Why We Fought the Civil War (In Case You Were Wondering)

Wow.

I just got back from an interview that has me reeling.

I find myself randomly throwing my hands up in the air and spinning around in a circle on one heel,  unexpectedly bursting out with comments like, “Seriously! Unbelievable!” and “You should have been there!”

Let me back up.

I serve as chairman of the GCRP candidate’s committee. If you want to run in our county for any position as a member of our party, you need to be vetted by us. We’ll make a recommendation based on your interview and your written responses.

Let’s just say that our recommendations from tonight’s interviews will contain one very strong NO. There isn’t a font large enough to emphasize the feeling behind that.

Our first interviewee was an outstanding example of well-informed,  articulate citizenship. I don’t care what  party he was running for, I would respect this man and his passion. He knew what he was talking about. He knew what we were talking about. He could answer a straight question.

The other one brought in a stack of papers.

It took me about  half an hour to realize that he wasn’t ever going to answer any question until we determined what in the world he was so obsessed with on his clipboard. Among other things, I found the state audit report–which I’m pretty sure he was convinced was documented evidence that Abraham Lincoln was actually the woman who pulled the trigger when JFK was burned at the stake.

Well, that’s an exaggeration. Probably gives him more credit than he deserves. I do my best to be fair and unbiased.

Favorite quote of the night: “That’s what we fought the Civil War for, wasn’t it? Them communists were trying to take away our property!”

Or something like that. I was too busy trying to make sense of the previous craziness that spilled from his mouth to really take good notes.

The most frightening thing about it is that this man served on our city council for years. Oh mercy me.

Please. If you are a registered voter in this county this November, drop me a line. I have a few names to add to your blacklist.

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Laundry Mountain Part II

Not very long ago, I sorted all the clothes out. Threw away anything worn, almost worn, or lacking a clear and rightful owner.

And yet, there is–once again–an enormous pile of clean and unclaimed laundry on my couch and floor.

All of my children deny ownership of any of it. I made them go inspect Laundry Mountain one by one. I made them do this three times.

Would it be ethical parenting to let every child have two t-shirts, one pair each of swim trunks and regular shorts, and a pair of flip flops for the summer?

I’ll even throw in a hand towel apiece to dry themselves with.

Yes?

Outnumbered

I was one kid short at church today.

I was the only female in the pew.

And then it sunk in. This is us. An all-male-except-for-me household. Five kids, not six. And every two years or so another one will be amputated. Strange days indeed.

My parents and brother found us, but my in-laws were swallowed up in the mob.

That’s my youngest brother, in the middle, there. Her friends thought he was cute. New definition of “uncle” in their minds. (And yes, girls, he is spoken for.) He was even cuter, a couple decades or so ago:

Proud Parents

Some parents’ children pose prettily for pictures. Particularly when they are being printed in the newspaper.

This is ours: