I will still be teaching and going strong. I will have decided on a hair color by then and will have found my sense of style. I will be running (NOT walking) races to the tune of at least 3 per year. With any luck, my student loans will be long paid off, and I will have a successful side project selling something that I create (art, food, tales of wonder) online for spare change. That's about all I want to currently imagine. Something tells me, I don't want to speculate whether my cat(s) will still be alive. And now since I've saddened myself with thoughts of cat companion death, I'm going for a 5k walk around my 'hood.

Peace, y'all.

Muh muh muh my commute-uh

My commute used to involve three major roadways and 50 minutes going/ an hour and a half returning, if I was lucky. When I was pregnant, my husband came to collect me a few times from work, and I recall him exclaiming, "I can't see how you do this EVERY DAY. If I had to drive this, I would have quit by now!" Strong words coming from someone who worked for 6 months with a 1 hour/3 hour ratio. Traffic in Houston is the WORST. THE WORST.

Thankfully, a nice shortcut linking two major roadways together has opened. It significantly reduces my drive time for a small fee of roughly $40 a week. Overall, it's worthwhile. I am able to devote more time at work with groups/orgs and tutoring. I can get to my son in a small blink of an eye opposed to mind-melting eternities in which he burns to death from fever before I can arrive. So, there's that.

When I'm not rushing to the rescue and I have some leisure and fuel to burn, I love to indulge in Audible books. My current read is Tell the Wolves I'm Home, a fictional writhing through the loss of a beloved (or something more? Something closer?) uncle dying of AIDS who was a skillful artist. So far, there are bright moments of clarity for the main character, and the storyline is both intriguing and uncomfortable in the "I just drank way too much sugar, I'm drowsy and want to lie down, but this room is full of needles" kind of way.

I cannot recommend it enough.

So, yeah. Here's to long commutes, and to having the freedom to choose them or to take alter-routes on a whim. Whee!

Two Phrases that Make Me Laugh

The first phrase that came to mind was an aforementioned private joke that the Internet will never know, but it involves Sauron. /deep chuckle

1. "Date nahhhhhhht!" This was bellowed enthusiastically and at a strange octave by yours truly when Nick and I were still dating. It's become a running joke, and I have yet to duplicate the same frequency of embarrassing sound.

2. My husband is the king of memorable one-liners. Some of these are appropriate between only us, some among friends, but here's one the whole family can enjoy (unlike my previous example).

Nick met my stepdad in 2011, prior to my stepfather's passing from Alzheimer's and bodily shut-down. During this visit, the first time Nick had met mom and Ray, we were sharing stories. Ray didn't say much at this point, but he still had rare moments of clarity. Mom had shared a story about Ray meeting someone--a priest--who aided in the idea of anti-bacterial hand-sanitizer. There was a slight pause afterward, and Nick chimed in:

"Oh, so he was all about purity!"

Ray smirked, and the rest of us shared a good laugh. It's a happy moment that weaves together three of the folks I hold dear, and it's one I hope to carry with me for years to come.

Do you think in pictures? Good.

If running naked through a field of cilantro is wrong, I don't want to be right.

My Current Relationship and Why When I Have Sex Is Not Your Business

We're approaching year 3 of marriage this September, and this July we've known each other five years.

In my past chapters, I experienced quite a bit of lust at first sight. That's easy to do when you're governed by hormones and unaware of that fact. We had some adventures, self and I. We had some heartbreak. But we did not know love. Not in its truest form. Not in the mutual-respect, protect you at all costs form.

Enter Nicholas. How do I relay details that only my heart knows? Four jobs, a new cat, three moves, a mortgage, and a baby later, he's my best friend. We disagree, as separate entities navigating the globe will sometimes do; we have inside jokes too crass to publish, we balance each other. And I would do it all again exactly the same way.

Well, maybe we wouldn't buy the Sleep Number bed. MISTAAAAKE.

Part II: Baby Factory

What I am about to tell you had been bothering me since it happened, so it's time to release it into the universe. Someone who has met me all of three times pressed me hard on when I'd be having my next baby.

Jim Gaffigan captures the frustrating hilarity of how no one is more up in your business than people inquiring about when you're going to have sex again or when you're going to stop (having so many damn children). We have plenty of sex. We have sex that doesn't result in babies. We believe in birth control, and we believed in birth control before marriage. Be appalled if it gets you through the day. Be outraged if it helps you sleep at night. We knew raising a human would be tough work, a financial investment, emotionally demanding, and a separate adventure from our personal relationship. We waited.

Sidebar( Waiting doesn't mean abstinence. In a committed, honest, loving relationship abstinence is not scientifically sound.)

And now, as little bear has reached age one, the questions pop up. When? When is the next one? 

When are you going to financially contribute to my family? Are you offering to babysit so I can nurture my relationship with my husband, who is still the reason I *get* to add the title of "mommy" to my docket? Are you going to explain to my doctor that, pish-posh, medical this and that aside, getting pregnant again doesn't jeopardize my current health goals? 

I can choose to be angry at some thoughtless side comments, but I don't. It's aired. It's fleeing from me. Good riddance.

I have my house in order, and I love my house. I am the warm effervescent center of it, and outsider commentary doesn't get to sleep in my attic.

Fruit and Judgement

Today's writing prompt is ridiculous: A fruit you dislike and why. Okay, so I loathe pears. It's a texture thing, a why-would-you-scoop-cottage-cheese-into-this-are-you-mad? thing, a rarely are they ripe thing, a name thing, a taste thing, a why can't we have apples like normal poor people thing...

Pears may have been my gateway drug into judging people harshly. Or was that lima beans?

Regardless, I learned from a young age that there are choices in life, and some people concern themselves with some mighty terrible ones.

I have learned two things about the Internet. Honestly, I am still learning them both, so bear with me.

1.) Social media outrages me. When I hit my boiling point, it's best to step away and not say anything, although I desperately want to. Often, I think people mean well. They are on a journey of self discovery in this mad, mad world and they say ridiculous shit en route to becoming, or some other Buddhisty-feel-nice mantra that resonates deep within the Earth. Dig. I say people, and again, it sounds judgy, but I am included in that category of people as I have not yet shuffled off this mortal coil to spy on people like some Maxwell/MJ ghostling. I remind myself that I'm not the jackass whisperer, usually after I've said something I cannot retract. So, if you're reading this and you feel somehow offended, check out some puppies for a few minutes, then come back.

2. Inevitably, when I write/blog, I feel better. I'd like to think I'm not mostly ranting into a void and writing only to purify myself cathartically. I'd like to think that instead, I am en route to becoming, and because I was born to WRITE, periodically checking in is helpful to that end.

When I get up in the morning, I have choices, after all. And I shouldn't let the choices of others that have no bearing on me get me down. And when then choices make the world a dumber place to occupy, I can ask myself: what am I doing to make this a rock worth continuing to inhabit?