Waygu Steaks for Everyone!...Except you...

To celebrate the biggest pork barrel bill ever crafted in the history of spending, even taking into account adjustments due to inflation, of course our new President would want to show that he and his family and party understand that we all have to make sacrifices. We all have to have skin in the game.

"Thus the First family feasted on Wagyu beef."

For those unfamiliar with this beefy delicacy, Wagyu beef is a Japanese creation wherein cows are fed bottled beer and massaged daily to ensure when they're slaughtered, the meat is marbled, tender and worth 100$ or more per pound.

It just seems a bit...argula type excessive. But, maybe I'm wrong, maybe he ordered the ground chuck Wagyu or the round roast cut.

Settling into his new home in DC, Obama, who hates the cold, had cranked up the thermostat in the White House. "He's from Hawaii, OK?" said his senior adviser, David Axelrod, who occupies the small but strategically located office next door to his boss. "He likes it warm. You could grow orchids in there."

And when there's work to be done outside of their address on Pennsylvania Avenue, he hops into his electric...oops...hybrid...no...no...envionmentally friendly...nope, try again....inexpensive...no...modest..."Beast" of a Cadillac that consumes more petrol than a small bus. It's all legitimate. It's for the protection of the President and that's appropriate.

After all, in these days, "We can't drive our SUV's and eat as much as we want and heat our homes to 72 degrees."

Oh...he meant WE can't.

Not Quite the Lesson Mother Teresa Intended I'm Sure.

So today, I’ve got a toddler crying because she doesn’t want to go to the potty even though she’s practically twisted her legs into a pretzel. Carrying a screaming three year old to the bathroom that is all the time kicking isn’t a joyful mother moment. At the same time, I hear the tell tale crash of a breakfast plate by a fellow toddler followed by the on the spot news reporter play by play by the very earnest but not necessarily helpful four year old. The baby has also chosen to voice his irritation at all the racket.

Sitting her on the potty, the phone rings. I’m ignoring it as I’m in no mood to talk to anyone, nor do I want some telemarketer to hear a symphony of caterwauling children as I decide whether or not time is running out on a once in a life time offer to buy tracts of undeveloped land in North Carolina. My newscaster son nevertheless brings me the phone. “There’s a spill of orange juice in the kitchen.” He tells me solemnly, “And it’s Dad.” The cell phone has begun ringing as well.

Currently, I’m reading Mother Teresa’s “Come Be My Light.” It details her intense suffering of spiritual darkness as she persevered in helping the poorest of India for decades. Over time, she learned to embrace this gift of the silent God as His answer to her prayer to be the one to “carry Jesus into the darkest holes of India.” To truly be able to do this, she had to know the darkest holes herself. That the darkest holes of poverty were not found in the slums of India or anywhere else, but within the terrified soul that either does not know or fears there is no God.

It was a sign of her perfected faith that she underwent this great purification while on Earth. Most people did not know of her deep pain, her daily struggle with her faith, as she took it as God’s command that people should Not know. She wore her smile as a cloak to hide her suffering. It was her gift back to God, in return for His. She understood that acting in complete Faith required nothing less than absolute surrender and she gave it. She covered that suffering with a sense of humor and a generous smile. It was a shield and an invisibility cloak that rendered her transparent, so that only God shone through.

“Hello?” I cradle the phone with my neck as I’m now cleaning up from the successful pottying, handing out a few m&m’s and mentally preparing to get out the mop, fix my son’s medicine and a bottle and maybe get myself a diet coke.
“Hi Sher. The school called, we’ve got a sick kiddo. ”

Mentally trying to pull together how I’m going to shod and dress for the weather the four and under set in less than thirty minutes, navigate the icy drive way and get our daughter, drive back home, drop her off, run the toddler back in for another forced potty march and then shuttle back to the school for 2:45 dismissal, it overwhelms. I start to rant. “I want an invisibility cloak, a ring, something to mask all of this craziness.”

“Wha?”
“The Cloak. Mother Teresa’s cloak. I’m smiling.”

“You need to work on it.”
“I know.”

“You can’t be gritting your teeth.”
“How would you know? I’m on the phone.”
“I know.”

So I began the trek. Loading the four children, something prodded me to go back in and make a bottle and a complete diaper bag. I even got an extra outfit in case we didn’t make it back home in time for a potty break and snacks. I never pack snacks. I’m trying to put on the joyful smile even when one of my daughters starts to flop and refuse to get in the car. She wants to throw shovels of ice instead. I’ve brought a new music CD for them to listen to, though I’d rather hear the news. Faking a sing songy voice of enthusiasm, amazingly, they all get in the car and we’re off. I can hear Mother Teresa telling me, "Honey, you're still gritting your teeth."

Spiritually, I have learned that whenever one seeks to deepen one’s faith life in practice, the level of challenge responds. Having fastened a joyful smile to my face to stare down the struggles thus far, the front tire promptly blows out equidistant from virtually anywhere that might have been remotely useful. I am on a freeway ramp. I cannot leave, I cannot get out and I cannot drive.

Calling my husband, no answer. Calling Tripple A, I get disconnected. Calling the school to explain the situation, I hang up in mid call as a policeman is knocking on my window. He has called a tow truck and summoned a second car so as to transport all four of my kids and me to a gas station. “It’s a good thing I hadn’t picked up my whole family or you’ld need a paddy wagon." We spend the two hours at the dealership and a woman who is sitting there waiting for her car, can't believe I'm smiling.

"I've engaged the cloaking device." I think as I shrugged, "It's not so bad."
When my husband arrives to pick up the kids, I mentally send Mother Teresa a message. "Hey, I didn't grit my teeth this time."

Imponderables

It's a snow day so I don't have the quiet to think, that's why lists are a good cheat. Enjoy.

10) Why does my six year old still think the top of the stairs is a good place to practice an arabesque?

9) How come my three year old raids the food pantry for poppy seed rolls and stores them under her bed? I mean, if it had been cookies I would have understood. She's done ice cream and apple juice before. I've taken to checking underneath her bed for grocery monsters.

8) Why can my adolescent daughter be the high scorer on both her basketball teams and not put clothing in the laundry basket?

7) What made my four oldest think stacking soup bowls face up in the dishwashing machine was a good idea?

6) Why is it that the child who has the most shoes, can’t find any two that match when I’m in a hurry?

5) How do all my kids know how much they are owed in allowance when some of them don’t know which day it is?

4) Exactly how messy does a room have to become before a child will recognize that such a state of being is unhealthy?

3) Why is it all the times she loved baked potatoes are negated by the one time she threw up?

2) Why can a boy wear the same shirt for three days and fuss if he finds a speck on a bowl at breakfast?

1) Why do multiple children act shocked when they've been pegging their brother with snow repeatedly, that he retaliates?

and the final question, When is Spring Break?