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Deep down, way deep down inside me, I've always wanted to be a Marine. You know, as in a United States gun toting, spitting nails kind of Marine, OORAH. But I don't like to get water in my face. And I hate running. I don't like the woods and I can't leave the house without lipstick or mascara.

Other than that, I'm a prime candidate.

Anyway, a college friend, Jodie, actually IS a Marine. Not only a Marine, but a Marine Corps captain. Not only a Marine Corps captain, but a hot Marine Corps captain. I recently interviewed her for an article I'm writing for a magazine I've never seen in print.



Anyway, Jodie recently returned from Fallujah, the only female officer to live in downtown Fallujah during battle. She was in charge of men. Hot men.


More importantly, she reached out to the Iraqi women who have little or no glimpse of personal freedom. Not only are they covered physically with a veil, but they are smothered by the male figures in their lives. Many are undereducated or illiterate and are solely dependent on their husbands for food, shelter, clothing and existence.



If I chose to make money from writing this blog, I could. I could probably make a mean $1.20 this year. But I have that choice. Can you imagine never having that option? Jodie, while in the position to help women as a soldier in Fallujah, discovered that even though she could help in some physical ways, she was completely helpless in matters important to women: Independence.

Did you know it is perfectly legal for a husband to give his children to his parents and forbid his wife to have contact with them? Did you know Female Genital Mutilation is practiced in the Middle East, not just Africa. World Health Watch estimates that nearly 60% of the females in the Iraqi village of Hasira, has undergone FGM.

Did you know that it is socially acceptable for a family to murder their daughter in the name of preserving family honor? It is estimated there were over 5 thousand honor killings this year alone.

Since returning to the US, Jodie has launched a home based web business called http://www.onestarrynite.com/. Women from oppressed nations such as Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan, hand make crafts to be sold for profit. The money goes a long way in helping these women on the road to financial independence. Jewelry, stationary, bookmarks (made from burqas) purses, bags and loads of other great gift ideas can be found.

http://www.onestarrynite.com/

Support our troops. Give more than just a gift. OORAH.

The Guardians - Memorial Day reflections...

I have a picture of my grandpa standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The date is November, 1944. He's dressed handsomely in an Army uniform, a cigarette between his fingers and the sly grin of a 19 year old on his face.

He's never revealed what he did during World War II. When anyone asks what he saw, where he fought or what he did, he turns the answer into some kind of joke. The usual response is, "I delivered candy to the guys on the front line."

No one probes because within the sarcastic response is the unspoken answer, "Don't ask me to explain. Don't ask me to live that again." So no one asks, we only wonder.

This is the unspoken part of Memorial Day. We celebrate our heroes, our soldiers, their service, their sacrifice and their death. We gladly proclaim gratitude for the past, present and future freedom.

What we don't thank them for is what we don't see. The silence they resume upon return from war is the silent protection of our innocence. They live with memories, sights and sounds that would cripple most of us. And they live it. And live it again.

They unassumingly slip back into the life they left, before they bore the nightmare for us. We sense they are not the same people they were before they left. But we both pretend they are.

Even in the face of opposition and protest, few talk. Few give details. There seems to be an unspoken rule that not only are they supposed to do the fighting on our behalf, they also keep the fight to themselves. As if the fight itself is too much, which it is.

On Memorial Day we celebrate and commemorate lives lost. Entwined in the celebration are the soldiers still living who have spiritually and emotionally died a thousand deaths. Yet, they still guard us from the horrors that haunt them day and night. Their selflessness is not restricted to a time period or geographical border.

While we thank those who have bravely fought for us and now rest in peace, we need to remember those who have fought for us and just need to rest. Sometimes I sense an attitude that says, tomorrow, when you are buried, we will thank you properly for your sacrifice.

Today is the day.


To all the present day heroes-

Thank you-for allowing my family to celebrate Memorial Day, as if it's just another day off work and school.

Your bravery, sacrifice and silence have not gone unnoticed.



*reprinted from May, 2007

Birthday Wishes

Me: "Dylan, what do you want for your birthday?" He turns 11 in the next few days.

Dylan: "Peace and love for my fellow man."

Me: "Good idea. Now can you give me something I can buy?"

Dylan: "How about a dirt bike?"

Me: "Try again."

When I was his age, I got a...shoot, I can't even remember what I got for my 11th birthday. I'm sure it was some version of a cardboard box.

Where Have I Seen Your Jacket, Randy?

Does this jacket look familiar? If you watched the American Idol season finale, it should. I swear to you, I spent half that show racking my brain, trying to remember where I'd seen Randy's jacket. Childhood. Captain Kangaroo. Yep. that's it.

Nothing says 'I Love You' like a stink weed

These are my Mother's Day lilies. They are HUGE. Huge like the size of my head, huge. My husband ordered them from www.proflowers.com. These are the best flowers ever. I haven't killed them yet. My Pepto-pink Valentine's Day flowers were also from the same place, and they were the biggest roses I've seen not on a Rose Bowl Day parade float.

Anyway, these mammoth lilies are also aromatic. Some might say, overpowering. My four boys call them 'stink weeds.' Hudson, my 7 year old with bionic olfactory abilities, refuses to eat dinner at the table if the stink weeds are there. Apparently the scent of food and nature don't mix with his delicate culinary palette.

Usually he has the sniffing abilities of a coon dog. I was beginning to think I'd bred some sort of mutant superhero who could smell trouble a galaxy away. Then I caught him upstairs sniffing some flowers I was using to make a wreath.

"These smell better than that stink weed," he says.

"Those are fake flowers," I said.

"That's my point."

Forget the superhero. I'm raising a super smart alec.



PS I apologize for the picture quality. I used my cell phone. I guess if you leave your phone at the bottom of your purse it can get clogged with stuff, like q-tips and cracker crumbs and foot powder stuff. Don't ask.

Iron Man of Steel

Let me begin by disclaiming everything I'm about to write. I've never been a huge fan of comic books or movies made from comic book characters. But my husband is, so we went to see Iron Man. I've never been a big fan of Robert Downey Jr. Honestly, I barely paid attention to his acting career. The only time I noticed him was in a mug shots.


But let me just say, wow.

Two nights ago I had a girl's night out. What did we do? Shopping? Coffee? No. Iron Man. Again, let me just say, wow. Great...acting.

Superheroes

I never saw Spiderman look so good. In a plot to create a Mother's Day surprise, my eldest son orchestrated a covert gift-giving operation. From his four siblings, he recruited the two that don't drool.

Secretly, they filled page after page from their favorite coloring books to create their masterpiece: a Spiderman collage. Their superhero, adorned in a rainbow of colors, is depicted in all sorts of cataclysmic scenarios-battling villains and ensuring that good triumphs over evil.

The pages are ranked according to the artistic abilities of a seven-, four- and three-year old. Each bears a message-written in varying degrees of coherence-ranging from "Happy Mother's Day" to merely the artist's name, in randomly selected capital letters.
It's adorable. Completely uninitiated and, therefore, all the more cherished.

The kids stowed the pages in a private location, accessible only by the tooth fairy: underneath their pillows. When the pictures emerged on Mother's Day, they looked, to say the least, well rested.

I'm a big fan of the web slinger. But that's not what makes the gift tear-jerking precious.

Instead, it's the chubby face with dazzling eyes. It's the dimpled hands. It's the "Happy Mudder's Day" moment when a priceless work of art was thrust at me-the reason all mothers save yarn flowers, painted rocks and Popsicle stick crafts. It's that face, that look, that says, For this moment in my little life, you, Mommy, are the most important person in the world to me.

I dread the day they won't look at me with such admiration, when my loving glances, might not be reciprocated. Or the day my man-child looks at "another" woman with admiration and love. And today's handcrafted token will become souvenirs of my past.

But for now, I am the object of their affection. Their first love. Their superhero. And I'll tuck away my Mother's Day gift along with a piece of my heart.

Besides,a purple and orange Spidey? You can't put a price on talent like that.

I've already published this post, but it never gets old, to me. It was orignally published in one of those Chicken Soup books and before that in the newspaper column I used to write.

You know, I'm such a control freak, when the Chick Soup editors made a slight word change, it made the whole $200 profit soooo not worth it. I felt cheap. And used.

They altered the original phrase and used the phrase 'man-child.' Who uses the word man-child? Rudyard Kipling, that's who. I'm not writing about Mowgli! That's so embarrassing I told few people about the publication and certainly not without a disclaimer.

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Mercedes Benz

If you've got a thousand things to do and yet, you just don't know where to start, I recommend sitting down in front of the computer. Go to www.craigslist.com

Even though the laundry pile now has a hazardous waste sign on it, I find time to do what I call: research. Go to the barter section. It's the grown up version of "trade ya my banana for your Snickers bar." This is my favorite deal today:

FOR TRADE~2002 MERCEDES BENZ SPORT WAGON C320 FOR BEER CAN COLLECTIONS (BEER CANS WANTED)
I don't even like beer but I'm about to drink my way into a European import.




In the for sale section I was delighted to find that I could purchase:

A Male Goat - $100 I am not sure what kind of goat he is but he is friendly.Call me!

I'm not certain what one does with a male goat. Who needs a Wii when you have Billy Goat Gruff in your backyard? Seriously, there's potential here. Your kids may never ask for another pet again.

And to pander to my ongoing chiropractic theory:

Trade Chiropractic services...

Have you had an accident or injury and are you finding it difficult to get the care you need? I can help...headaches, neck pain, mid back pain, pain between the shoulder blades, carpal tunnel, low back pain, sciatica, disc issues...we can help. If it is a joint and soft tissue problem chances are we can get you relief.

In trade I am looking for fun stuff. Old cars...preference given to early Novas, 70-72 Cutlass, Jeep Wrangler (cj 5 or 7)...early Corvette...as well as other things, contact me and we can work on a solution.

Let's get rid of your pain and complaints...

You know how I feel about chiropractors, right mom?

The real question is, will he trade for a goat?

Pffffft.

Someone put a used Q-tip back in the container.

That's the most exciting news I've had in recent weeks. I'm in a blog funk. I haven't even visited other blogs I usually like to read. Now I have blog guilt.

I think I'll eat an oatmeal creme pie.