Gems

Victoria and I are in the process of planning for the Mother & Daughter luncheon, 2012. This is our tenth year. How in the world did THAT happen? We discussed invitations tonight, and decided to use a silhouette. We batted around using Victoria’s silhouette, a bird, a butterfly, a teapot, a flower, a daisy, a Gibson Girl, or just a generic little girl.

In the end, we found THIS little jewel. Victoria and I BOTH loved it. I actually ADORED it from the moment I laid eyes on it, but being the mom of a thirteen year old girl, I knew to play my hand close.

“What do you think of this one?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, Momma!!! I LOVE it!!!! What do YOU think of it?”
“I love it too, sugar.”
“What do you REALLY think???” (She is, after all, a woman-in-training.)
“I think I REALLY love it. Do you know WHY I love it?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, because it reminds me of you. You aren’t a little girl any more, but you’re not yet a young woman. And this silhouette looks EXACTLY like who you are right now.”
“I think so too. She looks in between like me.”

Do you know what I love most of all? I love that my 13-going-on-14 year old daughter KNOWS that she is “in between.” She isn’t trying to grow up too fast. She isn’t trying to stay a little girl. She is in between, and she embraces her in between-ness. I was NOT one to do that.

I always wanted to do whatever it was I was too young to do. Some of this may have had to do with my having an older sister, but most of it had to do with me being “prissy.” At the age of six, I INSISTED that my leotards on Sunday morning were to be called PANTYHOSE and my open-toed, block-heeled sandals were to be called HIGH HEELS. My Granny would save empty cosmetic compacts and lipstick tubes and cleansing cream jars for me–stored in her guest room chest-of-drawers–with the STRICT understanding that I was not to APPLY anything I might find in the crevices of the containers. Even my Granny who dug EVERY LAST AVAILABLE BIT of her Merle Norman Ladybug Red lipstick from the tube with a Q-tip was bound to miss some that my enterprising prissy fingers might still reach. I DID occasionally sneak and “use” some powder. It was really just Granny’s old powder puff that smelled of face powder, but it thrilled me no end.

I wore lip gloss as soon as I was allowed. I got my ears pierced as soon as Daddy FINALLY gave up and told me if I wanted to poke holes in my ears to go right ahead. I wore make-up as soon as I had my own money and convinced Momma that I would only use NATURAL colors. (This did not last for long as my photos from high school can attest.)

I don’t think any of that was bad. I am certainly not the first little girl to do so. And if Victoria wanted, this would have been the year that mascara and face powder and light lipstick would have made an appearance in our house. As it stands, she wants none of that yet. She likes to wear jewelry but has no desire to pierce her ears. She likes to wear body spray, but has no desire for make-up. She has long had her own personal preference regarding her clothes and what she “feels” like wearing. She has her own style. . .which happens to be chock full of grace and gentleness and intuition and tenderness and beauty that is beyond me to describe. She is like a luminous strand of pearls, my girl.

Of course, I AM her Momma, so I’m a little partial.

A Sprinkle

If you have ever attended church ANYWHERE that they give showers, then you know there are different camps regarding the number of baby showers to which a mother is entitled. Keeping in mind that I am not Catholic, nor do I live near or know the Duggers, I fall into THIS CAMP. Thank you, Mary Englebreit.

This woman deserves a party.

I’m not saying that you need to go overboard every time. . .but who DOESN’T appreciate a cake and a stash of diapers and wipes tucked away somewhere.

So, my friend Cheryl and I took the leap into the pool of baby showers where we go to church and made a splash. Hopefully we didn’t get anyone sopping wet. . .especially since we decided we were having a “sprinkle” rather than a “shower.”

I made invitations to pass out (rather than having it published in the order of worship or the like), and we held it at a “non-scriptural” location (a house rather than the fellowship hall) at a “non-scriptural” time (Saturday morning from 10:30-11:30 rather than a Sunday afternoon before evening service) so as to lessen the soaking of our splash. I say all of this tongue in cheek, of course. I respect everyone’s views–and understand reasons for the many camps, but I am of the opinion that a baby is a time to celebrate!

The idea to call it a sprinkle was not mine. . .I stole it from the internet–along with this poem that I tweaked somewhat to fit our occasion.

Babies bring sweetness & laughter galore,
So, Synda & Stephanie are each having one more.
Ayla and Josh have plenty to share.
This is only a “sprinkle” to show that we care.
Bring a tub of wipes & diapers–any size,
Then we’ll help them stock up on baby supplies.

We had two mommies due at similar times–both having a second baby that was the same sex as the first, so diapers and wipes were REALLY appreciated.

Cheryl graciously offered her home along with beverages and nuts, so I made cake and cupcakes and brought the paper goods.

The little onesie picks are from scrapbook paper that I cut out and glued back to back on a toothpick.
The words on the cake were also made out of scrapbook paper. . .I just blew up some really fat font, traced and cut. . .to match the napkins that were left over from ANOTHER shower.

And inside–enough colors to cover either gender AND thrill three year old Ayla who was in attendance. Josh didn’t come, but I sent some home for him.

My friend’s husband was a naysayer declaring that there was NO WAY we would be able to have a shower in an hour. But we didn’t HAVE a shower. We had a sprinkle. And the last car pulled out of the driveway at 11:35 (ONLY because they had been standing outside talking) followed by me at 11:45. I was home and back in my jammies by 12:15.

There was a nice turn-out, and the mommies were THRILLED with their diapering supplies. One baby arrived on Tuesday of this week, and the other is scheduled to make an appearance anytime now.

Serendipitous, Happenstantial Providence

Things I do not believe:

“There are no accidents.” Yes. There are. My Daddy losing his leg was an accident. He was where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there, and someone who didn’t know he was there turned on a switch, and presto–accident.

“Everything happens for a reason.” No. They don’t. Sometimes things just happen. See above.

“It was God’s will.” Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. It is God’s will for babies to be born. It is not God’s will for babies to die. Actually, it is not God’s will for ANYONE to die. Thus the Garden of Eden (which people screwed up), and then sending Jesus so we NEVER have to die–not really. I do not believe it was God’s will for Daddy to lose his leg. But God let it happen. And Daddy continued to believe in God and serve as a wonderful (if imperfectly human) testament of how to deal with tragic accidents by leaning heavily on the grace of God.

Things I DO believe:

God uses accidents to bring about His purposes.

God uses things that happen to bring about His purposes.

God is with us in accidents and in things that happen for no particular reason other than the fact that we live in a fallen world where death and accidents and “things” happen.

God exerts and exercises His will through earthly happenstance every single day, and we can SEE Him doing that if we take a moment to open our eyes–if we “treasure” and “ponder things” in our hearts as did Mary, the mother of Jesus, so that in the fullness of time, we can look back and see the loveliness of God’s hand taking the ashes we are given by a fallen world, and turning them into beauty.

I say all of that to say, that forty-four years ago, a baby was born in Sweden. Her parents had an unlikely meeting. I think that she, like me, would say that the eventual ending of their marriage–though not surprising–was tragic. But that brought this Swedish lass to the United States–more specifically to the birthplace of her mother in Texas. There, in Texas, she met a boy. They really, really liked each other a lot and got married and had two wonderful sons who have yet to make their final, indelible mark on the world, but are working on it every day.

She followed this boy that she met to a small, Christian university in Arkansas. There was another girl there–one who had been born in a tiny, back-water town in Louisiana. And through some serendipitous happenstance (that both girls believe to this day was God exacting His will) they met.

You see how murky the waters can become.

falling in love and having a beautiful baby girl=good
divorce=bad
family splitting up across an ocean=bad
meeting your future husband=good
meeting a friend=good

But if you know that God sees through the murk, and you focus your eye on the light He shines through the dimness and uncertainties of life, then you see Him all over the place.

See the photo below? Click on it.

Chances of Stephanie meeting Roxanne=infinitesimally small (cuz, DUDE, that ocean is very, very large)

The Mighty Google=”We could not calculate directions between Lund Municipality, Sweden and Bastrop, LA.”

God=INCREDIBLY, GIGANTICALLY, MIND-BLOWINGLY HUGE and WAY SMARTER than Google.

Accident. . .happenstance. . .a mere “thing”. It matters not. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.“ So says James, the brother of Jesus, who should know and who was inspired to say so. Therefore, our meeting is classified under “God” as far as I am concerned.

Today is Stephanie Gabrielle’s birthday. But I (and the rest of the world too) am the one who got the gift of her presence.

Thank you, God, for my lovely, lovely friend. She is a blessing and a treasure, and you knew how much, how long, and in how many ways I would need her over the course of my adult life–from the very beginning to now and, hopefully, for much, much longer.

Happy birthday, my unlikely, God-given friend. The Atlantic Ocean turned out not to be so big after all. And I think you rock.

A day late: Resolutions for an odd year

I don’t really CARE for odd numbers. . .and 2011 is ODD, people. Although I SHOULD have taken full advantage of the auspiciousness of yesterday in it’s even oddness. 1/1/11. All odd numbers, but an even amount of them.

Yes. I am weird. So are you. Remember–I KNOW you people and your particular oddities, and I love you anyway. Even if you were born in an odd month on an odd day in an odd year. . .for INSTANCE, 9/17/1969. That was a WONDERFUL day. . .but it’s all odd. I’m only partially odd. 8/2/1969.

Why, why, why all the useless drivel regarding numerology? Well, I am setting myself some resolutions, and I’m already a day late. That being said, my resolutions include the following. Mind that this is more of a BRAINSTORMING list than a TO DO list as I am RESOLVED to making a list of resolutions, but only INTEND to TRY to keep the resolutions.

Yoda would be giving me an earful right about now.

1. Read SOMETHING from my Bible every day. Even if it’s just one verse.

2. Write SOMETHING every day: blog post, letter, quotation, thought, etc.

3. Move every day. This does NOT include school teaching. This DOES include grocery shopping. That is quite a workout, let me TELL you. I’d rather do yoga or walk, however, moving is moving. So. Move I will. Even if it’s just once up and down the road.

4. Be kind to people every day. This includes being kind to ME.

So far today, I’m ¾. Oddly even. (And I have NO IDEA why my list is hyperlinked to Yoda, except that he is using The Force. I am going to be kind to myself, and quite trying to fix it. I will LET IT BE.)

Happy New Year from me to you.

My little family at my in-laws 50th anniversary dinner.

Konst av Konstnären (Art by the Artist)

Last week I showed you my lovely new piece of art from Stephanie.

And there was this AWESOME portrait of our old house from June, 2006.

I’ve also mentioned the other pieces of art with which she has gifted me, but I’ve never shown them to you. . .so here they are NOW.

I met Stephanie in college. She was an art major and as such, at the end of our senior year she had an art show. I attended and fell in love with two pieces of her work. This piece of pottery was the one I felt I could afford to buy. I can’t remember what I paid for it–not nearly what it was/is worth. . .but after the show, she delivered it to me, and it is in my house to this day.

On this you’ll note, she put the title of my blog. . .I had recently been bemoaning some MAJOR drama in my life to my friend and dorm mother, Katrina,and she told me about a song, “It Be’s That Way Sometimes.” I shared the story with Stephanie, and that is what she entitled my piece of pottery. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAy back in 1991.

At the very same art show, I also fell in love with a wonderful water color. It was just gorgeous. . .right up my alley. . .lovely, lovely, lovely. I can’t even remember if it was a piece she had for sale–and if so it was WAY out of my price range, but I told her how gorgeous I thought it was. It was entitled, “Waiting .” And I was in the midst of doing a lot of that at the time. . .waiting. . .much like “The Waiting Place” in Dr. Seuss’s book, Oh the Places You’ll Go.

One lovely May evening (central Arkansas KNOWS how to do spring) I went for a walk, and when I returned, sitting on a chair in my apartment was the painting. Stephanie had given it to me as a graduation present.

(Click to see it REALLY big.)

See? Lovely. She was about 20 when she painted this.

As I was photographing these to put on the blog, Victoria said, “Who made those?” I told her it was Mrs. Stephanie. As these are things Victoria has always seen (and it never dawned on me to tell her), she had no idea. . .and her response was, “What can she NOT do?”

Now–knowing Stephanie like I do, I know she would be the first to give you a long, exhaustive list of all the things she CANNOT do. . .but I am here to tell you that one thing she CAN forevermore do is create–wonderful meals, handsome boys, beautifully wrapped packages, and art, art, art. . .from original paintings to envelopes in which to stuff letters that are covered with her font-like hand writing.

Amazing.

When I thanked her for the most recent masterpiece, I tacked on a little note in Swedish. She is, in fact, from Sweden–was born there and lived the first 10 or 11 years of her life there. She speaks, reads, and writes fluent Swedish but you’d never know it to hear her. She sounds like your run of the mill southern-ish girl. Anyway–here is what my Swedish (courtesy of Google Translate which Stephanie assures me did a truly fine job) thank you said:

Thank you my dear, dear, dear, dear friend. Your love for and acceptance of me and my many, many flaws has been a blessing all the years I have known you, but this past year in particular. Thank you for being a sounding board, a confidant, a kick in the pants, and for being able to create things that neither my imagination nor hands can design. You are a jewel both valuable and rare, and also very, very sparkly. I love you.

And sparkle she does.

Curing the World’s Ills

I think this could SERIOUSLY cure lots of ills in the world today.

Carefree fun with friends in the great outdoors. Preferably on playground equipment.

Homemade waffles on pink plates with fresh strawberries and REAL whipped cream topped with pink sprinkles

Finding the world's biggest bottle of chocolate syrup. . .

And sharing it with your girl friends

Riding with the windows down (she was buckled in, Lisa)

Fresh flowers in an old snuff bottle or any other container

Taking photos of things you like, and capturing something you didn't expect. . .in this case, my right hand.

Still holds true. . .

Repost time: And an update. . .I have now talked to Sandy and Linda on the phone, Melanie and I have exchanged real, hand-written letters, AND I finally met Becky and her five beautiful children in December. Stephanie (gal whose husband I had a crush on in college) and I got to see each other in September, 2007 and are planning another visit this summer–WITH Becky who has moved much closer to us. I saw my friend Carolyn (knew her son in college) in November, and I got to see Sarah at Christmas–and her Dad.

I am blessed beyond measure. That is for sure.

The Race that Knows Joseph
July 2, 2007 (link to original should you care to read the comments)

“Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” Exodus 1:8
One of my favorite series of books is Anne of Green Gables. I know. I know. It’s old fashioned and sappy sweet–but so am I. . .and there are great truths in those books. One of the best books in the series (as far as I’m concerned) is Anne’s House of Dreams. It’s in this book that Anne grows up and gets married and makes a home and friends away from Avonlea. It’s also in this book that I found a great explanation of instant friendship.

“You’re young and I’m old, but our souls are about the same age, I reckon. We both belong to the race that knows Joseph, as Cornelia Bryant would say,” said Captain Jim.

“The race that knows Joseph?” puzzled Anne.

“Yes. Cornelia divides all the folks in the world into two kinds– the race that knows Joseph and the race that don’t. If a person sorter sees eye to eye with you, and has pretty much the same ideas about things, and the same taste in jokes–why, then he belongs to the race that knows Joseph.”

“Oh, I understand,” exclaimed Anne, light breaking in upon her. “It’s what I used to call–and still call in quotation marks `kindred spirits.’”

“Jest so–jest so,” agreed Captain Jim. “We’re it, whatever it is. When you come in tonight, Mistress Blythe, I says to myself, says I, `Yes, she’s of the race that knows Joseph.’ And mighty glad I was, for if it wasn’t so we couldn’t have had any real satisfaction in each other’s company. The race that knows Joseph is the salt of the earth, I reckon.”

As it turns out later in the book, Cornelia Bryant is of the race that knows Joseph as well.

I have been blessed over and over and over in my life with companions who are of the race that knows Joseph–some of them predicatable but many of them unlikely. I’ve had friends who were old enough to be my grandmother–I even have one who’s old enough to be my GREAT grandmother. She just turned 101 and still drives her own car. She got a speeding ticket shortly before her 100th birthday and told the officer, “Honey, I’m nearly 100. If I’m gonna get somewhere, I gotta go in a hurry.” He still gave her the ticket, and she laughed and laughed over it when she told us about it in ladies’ class.

I’ve had friends who were students. I remember being told that you shouldn’t have “favorite” students. . .and I know they meant “teachers pets.” But it is nigh unto impossible to NOT have favorite students. I have favorite adults, favorite teachers, favorite aunts, favorite friends, so it is highly likely that I will have a favorite student or two in my day. Some of my favorite students–the ones that know Joseph–have been highly unlikely. . .like Patrick who cut Molly’s hair and couldn’t sit still to save his life and Geoffrey who dressed like a Goth and could cuss a blue streak IN CLASS, but was so incredibly intuitive and intelligent that you couldn’t help but be drawn to him. Another was Molly who got her hair cut by Patrick, because when I IMMEDIATELY sent him to the office she said, “Mrs. Langley, I have a chunky cut anyway. You can’t even tell. Please don’t send him!!!!” I still did send him. I had to. And when I called later that night to check on Molly, she was more upset over Patrick getting into trouble than having him embellish her “chunky” cut.

I’ve had favorite teachers–some of whom I still keep up with. People who made an indellible mark on me as a person–the way I teach and parent and the way I live. I can go for years without talking to them, but when we get back in touch, it’s as if no time has passed–and they are now my friends–not my instructors.

Sarah and I were another unlikely pairing–I’ve told that story here before. She is a gift. Sarah’s grandparents were my friends. I would go and visit with them frequently because I yearned for their company. Another gift. I met one of my dearest friends because I was friends with her son my freshman year in college. Besides my own mother and grandmother, she is the woman who has made the biggest difference in how I function as a wife and mother and Christian. She knows this. I’ve told her. But I’ve made a difference in her life too. We have made each other better than we ever could have been had God not given us this gift of friendship. I have yet another friend that I hold dear. We met because I had a crush on her boyfriend. . .who is now her husband. I no longer have a crush on him–though he is a remarkable man–but she continually inspires me by her creativity and her singularly unique view of life.

That brings me to the REAL reason for this post. I have met friends in the blogosphere. It is odd. I’m still a little embarrassed to tell people how I met “my friend in California” or “my friend in Canada.” There are so many dangers in the world–the internet being one of the biggest dangers of our time. Personal information is so readily available and can be hijacked and used for all manner of things that can make us miserable. But this is also a place for us to meet others of the race that knows Joseph. Becky, Linda, Sandy, Melanie. . .these are girls I’d love to have some diet Coke and chocolate cake with. I’ve never laid eyes on any of them, but their souls shine through their words.

Evidently (I read this over at Melanie’s place) the Mommy Wars have been revived in the media. Old insecurities and opinions and habits and hypocrisies are being pulled out of storage and aired on the net and in the news. But here’s the deal. Extremists aren’t of the race that knows Joseph. The race that knows Joseph is a group of people who have those same insecurities and opinions and habits and hypocrisies, but we don’t bash each other with them, and we certainly don’t think one size fits all. It’s not “I’m okay. You’re okay.” thinking. It’s more like “None of us are okay, but it sure is easier to get through this world with a friend.” thinking.

If you’re reading this, if you keep coming back day after day to check in on me and read about Moon Pie Consumption and funny Thadisms, what Victoria has to say, and the current whereabouts of my husband, then you are of the race that knows Joseph. Thank you for making my world a nicer, homier place.

Eat your heart out Samantha. . .

Now tell me exactly WHO needs to be able to jump and twist when they can kick a football with this much finesse? HMMMMMM????? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. . .

Girls

Earlier today I happened across the blog of a “friend.” She’s only a “friend” because I’ve actually never met her. . .only know her through her blog. . .but she was asking for advice regarding her daughter. The daughter is a little on the larger size, although she has a very tall daddy, and the pediatrician thinks there is nothing to worry about. Problem is that she is having trouble finding age appropriate clothing for her–the daughter is 8–and don’t we ALL have trouble finding age appropriate clothing for any girl who is past a 5T or a 6x???? I do. She also mentioned that the daughter has already come home crying because other girls have called her fat. So I commented the following on her blog. . .

Speaking from the body of a big girl (always have been) who could never fit into the “Luv it” jeans or the latest “Esprit” fashion of the day. . .I think what you’ve been saying is fine. . .and I would go really big on the comfort issue. As in, “This style doesn’t fit really well. When things don’t fit, after about 30 minutes you just start to feel uncomfortable. That’s why there are so many styles of clothes–some fit–some don’t.”I know you want to protect her–and you have already been privy to the fact that you can’t. So just keep on doing what you’re doing–loving her, supporting her, and trying to find the cutest clothes possible without making her feel out of style or out of place. I teach in a Jr. High school, and I see girlies every day who try to squish themselves into clothing that is way too small–not flattering. Yes, they are wearing what everyone else wears, but I know they feel rotten. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could make everyone be sweet and kind and happy with themselves and everyone around them? Until that time–which I pretty much think will be in heaven–we can only raise our daughters to be that way as much as possible. Prayers for you and your girl.

I had JUST hit submit, when I realized that this goes along perfectly with something that happened to Victoria this week. So I commented AGAIN. . .

Two more cents here.
I have given birth to a daughter with her daddy’s genes. She is lithe and thin and willowy and has blue eyes and long blond hair to boot.
One would think she has it made, but she was in tears on Tues. after school because she couldn’t “jump and twist” as high as Samantha. Therefore Samantha and her cronies had written her name on the “bad list” and made her stand on the “bad side.”
I have no clue what Samantha looks like–she could be 7 year old super-model thin or as big as the broad side of a barn but have great jumping abilities. . .and she made my gorgeous, thin, can-wear-whatever-she-wants baby cry.
So what I told Victoria was this.

“When Mommy was a little girl there were some girls who were very mean to her. They would never let her play with them at recess, and whenever I would try to play with them, they would grab each other’s hands and sing

‘Tick-tock, the game is locked. Nobody else can play. Hurray!’

Mommy would cry and cry and she got her feelings hurt a lot. But you know what? Now at least two of those girls are grown ladies like Mommy, and I don’t think they are very happy. I think they were unhappy little girls and are unhappy big ladies. They haven’t ever been happy with themselves, and so they will never be happy with anyone else. You will always be happy, because you love everybody. You don’t make fun of people, and you want everyone to play and have a good time no matter what they can or can’t do. You love everyone just like God wants you to, and so even though those girls can hurt your feelings, they can never make you unhappy because Jesus lives in your heart.”

Now that might have gone straight over her head. And some of it did. But she does know two things, no one can truly take her happiness away, and her mommy has felt the same way at times and has lived through to the other side.
That was on Tues. On Wed. evening, we were sitting around after dinner when Victoria came up to me and said,

“Mommy. I made up a new song.” I was a bit confused at first, then she said, “You know how those girls used to sing that mean song to you? Well, I made up a NEW song. ‘Tick-tock, the game’s unlocked. Everybody can play. Hurray!’ “


I was speechless. All I could do was hug her and hug her and hug her. She is at the very beginning of her journey in this world. And she is at the very beginning of all the pain that is here as well. But she already has a valuable little lesson stored away in her heart. And if that is the best I can do for her, then maybe she will be okay after all.

I say all of that to say this. . .love your girls–not that you don’t–but love ‘em extra. Let them know that you have felt the exact same way they feel. Victoria thinks I’m the perfect mommy (her words), and while that makes me feel wonderful, I am always careful to tell her that I’m actually NOT the perfect mommy, but I try my best. And she will never be perfect either, but she can always try her best to do what God wants her to do.

I see sweet girls and mean girls and lonely girls and nice girls and pretty girls and not so pretty girls and insecure girls and confident girls every day–jr. high girls–and sometimes they are one and the same. The only thing for sure is that EVERY girl is complicated and multi-layered and EVERY girl is vulnerable. So if there is one living in your house, take extra care. And if there’s not one living in your house, find one to love, because they need all of that they can get.

Double Talk

*WARNING. . .THIS IS A POST ABOUT A POLITICAL ISSUE THAT IS ABOUT TO BE VOTED ON IN CONGRESS. . .IF YOU DON’T DO POLITICS–GO BACK AND LOOK AT THE KIDS ONE MORE TIME. IF YOU ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF NEEDING HEALTH INSURANCE A LOT, READ ON.*

I’m really not an ultra-political person. . .I’d much rather the lawmakers, congressmen, senators, and elected officials do their jobs and let me do mine, but the politicians are at it again. And pardon me if you either are a politician or are related to one in any way, shape, or form. My sister is a doctor–a chiropractor– and just got home from a meeting in Lousiana that was chock full of medical and chiropractic physicians alike regarding the following:

There is a federal bill effecting every state (so for my two Arkansas readers, this goes for you too) in congress that is about small business insurance benefits. It looks nice and fluffy from the outside, but as always, on the inside there’s a little rotten core. They just keep on hiding those GREAT BIG issues behind good looking outsides. It will be voted on as soon as the immigration bill is decided. . .which could be as soon as next week.

The bill is S1955, and it looks really good. . .allowing small business owners to provide benefits for their employees at reasonable prices, etc. until you find out that it will do away with any control the state has over requiring insurance companies to pay for anything. What that means is–your rates can go up because you’re over 55 or because you’re of child bearing age or because you need to lose 20 pounds or because you have a family history of high blood pressure even though you are perfectly healthy 35 year old. . .it could do away with paying for maintenance things like mammograms, colorecetal exams, pap smears, well baby visits, vaccines, diabetic supplies, and the like. If this sounds a little like the stone age–welcome to it. Right now, as bad as your insurance costs may be, the state still requires them to pay for certain things we consider necessities–like small pox vaccines–but this would give all control to the federal government and make it against the law for any state to require anything of any insurance company.

So–just like our ridiculous education bills here in Texas (don’t even get me started) they are hiding a pill in the pudding.

If you feel the necessity to do so, contact your congressman and tell him to vote AGAINST S1955. . .From our own congressmen in Texas, they have said they really don’t read e-mails–they do answer their phones. . .and I’ve heard they HATE faxes–so I’d fax ‘em just to be on the safe side.

*HOPEFULLY THIS IS THE BEGINNING and END OF POLITICAL TOPICS ON THIS BLOG. WHEW!!!*