Monday, April 23, 2012

I Am An American

I am an American. I am third generation.I am the result of the dream of two entire families' dreams to come to the "land where the streets are paved with gold."
 My paternal grandfather was Russian, my maternal grandfather was German. Paternal grandfather came here in 1914, by himself on a boat (the last boat before the war),  at the age of 14. By the age of 19 he was drafted into the army. By the age of 20 he was married to another Russian emigrant, and a naturalized American citizen. He got a job at Chrysler in Detroit, Michigan, and raised three children.
 My father, one of those children,drafted into the Korean war, where he met my future uncle, who died in Korea. My future father, after his discharge, went to meet my my uncle's sister, fell in love, got married, and had five children. He worked at General Tire and Rubber most of his life, going in at three a.m. and coming home twelve hours later, in order to support five children.
 Me, one of those five children. I met my husband, and we fell in love, got married, and are raising our own children, while he works for the auto industry, as my grandfather did, while struggling to raise our own children and live the American Dream.
 The American Dream, you say? It still exists, it still lives. It still thrives.
 We, the rank and file of Americans, are still here. We work, we live, we laugh. We Vote. We walk picket lines, we give to charity, we believe in God. We shop at local stores, we support our neighbors, we help where we can. Do not discount us. Do not forget us, or think we are worthless, for we are Americans. We built these United States, we fought for them, we stand for them. We are America. I, we, are America.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Conversation Overheard In a Daycare

6 year old: "The baby has a rash on her head."

Me: "That's not a rash, it's a birthmark."

6 year old: "Oh."

(Ten second pause)

6 year old: " I think you mean a rash."

Saturday, April 14, 2012

To Whom It May Concern:

Dear Cow-lady:
I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt when you showed up with your obviously under-medicated half dozen children, because there was always the chance that you could control them once the movie started. Once you started grazing on popcorn with your mouth open, however, and shouting at the top of your lungs, "I'm ready for some FUN! Who's ready for some FUN?! " , I began to have some doubts. You should be glad that I am nearly deaf in my right ear, because once your slightly chromosomaly-short child began guffawing HA! HA! HA! in my left ear, I had a seriously hard time not telling you how to properly raise your children, having actually been there. At the point I turned around and glared at you, you were dangerously close to an eye poke. And anyone who has raised children properly, knows that the proper distribution of parent-child at a movie theatre , is child, parent, child, parent, child, so that an arm-throw in any direction corrals a child. Nevertheless, you are obviously an idiot, and should be forcibly sterilized, or at least forced into parenting classes.
The older mother who was forced to sit in front of you.

Dear applebees chef,
MEDIUM. Seriously, how hard is that? Having cooked for my family for the past 23 years, I have to tell you, medium is the easiest of all steak requests. Rare is this: throw a steak on the grill, turn it over, put it on a plate and serve it. Well done is this: Cook it till it crunches. Medium is anything in between. My husband and I both ordered a steak, medium. Why, then, did I get a steak that flipping mooed, while my husband got a steak that was perfectly pink in the middle, warm, and not bleeding? There are exactly TWO restaurants in the area, so I know you must get alot of practice cooking. Cook my flippin steak the way I order, or I swear I will call your mother. This is a small town, don't make me do it. I will. I WILL, I swear. Medium. It's not that hard!!!!

The lady who always sends her steak back, because you're an idiot who can't figure out what medium is.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Get Out of the Way?

This is what you get when you tell 110 pounds of black lab to get out of your way. A very solid , "No, thank you !"

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


There's a freshly washed puppy on my lap. Across the room there's an 11 month old little girl with a brand new knot on her forehead from learning to walk, and an 8 year old on his cot, with a McDonald's toy clutched in his hand while he sleeps.
Home from a morning at the park, with a gentle breeze blowing, we had just enough time to eat lunch before it was naptime.
I'm thinking this will be the perfect afternoon to break out the sidewalk chalk!