Of Pedophiles, the First Amendment, and Amazon.com

Oh good heavens, I'm riled up.

I don't use this blog as a way to rant and rave about different things that catch my attention, I do believe in standing up for what you believe in. I think if you save your rant for those most important to you, you will have much greater power to inflict change. I feel the need to get up on my soapbox on this one. What started this whole thing for me was my attention pointed to THIS article by BlogHer.

Many of you are aware of the outcry yesterday over the self-published book available for purchase on Amazon.com titled "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure." The author's book description is as follows: "This is my attempt to make pedophile situations safer for those juveniles that find themselves involved in them, by establishing certain rules for these adults to follow. I hope to achieve this by appealing to the better nature of pedosexuals, with hope that their doing so will result in less hatred and perhaps liter sentences should they ever be caught."

The content of this book contains helpful hints like where to buy condoms to fit anyone under the age of thirteen. You know, to make these situations safer. Apparently he shares details of intimate encounters with children from the child's point of view, where the children are not feeling victimized, but instead feeling loved and nurtured.

Feel free to go throw up. I'll still be here when you come back.

While I understand that Amazon cannot monitor everything that is self-published on their site, this clearly violates their content guidelines and should have been removed upon first protest, and not only after thousands agreed to boycott Amazon.com via Facebook and Twitter; and after the news got a hold of the story. (Did you know that on the news websites they have a place where you can tip them off to a breaking story? And from my experience yesterday, they get back to you quickly when it's a story like this. Good job, Q13Fox News.) And yes, as of this morning, the book is no longer for sale at Amazon.com.

There seem to be two sides to this debate. To clarify, I never heard a single person in support of this book or it's contents, that's not the issue at all. But I have heard a few people in support of letting it remain on Amazon.com as a result of the First Amendment right to freedom of speech and the press.

The argument being that this guy who published this book has the right to do so under the First Amendment, and that by making an exception in this case can lead to a precedent of not allowing offensive material to be published just because the majority doesn't like it. I get that. But offensive is a matter of opinion. Illegal is not.

Yes, it's true that Amazon.com sells "Mein Kampf", Hitler's anti-Semitic text. And we "do not claim they are complicit in hate crimes against the Jews." (Quoted from one of my Facebook comments yesterday.) While I agree that this may come across as a bit of a hypocritical situation, it is not at all. What Hitler did was horrible, but it was history. We cannot ban all books with information about the holocaust under the guise of not complying with hate crimes. History books are filled with horrendous crimes against all types of people, but this is not the issue at hand.

The issue being, are people allowed to publish whatever they want under the First Amendment, even if those things are instructing others how to best commit a felony?

I think we all know that the First Amendment does not protect us in all situations. I cannot go into an airport and yell, "I have a bomb!" I cannot go through a White House tour and say, "Where's the president? Cuz I'm gonna kill him!" Free speech does not apply to every American all the time.

One commented stated (and no, I'm not going to name names, as my friends have the right to state their opinions to me in a private manner through Facebook without the threat of being publicly blogged later,) this is the type of thing that can lead, through many steps of course, to a total censorship of anything remotely pornographic or offensive, including the ban of breastfeeding and breastfeeding materials.

Is this the truth? Well, its a stretch, but I could see how that might be justifiable in the minds of some.

By letting this book remain, we keep the author's rights intact and don't rock the boat, so to say, starting a floodgate of censorship. OK, good point.

But it doesn't end there. We can't assume that by doing nothing, nothing will be the result.

So let's go there. Let's pretend that the book hadn't been pulled from the shelves. What then? Do we honestly believe that by protecting the First Amendment rights of those who are purporting to commit a felony, that we are not setting a precedent by doing so?

What about the right to peaceably assemble? In the same world where we look at the what if's, where we use our imagination to see what is down the road, do we not see a group of pedophiles having informational meetings, protected under the First Amendment? Do we not see their meetings advertised with little fliers at the grocery store, "Pedophiles: learn how to love children and not get caught," with tear-off tabs with an e-mail address or phone number? And God forbid anyone protest these little gatherings where pedophiles share secrets and tips for committing their crimes, I mean, we surely can't violate the rights of those who do things that we feel are offensive.

Or can we?

Where do we draw the line? Doing nothing is doing something. When you refuse to act, you are making a choice. Standing in support of Free Speech is noble, and I have to say I have great admiration for those who stood in support of the First Amendment in this situation, considering how horrendous the topic is. But how far should our freedoms go?

I love the quote by Zig Ziglar, "One of the greatest disasters of our time is our universal acceptance of the word "tolerance" as a great virtue." I have no tolerance for pedophiles. I have no tolerance for the belief that they have a right to inform other pedophiles how to violate and ruin the lives of innocent children.

I would sincerely like to know why this book isn't considered probable cause for searching this guy's house and arresting him.

What are your thoughts?

The Wrath Of Drew

Once again, this is a post started a couple weeks ago, and never published. I finally found twelve seconds where Drew was strapped in somewhere, and enamored with something so that he isn't trying to unbuckle himself and fling headfirst across the kitchen floor, and could finish it. Enjoy!

Drew is at it again.

My sister-in-law, Holly said to me a while ago, "You know, I used to think that God gave you twins as paybacks since Emma was such an easy baby. Now I know God gave you twins to prepare you for Drew."

I'd have to agree.

(And no, we don't actually believe that God EVER does things to "get back at people". It's just kinda funny.)

Yesterday Drew showed his abilities to push the chair across the dining room, use it as a stepladder to get up on the arts and crafts cabinet, and then use something he found to knock the cup of kid-safe scissors down on top of himself, although he managed to catch a few pair on their way down and play with them.

No, I didn't hear it. Yes, I do have to pee on occasion.

He also got into my sewing stuff and tried to use a straight pin as a q-tip. I caught him just a half-inch before he would have pierced his eardrum. I also found him playing with a barbecue lighter, and he also pushed the chair up to the stove, where he snitched freshly-baked cookies off the pan.

We have been using high places as a way to keep him out of stuff, since he has known for months how to open the child-proof locks. Now, with no place to put anything that can be used for terror and bodily injury by Mr. My-Abilities-Clearly-Surpass-My-Age, we are definitely up a creek made of feces without a propelling device.

This morning, I decided to ease my dinnertime burden and put dinner in the crock pot. There are two beef roasts, about five pounds of potatoes, and a few carrots, onion, and garlic cloves simmering away, making my house smell lovely right now. It was a good decision, but not without sacrifice.

For while I was busy chopping and searing, Drew was getting into the scissors again (apparently, Emma didn't listen when I told her to put them away after she did her homework last night) and put three slices in his favorite John Deere shirt that he has been wearing for two days because he refuses to take it off.

Fan-tabulous.

My friend Erin came over to help wrangle the kids so that I could get more stuff done, and even with both of us in the room, watching closely, Drew managed to sneak over to the iron, climb up on a chair and burn himself, all in about three tenths of a second. Luckily the iron had been unplugged, but it hadn't cooled down enough yet and he managed to get a good blister on his hand. However, he didn't cry, just said "HOT!" and got down. I didn't notice the blister till later, I had assumed that since he didn't cry, he didn't get burned. Silly me, forgetting about the fact that he's not really human.

I am working on a new keep-Drew-out-of-stuff plan. Either I need to get one of those government-issued hand print readers that will only allow cabinets to be opened by me and Marty, or I need to constantly order take-out and get myself a catheter bag, so that I have the ability to do nothing but follow him around and watch him ever-so-closely every second of every day.

Or, I need a bigger house. I try not to live in the world of "if only", but seriously, I really think an office with a door that could lock would solve all my current problems.

Now accepting donations of cash, check, and winning lotto tickets.

Listen to Mother

My grandpa set his house on fire as a kid.

To be honest, I don't know if it was my grandpa or his brother that did it. My grandpa has been gone for close to twenty years now, and I have heard the story both ways. The story is the same, but the guilty party might be Bob instead of Ken. But for the sake of the tale, we'll say it was my Grandpa.

Grandpa and Uncle Bob were boys. And no, I don't mean that is the stating the obvious sense, but more that they were boys who acted like boys. They got into a lot of trouble, and had a lot of fun. One day, Grandpa was told to go get some firewood and start a fire. Being the type who liked to exasperate his mother, got the firewood and then asked, "Where should I light the fire?" His mother, having five kids in a short period of time including twins (yes, that's where I got it, thanks, Great-Grandma!) answered sarcastically, "Where do you think you should light it? In the middle of the kitchen!"

Once again, sarcasm was lost on him. Or, he was just such a stubborn little boy that he decided that this would be the one time he listened attentively to his mother, because light a fire in the middle of the kitchen floor is exactly what he did.

As far as I know, he didn't burn the house down, but there was quite a bit of damage to the kitchen, and the floor needed to be replaced.

And my mother is saying she sees a lot of Grandpa in Drew. Between my Grandpa's genes and my Dad's, I think I'm in real trouble.

So when someone calls and asks how the kids are doing, and I answer, "Well, they haven't set the house on fire!", it's not just a joke or an exaggeration. I'm actually pretty pleased with that one.

I think I'll stick to using the furnace.

The Word of the Day is: Sarcasm

Oh my goodness! In perusing my drafts folder, I came across this little tidbit that I had no idea I had never published. This was from back in August. Enjoy!!

Last night was bath night. Usually Drew and Emma take a bath together, and then Grant and Ben go after. I don't know why this is, but it works. And Drew is much more likely to survive bath time by not being with his rambunctious brothers.

Last night, we mixed it up for whatever reason, and I started with Drew and Ben. Ben really wanted a bath with Drew, and they had a good time. When Drew was done, Grant hopped in and he and Ben were done at the same time.

I went out and talked to Emma who was happily petting her cat. "Babe, it's your bath time," I said.

"Mom, I'm really having fun spending time with Teddy, can I just do this a little longer?"

"Sure, babe, but all the boys are done and it's your turn, so you need to hurry."

"What? I don't get my bath with Drew?!?" Horrified, she suddenly realized she would be bathing alone.

"Don't worry, sweetie," I joked with her, "you can take a bath with Teddy if you want."

Note to self: Never joke with a six year old when it comes to bathing with a cat.

Our friend Kelina was over, and we were chatting and dressing little boys, and generally not paying too close attention to Emma. Suddenly, I heard Marty say, "She did know we were joking when we said she could take a bath with her cat, right?!?"

I looked up. Emma was gone. The cat was gone.

Suddenly we heard, coming from the bathroom-

Thunk.

Sploosh.

"AYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"

The bloodcurdling scream strongly suggested that perhaps, she had missed the sarcasm in our voice when we told her that bathing with her cat was a good idea.

We ran to the bathroom and opened the door to see a streak of soaking-wet, bubble covered fur, racing out of the bathroom and straight to the front door, making his petrified escape out of our crazy world. Emma was standing in a corner, hiding behind a towel, sobbing, bleeding, and covered in wet cat fur.

We tried to comfort her, but were unsuccessful for a while as we were so overcome with laughter that we could not speak.

She survived, and the cat did come back home late that night, smelling sweetly of princess bubble bath.

My bad.

Children That Will Be Fantastic Adults (If They Make It That Far)

Perseverance.

Outside the box thinking.

Follow through.

Fearlessness.

Determination.

Creative problem solving.

The ability to rise up against failure and try again and again.

All things that are fantastic qualities in an adult, right? I do believe that the above list would describe a very successful person.

But when those qualities are highly present in children, well, things get a bit trickier.

"Emma, how did you get on the roof of the shed?"

"OK boys, I understand you just wanted to make a tightrope high up in the air. But pulling out your dresser drawers to walk along the edge is really not a good idea."

"Drew, where did you find that puzzle?" Drew: "Up, up!" Me: "Yes, I know it was on top of the fridge, but how on earth did you get it down?" (Drew giggled and ran away.)

Emma: "Mommy, do you think Drew is super?" Me: "Of course, I think all of you kids are super." Emma: "No, Mommy, do you think he has super powers, like Jack Jack in the Incredibles? 'Cuz he does some crazy stuff."

Yeah.

A couple weeks ago we had our first injury-related ER trip. Drew, who will be two in January, has been nicknamed Monkey-Boy for his abilities to do his crazy stuff. Either he is the most fearless creative problem solver of them all, or he has the power of levitation, but only when no one is looking.

Well, he decided to demonstrate his money-like skills and showed his wonderful ability to climb out of his crib. But the skills he had in climbing out, he lacked in, well, landing. I was sitting on the couch eating lunch when I heard the THUNK! (short pause) "WAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"

I ran.

Slightly panicked and in shock, I scooped up Drew off the hardwood floor of the boys' room, hearing the twins exclaim in surprise, "Mommy, he crawled out of his crib!" and took him into the living room to calm him down. In less than a minute, he started vomiting.

That's not a good sign.

I called the doctor, who said to go to the ER. I called Marty to meet us there, and packed up the kids and left.

Emma had strict instructions in the van. "Tell me right away if he starts shaking, and don't let him go to sleep, OK?" She was on it, my little administrator, loving being in charge of something. She played games with him on the way to the hospital, and he laughed and giggled and had a great time.

About an hour into our waiting room wait, I started to re-consider my decision to bring him in. He was his boisterous self, and quite ticked at the fact that we wouldn't let him run outside, was protesting loudly at the fact that we were trying to quiet him down, and the fact that we wouldn't let him lick the bench in the ER, and that we wouldn't go home.

We finally go in to see a doctor, who checked him out and declared him to have a concussion, but nothing more. All during the visit the doctor kept jumping every time Drew tried climbing up on a chair, and seemed a bit surprised that we weren't doing the same. "I don't even jump when he's dancing on a table anymore. I will move quickly if he's up on the kitchen counter trying to get a glass out of the upper cabinet, but this is nothing."

We left with instructions to try and keep him from hitting his head again, but after watching Monkey Boy climb all over the room, the doctor left us with encouraging words.

"Uh, good luck."

Why thank you, thank you very much.

Marty took the kids home and I went on a quest to find something to keep him safe at night. He is way to little to be in a big boy bed, and the fact that he shares his room with his twin brothers would leave three destructive boys on the loose and while there is the chance that they would use their powers for good instead of evil, creating an alternate fuel from dirty diapers, boogers, and the gunk that collects in the windowsill; it is much more likely that they would re-enact the circus and the tightrope act would only be the beginning.

So I went hunting for a crib tent. I headed to the fancy baby store in town, hoping that it would be a quick search. No luck, not only were they our of the tents, they told me that they cost $80.

Holy smokes, batman.

I don't happen to have $80 lying around, and especially since there will be and ER bill coming, I cringed at the thought. I tried Target, no luck. By then I was really wishing that I had not declared it to be jammies-all-day day, and although I had thrown on a t shirt and jeans before leaving for the hospital, I had not showered, put on make-up, or actually found a shirt that fit well. I was uncomfortable, looking like a slob, stressed out, and cranky. Really not a good combo.

I gave up and headed home. Drew now sleeps in his playpen, as the sides are higher than the crib. The playpen is pushed up to the front of the crib and the crib mattress sits on the floor in front of it as a landing pad in case he tries to launch himself again.

Two weeks later, I am still on the hunt for a crib tent, and I still haven't found $80 lying around. In the mean time, all the circus performers boys are loving the fact that there is a mattress on the floor.

I did make a call to the doctor's office as I was told by the ER doc to have a follow up visit. I spoke with a nurse (not our regular nurse) and asked if we could skip it and just do it over the phone, since he was fine. I was told that the most important part of the follow up was so that the doctor could talk to the child about sports safety so this wouldn't happen again.

Ummmm... really?!? Sign me up for that talk, I would love to see it!

After explaining to the nurse that he was one and didn't have an attention span long enough for a nice sit down chat, she passed me off to my regular nurse who had no problem with me not coming in. (Although, in all fairness, they have a new all-digital medical records system, and she might have been afraid that Drew would come in and re-program the computers so that every child's name is Elmo and add a John Deere soundtrack. He's smart like that.)

Anywhoo.

I'm hoping that the onset of fall will make my blogging easier and get me back into the routine. However, the children that I am so blessed to call my own are exploring their creative problem solving, perseverance and determination, and actually causing my hair to leap from my head on it's own without even being pulled. ( I stole that phrase from Kingdom Mama, it made me laugh. And it's so appropriate!)

But it does make sitting still at the computer for a half hour at a time reasonably difficult, of not dangerous. I really don't want anything else covered in crayon, broken, or set on fire. OK, nothing has been set on fire yet, but I'm sure that day is coming.

My Grandpa set his house on fire as a kid. But that's a story for another day.

Memorial Box

Linny over at A Place Called Simplicity (a fabulous blog that I stalk obsessively follow regularly) does a fun post called Memorial Box Monday. I highly recommend you check her blog out, she is an amazing woman with a wonderful heart for God. I really want to meet her in real life and hug her neck and sit and have a long chat.

Anywhoo.

In a nutshell, a Memorial Box is a place where we can have physical reminders of God's faithfulness to us. In a longer version, it is explained HERE.

So here it is, my very first Memorial Box Monday. You know, on Thursday. Cuz we all know I don't follow rules well.

Grant was born with clogged tear ducts in both eyes, but primarily the left one was a problem. He also has a roseacea (sp?) birthmark, or a red spot on his left eyelid. The doctor said that the clogged duct was something that usually heals itself on it's own, but if it was still there after a year they would have to do surgery. The birthmark might fade or it might not. I knew it would either resolve itself or not, so I didn't worry about it. I'm not really a stress-out-about-things-you-can't-control person.

(Ben is on top, and Grant on the bottom)

I trusted God that His will would be done. I prayed that Grant would be safe, and that either resolution (either healing on it's own or surgery) would work well and that there would be no complications. I prayed for Grant's safety and God's will be done.

(Grant is on the left, Ben on the right)

After a year, he was still having problems. Every morning he would wake up with eye goop that would sometimes bind his eyelids together so that he could not open one eye. I was constantly getting warm washcloths to loosen up the mucous and clean it, it was necessary several times a day. We made the decision to do surgery when it was apparent that it was not going to resolve on it's own.
We had the initial pre-surgery consultation, and I was pleased with the doctor and comfortable with the procedure. I hated the thought of my sweet fourteen-month-old being put under anesthesia, but I trusted God that all would be well. We scheduled surgery for the following Thursday.

It suddenly hit me, two days before Grant's surgery, that I had not prayed for healing of Grant's eye, just for God's will and our peace and Grant's safety. That night, as I put my sweet boy to sleep in his crib, I prayed over him for healing of his clogged tear duct and to be able to cancel the surgery. I went to bed that night not really thinking anything of it, and still believing that God would do His will and that I would be content with whatever the outcome was.

Grant woke up the next morning with a perfectly clear eye. None of the goopiness that had plagued him for the previous fourteen months was there. I looked at my bright eyed boy for the first time, finally without the crud and redness that went with the constant wiping and cleaning, and heard God speak clearly to my heart: "All you had to do was ask."

(Grant on the left, Ben on the right)

I tend to do that, to pray that things will work out for the good of all involved, and that I will have peace regardless of the outcome, but I don't tend to pray for what I want. I don't know why that is, that I don't ask for what I want, but that is something that I have been working on. God wants to give us the desires of our hearts, but we have to ask.

I canceled the surgery, and Grant's eyes have been clear ever since.

In our Memorial box I have placed the appointment card for the eye doctor, as a reminder of Grant's healing.

And I'm learning to ask. I don't know why I struggle with it, but I do. I am reminded of the Sunday school song I used to sing as a kid, "ask and it shall be given unto you, seek and ye shall find, knock, and the door shall be opened unto you, hallelu, hallelujah."

Thank you, Lord, for showing me your strength and your power and your love. Help me to recognize you when you are at work.

Head on over to A Place Called Simplicity to see more Memorial Box stories!

Potty Training Progress Report #463

After

close to two years,

many, many attempts,

an entire gallon of Simple Green concentrate (after I was tired of the smell of vinegar, our cleaner of choice),

pee in the corner,

pee in the furnace vent,

pee on each other,

pee on me,

pee on the floor,

(lots and lots of pee on the floor)

some more pee on the floor,

some poop on the floor,

poop on the walls,

poop on each other,

poop on the baby,

poop on me,

an exhausted carpet cleaner

and

a thoroughly,

completely,

and totally,

exhausted

Mommy-

we have

finally,

successfully,

completed the potty training process.

I am pleased to announce that the twins are fully,

completely,

and forevermore

potty trained.


(cue angel choir singing hallelujah, as the heavens open and shine the most glorious light)

Ahhhhhhhh....


I need a nap, a vacation, and a massage.