heartbreak – Page 11 – Home's Cool!

It Is Kidnapping and It Is Legal

Posted on April 8, 2011April 8, 2011 by Katharine

Question: When is a person not a person?

Answer: When he is a child.

Ladies, just think: You are one day post-partum and your doctor tells you that you may take your baby home if you want. But the nurse doesn’t want you to, so she calls the police. In an unheard-of tug of war, Dear Mommy, weary from labor and drained from lack of sleep, this nightmare unfolds before your eyes, in the land of the free.

And as sorry as you may feel for yourself, you cannot escape the fact that your precious new daughter is a mere pawn in a manipulator’s reach.

Read about it here.

And as sad as that may make us feel, should your child ever feel sadness, herself, better be prepared for another attack.

But don’t you DARE die!

If your precious daugher ever loses her parents and must be placed in foster or adoptive care, the State could place her in a home with two mommies or even with two daddies because it might hurt their feelings if the State did otherwise.

And this is no matter what the voters think.

Read about it here.

Oh, protect the children!

And pray…

Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Inspiring

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Dad

Posted on March 24, 2011March 10, 2015 by Katharine

I wrote of my dad already, but left much unsaid.

A WWII veteran, my dad was a factory worker. He lifted heavy bags of plastic pellets into a machine that turned out knobs, duck calls, and laundry baskets, at high temperatures. He seldom took sick leave and came home exhausted every night. For that he received $100 per week and a party sometime in December.

Yet he had such energy left for tomfoolery! He played with us kids as if he were one himself. Airplane rides (on his feet), jigsaw puzzles, carom games, goofy drawings, and croquet were among his repertoire. He made the stand for our carom board, himself, without any plan or pattern. He also made several bookcases and two desks the same way. And he repaired our toys.

One play activity he initiated with us was about trust. Did he think it through and decide to teach us trust? Maybe not—he was having fun. He encouraged and coaxed us to fall backward into his hands, if we believed he was strong enough to catch us. Was that ever hard to do! And how insulted he acted when we were scared to try it! He never dropped us, though, and we learned something, I think.

When his family grew, he built an addition to the house, himself. Alone. He hired help with digging and pouring the basement, and with the rafters. All the rest he did with our help. We gained a new living room, bedroom, basement, and bath. It was hard, but he did it. He wired, plumbed, hammered, sawed, plastered, sanded, and varnished. And I still can back any nail out of any board, no matter how bent or stuck. Just ask my kids.

He kept a huge garden, too. Corn, tomatoes, beans, and cucumbers, I remember. Sometimes he hired it plowed in spring, sometimes he could only afford to burn it off and attack with a shovel. But he had a big-wheeled cultivator and we pulled weeds. And there is still something about pulling weeds that pulls me into the garden.

How I loved to sit on his lap while he watched television! Mostly I did not watch, but just nestled and played with his hands. I twirled his wedding ring round and round his finger and rubbed the calluses on his palms and ridges on his fingernails. Sometimes he would give me one quarter of one of his Throat Disks from their slender tin he kept in his pocket. He also had a smaller tin of tiny, black Meloids that were too spicy for me.

One thing bonded me to him more than any other. When I was very little, he would give me piggy-back rides. He sat on a big chair while I climbed up to grab hold around his neck, then he stood up and bounced me around the living room. What fun we had! The day came, though, when the ride was over, I slid down his back, and my leg caught on a screwdriver in his back pocket. I screamed. He was absolutely heartbroken. I had never seen a grown-up cry before and it riveted me.

Oh, to be that concerned about my own precious children!

Believe it or not!, Home School, Pre-schoolers, Who's the mom here?

6-Year-Old Hauled to Psych Ward Despite Parent’s Wishes

Posted on February 23, 2011February 22, 2011 by Katharine

Last week, a school in Los Angeles sent a little boy to a psychiatric ward without his mother’s leave. Why? Worrying about the fact that his dad had been deployed to Iraq, the boy had drawn a violent picture and had written that he wanted to die, which caused the school to manifest this knee-jerk reaction.

The mother told school staff she would take her son to a therapist, but she was told it was (conveniently!) too late – the ambulance had already been sent.

This six-year-old child spent two solid days in a place foreign to him before anyone would let his mother have him back. Of course, this only further traumatized the poor child, as if the trauma of seeing his daddy leave for overseas combat were not enough.

ParentalRights.org president Michael Farris states, “Clearly, giving school and other government officials complete control in these kinds of situations goes too far.”

The proposed Parental Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution would affirm that “[t]he liberty of parents to direct the upbringing and education of their children is a fundamental right,” and would help defuse such situations as above.

Please pass this post to others you know who might find such atrocity terrifying, and urge them to visit parentalrights.org/petition

Womanhood

In the Maelstrom

Posted on February 17, 2011February 16, 2011 by Katharine

Time for a totally honest blog.

I just finished reading a lengthy public apology written by a sweet, unassuming lady who has been attacked with nasty politics on the blogosphere. Her reply to the meanness around her was well-thought-out and gently, but firmly, put.

I wish I could have her popularity on the Internet, but not enough to attack her.

I wish I could have her calmness under fire.

She looks, in her lovely Madonna photo, to be many years my younger. She is incredibly beautiful, like Mona Lisa. Her baby could have been painted by Raphael. Everything about her blog is all sweetness and light, happiness and help. To me.

To others it has seemed to be some sort of Internet poison, or something. The vitriol aimed back at her was dammed up by the asininity of failed Internet connections. Once the log jam broke up, I’m sure it nearly swept her away. Now, no matter what she does, it seems no one is satisfied.

My heart is broken for her.

And I am afraid.

That is why I thrust out boldly to make this assertion: No matter what, when good people try to do good, there will be others who love—yes, LOVE—to do evil in return. It has always been that way and always will. They will grumble and rumble and lash out with lightning bolts. They will feel threatened and judged. And they won’t know why, although they will think they do.

Only recently I attempted to reach out to someone who had posted a very sad and touching poem on a blog. All I said, since I was, after all, a stranger, was, “Someone cares.”

The poison I received in return, and that was published for all to see, right below my name on that site, was breathtaking. How anyone could contain that much pain is beyond me, but now I think it is a common occurrence. I am sure I got only the tip of the iceberg because that’s all anyone ever gets. At first I was numb, then saddened to think probably this person is beyond help. Very saddened. When I apologized and stated that I had not meant to offend, but only to comment on a poem that perhaps I had misunderstood, I received no reply.

Of course.

As, probably, will this sweet young mom.

But she has supporters. She has a wonderful family situation. Her fans absolutely love her. She will survive. But her totally wise decision, to withdraw from the melee, is a loss to the whole world.

I never was going to blog about blog. It reminds me of meditating on toenails. But this is really about something else, isn’t it?

And I wonder if the holders of the reins, up there, have any idea.

And if they’re too busy to care.

And if I’ll be next.

Believe it or not!, Home School, Who's the mom here?, Wisdom

Arkansas Freedom

Posted on January 17, 2011July 7, 2016 by Katharine

Homeschool freedom or this? Americans want several things from their government. We expect freedom. We expect protection. We work hard for them.

Although most of the people in the entire world homeschooled at one time, the current, popular, en masse return to homeschooling began in America.

This is the do-by-self country. American parents have always grabbed any challenge that might improve things for their children.

Today’s homeschool is American, transcending all barriers, and the school choice of the parents of one-third of our presidents. It is one big expression of the American way. (Two million strong, now.)

Americans in Arkansas, however, have had to fight harder for this way. In some states, few raise an eyebrow at parents desiring to provide the education. In Arkansas, though, parents struggle to stay one step ahead of their legislators. It seems a case of the government attacking the citizens instead of protecting them.

We’re gearing up for battle again, beating back the legislators again (in spare time we want to spend on our kids.) A new proposal is poised to posture itself before the legislature, wasting yet more time and money on hopes for a bill no one wants. Again.

This proposal aims at curtailing our freedom and undermining the privileges and obligations inherent to parenthood.

Lest you think you should yawn at another homeschool gripe, this proposal, if enacted, would make the state the mom, even if you never plan to homeschool.

Especially if you never plan to homeschool.

The time to wake up is now.

Imagine, if you can, your small daughter blood-spattered and traumatized, from seeing classmates and teachers murdered at school, and forbidden to stay home because someone on the school payroll deemed the home (THE HOME!) an unsafe place.

And never mind the child’s own psychologist has prescribed removal from the school situation.

Our new proposal sets this scenario.

Or perhaps your son has refused to “do” a classmate in the locker room. He has been kicked in the lower back repeatedly with a steel-toed boot, is urinating blood, and forbidden to stay home because someone on the school payroll deemed it just not timely.

Never mind the child’s own pediatrician demands removal from school.

The new proposal sets these parameters.

Or try this idea: Your child tells you the most exciting thing he learned in school today is how to put a condom on a dead bird.

Or your mother is near death and your children want to be beside her as much as possible while they still can.

Or your child has MS and must nap daily and eat five times daily and it’s not happening when he’s at school. Not only that, but because his speech is difficult to understand, he is left to sit at his desk and educate himself by reading a dictionary all day, every day.

Or your daughter is receiving sexual threats and her only instructions from school staff?—to kick the bully between the legs.

These things all have occurred in Arkansas schools. Of course, children everywhere are molested, accosted, assaulted, threatened, harassed, or raped while at school. At almost every school. Even the “good” ones.

But in Arkansas schools we would have no recourse.

Even if the children in the above situations were to be excused from attending, in the future Arkansas that we discuss today, it could be after a three-week waiting period.

How can it be that a child could be forced to remain in such a dangerous and dehumanizing situation for three weeks, while grown-ups deliberate about whether or not to allow his removal?

How can the main questions be whether or not the parents need daytime supervision and what the date is!

How can this be happening to Arkansas’ children!

It simply must not be.

Please forward this post to everyone you know living in Arkansas.

More tomorrow.

Believe it or not!, Inspiring, Scripture, Wisdom

An Anatomy of Pain – Remember, the World Hurts, Like a Sledge Hammer

Posted on December 21, 2010January 29, 2019 by Katharine

Why it Hurts – Sticks and stones . . . you know names can hurt worse. A bruise from a stone heals in a week or two, but the pain from name calling can last as long as your memory. It can last as long as we let it.

We can let it hurt for ages.

Do we want it to hurt? Maybe there’s something inside us that does. Do we feel proud if we can get that lower lip to quiver one more time?

I mean, people, IT HURTS!

Right? People notice? They pet us some more? They feel sorry for us?

Maybe not.

It’s just the world – People! Them! It’s not my fault, remember! No, it’s just the world. We forget something: “In this world ye shall have tribulation.” It’s a promise from God, but not one of those promises we name and claim, is it?

Jesus told us. He warned us. We should know it. It’s part of being alive. Tribulation, from the Latin root meaning sledge-hammer. How appropriate. The alternative is leaving this old world behind. Being alive in this world includes getting hammered. Being alive in this world also includes being part of it. We are such sloppy communicators and such confused listeners, no one can help being part of the trouble.

God also told us, “The heart of man is desperately wicked. Who can know it?” I think that is part of the pain, too. We think we know so-and-so would never say that. We find out each person is capable of hammering on us. We think, finally, this relationship is secure.

Nope. Never.

As long as there are people, and that includes you and me, there will be hammerin’. People will hammer. They will hurt and not apologize. They will apologize and not sound sincere, not even know what they ought to have apologized for. It’s just the heart of man, including the women.

Sometimes, oh, I dunno, it seems, especially the women.

People don’t know what to apologize for because they have no idea they did anything. They truly have no idea what they are doing half the time, no idea what they’ve done. They say, “WHAT?!” and they mean it. What have I done? What is it THIS time? What?! They don’t know what they’re doing.

But we don’t remember something. The beloved voice that said, “In this world ye shall have tribulation,” also said, “Be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.” He did not mean He could lick any enemy of ours in a moment, although He could do that. No, He meant He has overcome the whole mess, you and me included. The whole world—He could lick it all in a moment, and He will.

The God who said, “The heart of man is desperately wicked,” also said that He knows our hearts. Oops. Scary business, that. On top of that, He told us to rejoice and look up when it got really bad, because He would be close on the heels of the Very Worst Day. When That Day comes, we’d better be ready.

We’d better be cheered up!

More tomorrow.

Inspiring, Wisdom, Wives, Womanhood

An Anatomy of Pain

Posted on December 20, 2010April 28, 2015 by Katharine

This is not about physical pain, although all women, and especially all wives, are great experts at physical pain. After having 6 children and around 2000 migraines, I certainly am.

But this is about the pain that attacks your soul, the confusion, indecision, and heartbreaks that can blindside us all.

Like when the doctor tells you morning sickness is all in your head.

Let’s just face it: The happenings in life are often unfair. We devote a third of our government to being sure life is fair, but unfairness still slips in, doesn’t it? A lot, right? It’s not enough that a child dies, but it sometimes must be that someone killed him. It’s not enough that a woman loses her husband, but sometimes it must be that some other woman stole him. It’s not enough that a house burns down, but sometimes it must be that an arsonist started a forest fire.

Isn’t that how it goes?

And it hurts most when friends and family are the perpetrators, doesn’t it? When your child is ungrateful, it hurts more. When your husband is lazy, it hurts more. When someone at church lies about you, it hurts more. When your mother gets on your case, it hurts more.

Sometimes that’s just how it goes.

And sometimes, even that is not enough. Sometimes we also must go through these hurts alone. Having no defenders makes it tougher. Having no one to confide in intensifies it. Having no one just hurts. More.

Since I’ve been experiencing considerable pain, lately, I thought talking to you would help me keep my brain right-side up. Oh, I’ll share no real details, but generalities should be enough to help you help me help you. What about it?

Wouldn’t it be a good thing if we could turn our hurts into help for others?

I’m in. Let’s take a week to do an autopsy on mental and emotional pain. Let’s take every part out and learn what goes wrong and how to right it.

Maybe you know someone else you could share this with. Or send it to.

Maybe we all can feel better, think straighter, laugh more.

More tomorrow.