A friend posted on facebook recently regarding her frustration with teen mothers who receive assistance yet possess iPhones, sports or luxury cars, designer clothes, etc.  I left what turned into a giant rant as a comment.

“I have a bit of a schizophrenic comment (as in, of two minds): I completely agree, I have even been called a "Nazi" for saying that people should need a license to have children. I mean, you need a license to drive a car but not to spawn offspring?  Yeah, that makes sense.  However, I ask that you all stop and consider three things:

1)      How often is assumption a good idea?

My sister was a great wife and mother who suddenly found herself a single mother with, at least until something could be settled and certain steps taken, no income or child support, no job, and a child to take care of...but because she had an iPhone (from pre-HeLeftMeForAHo days) she was often given dirty looks while using her food stamp card.  Plato said it well, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle." 

2)      Is anyone ever blameless? 

I was a teen mother who immediately began taking steps to better myself.  It was certainly a factor that my father was in prison and my mother was on drugs…but ultimately my situation was my fault.  I made poor decisions and, therefore, I had to deal with the consequences. 

3)      Is any life accidental? 

Whether you believe in God or Fate or Allah or The Great and Powerful Oz...most doctrines indicate that every child has a purpose; every life is valid.  Now, none of that changes the fact that, according to "Nazi Ally," upon hitting puberty, all little girls and boys should be temporarily sterilized (IUD's or mandatory BC, etc for girls and tied or clamped tubes for boys) until they can attain adulthood, pass a parenting course, and prove gainful employment. 

Okay, getting off the soapbox now!”

After posting that, I began thinking about a conversation that I had once (ironically enough with the Rat Bastard Formerly Known As Brother-In-Law/Best Friend, or RaBFoKABB) about this policy.  The million dollar question seemed to be, who would regulate this?  Would it be a Democratic bill or a Republican one?  If the Republicans sponsored it, the stipulations would grow beyond adulthood, parenting proficiency, and employment.  Suddenly, only married, Christian, heterosexual, citizens of the right background would qualify.  What about the Dems, you ask?  Well, then anyone could apply but only those with the greatest need would qualify first, which would be determined by the lowest income, so that they could have enough children to qualify them for the benefits necessary to live.  

Yes, I’m being catty…but in all seriousness who would say what constituted acceptable?  Who would decide how many licenses a person could purchase in one lifetime?  Would there be a maximum as well as a minimum age?  If you are at too high of a risk, could you still have children?  Would that place a liability with the government for issuing you the license in the first place?  What about partners?  With whom could you legally procreate?  Would Southern states try to pass an ethnicity clause banning mixed procreation?  You bet your ass a few of them would try it.  What if you passed the requirements but your spouse or otherwise chosen procreation partner did not?  Do you have to pay for the Parenting courses?  Are there scholarships?  

What about safety issues, violations, etc?  If you hold a driver’s license, you still must be a responsible and safe driver, or you may get a ticket or worse.  What happens to pregnant mothers (or fathers) who smoke? Drink? Do drugs?  Are their licenses suspended? Revoked?  What happens to the babies in those cases?  The questions are endless and, at least many of them, paradoxical. 

Basically, I rambled there (and I’ve further rambled here) to say that I am thankful.  I am thankful for the gift of my precious son, Alexander, with whom God (or Allah or Fate or Oz as you please) entrusted me, despite my tender age and undeveloped maturity.  Alex changed everything, and all of it for the better.  Everything I am today I owe in part to his existence.  I am thankful for each of my children and their constant impact on my life. I am thankful that licensure was not required when I was conceived, because neither of my parents would have qualified under any circumstances. I am thankful that assistance was available when I needed it.  I am thankful that the same Force that gifted me with a teen pregnancy also gifted me with a Nanna, who pushed me to “suck it up and do what it takes to stand on [my] own two feet.”  I am grateful that she is still there to help me, guide me, smack me when necessary, and to provide my kids with the same unconditional love that was my saving grace.  

I am thankful that no one interfered in my greatest mistake, because it was also my greatest blessing.

I discovered the gem of flash fiction from the late, great Cynthia Wilson.  She asked us all to write a story no more than 500 words in length.  We gawked.  Some stuttered.  A few quietly hyperventilated. Another few never showed up for class again.  I went home and studied, then wrote my favorite piece to date.  There's something to be said for the economy of words, the clear and concise prose, which flash fiction demands.

A few of my favorite examples:

“A college instructor told his students to write a short story in as few words as possible and containing the following three aspects:

1.       Religion

2.       Sexuality

3.       Mystery

Below is the only A+ story in the entire class:

“Good God, I’m pregnant; I wonder who did it?”

~ Anonymous/Unknown 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dragon Tales
"Why're you here?" the dragon bellowed. "Where's my virgin?"
"No virgins."
"No virgins?!"
"Not one. None to be had. They've all been had." She winked seductively.
"Not funny! Every six months, I get a virgin. That's the deal. I never re-ally liked virgin. Too bland. Humans decided that dragons eat virgins." He patted his stomach. "I've a sensitive stomach, so I agreed."
"I brought pigs."
"BAH!"
"No pigs?"
"No!"
She paled.
He gobbled her up, then burped smoke. "I do like a spicy wench, but they sure don't like me. Now where did I put that antacid?"

~ S. Joan Popek

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At Confession

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."
"How long since your last confession?"
"Two years."
"What's the trouble?"
"I have wished death on a man."
"You haven't acted on your wish?"
"Not yet."
"Who is the man?"
"He is cheating with my wife."
The priest paled. "I forgive you."
I shot him through the screen.

~ Harvey Stanbrough

A blessing came and went in my life so briefly that perhaps it would seem insignificant to some.  Those of you who know me well, who know that my Blue streak is not as wide as many mothers may claim, will perhaps wonder if I am hormonal.  Maybe I am.  

Mr. Cole the Piglet was born at around 5pm Sunday evening and passed away at 3 this morning.  He was a good boy and he was loved right up to his last breath…that’s all I could give him.  I’m torn between vowing to harden myself to nature’s course or stubbornly maintaining my insistence of fighting for every critter, every tiny life, that comes my way.  On the one hand, I would lose a lot of heartache and stress.  On the other, I think I would lose a piece of myself that could never be regained.  

At one point, I held my little piglet as he had yet another seizure and I looked into his beautiful eyes and saw Payton.  I saw him jerking and grunting in pain and heard Payton.  Tiny, so undersized, so beautiful, and fighting so hard to live.  I knew then that I could not put him out of his misery, that I would hold him for as long as I could, and that a larger part of me than I allow myself to acknowledge still bleeds for that baby boy.  

I am having a hard time with this blessing...but I know that it was a blessing.  The re-opening of that wound was something that apparently I needed, as was the reminder that Payton is alive.  He exists and his story continues and my part in it may not be finished...just on hold.  I look at those around me who have lost a child and I understand their deeper connection with God, their unshakable faith that one day they will see that child again.  I am a step closer than that and I can be patient as well as thankful.

Sweet, tiny Cole didn't live long but I am grateful for every moment I had with him, just as I am thankful for every second of my time with Payton.  Sometimes the things that cause us the most grief are the greatest blessings of all. 

A Blessed Day

People often say to me, "have a blessed day."
No one said that to me Saturday, so either I experienced a delayed-reaction blessing or perhaps the Powers That Be decided to formally nod at my newfound attitude. My day was so full of blessings I hardly know how to recount them.
I'll start with a quick list:
I overslept, didn't get my camera battery thoroughly charged and it died before the end of the kids' last ballgame. I sunburned in odd, streaky patterns on my face, neck, and hands. My husband had to work and missed our kids' first games of the season, leaving me to wrangle a four year old and tape the games by myself. Then, he ended up working so late that he entirely missed our plans for the evening.  My daughter locked my son and I out of the truck...with the keys in the ignition, the cell phone on the console and the truck running. An hour later, as we finally arrived at our friends' home, a leg broke on the grill and it fell forward into the back glass of my truck. It also caved in the grill lid and landed on the groceries I had just bought, including the eggs. My husband didn't leave work until almost midnight and we didn't get home until about 2am.

It's funny how things work out, isn't it?  As it happened, I really needed that extra half hour of sleep on Saturday morning to carry me through to the wee hours of Sunday.  We all made it to the field on time, the kids won their games, and about the time the camera died the coaches decided to play their third-stringers to let them get a little action so I didn't miss any of my kiddos' on-field time. Also, I didn't have to wrangle Sarah alone; her future husband took care of her for me.  Hmmm, I guess I'd better explain that one...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sarah became quite taken with Patrick, the older brother of one of Tori's teammates, after he toted her around and played with her at practice a few times.  I didn't realize that nuptials were planned, however, until  a conversation we had after Sarah came home from preschool last Wednesday.

"Mom, I need to wear a dress to practice," she informed me as I tossed her school outfit into the hamper and handed her her play clothes.

"Mm, I don't know; you'll get it dirty.  Plus, you might get itchy from the grass tickling your bare legs.  Why don't you want to wear pants, anyway?"

Sarah placed one hand on her hip, cocked herself to the side, and tossed her other hand up in the air as if completely exasperated with my simple-mindedness.  "Mom, I can't wear pants!  I'm getting married...," she slowly drew out the syllables of that last word as though speaking to a child (or an idiot), waving that little hand and waiting for me to get with the program.

"Oh, well, um... yes. I guess that changes things."  Aware that she was watching my every move, I tried desperately not to laugh.  "May I ask who you are marrying, Miss Deen?"

"Patrick," she snapped with a distinctly unspoken 'duh' attached, "he said I could marry him and Daddy so I said yes."

I turned, unable to contain the laughter shaking inside my ribcage, only to be stopped dead by her next words, spoken softly and with such sincerity:

"I love Patrick."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Patrick, apparently, loves Sarah right back.  It soon became obvious that he is both patient and accustomed to a demanding younger sibling.  He carted Sarah around on his hip the entire morning and didn't complain once, even when she smeared gummy candy in his hair. I could do worse for a future son-in-law.  

I may even have wondered how soon the joyous occasion would occur after Sarah locked the truck door later that evening.  My son and I stood around with the usual crowd of good Samaritans, all making futile efforts to jimmy my door open, for over an hour.  However, I got to meet and form an opinion of the new sheriff, I saw several people I hadn't visited with in ages, and I learned how to gain entry into my truck should I ever find myself in such a position minus the multitude of rusty-armored knights at my disposal.  I also shifted most of the groceries over at one point to allow a gentleman unobstructed access to my back glass (a pointless errand on his part as it was locked).  This simple action saved everything, down to the last egg, from a severe squishing in the Great Grill Debacle that followed.   

Due to the precarious position of the grill, I came to a complete stop before turning onto my friends' road.  Unfortunately, one leg ripped loose from the frame and the grill came tumbling down.  However, it hit the back glass just at the edge of the rubber guide across the sliding center-section, so no harm done.  Also, the grill's lid and leg were fixable and Coach Lockeby had it all patched up in a jiffy, complete with some Tim-Taylor-worthy adjustments.  We kindled a few flames, opened a few beer, grilled a LOT of meat and had a really enjoyable evening.  I missed my husband terribly, but we are saving for a trip and the extra hours mean that we inched that much closer to our goal.  Also, his timing was perfect.  Without going into specifics, the odd set of circumstances led to my narrowly avoiding a very nasty situation.  It was the biggest blessing of the night.

We made it home safe, sound, and together.  Life is good, and I am thankful :)

"Save your money for a rainy day, count your blessings, come as they may." ~ Pat Green

It took me a long time to learn the art of counting my blessings. I'm too literal; I kept trying to understand how counting a paltry handful of blessings could be helpful when they obviously couldn't outweigh the mountain of misfortune heaped upon me. I don't remember the day or the moment when that lightbulb finally flickered on as I realized that the blessings were part of the misfortunes, a sort of hidden perspective if you will. I do remember that first blessing, though.

With the realization that "silver linings" were the intended focus of "counting one's blessings," I was almost bowled over by the rush of relief that hit me when I realized that my entire life had been riddled with blessings. Growing up, I was put through trials that sound almost unbelievable when listed together. The phrase "stranger than fiction" hardly covers it. I often wondered how many puppies I must have kicked or orphans I possibly had exploited in a previous life to merit such punishment. Once, in a fit of selfishness and teen angst (and still unaware of the gift's true nature), I tried to return the blessing. Can you imagine throwing such a treasure away without ever having truly seen it? Yet another blessing: I was saved from myself. I was 13 then and it took another 13 years for the lightbulb to kindle, illuminating my world of blessings. Three years later, I am still discovering pieces of my life, previously locked away for their ugliness and shame, as the priceless and hard-earned blessings they truly represent.

If you wish, follow me as I count my blessings. Some of them will be personal stories, things that once seemed random and awful until their irritation gave way to pearls of wisdom. Others will be the products of a different blessing, the creative fire that has served as a distraction, a coping mechanism, and a source of mini-vacations for as long as I can remember. A few may be the roads I am traveling in search of new blessings, the bumps I encounter along the way, and the fellow travelers I meet.

I hope to see you down the road,

~Ally