Gunfighter: A Modern Warrior's Life

Joslyn Place Photgraphy

In today's economy and in our culture of  "Big Box" retail and mass production, I think that it is important to remember that small businesses are the largest employers in the country.  We owe it to ourselves and our neighbors to promote and patronize as many local seriecs and retailers as we can.

I would like all of you folks in the Washington, DC metropolitan area, to meet Kimberly and Meredith.  These ladies own a local business which I hope you will support, in aid of which I have invited them to use my little corner of cyberspace to tell you what it's all about. 

Take it away, ladies.

 

Gunfighter, whom I have the privilege of working with at DC Metro Moms (he's the official Dad), has offered us the wonderful opportunity to guest post on his blog to announce our new business called Joslyn Place Photography.  We are located in Northern Virginia and we specialize in: family, newborn, maternity, pet, teen and group portraits.  Many of our sessions are done right in the client's backyard, favorite park or outdoor setting.  We like to share our work on our blog as well as on our big girl portfolio website.

About The Photographers

We are a team of two, A Laverne & Shirley for this century.  Joslyn Place is wonder twins activated. Or at the very least, we are cousins. We go by Meredith and Kimberly.  At long last our lives have geographically come together in Northern Virginia which isn't too far from where our parents started out back on Joslyn Place in Cheverly, Maryland.  The proximity has finally allowed us to combine forces and share our love of people and life through photographs.  This is good news for you.

 

I, Meredith, am the lead photographer.  That means that while we’re together I’m looking for the right space, the right light, the right moment to capture you being you.  This is, hands down, my favorite part. All you have to do is spend time with your people.  And all I have to do is notice and capture you.

I, Kimberly, am the second shooter.  I began following in my cousin’s creative footsteps and fell deeply in love with both the imagery of the art and the experience of the shoot.  I enjoy putting people at ease and bringing out the comedy of the moment.  I head up the organizational end of things mostly due to my anal retentive nature which, in turn, often leads me in the direction of a great bottle of red.  I like to say that I savor life.

We love the details of all the ties that bind. We love the second where those ties and personalities surface and are captured while you were wiping a crumb off his shirt or helping her avoid the mud. We crave the moments where you can see the details of a misplaced hair, a smirk or a wrinkle and feel every ounce of that thing called love.

Our cameras capture your story so far.

We’ll catch your beauty, your heart and your funny all wrapped up in one.

We cannot wait to work with you.

Meredith & Kim
PPA Members

We have two types of sessions to fit your holiday needs and wallet:

2009 Holiday Package  $500

· Sitting fee (90 minute session)
· Three 8×10 Stand Out Wall Prints
· Print Gift Set (One 8×10, Two 5×7s, Eight wallets)
· CD containing 10 images. Each image provided in color and  B&W with copyright release.

Holiday Mini-Shoot $250

· Sitting Fee (a 45 minute session)
· CD containing 5 images  w/ copyright release – perfect for creating holiday photo cards.

*Along with either package, our a la carte prints, listed below, would be offered to you at 30% off.

PRINTS:

8 wallets (2.5×3.5) = $10
4×6 = $5.00
5×7 = $7.50
8×10 = $10.00
16×24 = $90.00

Check out our calendar for the day that suits you. Let’s take advantage of this stunning fall weather, pretty please.

We can't wait to work with you!
Love,
Kimberly & Meredith

The Gunfighter Returns (with a cool vacation Pic)

Hi kids!

Didja miss me?  Of course you didn't, because I have been where I've always been... right there on that screen in front of you.

Vacation has come to an end.  We returned home on Sunday evening after a 12 hour drive which took us from Disnew World to northern Virginia in 12 hours.

Do you know what was really great?  I'll tell you:  It was walking through the front door of our house.  Vacations are great.  It's wonderful to get away... but nothing beats coming back to the place you love and call home.

I have lots of stories to tell you about our trip, and I will be posting about it in the near future, but I would like to take a moment now, to thank those fine folks who were good enough to send me some guest-post material to fill some of my busier days right at the start of our trip.

Many thanks to Heather & Mick for starting a lively conversation about children in church.  I know that it can be a sensitive subject for many people, but for me, it comes down to this:  Better to have an active, sometimes squirmy, chid IN church, than to have the same child be as active and squirmy OUTSIDE of the church.  Church is supposed to be a place of worship and welcome.  If it isn't welcoming of children, close the doors, burn the building, sell the land... because the church will then be nothing but a quasi-pious social club... and the world already has enough of them.  'Nuff said.

Thanks also to Lisa, who, once again gave us a baking lesson, and a great recipe to try.  Lisa always has interesting things to say... sometimes about food, sometimes about other things... but she is never dull.  Go visit her!

Thanks to the Queen of The Mayhem for giving us her perspective on being a Christian woman who teaches in the public school system.  I love hearing any and all stories told by those dedicated, underappreciated people with whom we entrust the early education of our children.

Lastly, but not at all in the least, thanks to Jana & Korie for sharing personal stories about love and friendship.

All of you have my thanks.

Now... back to our show, already in progress.

Can I tell you how unwelcome the alarm clock was at 0415?  I am rested and ready, but, man it was a long psychological leap from getting up between 0800 and 0900 every day for the past few weeks, and getting to work before the sun made it's appearance for the day. 

Not.

Fun

At.

All.

Oh, well... I'll leave off of the whining for a while.  I had a great time.  See the attached proof, below.

If that isn't the face of fun... I don't know what is.

Guest Blogger: Charrette - Finding Myself At The Movies

Today's guest blogger is Charrette, who joins us from Divergent Pathways.  Charrete is an artist, wife, and mother, and a woman of deep faith, who loves... well, she loves so many things... read her blog and see what I mean.

When I asked Charrete to do a guest post while I am on vacation, I told her that I would like her to write about "things that you believe in".  I know that sounds vague, but I told her to "free form at will"  Here is her post.

 

Despite all appearance, this is not a movie review.

I saw the film “Julie and Julia” tonight, with my husband. To say I was excited about seeing it would be an understatement. I am in awe of Meryl Streep, I enjoy Amy Adams too, and I love to cook. So I was practically guaranteed a light, fun, delicious evening at the cinema.

What I did NOT expect? Was that it would make me cry. And cry. And cry. I felt like my heart and soul had been flailed open the way Julia Child herself would debone a duck.  Because I didn't realize this movie is about much more than cooking. It’s about Friendship. And Love. And (are you ready for this?) Blogging.  But even these three things wouldn’t, shouldn’t make me cry on a typical Friday night. There was something else about this film that touched me on a very deep emotional level, something I almost can’t describe. I think it was the primal need it showcased to find ourselves...to locate our innermost self and find a vehicle for expressing it.  I immediately thought of specific friends who, at specific times in my life, have helped me find a part of myself. Cari helped me rediscover my love for the great outdoors, and especially mountain trails. Anne has helped me (through blogging) to rediscover my love of writing, awakened with a nearly transforming vengeance. Jeanne helped me awaken my inner mother. And Marie lent me a slice of her own sure-footed sense of identity, teaching me over most of a lifetime to love and appreciate my unique strengths. We all share a great love for scripture and far-reaching eternal truths.

I am convinced that God himself sent me these friends, to minister to me when I needed them most. To help me remember who I really am...a creative spirit with eternal roots and a familial connection to God that runs vast and deep.

The scriptures tell us that in order to find ourselves we must first be willing to lose ourselves. I think He was referring to selflessness and service. But in a way, He was also saying we have to GIVE OF OURSELVES in order to find ourselves. It happens in cooking. We invest time and effort and even a little creativity. To nourish those we love. And it ends up being like therapy...as we chop vegetables and revel in the colors and textures, then engage in meaningful conversation with our family and friends as we surround the table.

It happens in friendship. We share a little of ourselves with each other...divide the sorrows and multiply the joys. We listen, we love, we serve, and somehow it all comes back to us...bigger and better than when it left.

And it happens in blogging. Sometimes we’re able to share parts of ourselves here that we couldn’t possibly find an outlet for anyplace else. And kindred spirits respond. We find such validation here. We discover amazing things about ourselves in the process, and discover wonderful new friendships with people in such remote locations our paths likely would never have crossed.

But the most important way we give of ourselves is by submitting our lives, our gifts, our whole selves to His will. We lose ourselves -- our selfish, natural inclinations -- so He can find us. And reshape us. One of His modern-day prophets, Ezra Taft Benson, said:“Men and women who turn their lives over to God will find that he can make a lot more out of their lives than they can. He will deepen their joys, expand their vision, quicken their minds, strengthen their muscles, lift their spirits, multiply their blessings, increase their opportunities, comfort their souls, raise up friends, and pour out peace. Whoever will lose his life to God will find he has eternal life.”

Thanks so much for this, Charrette.  I knew that I was going to be able to give my readers something great as soon as you told me that you would be my guest.  You have touched the heart of what blogging means to me and so many other people.

Fatherhood Friday: Veteran's Appreciation

I'm still on vacation, and I have more guest posters lined up for you to read, but I wanted to tell you about something that happened to me at SeaWorld Orlando, yesterday.

We spent a fine day in the park, having a good time interacting with Dolphins, looking at the sharks, Otters, and Sea Lions.  SoccerGirl and I went on the Journey to Atlantis roller coaster/water flume ride (I freakin' hate those things, but what's a dad to do, eh?), and she go to touch the Manta Rays in their shallow tanks "Aren't you going to touch them, daddy?"  "um... no, babe, but you go right ahead".

We had a great time as we always do.

Then it was time for the Shamu killer whale show.  We scooted (yes, scooted.  I only scoot when I am on vacation) over to Shamu stadium and got great seats, with Mrs. Gunfighter and myself sitting in a higher section and SoccerGirl somewhere in the second-row "Splash Zone"... because the only thing better than acrobatic sea-going predators, is getting soaking wet because of  acrobatic sea-going predators.

The show started right on time with all of the usual fanfare, but something about the show bothered me today, and that is what I want to talk about.

At the beginning of the show, there is a segment in which Anheuser Busch (the company that owns the SeaWorld/Busch Gardens parks) salutes American veterans, and asks all veterans of the US armed forces (and those of the UK and any of our allies) to stand up and be recognized.  When they did this, I, and all of the other veterans received a lengthy round of applause. 

It made me uncomfortable.

It always makes me uncomfortable.

It doesn’t make me uncomfortable because I am ashamed of my service.  Quite the contrary.  I am proud to have served in our armed forces, and I am proud of my continued service to this day.  No… it was something else.  I still can’t quite put my finger on it as I sit here typing, nine hours after the show.  I think what was/is bothering me is the nearly exalted status of our veterans.

Look, I joined the service as a 17 year old that really needed to get the hell out of Union, New Jersey, because college wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t stay home anymore.  I had to leave, and Uncle Sam gave me an out, and a direction.  As patriotic as I was then (and now), my main motivation was to get away from home… and for so many other young people across America, Uncle Sam gave me a home, and a purpose.

I was a fairly bright kid.  You wouldn’t know it to look at my SAT score, but the fact remains.  When I took the entry battery of tests, I could have done nearly anything that was available.  Instead, I told them that I wanted to do dangerous stuff involving guns, that may well have lead to getting my ass shot off.  Maybe I wasn’t so bright after all.

I spent the next eight years doing what Uncle Sam, in the guise of my sergeants, told me to do.  In turn, I became one of those sergeants who got to tell the younger fellow what to do (and I was a grizzled old guy by then… I think I was just shy of 20 when I was made a sergeant).

We ran.  We did obstacle courses.  We swam (Marines are amphibious, remember?).  We trained to be able to shoot people as far as 500 yards away, with an unmodified rifle.  We shot up things using machineguns, rifles, mortars, and anti-tank missiles.  When we got tired of that, we practiced using our bayonets to kill people at close range.  We learned to read maps so that we could navigate from one place to another in order to kill people when we got there… or to guide artillery, or air support.  We learned to make range sketches, so we wouldn’t forget where we planted mines.  We learned how to find mines by lying on the ground, and probing for them with our bayonets. 

We spent a lot of time, in those Cold War days, practicing to identify Soviet-made combat vehicles (The T-80, T-72, BMP, BTR-60, GAZ, and the BDRM, to name a few).  We practiced assaulting defended beaches via landing craft, small boats, and helicopters.

We did all sorts of cool stuff like that.  We also spent a lot of time having fun.  When I was in the service, I saw the world.  I saw the far-east.  I saw the middle-east.  I saw Western Europe… and that part called East Berlin.  I have been in at least 18 countries (or something like that).  I have been tattooed, been in bar fights, been ferociously drunk, and wooed women in at least three different languages.

I was good at my job.  I was a highly disciplined killing machine.  Oh, don’t get all squishy on me… that’s the purpose of our armed forces.  Never forget that.  All of the people who enter the service to learn a skill are all there to support those of us that do the killing.  Anyway, I was good at my job.

I loved the discipline.  I loved the traditions.  I loved being totally lethal.  I loved my comrades… but in all of those years, I was always very aware of what my status was:  I was nothing more than a bullet sponge for our society.

Most of us were lower-middle to working class to poor kids who, if they weren’t wearing a uniform, would have been on the dole. We knew it.  We came from Sandusky, Ohio; Mable, Minnesota; Ottumwa, Iowa; Harlem, New York, and lots of other places that held no promise for us. Indeed, many of us were from nowhere… we were from whatever military hospital we happened to be near when or mother’s were pregnant and our dads were serving in, or just returning from, Vietnam.

I won’t try to tell you what the motivation was for everyone who served when I did, but one thing I can tell you is that I never heard anyone say (not even the officers):  “We are here to protect American freedom”.  Most of us were there for each other.

All of which brings me, at long last, to my point.

Spare me your thanks.  I wasn’t doing it for you.  I was doing it for me, but you are welcome, just the same.

Mel Brooks & The Loss of Virginity

Today's guest blogger is... well, she'll tell you who she is at the start of her post.  What I can tell you, that you may not know, is that this young woman is usually one of the first people to read my blog every day.  She comments when she has something to say, and is silent when she doesn't.

Today she is going to tell us something special about her life.

Hello there people! I'm Lilacspecs and I write over at Lilac Colored Glasses, my single daycare worker-gone engaged expatriate in Belgium blog. Yes, that's a mouthful but it's nothing compared to speaking Dutch.

So, yeah, that's me in a very small nutshell. Anyway, I'm posting over here during The Gunfighter's vacation and I was basically given free reign to talk about whatever I wanted, so long as it doesn't offend you or tout Republicans. So I thought about that for a bit and decided to tell y'all a story that I've been wanting to write, but I sort of can't on my blog because my parents and my future mother and sister-in-law  read my blog. And what is it that I've chosen to tell you about today?

The day I lost my virginity!

Woohoo!

The year was 1999 and it was summertime. June, to be exact. I had my first "serious" boyfriend (we'll call him Bub) and we'd been talking about having sex and had made some attempts (read confused and frustrated groping in the backseat of my car because it was summer and our parents were always home) but we hadn't been even close to successful. See, my boyfriend had two problems. The first was a hernia from wrestling that we didn't know about at the time but it was preventing him from staying in a necessary condition for sex for longer than a minute or two. And also, I was older and he definitely was psyching himself out.

So anyway, graduation had come and gone, as had my 18th birthday and my mother started teaching summer session at the university where she worked. Bub's mom had dropped him off at my house and we were up in my room watching Dracula, Dead and Loving It. when things started getting more...intimate. And no, to this day I have no clue what it was about a Mel Brooks comedy that sparked the amorousness, but things progressed and to our mutual surprise, Bub finally maintained himself long enough to put on a condom.

Now, a later discussion indicated that Bub saw his moment of entry as something grand and epic; something straight out of a coming of age movie but mixed with the nobility of a Civil War flick. A cross between Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Glory...only starring Bub instead of Matthew Broderick.

I experienced things more as "oh...okay, I think it's in." Then I held on for dear life because I was on top and Bub apparently thought that "bucking bronco" was the tempo I would prefer, and then finally, when it was over I remember thinking, "So...we're done now?"

I had heard from all of my friends that it would hurt and I'd bleed and it would be this scary experience, but it wasn't. I mean, it wasn't, like, fireworks and opera singers or anything, but it was comfortable and sweet and it cemented our relationship much faster and stronger than normal, in my opinion.

Anyway, we took a shower and Bub's mom picked him up a little while later and I went and finished watching the movie. Later that day, after my mom came home from work, I went to her office to ask a question or something and as I turned to leave she said,

 

"Bub was over here today, right?"

 

"Yeah, why?"

 

"You did it, didn't you?"

 

"Um...how do you know?"

 

"You're walking like you just went horseback riding. And you know what today is, don't you?"

 

"No, what do you mean?"

 

"It's June 9th. You lost your virginity on 69!"

 

So...there you have it. I lost my virginity during a Mel Brooks movie to a 15 year old guy right after I turned 18. And I'll always remember the date because my mother  made a reference to 69ing and my new sex life all in one sentence.

Hopefully this doesn't offend any of you and I'm pretty sure I'm not touting Republicanism as I had premarital sex that was possibly illegal in the state of Pennsylvania while wearing a condom that I learned how to use in my sex education classes taught in public school. Oh yeah, and I'm an expat, so most Republicans probably see me as un-American anyway. If I've met the criteria appropriately I guess you'll be reading this at some point in he near future and if so, please feel free to stop by Lilac Colored Glasses to say hello. I always like to see new visitors.

Thanks, Lilac!  I won't even start to talk about my loss of virginity... but, your story was every bit as funny as mine!

 

Guest Blogger: Anali

Please welcome my next guest blogger:  The lovely Lisa, from Anali's First Amendment..  Lisa is an attorney, freelance writer, and an unabashed foodie.  I always look forward to reading about what is on her mind... and on her plate.

I have a crush on a cake. Actually, it may be a bit deeper than that. A crush is an intense and usually passing infatuation. This glorious cake has only been on my radar since June, but our relationship could be far more than a summertime fling. 

What is the cake that I speak so highly of? Well, like many relationships, let me say this. It’s complicated. Okay, it’s not that complicated. This is cake not number theory. But I have been told that I can be rather dramatic.  

The cake was originally called Raspberry Buttermilk Cake on Gourmet’s website. I adapted it and changed the name to Copycat Cake. That’s not the best of names, but it made sense when I made it for the first time.  

You can read about our courtship here on my Flickr page. I had purchased four pints of blueberries and was trying not to bake anything. Sometimes I have to restrain myself from baking. It seemed that everywhere I looked, mouthwatering pictures of blueberry muffins appeared, and then a blueberry cake, which was the adapted version of the Raspberry Buttermilk Cake.  I broke down and copied everyone else by baking with my blueberries.  

This cake is quick, easy to make, and pretty in a very simple way. It’s not a whoop-de-do kind of cake. With no frosting and just a single layer. But the taste is extreme. I must have made this cake close to ten times already.  

Now the “complicated” part about this cake is that I don’t think I’ve made it the same way twice. I’ve used coconut milk instead of vanilla rice milk. Substituted whole-wheat flour for some of the all-purpose flour. I’ve used cherries once and raspberries a couple of times. This is one adaptable cake! Both the cherries and blueberries were extremely tasty, but I like it with raspberries the best. The tanginess of the raspberries really pops against the sweetness of the cake. I’ll probably try it with strawberries and blackberries eventually. And any other berry that I can get my hands on! 

Since the berries change all the time and I’ve never used buttermilk, the original name doesn’t seem to fit. So, I’m going to stick with Copycat Cake for now. If you have any ideas for a better name, I’m open to suggestions. Here’s my version of this recipe below. I hope you try it. Enjoy!

Copycat Cake

(adapted from Gourmet’s Raspberry Buttermilk Cake} 

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/4 tsp. salt

1/2 cup Smart Balance

2/3 cup sugar

1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 egg

1/2 cup vanilla rice milk

1 cup berries (set aside) 

In a medium mixing bowl, combine all ingredients well.  Pour batter into a round cake pan that has been greased and floured.  Place berries over the top of the batter. Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes.  Let cool, then serve.  

Thanks, Lisa!  I rarely bake, but I may try this when I get home from Florida. 

Ok, friends.... when you get a moment, follow the link to Lisa's blog and read about AND see her great creations!

Mmmmm!!!!

Children in Church

Heather's post from yesterday generated quite a bit of interest, if my email box is any indicator, and I thought that I would post this piece from my brother-in-Christ, Mick, who had a lot to say on the subject.

Heather,

I'm a Seminarian (read: pastor-in-training) up here in the sticks with
the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada.  I too have a young family
-- my eldest is three and the youngest is 18 months.

When one was two years and the other four months, I went to a large
church in Calgary Alberta to be their intern pastor for a year.  It
was an absolutely fantastic experience, save for one thing: the
elderly people who would complain about my children in worship.  One
person, after I picked up my youngest at the end of the service when
he came toddling up to me, actually told me that "no one else gets to
bring their children to work."

My response to this was actually pretty simple: their kind and loving
Vicar became as nasty as they were being with an added twist: I asked
them if they had, as one person suggested, beaten their children to
get them to be quiet.  Receiving a 'yes' response, I then asked if
their child (now grown) was still in church, and to that the response
was always -- always -- 'no'.

Then I would look them in the eye and ask them how they could excuse
their way as being better.

The point is, Heather, that young families need the church, but not to
be segregated or forced to conform to an earlier generations' ideals.
I've seen this before with other churches: younger families are
desirable, but only if they look, dress, and act circa 1955.  Churches
have dealt with problems like this before; they deal with them again.

But a word of caution to you, and others who have had similar
experiences -- do NOT turn this issue to your pastor to fix.  He or
she simply can't.  More to the point, the church only has one Messiah;
you (and other families in your church with similar experiences) need
to address the issue yourselves.

For waaaaaaaay too long the manufactured ideal of "arguments don't
happen in church" has been enforced as a means of a)keeping status
quo; and b)allowing passive aggressive people to build and maintain a
power base.  This needs to stop, and the only way it will is through
confrontation.  When someone says something hateful to you, look back
and them and tell them behaviour is deplorable for a playground, let
alone a place of worship.

What distinguishes Christianity from other traditions is that Jesus
LOVED little children.  There are numerous accounts of the disciples
wanting to send the children off to somewhere else but Jesus
correcting them, and gathering the little ones in closer.  This should
be what distinguishes Christian churches from other ones; nothing
annoys me more (with due respect to lilacspecs) than funereal silence
at a joyous occasion such as baptisms.  'Respectful silence' is an
oxymoron at these times.  The point of Christian worship -- I would
argue -- is celebration, as we give thanks for our lives (as many
traditions celebrate the 'Eucharist' from the Greek word meaning 'to
give thanks').  This is what makes Christianity different from other
religions -- we do not go through prescribed motions to appease a
deity, or chant texts to remember the teachers of an ancient, but we
should be celebrating Christ in our midst continually, at this very
moment.

But Kathleen is right when she says that churches that are populated
by a generation that demands conformity should plan on dying out --
put simply, and as I pointed out to another person who tried to tell
me that my children weren't behaving as 'pastor's children' should,
those churches are already dead.  They just don't know it yet.

I think there's a blog posting about this percolating over in my neck

of the woods....

Can I get an Amen?

Thanks so much for jumping in, Mick!  For those of you who haven't done it, yet, please visit Mick's blog , you'll be glad you did.

Poor-Weather Church Attendance

Friends,

Please welcome Heather, who comes to us from Minnesota, and has graciously consented to bless my blog with her presence.  Heather is a wife, and mom to three young children, and blogs about her life, at COOLZEBRAS.com.  Heather is one of my most consistent readers and commenters, to whom I shall be eternally grateful.

We are sort of a cold-weather church-going family. When the mercury rises (as it is supposed to do in the summertime but has not really happened these last few years here in Minnesota) we make ourselves scarce from the church. It’s not that we think church is less important in the summertime, but as with most things, a little break from routine is helpful to rejuvenate the desire. 

Come September we are back in the routine of our church life. Wednesday afternoon choir practice for the two big kids, Sunday school on Sunday, attending church services mainly when the two big kids sing with choir during the service. 

We don’t attend the service every week. We’re Presbyterian, and Presbyterians are sort of laid-back in general so we’re on the very laid back end of the spectrum. I don’t think I need to attend church every single week in order for God to love me or for Him to hear me. 

Ironically, it’s our kids that want to go to church every week. They enjoy seeing their friends and learning about the Bible. They are a vital part of our church community. The congregation knows them because they are active and visible in the church. I was too, up until last year when the baby was born. I just couldn’t continue as a Sunday School teacher when I had a nursing infant with me. I actually have really enjoyed the break. (see above, about breaks being helpful to rejuvenate) I don’t know when, or if, I’ll return to teaching, but I did enjoy feeling a part of the community. 

I also enjoyed the surprised looks I would get from people when I mentioned I was a Sunday School teacher. I don’t wear my religion on my sleeve and I rarely talk about it, even with my own family. I believe what I believe and you can believe what you believe. I don’t need to debate about this aspect of my life. In fact, I’d rather not talk about it (and so naturally I’m writing a blog post about it!).  

Our church is dying. It is old, and beautiful and old. We have had encounters with less-than-Christian fellow members, that made us feel less-than-Christian toward them. Honestly I still see these people and feel stabs of hate. I am fairly certain that our encounter with these people led to a new pamphlet at our church that informs the older members that children are welcome in worship and that the parents should be encouraged rather than maligned for bringing their children to worship. I worry for these people who are so filled with negativity that they would attack a young family with words of hate. 

Churches, in order to survive, need to adapt to the modern lives of families. If young people and young families are not welcomed, even courted, then the church will die. 

I know my husband and I are not the only parents to feel unwelcome in worship because we have a noisy baby or preschooler. There is no “cry room” in our church. There is a nursery, but I am unwilling to leave my children in settings like this when they can’t communicate any issues with me. Our associate pastor’s wife had even had older members reprimand her for her noisy children (did these people know who they were talking to?). 

I believe the sounds of a baby playing happily during a church service add to the joy of being together, alive. If my baby was crying uncontrollably I would definitely leave the service until she quieted, but a few fussing sounds should not be a big deal, in my opinion. 

What do you think? 

Is your church of the antiquated idea that children should be seen and not heard? Should children be welcome in worship?

Thanks so much for being my guest, Heather, I appreciate you taking your time to write for my wee humble blog.

As for the rest of you... go over the Heqther's blog and give it a read.  That's an order!

Guest Blogger: Devra

***You may remember that I was on vacation in August, and that while I was relaxing with my family, several guest bloggers were nice enough to fill a lot of my spcae with grace and humor.  One of the bloggers that I had invited to post was the talented Devra, who is a very busy lady.  Devra said that she would be happy to guest-post, but whe I didn't hear from her, I figureds she just had too much going on.

Fast forward to last week.  I got an email from Devra telling me that she had written this,b ut had forgotten to send it.

Read on.***

I swear, I didn't even know I was going to El Paso before I agreed to be a guest blogger.
 
After I had made the commitment to be a guest blogger while Gunfighter went on his vacay I found out I would be going to El Paso, TX for a business trip. Immediately I smiled and thought, "Perfect timing. Absolutely perfect!" Seriously. It is what I thought. I meant it too.
 
Before you whisk me away for a drug screening to see if I am blogging while high, I'm going to explain that I am fully aware El Paso is not on any list of the Wonders of the World. And yes, I also realize August is not the best time of the year to visit any part of Texas whatsoever.  In fact, the last time I was in El Paso was over 20 years ago when I was pulled over for speeding by the real life version of Sheriff Buford T. Justice.  The experience went like this:
 
The sheriff swaggered up to the window of my car and stuck his sunglass ensconced face through my driver's side window.
 
Sheriff: Hi there lil lady! Can I ask you if you are aware that we have speed limits in the Great State of Texas?
 
Me: Yes. I am aware of that fact sir. I believe I was most likely exceeding one, if not more,of them and this behavior is probably the reason we are meeting right now in the middle of nowhere.
 
Sheriff: Why yes indeedy.  Darlin' this is NOT the middle of nowhere, this IS Salt Flat, Texas. And I clocked your veeehickle goin' about 92 miles per hour in a 55 mile an hour zone. Can you tell me, lil lady, does that sound about right?
 
Me: You mean I didn't even break 100? I've got to admit I'm disappointed. The whole reason I was speeding was to see if my car could break 100.  
 
Sheriff: Sweetheart, you do understand you're behind the wheel of a Volkswagen Rabbit. Dontcha?  
 
Me: Yes officer, I know. I was bored out of my mind while driving from Tucson on my way to Lubbock. I thought it was as  good a time as any to see how fast my car could actually go. I figured no one would mind. It's a straight shot and no one was around.  This is my first time driving through Texas. It's way flatter than I ever imagined. There's nothing out here!
 
Sheriff: No one except you, me, my radar gun.  Oh...and the laws against speeding in the Great State of Texas.
 
Me: (deeply sighing) Yes. I now realize I was not as alone as I had believed myself to be. I'm sorry.
 
Sheriff: I'm gonna give you a warning lil lady cuz you didn't boo hoo all over the place and try to convince me not to give you a ticket.  Plus the fact you was tryin' to run a Rabbit like it was a Hemi made this good ole boy's day.
 
Me: I appreciate that very much officer. I hope you understand that if the radio signals were stronger out here, I wouldn't have become so desperate for something else to do.
 
Sheriff: I smell what you're steppin in, darlin'.  Stay safe now. And remember you ain't in no 'Cuda.
 
And with that,  he handed me a warning and swaggered off into the sunset.
 
While I am happy to report my recent trip to Texas did not include being jacked up by a member of law enforcement, I did see my fair share of people in uniform. The purpose of my trip was to provide training for a group of soldiers at Ft. Bliss who are members of the Warrior Transition Battalion or the WTB.  WTB's are special  units set up on Army posts which have high numbers of Iraq and Afghanistan deployments. These units of   men and women serve their fellow soldiers, and their families, as the soldiers deal with the transition from being at war to being back home.  As you might well imagine, these battalion members are working all the time. I would bet most of them have recently strapped on a cell phone more often than they have strapped on a rifle.
 
The training I was providing is part of a Zero To Three military projects program for which I am a consultant- "Coming Together Around Military Families".  The purpose of this training was to increase awareness and discuss the dangers surrounding Compassion Fatigue.  Hopefully as we look upon our horizon- to the beginning of a new administration- we'll be able to bring our soldiers home soon, heal them, their loved ones and our country.
 
And in the meantime, I'll make a concerted effort to resist the almost overwhelming urge to break the speed of sound in this.

*****Thanks for this, Devra!  It was worth the wait.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with Devra Renner, she is the co-author of the award winning book; Mommy Guilt.  Devra blogs, along with her co-auther, Aviva Pflock, at Parentopia... and I have seen her drive her minivan, but I think the sound-barrie is safe... for the moment.*****
 

Guest Blogger - Katie: Gunfighter's "Handle"

Thank you my friend, for allowing me to rant on your space while taking a well deserved vaccy from bloggeritavilla. I appreciate that you are letting me crash while my place is fumigated. Blog fleas are such pesky beasts and I hope they aren’t contagious.

*clears throat and shifts uncomfortably in chair*

Hi! For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Katie, my personal blog is motherbumper where I spew nonsensical stuff and exorcise many insane demons that pollute my mind, all while sharing parenting tips because insanity and parenting go hand in hand, don't ya think? Oh – and I’m also the queen of run-on sentences and earth-shattering topic shifts.

Anyhow, guest posting makes me nervous. Actually 99% of life makes me nervous, I’m a bag of jitters just waiting to go off most days. Seriously though, at this very moment, guest posting is making me break out in hives.

OK, they aren’t real hives, they are mosquito bites that I got last night when taking the wee one Gigi over to the park at dusk. You’d think that I, being a somewhat intelligent human (totally stopped dragging my knuckles after a successful completion of “How to shake your inner Cro-Magnon Man” at The Learning Annex last summer) – anyhow, being a somewhat intelligent person, I would know to slather on some bug repellent on both self and child before going over to the park at the pinnacle of the biting hours.

But no, I constantly send us out into this urban jungle of Toronto with nary a drop of OFF or citronella to be found. Have I taken my parenting skills to an all time low for laziness? Or would that be a high? No, definitely a low – I’m too lazy and cheap to get high.

Hey, I’m getting off topic here. I didn’t come to discuss why I’m too lazy and cheap to slather myself or more importantly, my child in bug juice, I’m here to do a guest post for my bud Gunfighter.

Actually, funny thing about that Gunfighter handle*: I think of Monsieur Gunfighter as too polite and peaceful to have such a lead-lined online name of “Gunfighter”. Is that just me?

* can I just say how hard I laughed when I reread that I used the word handle and then though omg, is “handle” going to get me in trouble because DUDE I said “Gunfighter’s handle” and that sounds so naughty… but I digress. And also refuse to change it.

Wait one second, are gunfighters not polite by nature? Polite gunfighter is not an oxymoron, is it? Let me think about this. Hmmm Dirty Harry always invited others to “make his day” which in itself, is a very selfless and polite sentiment.

Let me examine this “gunfighter” moniker. Wait … OMG, I get it… holy cow, I’m so slow on the uptake: Gunfighter means one with a reputation for being dangerous with a gun. So is his “gun” the mightly “pen” which in turn, is actually the “keyboard”. Oh my, can you believe I just figured that out?

Woah.

Know what? Now I just love his name the Gunfighter more than before. The Gunfighter handle rocks. Hey, I just achieved some online enlightenment while simultaneously making a naughty statement. Now that’s talent - just like the Gunfighter. 

Merci beaucoups, Katie, ma belle amis (hey, that's FRENCH!  Ain't you impressed?).  I appreciate your taking the time to post at my li'l ol, no account blog! 

Well that's it for my guest bloggers, friends... I am back from my vacation, tanned (no, really... if you want, I'll take off my watch and prove it), rested and ready... for something, I guess.

I really appreciate the efforts of  Anali, Janet, Shannon, Heather-in-Minnesoooohta, Katie, Brillig, Becky, The Zaftig Redhead, Jessica, Maria, Heather-in-Loozeeanna, and Sonia.  Thank you so much, ladies, for jumping in and adding a little luster to my otherwise dull blog.  I heart all of you... big, pink, puffy, fluffy, hearts (with unicorns!).

GF