Memo To Arnold

I am reposting this because I know a lot of you don't read Fox News..and probably don't subscribe to the Reagan Report... (grin) this is good... take a minute
No matter where we lay on the political line we can agree that the one true and great thing in this world is children. I think so often in the hype of scandal, the ones who get forgotten are the ones who don't get the voice or a quote in the tabloids.
We all can be superheros and so often that comes in the form of simply doing what is right. I hope Arnold stops being a bastard too...along with all the other fathers, mothers and grandparents who are not stepping up to the the plate as well.

Arnold: There Are No Illegitimate Kids, Just Illegitimate Parents.          By Michael Reagan

http://www.reagan.com/news/?memo-to-arnold-there-are-no-illegitimate-kids,-just-illegitimate-parents-553.html

My adoptive parents told me I was "chosen," but the kids at school told me I was a "bastard."

The recent headlines about Arnold Schwarzenegger's infidelities and the son he fathered out of wedlock have stirred many old memories and emotions.

I was four years old when I learned I was adopted. It was just before my sister Maureen's eighth birthday. I told her, "I know what you're getting for your birthday."

"Don't spoil the secret," she said. "If you tell me, I'm going to tell you a secret!"
Well, that was the wrong thing to say! I had to know what she was keeping from me! I said, "You're getting a blue dress for your birthday."

Maureen said, "And you were adopted."


I ran off to find our mother, Jane Wyman, in the den. I asked her, "What does 'adopted' mean?"
Mom's eyes flashed dangerously. "Where did you hear that word?" she asked.
After Mom finished dealing with Maureen, she sat me down and explained adoption to me. "You are a chosen child," she said, "and that makes you special. We love you very much."

I could tell that being "chosen" was a good thing. But I also realized for the first time that Mom wasn't my "real" mother—that I had another mother who had mysteriously given me away.

One day, when I was in the second grade, I got into a playground argument with another boy. We took turns one-upping each other. "I'm better than you," I said. "I'm special 'cause I was chosen! I was adopted!"

The other boy didn't know how to answer that, but the next day he came back to school and laughed at me. "My parents told me what 'adopted' means," he said. "You're not special—you're a bastard! Your real mother wasn't married, so she gave you away—bastard!"

That's when I realized there was something horribly wrong with me. I never again bragged about being "chosen," and I never again felt "special." But I did feel marked.

I wondered, "Why did my birth mother give me away? Was it because I'm a bastard?" I figured Mom couldn't have known I was illegitimate or she wouldn't have adopted me. And I didn't want her to find out!

When I returned home, I went to the library where Mom kept a huge leather-bound Bible. She'd once told me that the Bible had all the answers. I was seven years old and had never read the Bible on my own, so I turned to the back of the Bible to see if there was an index. Sure enough, I found the concordance.
I looked for the word "bastard"—and there it was. The concordance directed me to Deuteronomy 23:2, where I read: "A bastard shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord; even to his tenth generation shall he not enter into the congregation of the Lord."

My heart froze. I thought those words meant, "A bastard can never go to Heaven. A bastard is damned to Hell, and so are his kids and grandkids, down to the tenth generation."
I snapped the book shut—and I didn't open a Bible again for more than twenty-five years. Of course, that verse had nothing to do with Heaven or Hell—but how could a seven-year-old understand such things?

I thought, "That's why my birth mother got rid of me! Nobody wants a child who's going to Hell! And Mom's so religious! If she finds out I'm going to Hell, she won't want me anymore!" So, at age seven, I began to hate myself—and God.

The story of my spiritual and emotional redemption—is in my book "Twice Adopted." But the story I'm thinking about now is the painful story of Arnold Schwarzenegger's son.

I keep hearing chattering heads on TV referring to the boy as Schwarzenegger's "illegitimate" son. It makes my blood boil. Listen, there's no such thing as an illegitimate child. There are only illegitimate parents.

And Arnold, I hope you read this: Your son is not the bastard. You're the bastard. You're the illegitimate parent.

I don't say that to insult you. I say it for your own good. I say it because you need to face these facts. You've been a bastard up till now, but you can change that. You can man up. You can sit down with your son, acknowledge him, apologize to him, admit that you failed him, promise to love him, and begin to protect him from ridicule.

That boy is going to need a lot of love and affirmation from his father. Why? Because the bastards in the media have gone after him, publishing horrible, humiliating stories, putting his picture on the Internet, subjecting him to ridicule at school.

Arnold, you've always played a hero in the movies. But now the whole world knows it was just an act. How would you like to be a real hero for a change?

It is time to stop being a bastard and start being a father.

Michael Reagan is the son of President Ronald Reagan. He is a political consultant, the founder and chairman of The Reagan Group, and president of The Reagan Legacy Foundation. Visit his website at www.reagan.com.Portions of this column are adapted from his book "Twice Adopted."

Spring Break has Sprung

I love breaks, Spring break, Christmas break and Summer break is my very fav.

HOWEVER, we are on break right now and the one part of it that I do not love is that...today was the grocery shopping day, which means I had to go..with. ALL. OF. THE. KIDS. sigh

If I had been smarter, or had more food in the house, I would have just scratched the idea from the git go. This is what happened when we were getting shoes on.

looks like a face of full cooperation...

Costco was the second place we went and by far...the most painful. At least 4 women looked at me with pity and said something along the lines of.."I forgot about spring break" or "must be spring break" I even got a "God Bless You" as my kids were "ice skating" down the aisles.
Annabelle decided that, in the middle of me checking out, she had to poop, and there was no waiting. EMERGENCY!!!  So I sent all the girls to go to the bathroom with her.
Now, you might be reading this judging me for letting my children go into the bathroom alone, but

1) there is only one way in and one way out
2) Mckenna is 8
3) I was almost finished.

Hopefully though..you have been in one of these situations and you are just feeling bad for me at this point and not judging.

I was almost done paying when Mckenna came out. Annabelle was on the toilet and needed to be wiped. and she was YELLING from the stall.."mommy wipe me". (can I get a poor Christi here?)

While I was wiping the butt of my youngest, Carly Jo was playing with the electric dryer, making the most noise possible. Hands in, hands out..hands in, hands out... and Jayme was complaining that a lady had brought her two sons into the girls bathroom. This lady, by the way was judging, she was giving me the "I can't believe you let your kids in here alone" and "man I am a way better mother than you" look.
Whatever lady..your kid is like 14, I think he can pee by himself. (slight exaggeration perhaps)

When we were ALMOST free,  the lady at the door decides that.. even though I have been there 2 times a month (minimum) for the last ohh...8 years or so..she should check my cart and make sure she really does count every item. She even stopped counting to say.."kids, I can't count the items if you are standing in the way" ARE YOU JOKING RIGHT NOW?? Give me my damned receipt and let me out of this store. (if I was going to try and steal something, it wouldn't be the day I have four children, acting as though they are in some serious need of medication, along with me.)

After Costco we went to Whole Foods, always a favorite. For those that don't know...They hide a stuffed frog somewhere in the store and if the kids find it, they get..and orange or apple or pencil...something fun. The kids love it. Well TODAY apparently the frog was on vacation, in Florida, so we spent 15 minutes wandering the store looking for that thing for no reason.  Carly Jo was having a hard time with this because...the frog is a TOY. She was pissed. Whatever...they gave them all a clementine anyway, probably to get them out of the store and so Carly Jo would cease the interrogation. (they obviously forgot about spring break too)

Now it is 10 and I just heard the last peep from their bedrooms.  I am TIRED.

She doesn't look tired

She looks ready to start some trouble

oh, she is laying down...must be tired.

ohh yeah..she is down.

I love having my kids home, but I am considering hiring a babysitter next time I need to do a full day of shopping while they are home. Tomorrow we are doing something way more fun than grocery shopping.

They say blogging makes you feel better...

Oh how I wish I could respond to ignorance and insensitivity faster and with more wit and sarcastic enthusiasm.  Most of the time though, I just sit with this look on my face like whaa?? and come up with a great reply 5 days later when I am still asking myself WHO SAYS THINGS LIKE THAT?  People are such jackholes, I know this, so why does it shock me? Why do I let myself get all worked up? I find myself second guessing..am I being too sensitive, am I judging this person to harshly...maybe it just came out wrong. Maybe it is just me.....
Race is such a touchy subject. I debated, for a while...  but I am going there.


 Click out now if you don’t want to know.

I have spent the last 16 years of my life trying to teach Taylor that it is important to know the history, the triumphs, the struggles that women have been through, and the struggles she may have in the future because she is a woman, also because she is a woman of color. There will be challenges, but I also try to help her know that she shouldn’t walk around expecting people to be unfair to her, or always keep a wall up or chip on her shoulder, ready for a fight.  Although she might meet some a-holes in the world, she should not let it taint her outlook on life, or how she feels about herself. She needs to embrace her differences, and walk in confidence knowing that she is magnificent and a great addition to this world. She needs to know that if someone cannot see her beauty then they don’t need any energy wasted on them. She will have successes and she will have failures and they will not be because of the color of her skin, but “...the content of her character,” and the fact that life just throws crap at you at times. Pick your head up and keep moving.

When Taylor has to deal with something negative that relates to race, all I can do is listen. It sucks, especially when I feel some situations can be avoided. There have been times that internally I have wanted to punch someone in the face, but externally I encouraged her to rise above it and realize you can’t fight stupid. But it is hard as a mother, when some of the bullshit comments come from adults. ‘splain that Lucy.... it’s tough.

For future reference:

All “mixed kids” are NOT pretty (and for the record, mixed? REALLY? That is ridiculous)

All black people cannot sing, it is a talent, a gift that has nothing to do with the color of a persons skin.

And just because you heard a joke on “In Living Color,” does not mean you can repeat it. It is not gonna be funny coming from you. 

Save everyone from awkward situations and save ME from having to come up with a lame excuse for you.

Amazing....I do feel a little better.