Student Bullied By Teacher For Wearing Pro-Romney T-Shirt

Did you hear about this story out of Pennsylvania? A high school math teacher ordered a 16-year-old student to leave the classroom or remove her clothing when she walked into class wearing a “Romney\Ryan” t-shirt. The teacher told her that the school was a Democratic school and Republican t-shirts weren’t allowed there. The teacher, who is black, said it would be like her wearing a KKK shirt.

The student — bless her stoic , seemingly Republican heart — stood her ground and refused to leave or take off the shirt. The teachers was removed from the classroom after the girl’s parents complained. But in a strange twist of loyalty and logic, some other students at the school held a rally for the TEACHER, saying that she had a First Amendment right to tell the student to leave her classroom.

What about the student’s right to free speech?

Perhaps I should mention that at this particular school — Charles Carroll High School — you’d be hard-pressed to find even one American flag, and the Pledge of Allegiance is NEVER recited.

The latest news is that the teacher is now receiving anonymous death threats, and the student is afraid to return to school because of all the taunting she has been getting from other students.
What is it about presidential elections that bring out the worst in people?

Redistribution of Wealth Starts With A Bus Pass

     Yesterday, I got my first taste of what it would be like with Obama in office another four unbearably long years. My eldest daughter is in college, and in the process of making a tuition payment, I discovered that she was being charged all kinds of silly fees. If you've ever been through Escrow, you know what I'm talking about.

     Anyhow, she was being charged a $27 Transportation Fee. Huh? We just bought her a car this summer so that she would be able to get to and from school on her own. We 're paying for her car insurance, too -- and we even threw in a AAA card for roadside assistance. The girl is completely dialed in to get to and from school on her own.

     So I called the college and discovered that the "Transportation Fee" was to help offset the high cost of bus passes for all the other students who had to take the bus. As the traffic czar told me, "Bus passes are about $340 a year, and most of our students can't afford that. So this helps bring the cost down."

     I explained to him that my daughter had her own car and wouldn't ever need to take the bus, and that I wanted the $27 fee waived. Call me heartless (or a right-winger, some might say) but I don't think we should have to pay for the cost of other students' bus fare. That's THEIR parents' expense, not mine.

     So I suggested that perhaps some of that collective $27 per student go toward helping to offset my daughter's gas costs getting to and from school. That seems fair, doesn't it?

     Complete silence on the other end of the phone. -->

Say Good-Bye To Father\Daughter Dances

The politically correct, ACLU police are out in full force again – this time in Cranston, Rhode Island, where one solitary single mother was able to shut down a long-standing tradition of Father\Daughter dances because she wasn’t able to participate in them.

I am a single mother and here’s what I have to say to that: Are you kidding me? If you're not a father, why would you want to go to a Father\Daughter dance, anyway? More to the point: Let these dads and daughters have a little bonding time, for goodness sake! Most fathers don't get to spend much time with their daughters as it is.

 

If you’re a single mom, you made the choice somewhere along the way to go it alone. I realize there are many reasons why women become single moms, but just because your child isn’t living with her father doesn’t mean that other young girls shouldn’t be able to enjoy a night out with their dads.

 

Single moms have ample opportunity for one-on-one time with their sons and daughters like, I don’t know . . . EVERY DAY! So I don’t understand why this one single mom would begrudge so many men from spending ONE NIGHT, one-on-one with their little girls.

 

It’s a rite of passage that shouldn’t be missed.

 

When I was in 7^th Grade, I went to my first Father\Daughter dance. I remember it very well. Why? Because my father wasn't there. He was serving a tour of duty in Vietnam, and my mother didn’t want me to feel left out, so she asked my dad’s best friend, Mr. Maybee, to take me to the dance. Mr. Maybee had three sons, so he was more than happy to surround himself with girls for a change. It wasn’t awkward or weird, either. (Pedaphilia wasn’t even in the dictionary way back then!) I vividly recall that I had fun with Mr. Maybee. He bought me a corsage, we ate a spaghetti dinner and talked about how much I missed my dad.

 

Now wouldn't my experience have been a better solution to this problem in Rhode Island? This one solitary single mother could have asked a close and trusted male in her life to do the honors of escorting her daughter to the dance.

 

Not only would lifelong memories have been made on that dance floor for all the dads and daughters in attendance. But also, that rebel-rousing single mom would have enjoyed a nice break from single parenthood for a few hours.

 

It sounds like she desperately needs it.

I like Honey Boo-Boo!

     When I was a sweet, young thing, I used to watch Shirley Temple Theater religiously every Saturday afternoon. It was my great escape. While all the other kids in the neighborhood were outside biking and skating and playing Barbies on their lawn, I was hunkered down inside our TV room mesmerized by this adorable little singing/dancing sensation named Shirley Temple. She had big, curly hair, cavernous dimples and a gigantic personality that just sucked me in.

     Shirley’s all grown up now, and so am I. But I have been newly sucked-in, for lack of a better description, by a 6-year-old named Alana Holler. Most people know her by her TV name, “Honey Boo-Boo.” Watching Alana on TV is like watching Shirley Temple all over again, with a little bit of trailer park thrown in. Alana hails from McIntyre, Georgia, and she loves competing in beauty pageants. She was introduced to the world through TLC’s highly controversial show, “Toddlers & Tiaras,” and she is such a stand-out character – I mean, this little girl is a nut! — she now has her own show on TLC called, "Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo."

     Now, I’m not a fan of child beauty pageants for the same reasons you probably aren’t, either. But Honey Boo-Boo is something else. Despite how some people might feel about her dysfunctional family and her beauty-pageant hobby, she is an extraordinary child – much like Shirley Temple was — with a personality too big to be contained in that 6-year-old body, and a precociousness that is beyond reason. Her mother, June, says she was born that way.

     It would be easy to cast judgment on Honey Boo-Boo and her clan. Many people have, as they are off the radar in the family arena. Her morbidly obese single mother is into extreme couponing, hoards hundreds of rolls of toilet paper and has been rumored to serve road kill for dinner. But despite the family's preference for spoiled meat, we really have no right to judge them. I’m a single mom, too, and I know how difficult it can be to be a one-man operation. Most single parents do the best they can against impossible odds, sometimes.

     I look at Honey-Boo-Boo and see a happy, joyous little girl with a gigantic appetite for life and one of the most engaging personalities I have ever seen in a child that age. Say what you want about her "redneck" family, but her controversial mother must be doing something right to have created such an exceptional child.  I see love there.  Lots of crazy love in that family.

     Bottom line: Honey Boo-Boo makes me laugh. And that’s something this single mom could do more of.

2016: Obama's America

          How many times have you been to a movie where the entire audience stands up and applauds while the credits roll?

          I just witnessed this amazing show of patriotism this weekend at the movie, “2016: Obama’s America.”  And I am reading about similar reactions erupting in theaters all over this country.  One woman, in Colorado, I believe, stood up and started singing “God Bless America!”  proudly and unselfconsciously.

          Now that’s the kind of RAP music I can tolerate!  (RAP, in this instance, being an acronym for Random Acts of Patriotism.)

          Anyhow, if you haven’t seen the movie, you MUST GO!  Bring your spouse, your teens, blindfold your liberal friends and drag them in there – or tell them you’ll pay for their ticket.  You know how much they like free stuff.

          This movie is a cinematic wake-up call. A frightening documentary about the man the majority of us (not me!) elected to the highest office in this country four years ago, not really knowing who Obama is or where he came from.  Hawaii? Indonesia? Kenya? Where exactly was he born, again?  

It’s amazing that after four years under this man’s leadership, we still don’t know any more about our own President than we did when he was promising to transform America back in 2007.

          Well, director DineshD’Souza cracks that nut wide open.  

          I took my 18-year-old to see the movie.  An attempt at indoctrination? Hell, yes!  I’m her parent, her college professor isn't.  It’s my right, not his.  She went in to the movie leaning left, and she came out hightailing it toward the right.  In her words, “Mom, that really scared me. Our country is in trouble.”

          From the mouths of babes.

FOOTNOTE:  I found this interesting quote online:  "When somebody goes to Yahoo!'s movie site and types in a film's name, typically hundreds of web search results come up yet when one searches for "2016: Obama's America" not one search result is returned," said "2016" executive producer John Sullivan. "The website for '2016: Obama's America' is generating nearly a million page views per day so it's not as though the information traffic is not out there. We look forward to Yahoo! updating its search capability so that viewers can easily find out information about ours and other popular movies."

                   

                   

Chik-fil-A Ruffles Feathers

          The mercury hit 99 degrees in this hot town around dinnertime yesterday, but that didn’t stop chicken lovers from flocking in droves to the Chik-fil-A in my town. I was on my way to get dinner elsewhere, and things got a little slow in the right lane. 

     As I got closer, I saw why:  Scores of cars were snaking around the restaurant and through the drive-thru.  I was impressed that my community was taking a strong stand against the suppression of free speech.  I didn’t know we had it in us!

I got out and started talking to people, and based on my very informal survey, most people were there to support “traditional marriage.”  One guy wearing a stars-and-stripes  T-shirt said he was there to support “Free speech.” 

And another very vocal man – who came out of the restaurant with three bulging bags holding $30 worth of chicken and fixin’s for his family  --  had a few choice words for the mayors of Chicago and Boston for saying that Chik-fil-A would not be welcome to set up business in their towns.  He couldn’t believe the government would step in and try to interfere with private business like that.

Two kind-hearted young men were passing out water bottles to the drivers waiting in the long line.  They were youth ministers from a local church who had bought cases of water with their own money so that they could thank people for coming out to support traditional marriage, they said.

I am BLOWN AWAY by the activist turnout in my town.  And it gives me great hope and optimism for the upcoming presidentialelections.

Yes, we made a very strong statement with our support of Chik-fil-A yesterday.  But the place where we need to really turn out in record numbers, and speak out very loudly and clearly, is at the polls in November. 

It looks like there may be very long lines there, too, so you may want to bring a bag lunch with you on election day.  May I suggest a Chik-fil-A sandwich?

ENCOURAGE YOUR TEENS TO VOTE!

My oldest daughter, who just finished her freshman year in college, wants to be a nurse.  Not sure where that calling came from, since her mother has always been weak-kneed at the sight of blood.  But I love that she wants to make her living as a healer and nurturer. She will be a natural at it, too, as she has always been balm for my spirit. 

While I think she has chosen the perfect profession at a time when the world needs more healing, I worry about her, too.  CBS News reports that half of recent college graduates can't find full-time jobs.  What must the parents of these graduates be thinking right now? I would imagine they feel cheated out of a rite of passage:  The right for them to pass on self-sufficiency to their children.

And do these grads who can’t find jobs feel hoodwinked? Think about it.  From the time our children are old enough to read a book, we impress upon them the importance of learning and getting educated.  “Without a good education, it will be hard for you to find a good job someday.”  Haven’t we all recited some variation of this mantra through the years? 

Now, record numbers of young adults are moving back in with their parents, crippled by grim job prospects and insurmountable student-loan debt. There's even a name for them:  Boomerang kids. In fact, the Census Bureau reports the number of shared households increased 11.4 percent to 22 million, between 2007 and 2010. 

What kind of America are we passing on to our children – the new generation of dependents?  The last four years of an ineffective presidency -- more focused on dragging down the country with a stratospheric deficit than trying to create jobs -- has placed every parent in the uncomfortable position of having to tell our children the truth:  “It doesn’t matter how hard you work in school to get good grades, Sweetie, you’re pretty much screwed once you graduate.”

So, as my 18-year-old transitions into adulthood and takes a giant leap of faith into her vastly uncertain future, I am hovering over her as a helicopter mom one last time to encourage her to do something that will greatly improve her job prospects one day:  

           “Honey, you need to register to vote.”

Half-Baked Parents

I own a cupcake shop now. Been in business almost a year. It absorbs nearly all of my time, which is a familiar chant from small-business owners. And it is the reason why I have abandoned this blog for so long. Sorry, folks. I just don't have time to bitch about anything anymore.

I know many of you couldn't be happier!

But lo and behold, I discovered yesterday that I still have a lot of whining in me. We have a promotion going at the shop, whereby we are offering cupcake-decorating classes for both kids and adults. So yesterday, we have our first class. Several children walk in -- with their parents. They look about 6 or 7 years old. An older woman in her late 50s then joins us. And at the last minute, a little girl runs in who is about 5. She is all by herself. Surely, I assumed, her mom or dad can't be too far behind. I waited. And waited. But no one else came through the door.

So I asked "Riley" where her mommy was. She said that her dad just dropped her off and left. Left?? Well, when would he be coming back, I asked. Riley replied, "He said in an hour."

What the "F?" And by "F" I mean "Father."

What kind of half-baked parent drops off his adorable 5-year-old daughter at an unfamiliar place with total strangers and just leaves? Doesn't even bother to come in to introduce himself, or at the very least, ask me if it would be all right if Riley stayed here without him? Of course, I would have said, "No!" After all, I am running a gourmet cupcake shop, not a daycare center.

I asked Riley if her daddy dropped her off at places a lot. She said that he did. At gymnastics and Toys 'R Us.

I was astounded!

Doesn't this "father" ever watch the news? Doesn't he know that children are getting abducted and murdered, the Casey Anthony case aside, in what seems like a peak hunting season for sexual predators?

I had half a mind to call the police. For Riley's sake. I mean, yeah, there would be some drama as the police questioned her dad. But I couldn't shake the thought that maybe I would be saving Riley's life down the road since abandoning her seems to be a habit of his.

But I didn't call the police. For Riley's sake. I thought it best to talk to him when -- and IF -- he picked her up. So the class ends, guests leave, and 25 minutes later Riley is STILL waiting for her ride. (Notice how I didn't say "father." Just "ride.")

The door opens and in walks her mom. Where is dad? Now the plot thickens. So Riley's mom and dad actually made arrangements with each other: Dad would drop her off and mom would pick her up. A conspiracy of stupidity.

Remember . . . she is only 5 years old!

I gave mom a piece of my mind and, hopefully, made her think twice about being a more vigilant parent.

Still, I wonder . . . should I have called the police? Was it my obligation to protect Riley from her negligent parents?

What would you have done??

Condoms For Kids? Brilliant!

Beth Singer, you should be so proud of yourself! As the superintendent of schools for Provincetown, Massachusetts, you are probably under tremendous pressure to start teaching our children the ways of the Left as early in their sweet lives as possible. I’m sure that the schoolchildren are getting pretty tired of singing that Obama anthem every morning. “…We can change the world … yes we can, can CAN!” Catchy little tune, it is. But even Lady Gaga gets a little old and tired when you’ve heard “Poker Face” for the zillionth time.

So before you lose the children’s rapt, hypnotic attention – and the faith and confidence from the state of Massachusetts -- you’ve come up with a BRILLIANT idea! A radical change we can all believe in:

“LET’S GIVE SCHOOLCHILDREN CONDOMS!”

After all, we know how sexually active those first-graders can be, the little bunnies -- especially on the first day of school. All that nervous, excited energy can now be used constructively. Instead of chaos on the playground, girls and boys can now be encouraged to play more “cooperatively” with a little one-on-one time.

In fact, may I suggest that we get rid of all the playground equipment and replace those playful pieces with cozy chaise lounges and water-bed-like bouncy houses. You may want to keep the swings, however, for the more advanced condom-users – wink, wink!

I also suggest you put a contingency plan in place to handle all the demand. We wouldn’t want our little sweeties to have to stand too long in line waiting for their free condoms, especially when those wild sexual urges kick in. You know how horny second-graders can be!

Beth, I’m not sure you realize how brilliant you really are, because your one, single ruling to give children as young as 6 years old condoms, if they ask for it, has inadvertently opened up new channels of commerce.

Toys R Us can now have a “Children’s Adult Entertainment” aisle, where you can pick up all the latest sex toys and contraptions to enhance all that puppy love. I am SO excited that I will have more choices to make when it comes to buying the standard, boring birthday gift. And all the moms who are planning the birthday parties will be thrilled to know that they can save a little money by purchasing a Party Pack of colorful condoms to stuff in the goody bags. Won’t they look ADORABLE in there, surrounded by plastic necklaces, whistles and Gummy Worms?

Furthermore, your idea is probably going to help this crippled economy tremendously by reducing the unemployment rates. Because schools will be required to hand out condoms to everyone and anyone, no matter what the age, and without parental consent, they will have no other choice but to hire an army of school nurses to handle the spike in the number of STD cases.

Beth Singer, like I said . . . you are BRILLIANT! I am 100% certain that you aren’t a parent, and couldn’t possibly understand the endless joy we parents get from raising our sweet little children, and instilling in them good values and moral integrity. So to reward you, instead, I suggest that the school board give you a big promotion for creating all this change that we can believe in.

Maybe you could even run for President!

Dan Wozniak Fooled Us All

In 2005, my two daughters were bitten by the acting bug and auditioned for the cast of “The Music Man,” produced by Orange County Children’s Theater (OCCT). The lead role, the actual Music Man himself, was played by Dan Wozniak. The now-infamous Dan Wozniak. You know . . . the guy from Costa Mesa who just murdered two people in Orange County, California, severing the head and limbs of his first victim without nary a nudge from his conscience, and then shot an innocent woman to cover up his first crime, making it appear as though his first victim killed his second one?

Today, I am angry that I was fooled. I’ve always prided myself on being such a good judge of character, a learned skill that has steered me clear of several potentially bad relationships.

Dan was a great local actor. A rising community theater star, who we have since learned, had staged his entire life. Little did anyone know how eerily good of an actor he really was. The perpetually happy guy with the aw-shucks personality and gentle disposition, the guy who everyone loved and admired – including both my daughters -- was not the gentle soul he pretended to be. Underneath all that fake niceness was a killer. It’s shocking. I mean, who would have known?

Certainly not Brittany, who is undoubtedly counting her lucky stars today. I forgot Brittany's last name, but she was a longtime member of OCCT who starred alongside Dan in a number of shows. Dan and Brittany became an item. Kind of romantic, when you think about it. But what made that pairing so odd that summer-- and a little scandalous, as I recall -- was that Brittany was only 16 years old to Dan's 20 years. I believe they got engaged or were talking about getting engaged. I don't remember. But I do recall some parents thinking, "Isn't that statutory rape?" When I first heard about the heinous murders committed by Dan, my thoughts went immediately to Brittany, whose heart was broken, in the end, by this creep, who was rumored to have cheated on her. If you never got over Dan, Brittney, now would be a good time.

I read somewhere that Dan had told a close confidant, “I always knew I would kill someone someday. I just didn’t know who or when.”

It makes me wonder . . . was Dan harboring those psychopathic thoughts when he was sharing the stage with all those kids from Orange County Children’s Theater those many years? What was he thinking when he put his arms around my two daughters and posed for one picture after the next? As a parent, the idea that I let a psychopathic killer get that close to my children and win my trust gives me the creeps!

Even more disturbing . . . why was a man in his 20s still involved in children's theater??

Dan was ALWAYS smiling and joking around, and I remember walking up to him in the green room once, giving him a hug, and telling him what a nice guy he was and how much I admired his talent and positive energy. About three years later, I ran into Dan at the Verizon store on Beach Blvd. where he had recently become employed. I gave him a hug that I now wish I could take back, and with that animated smile he was so loved for, he told me that he was doing great and dabbling in a little local theater. That was the last time I ever saw cheery ol’ Dan Wozniak.

The last OCCT play my daughters were in was “Once Upon A Mattress,” directed by, who else, but Dan “the ax man” Wozniac. Dan did a brilliant job of directing, and the play got rave reviews. (Well, I don’t really remember if that was true. But I loved it, anyway.) A directorial star was born that opening night, and I had this feeling we’d be hearing a lot more from Dan in the future.

I was right. I just didn’t expect the news to be so grisly . . . and SO disappointing.

Spewing Anger Over The Oil Spill

This morning, I saw some DISGUSTING video on Fox News. It was a live shot of the oil that is hemorrhaging from the leaky oil well in the Gulf of Mexico. It is beyond my comprehension that so much of that oily, smelly, noxious, chokingly thick petroleum has been gushing into our beautiful ocean for nearly two months now. How can anyone responsible for this disaster lay their head down on a pillow at night and sleep soundly for 6-8 hours while hundreds of thousands more gallons of killer goo pollute our oceans overnight?

My heart ACHES for all the sea life that has suffocated in that blanket of black death. Last I heard, they were sucking oil out of the lungs of sea turtles.

I love animals and have reverence for the life that is breathed into them, but I have always kept a respectful distance between me and whatever swims out there in the ocean. However, this oil spill has touched a very primal part of my soul, one that wants to take action and hop on the next plane and run down to the scene of the crime to help save these poor sea creatures. Similar to how I would make a mad dash outside brandishing a box of Band-Aids whenever my kids fell off their bikes . . . but on a more global level.

Even the sharks I have pity for, because they never saw this coming. You should at least give your enemies some fair warning before you attack. Remember Pearl Harbor?

I can understand the nature of this accident. But I’m mad as HELL that the problem hasn’t been fixed by now. Every hour that goes by that the oil continues to spew into the ocean, more sea life dies. More turtles choke to death. More dead dolphins wash ashore. More birds from the coastal preserves can’t fly because their wings are encased in petroleum.

This oil spill is their Armageddon, and we at the top of the food chain, the higher intelligence of all species, the ones in charge who have been given the charge to take care of these delicate and sacred creatures and preserve the life around them, WE have failed them miserably.

 

My Favorite Mother's Day Video

Stuff It, Walmart!

Everybody's going "green" these days. It's the new "black" of the marketing world. Hey, I'm all for conservation and sustainability and waste reduction and all that. I am a Native American, after all. But recently, the green movement has collided with my world. In case you haven't heard, Walmart is on a mission to reduce plastic bag use . . . how? By getting rid of them, altogether. That means that customers must either remember to bring their OWN bags to the store or . . . for 15 cents, buy Walmart's blue-clothy, politically correct recyclable bags.

It never fails, every time I go to Walmart, I always forget to bring my own bags. Mostly because my decision to shop there is usually SPONTANEOUS (a key word) and I don't make it a practice to drive around with a stash of empty grocery bags in my car. Do you?

So today I stop by Walmart to pick up a a few odds and ends. And that part is important. Odds and ends, meaning I bought a lot of loose stuff. I get to the checkout and DARN! -- I realized I forgot my bags again. Now, I REFUSE to pay 15 cents apiece for their recyclable bags because I think this whole "going green" thing is a scam by Walmart. I think they got rid of their plastic bags at a huge inconvenience to customers to force us to buy these recyclable bags and thereby create another stream of revenue for the company . . . all in the name of "conservation."

Sure, 15 cents doesn't sound like much, but when you multiply that by, say, five bags -- on the average -- per customer, TIMES the million or so customers that come through that place on a weekly basis, well, that's a helluva new revenue stream, Mr. Sam Walton.

So I told the clerk to wait on the next customer, and I ran out in the rain to my car to fetch the only thing I could think of that would hold these odds and ends that I bought -- a winter blanket, the one thing that I DO drive around with at all times. I ran back into the store, soaking wet by now, laid out the blanket in my cart, threw all my items into it, and then wrapped it up and twisted it like a giant piece of oragami -- praying the whole time that I didn't squoosh the bread.

The really fun part is when you get back to your car and you have to toss all these loose items into your trunk, pretty sure that they're going to roll around in every direction the entire ride home. Good thing I didn't buy any soda, which would have shot fizz into the air when I opened it and which probably would have rolled all over the bread, anyway.

I know everyone is applauding Walmart for "doing the right thing." Some companies are even following suit and have decided to deprive their customers of a means by which to carry their cherished purchases to the car, too. But I want you to know, Mr. Walton, that you have created a great inconvenience to many of your customers. Especially the ones who shop in your hallowed halls spontaneously.

You know, moms, like me, who make the spur-of-the-moment purchases that have made you the very rich man that you are today.

“Sex,” 52 times!

Have you seen the new teen drama on ABC called “The Secret Life of the American Teenager”? It’s attracting quite a throng of teenaged fans – my 16-year-old daughter, included. “Critics are raving about it!” screams the 20-second promo. My teenager makes sure she DVRs it every Monday night, just in case she has too much homework to watch it live.

I had never seen “Secret Life,” but assumed it was about all the normal teen-angst stuff: boys, school, bitchy girls, fashion trends, anxiety over college, that kind of thing. So one night after my daughters were in bed, I decided to watch one of the DVR’d shows.

OH. MY. GAWD!!!

The lead actress is this 16-year-old girl-next-door (with a WEIRD sister) who had a baby with a guy at her school, who happens to now be in love with some other girl who hates the baby momma and creates all kinds of drama.

It's like “Juno” meets “Dallas.”

Then you have all these subplots involving other teenagers who are all trying to get laid in one form or another. It’s a stupid and ridiculous storyline, if you ask me.

Which has me wondering . . . are the writers in Hollywood on strike again? Because I think they replaced REAL writers -- you know, people with an imagination and a gifted facility for words -- with unimaginative idiots who know only three words: sex, condoms and masturbation. Because that’s really all these teen stars ever talk about.

It’s an hour-long show, and when you subtract commercials, there’s probably about 45 minutes of the actual program. Just for grins, I thought I’d count the number of times the word “sex” came up.

Ready for this? I kid you not, the word “sex” was mentioned 52 times in 45 minutes! For all you math dunces, like me, it means that more than once every minute, someone on that show squeezes sex into the conversation somehow.

I mean, really! Is that even remotely realistic? I wonder, when my teenaged daughter is watching this, does she think this is NORMAL? How many times do YOU use the word "sex" in a normal conversation on any given day? Yeah, I know. "Sex sells!" But this is overkill. And believe me, it makes for a VERY BORING hour.

Let me tell you, if this is even the slightest bit representative of what is really going out there in Teen Land, I think we parents should give some serious consideration to sending our teens off to that nice little resort where Tiger Woods has been spending much of his time lately, trying to recover from his own addiction to . . . . SEX!!

There. I said it. Seven times.

Christmas Blues? Think Again.

I wrote this piece a few years ago, but the sentiment has stood the test of time. It's worth another reminder:

This will be the first Christmas EVER without my daughters. When you get divorced and your children are split in two, you know this dreaded day will come eventually. It’s like April 15th in December. Looking back, I’ve been blessed with 12 wonder-filled Christmas mornings, over a decade of giddy dawns. It’s been magical. I’ve had a good run. But this year, it’s my ex’s turn to experience all that.

I’ll miss the little things: The frosted cookies on a plate with a note to Santa; the frenzied, last-minute gift-wrapping; getting up before dawn to wait by the lighted tree, hot tea in hand, camera at the ready; and then that Kodak moment, the look of pure joy, mouths forming perfect ‘O’s’ as my sleepy children get their first look at Santa’s handiwork.

Yes, I’ll be alone on Christmas morning. But woe is NOT me, for I have been given the gift of perspective; an epiphany that, like the symbolism of Christmas itself, has come in the form of a newborn baby. Her name is Emilie. She’s sweet and beautiful…and lying in the intensive care unit at Children’s Hospital of Orange County, tubes as long as she is coming out of her in every direction. Emilie was born with a defect that prompted surgery three days into her fragile life. Her parents – my neighbors – are, understandably, on pins and needles. While the prognosis is good, and there’s every reason to believe that Emilie will wake up Christmas morning in her own home, still . . . I worry. I pray. And I count my blessings.

Certainly, I’ll miss my kids on Christmas morning. But there are much bigger heartaches, one being played out just a few houses over. As divorced parents, we need to look at the overall picture. It really doesn’t matter which custodial parent’s home your children wake up in on December 25. What’s most important is that they are alive, in good health and loved year-round.

So what do I plan to do, all alone, on that calendar day we call “Christmas?” Something I don’t do often enough: RELAX. I’ll sleep in, enjoy a long, uninterrupted cup of tea (what is THAT?) while watching the twinkling lights of my tree and start a new book. I can hardly wait.

About mid-morning, when I know my kids have ripped into all those gifts at their dad’s house, I’ll call to say “Merry Christmas” and let them know a similar scenario awaits their return.

And more than a few times, I will glance through the window, toward my neighbors’ house and try to imagine the joy unfolding as Emilie celebrates her very first Christmas with a family so grateful to have her home.

Christmas is about celebrating the life of children. And thanks to one precious baby, I’ll be singing a different tune this year… “Four calling birds, three French hens, two healthy children and a heart filled with love and gratitude for my bounty year-round.”


Can anyone recommend a good book for Lynn Armitage to read on Christmas morning?