The most ridiculous attempt at a family photo in the history of photography. And families.

My sweet precious firstborn baby girl turned eight years old last week. Holy crap I’m getting old. One of the disadvantages to having kids so young is that I don’t get to lie about my age. Um, yeah, I was 12 when I had her, that’s it…

But this post is not about me, or the wrinkle between my eyebrows that I’m pretty sure Thing 1 is responsible for. Nope, this post is about my newly minted eight-year-old, her fantastic party, and her wonderful friends.

All summer long, Thing 1 proclaimed her desire for a) a Pump It Up party and/or b) a surprise party. Pump It Up is this awesome party place filled with those giant bounce house and obstacle course inflatables, then they give the kids pizza, and when it’s time to go, you gladly hand them a small fortune and one of your kidneys because you get to leave and they clean up the mess.

In order to accomplish both of these tasks, I told my 7-and-three-quarters-year-old that she could not in any way, shape, or form have a Pump It Up Party unless she got a job and paid for it herself, and that she probably wouldn’t be having a fancy a party this year, since I had a trip planned and wouldn’t be home until the day before her birthday.

A few weeks before the Big Day, I booked the Pump It Up party for the day OF her birthday. Then I sent out an evite to the parents of her entire 3^rd grade class, telling them to ohmygosh please keep it a secret because Thing 1 was dying for a surprise party. Altogether we had eighteen third graders and one little sister.

On Monday morning, I reassured the birthday girl that I’d be coming to her class at snack time with cupcakes, and that Daddy would be home early from work, and she could pick where to go for dinner. She seemed ok about not having a party. My kid is awesome, y’all.

After round one of Operation Sugar Kids Up, the kids all headed out to recess, and the teacher quietly and excitedly asked me, “Is she really having a surprise party after school? The kids keep coming up and whispering to me not to tell her about her party!”

I did a mental head-desk … I wouldn’t even have told my kid about it, worried she wouldn’t be able to keep the secret. Oh well, nothing I could do about it.

Thing 1 and Friends

A few hours later, I was back at school, picking up the sweetie pie. I had gone to the store with Thing 2 to pick up cake and ice cream, which I stowed under some beach towels in the front seat. Thing 2 (age 3) happily proclaimed to her sister, “We got you birf-day cake!” And then she looked at me like I was insane when I said that we had not, but we could maybe later. “But we got dah cake,” she insisted. I ignored her and turned up the Kids’ Bop.

When we got to the party place, Leif and my mom were already there waiting for us. Thing 1 took it all in slowly… “Wait, why are we at Pump It Up? Is that Gramma? And Daddy? What are they doing here? Mommy…?”

I parked and looked at her and said, “Happy birthday, baby.”

“YOU MEAN I GET TO GO TO PUMP IT UP FOR MY BIRTHDAY???”

“Yup. AND all of your friends will be here in a few minutes for your birthday party.”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!” I’m still a little deaf in my left ear from that scream. And will forever be amazed that her friends all kept the secret. Chickadee had no clue what was up my sleeve.

No way was I going to miss out on the fun!

So basically, I’m like the coolest mom evah, and Thing 1 died from happiness, came back to life, and then died again. But again, this post is not about me, and it’s not even necessarily about a birthday party.

It’s about how our everyday interactions affect those around us, and how living a Christ-centered life is a witness to the world.

When the kids were playing on one of the climbing inflatables, they started to get a little bit rowdy. The referee/party supervisor looked on with what looked like a worried expression. “You can totally blow your whistle at them if they’re being too rough,” I reassured him. I’m not exactly what you’d call a helicopter parent.

“No, they’re fine,” he said, “It’s just strange… I’ve never seen anything like it before… they’re helping each other climb to the top.”

“Well what do kids normally do?” Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Pull each other down!” He said with good humor. He asked, “These kids are classmates?”

“Yup. The go to the private Christian school over the hill. They’re a pretty tight group.”

I’ve mentioned before that Thing 1 goes to a school that we like very much and sacrifice quite a bit for in order to send her there. It uses a classical approach to learning that you can learn all about by reading Dorothy Sayers’ The Lost Tools of Learning.

Anyway, there was that exchange, and one later in the ‘party room’ after the pizza had been handed out. Someone asked if they could eat, and the party supervisor said yes. “Wait!” I shouted to the kids, “what do we do before we eat?”

Time for Pizza and Prayer

“PRAY!” said every single one of those eighteen children. So we bowed our heads and blessed our food while the employees of Pump It Up looked on in amazement. I heard more than once that afternoon that this group of kids was one of the greatest they’d ever had in. I was glad they got to see the fruit of parents raisings kids in a Christ-centered life.

Parenting is rough, and some days I hold on by tenuous threads, but days like Thing 1’s birthday give me fuel to keep on trucking. They remind me of why I do this thing called motherhood – because God trusted me with these kids (for some strange reason), and it’s my job to teach them to love and honor Him in all that they do.

How we treat others and how we raise our children are our constant testimonies to the world. Show people that faith in Christ isn’t weird or backwards or inhibiting, but a way to live so that our children build each other up instead of tearing one another down.

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.” –JC

To get a good feel for what this book is about, read Amelia’s Behind-the-Scenes story on Big Hollywood.

In my possession, I have two signed copies of One Nation Under God. One is staying right here, because it’s become a favorite bedtime story. The other one will go to one of my eight lucky readers! To enter, leave a comment telling me which little patriot in your life will love this book. If you’re just entering to get Amelia’s signature so you can forge checks, don’t tell me. I don’t want to be liable.

No entries after midnight Friday PST. Winner will be chosen at random. As always, don’t blame me if you lose. Blame the machines.

My favorite picture of Thing 2 and me, taken Christmas 2009 by Kristen Bons

Thing 2 starts preschool on Monday. After 3 ½ years of her glued to my hip on an almost daily basis, I’ve been asked a lot how I feel about this.

Right now I feel like I feel when I’m running, and just trying to make it to a certain predetermined goal before I stop or slow down. I can see my finish line. I usually feel like I’m going to throw up, because I usually push myself too far. I mute my ipod because the music becomes a distraction rather than a motivation. All efforts are put toward moving forward, each step, not stopping, knowing that once I make it, I will be better for it. Stronger. Able to go further or faster the next time.

That’s what I feel like right now. All I can see is the finish line. This race that I have been running for the last three years of trying to be a decent wife, mommy, and homemaker while simultaneously trying to launch a career in online political punditry, with no nanny or daycare.

I wouldn’t trade it, but most days there just aren’t enough hours. It is completely frustrating in one moment, and ultimately joyful in the next. Thank God for a cute husband that doesn’t mind if the laundry doesn’t all get put away, or stopping to pick up dinner on his way home.

Also thank God for Coke Zero, Advil, Clear Eyes, and sauvignon blanc.

And of course, these amazing little girls, who can drive me up the wall but also knock me over with laughter. This morning, I asked Thing 2 where Jesus lived, and she happily told me, “Um, in da Bible!” How cute and sweet is that?

A year or two ago, I took the girls dress shopping with me, and in the fitting room, Thing 1 told me I looked ready for the ball in a blue taffeta dress I was trying on. I bought it and every time I wear it, I feel ready for the ball.

I have a thousand memories like these; they are the moments that have made this achy tiredness worth it. Because right now? Right now I’m tired. I am ready to have some time to do my work with a small amount of peace.

My finish line is 16 whole hours a week to work without my eye twitching from being interrupted 27 times a minute with requests for snacks, announcements of bodily functions, demands for TV and/or junk food and the subsequent tantrums that occur when the answer is no.

I bet you I’ll be able to pack the majority of the 30 or so hours a week I work now into that time.

So on Monday, I will cross the line with a goodbye wave and a kiss to my baby, and I will clutch my side and catch my breath and feel the rush of accomplishment wash over me. I will thank God for my health and (relative) sanity, and I will sit and ponder what goal I shall set for myself next.

Because as hard as that last stretch always is … I do love to cross the finish line.

1. College Football & American Craft Beer
2. Obama’s Jobs Speech vs. GOP Debate
3. Jobs vs. Bugs
4. The Taxpayer Funded Strip Club
5. Policing the Chicago Police
6. Rapists Getting Paid by Taxpayers to Babysit
7. The Texas Sonogram Law

Plus we have a rant, a dirty joke from Eli, and an awesome Dude of the Week!

Happy Listening!

Anyway, I wrote some schtuff last week. And you should click on it, because my editors like traffic. Also because it’s interesting and informative.

Leave my stuffed-crust pizza alone! You know what never solves anything? A government program designed to save us from ourselves. That’s why I advocate against the so-called fat tax.

I also extrapolated why I don’t want my rich, fat cat boss to pay higher taxes: Because I like getting raises. Less capital leads to less investment leads to no bonus checks for a job well done. Boo!!

And I wrote about birth control and why the new “womyn’s health” mandate in Obamacare is dumb and doesn’t actually open up any valuable services to poor people.

Happy clicking reading!

One of the must-sees on the girls’ list was the Polar Bear Plunge. Their nine-year-old is a bit of a nature buff, and she really wanted to see the polar bears. The Gabriels live near Phoenix, so it’s not like she’s going to be seeing them there. We made the trek, stopping along the way to check out giraffes and zebras and brokeback camels.

Giraffe

Zebra

Brokeback Camel (See? I wasn't joking.)

We finally made it to the polar bears. Who were MIA. The zookeeper told Angela that if she spotted one, she was ahead of him. Sigh. But the exhibit is still pretty cool (get it? Cool? Polar bears? Ice? Never mind.), so the girls all had fun.

And of course I had to roll my eyes at this:

Commence eye-roll now

That other station to their left? Here’s what that one said:

"Polar bears had to wait longer than ever to set out to hunt, getting thinner as they waited."

Poor thin dead polar bears. I know! Let’s scare children into thinking they’re killing cuddly fuzzy wittle teddy bears by not living the green life.

I’m sure that won’t financially benefit Al Gore at all.

Thing 1 was concerned about the ice melting. “But what about the polar bears?” She asked me.

“They’ll adapt,” I told her.

“But what if they don’t?”

“Then they won’t. But wouldn’t you try your hardest to survive if your environment changed?”

She nodded.

Then she asked if we could go in the sky buckets.

She’s ADH-oh shiny!

Apparently people are getting themselves killed by Mexican drug cartels using American firearms. The idea was to follow the guns to the big bad drug lords, but the operation has gotten completely out of hand. Skeery stuff.

In crazy San Francisco news, the city wants to make ex-cons a protected class of citizens. I’m reminded of that scene from Liar Liar when Jim Carey yells into the phone to one of his scummy clients wanting legal advice, “STOP BREAKING LAW, ASSHOLE!”

Should obese children be removed from their homes and placed in foster care? I say no times a thousand. I love the first comment on this one: “Do you really have to make EVERY article about politics?” Um, yes. That’s what I do for a living.

I can even turn Glee into a political issue! I’m totally talented like that.

I was also on The Roger Hedgecock Show to talk about the debt ceiling. It was my first time on a nationally syndicated AM radio show, and I loved it. If you loved it too, tell your favorite radio host you’d like them to have me on. Seriously, if you demand, they’ll supply. I hope.

Have a great week!

I wrote about lack of skills in American workers. I added that to my long list of reasons why education needs reformation. Like, yesterday. School choice leads to competition and high performance. Just sayin’…

San Francisco is thinking about banning pet goldfish. No really. I can’t make this crap up. They already banned happy meals, so I guess goldfish were the next logical step. Next step? Banning people.

And lastly, Troopathon! Yay for our peeps overseas. Thank you to everyone that helped us raise over $500,000 for care packages for the troops.

A public school proposal in Ashburnham, Massachusetts, to purchase 150 iPads for 5-year-olds to use in class is causing some parents to question if this is the best use of already limited funds.

Catherine Adair has children in school at Briggs Elementary. She tells FOX 25, “We have no Vice Principal. We have a very bare bones staff. I don’t think kindergartners having iPads is the best expenditure of taxpayer money.”

iPads are an awesome bit of technology. I love mine. My kids love it too, and I’ve stocked it with a number of fun learning apps for them. But it is a perk, not a necessity, and I didn’t ask taxpayers to fund it, and no teachers lost their jobs at its expense.

It would be wonderful to live in a world where educational funding knew no limits, and we could have a realistic discussion about the benefits of providing iPads to short people who include ‘nose-picking’ on their list of favorite activities. But there is a finite amount of money to be spent on the future of our country, and iPads shouldn’t be in the budget.

Read the rest at The Stir

The nurture and protection of your children isn’t limited to monitoring their dietary needs, their educational needs, their emotional and spiritual well-being. I speak out because I don’t want my children saddled with debt. I don’t want my children’s generation to be the first generation that comes out of the gate with a lower standard of living because of our recklessness.

This pretty much echoes my thoughts on the matter. I feel like I owe it to my children to educate myself on Constitutional rights and limitations. I want others to love our country as much as I do and understand what makes it special. Like Dana, I want my kids to grow up in a phenomenal America, where if you can dream it, you can achieve it.

Working to protect the freedoms we enjoy in America flows seamlessly with our hopes and dreams for our children to be better off than we are. It makes perfect sense that moms are getting politically active, because we’re the ones with the most to lose: Our children’s future.

In response to Dana’s article, some chick piped up criticizing every mom in the country. Apparently, us mamas are not worthy to participate in politics because we choose to be a womb instead of study politics. Stay-at-home-moms are the absolute worst, because we’re lazy un-American do-nothings that leech off our partner’s salary.

Someone needs to call her mother and apologize.

This 23-year-old law school student has no idea what it means to be a mother. Our brains are not (completely) hijacked for 18 years when we give birth. We have every ability to read, listen, learn, write, and speak about any subject — including politics.

Motherhood and political activism are not mutually exclusive. It’s easier now than ever for moms to educate themselves and get involved with the conversation. Anyone with an Internet connection can find the Constitution online, download the text of laws like Obamacare, read the news, and find and share opinions on blogs.

Moms are awesome multitaskers. We take care of our kids, our husbands, and our homes. We learn new recipes, new technology (have you seen kids toys these days??), new stain-fighting tricks, and about the embalming techniques employed by the ancient Egyptians (that one might be just me).

We are smart enough to know that we can use sites like MomThink.org as a jumping off point in developing our political points-of-view. I love this site because of its straightforwardness on issues that will undoubtedly affect our children in the future. I love the encouragement to join Twitter or Facebook groups, where we can mingle with other moms over a virtual soda or glass of wine and share thoughts and even engage in friendly debate. I love that it makes me feel empowered, rather than inferior, to be a mom.

Motherhood is political. Anyone that’s ever navigated a playgroup or PTA meeting knows that.