1. California Crunchies at the Farmers’ Market
2. So, You Want To Be an Iranian Scientist?
3. The GOP’s Super PAC War
4. The Supreme Court Sides with Religious School
5. Marines Pee On Dead Terrorists (And This Is a Problem?)
6. School Dress Codes … For Teachers
7. Bacon = Cancer

Since I’m me, I ended up live-tweeting the whole thing. So, I thought I’d come here and post my tweets from the caucus. If you’re unfamiliar with Twitter, hopefully this will give you a taste of it.

Oh, and I have it on good authority that Roger Hedgecock even read a few of my tweets on air. See? Twitter is totally relevant and important. You can get your tweets read out loud on nationally syndicated radio shows!

And that, as they say, is that. More in-depth analysis tomorrow.

Then we found out that legendary head coach Joe Paterno knew about rapes, and did nothing about it. In 2002, assistant coach Mike McQueary walked in on Sandusky sodomizing a ten-year-old boy in the locker room. He did nothing to stop it, but later called his dad and then Paterno to report it.

These guys knew Sandusky liked to rape little boys, and they did nothing to stop him. A sin of omission is just as bad as a sin of commission, guys.

But where did all of these young kids come from? College hardly seems to be a great hangout place for the tween set.

Well, Second Mile is a nonprofit organization founded by Penn State that encourages young kids “who need additional support and who would benefit from positive human contact.”

I’m sure rape wasn’t the kind of contact they had in mind.

And because this is the horror story that just won’t end, Pittsburg radio host Mark Madden said this morning:

“I can give you a rumor and I can give you something I think might happen,” Madden told John Dennis and Gerry Callahan. “I hear there’s a rumor that there will be a more shocking development from the Second Mile Foundation — and hold on to your stomachs, boys, this is gross, I will use the only language I can — that Jerry Sandusky and Second Mile were pimping out young boys to rich donors. That was being investigated by two prominent columnists even as I speak.”

I have no words.

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

And that’s the kind of mom I am. Interestingly, I just got off the phone with a single girlfriend, with whom I shared a story from the beach today. One of my kiddos was carelessly kicking sand on people, and needed to be corrected. “See?” She said, “This is why I can never have kids. I’d probably kick sand on them and ask, ‘How does that feel?’”

“Um … what do you think I did?”

And that’s the kind of mom I am. The kind of mom whose kids don’t carelessly kick sand on other people.

Anyway, I wrote some stuff last week! And you should totally click on it and maybe even read it. Otherwise you might find yourself staring a toilet with a scrub brush in your hand.

President Obama gave a little speech about the debt limit. It was riddled with blatant untruths. I narrowed down the top nine.

Speaking of President Obama, do you know that he signed a bill that authorized $50 million of your hard-earned money to put guns in the hands of dangerous Mexican drug lords? Because he totally did. Oh, and Attorney General Eric Holder lied about it.

I also mocked global warming scare tactics and possibly polar bears. Because polar bears would totally eat me, given the chance.

Happy 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!

I got a note yesterday asking if I’d be interested in going on the show to talk about the Harvard study on childhood obesity and parental rights. I had actually just emailed my editor at CafeMom.com’s The Stir to ask if I could write on that topic, so it seemed like planets were aligning or something.

Plus, you know, the whole, “Would you like to be on a nationally syndicated talk radio show?” thing. Um … Yes!

I’ve meet Brett (and Roger too, as a matter of fact) a time or two, and he’s a super nice guy. And good at what he does. And, when I went to that live taping a couple of weeks ago, I got to meet his daughter who is about Thing 1’s age. The two of them hit it off like peas in a pod, and you could just tell by how sweet and polite and respectful she was that Brett is a good dad. And in my book, good dads = good men (generally).

I got an email from Brett last night asking if I’d like to talk about the debt ceiling as well, and did I have any other topics that I’m passionate about? Sure, I can talk about the debt ceiling, why not? Also, I’m passionate about getting moms to pay attention to politics, because let’s face it … it’s our children that are being most affected by this spending nonsense in congress.

So I called into the show with the number I was given. And the dude answering the phone was not expecting my call. Ack! Like I needed a reason to be more nervous. I finally got on with Brett … and he didn’t ask me a single thing about the childhood obesity thing.

Which means I was very glad I’d done my homework and even watched the press conference from Hades this morning. I’m sort of immersed in this stuff anyway, and usually able to talk about whatever anyone can pull out of their hat, and I’m not afraid to give the caveat, “I don’t know much about that, but here’s what I think…”

Anyway, all of this to say that I was glad I was up-to-date on a variety of topics. The more you know… the more you won’t sound like an idiot on the radio! And extra knowledge isn’t a bad thing to have. Because I’m sure I’ll have 18 zillion calls soon to have me do a radio guest spot. Or something.

I’ll always have my eight readers. I love you guys. <3

Update- here’s the podcast of the show. I come in at 24 minutes. Enjoy!

Just chillin' with Governor Rick Perry

I was at the RedState Gathering last September, having a grand ol’ time with online activist friends. It was a last-minute decision to even attend, but it was one that I was glad I’d made. I had an awesome story about hotel room confusion, I got to hang out with Ashley Sewell, and I was drinking free margaritas at an event sponsored by Governor Rick Perry.

It was a good time.

So, I was at this cocktail party being thrown by the governor of Texas, and he was definitely the man of the hour. There was a photographer taking pictures, and a long line waiting to shake his hand and smile for the camera. I figured I’d have time to meet him later, so I didn’t crowd in.

Sure enough, about an hour later, I noticed the photographer flipping through her digital images, and Governor Perry standing behind her by his lonesome.  I sidled up to the photographer and asked, “Is it ok to say hi to the governor?”

“Sure!” she cheerfully responded.

So I walked right up to him and said, “Hi, I’m Jenny Erikson, and my husband said I could go on this trip on one condition – that I got to meet the governor of Texas. And that is you, Sir, so … hi!”

There was a moment where he just looked at me, and then he broke into an easy grin and said, “Well let’s give the man what he wants. Come ‘mere Sweetheart!” Then he wrapped his arm around me and asked his photographer to take a picture as photographic evidence for my hubby.

It was very cool.

Some time and a few rounds of margaritas later, Red State Head Honcho Erick Erickson took the stage to address the crowd. Now, sometimes (especially after a few drinks) people get a leetle bit handsy friendly at these events. I always deflect any untoward gestures politely but firmly, because … well because I really like Leif and polygamy’s not our style.

Anyway. Erick was addressing the crowd, and from behind, some dude just came up and casually put his arm around me. Feeling a little uncomfortable, I was about to shrug him off when I heard a familiar drawl, “That’s yer husband up there.”

Rick. Freaking. Perry. No wonder he’d been so nice to me earlier. He thought I was married to Erick. Not wanting him to continue in his disillusion, I giggled and turned to him, “Actually, he’s not my husband, but I do have a really funny story about a hotel room…”

“I’ve already heard it. And it is a great story,” he said with a wink before moving on.

So that totally happened.

Yesterday I was at the USS Midway for the Roger Hedgecock Show, where Rick Perry was to make an appearance. He didn’t have time to meet many people in the crowd, but he did walk right by me. And he stopped and saluted me. For reals. I totally think he remembered me.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

The first day, Thing 2 was so excited to go swimming. She practically lept into the water as I handed her over to her drill sergeant swim teacher. Then he plunged her under water and pushed her to the wall. She instinctively grabbed and pulled herself up, sputtering and crying. This repeated for ten minutes, with Mr. Swim Guy barking orders at me to keep smiling.

Do you know how hard it is to smile when your baby is chocking and screaming and looking at you like you’ve betrayed her?

Really, really hard.

The next day, I had to pin Thing 2 down to get her bathing suit on her. When we got to the pool, I practically had to use a crowbar to detach her little arms from around my neck.

There was more plunging, more sputtering, more crying. But by the end of the ten minutes, she realized that she could hold her breath underwater. And she wasn’t hating it.

Day Three, she wasn’t happy about getting her suit on, but didn’t throw a tantrum. And by the end of her lesson, she was swimming a few feet by herself. By the end of two weeks, she was a swimmer.

There’s a metaphor for welfare in there somewhere.