Why?

     When something happens as horrible and unthinkable as the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, it leaves everyone asking how something like this can happen. It is only human nature to want to find something that caused it so that we can fix it. So that nothing this horrible can ever happen again.
     Some think it has to do with mental health screening, others with gun laws. Many want more security in schools. Some think it's environmental. Perhaps the boy was bullied. Others suggest that maybe he was born evil. Broken from birth. Many may think that his life was a toxic recipe.That horrible things happened in his life which caused him to eventually snap. Some point the finger at video games. Some say the media is to blame by publicizing the horrific event.
     Some even get into debates and arguments over it. Too much pointing fingers and not enough coming together.
     I honestly believe that it is not any one thing. Of COURSE it isn't just one thing. Hypothetically, say he was bullied. Tons of kids are bullied every day who don't lash out. Some kids play violent video games at very young ages and grow up to be wonderful contributors to society. I'm not by any means saying that I think violent video games are okay. Bullying is horrible as well. Yes, there should be better health screening. Even the NRA agrees that there should be better mental health screening for gun purchases. Maybe we do need metal detectors in every single school. Maybe he was born with something very wrong with him. Maybe he had a mental illness and things happened in his life that caused him to snap in the most evil, vile way imaginable. And I'm sure this person did need God in his life.
     But there is no way that something so horrible was caused by one single thing. It is my opinion that it was many things. Many horrible things. Maybe every theory thrown out there is a little bit right. Maybe none of them are. Maybe we will have some answers soon. But maybe everything is a piece to a complex jigsaw puzzle that when put together formed the horrific result that was this person's mind. An evil mind that carried out an evil act.
     When a violent tornado occurs, it isn't just because of wind shears present in the lower atmosphere, or instability, or a low pressure system, or updrafts, or downdrafts. It isn't any ONE thing. It is the perfect storm of many unfortunate things coming together.
     MANY unfortunate things.
     The events of Friday have rocked the entire nation. Many of us can hardly think of it without feeling sick. God is wrapping his arms around these families and that community. God mourns with them.
     Though there will inevitable be many needed conversations following this tragedy, of ways we can try to prevent things like this from happening again.
     We also must remember now to love each other.

Let me be sick...please?

   

     When moms are sick, chidren treat them much like lions treat wounded gazelle in the jungle. They take full advantage.
     I had spent a full day doing things like not answering questions, watching a show that featured a bra that holds an entire bottle of wine and increases your cup size (The Wine Rack), and catching up on a soap opera I haven't really watched since college. In other words, I was allowed to be sick.
     However, within two hours of getting home, one child had eaten a large portion of my hidden Dove chocolate stash, while the other played video games before homework.
     I just reclined in the big, germ-infested chair not doing a whole lot about it.
     When they did join me, it wasn't to ask me how I felt or to ask me if I would like some hot tea (I know, we aren't British and I could be delusional from the illness and, no, I don't even like hot tea but stay with me here). I was lucky enough to witness a presentation of the status of every single one of my youngest child's teeth, how loose each one is, and even a special math problem involving his teeth. Then I got to listen to my 5-year-old's inquires about how old he has to be to own a real machete. He thought 59 sounded reasonable.
     Then I got to hear of his plans to come home from kindergarden and saw down some bad trees in our backyard.
     For. The. Love.
     When, oh, WHEN am I allowed to just be sick? I'm not nursing anyone. I don't have to watch crawlers on the stairs anymore, and no one is trying to stick a finger in an outlet. I would think by now I could just peacefully be sick. But once again, perhaps I am delusional.
     I should have known last week, when I was in the bathroom, and someone poked just a foot around the corner, making it talk like a mini-puppet show, that quiet time wasn't looking promising.
    After the tooth dissertation, my youngest could have won an Academy Award for acting out dehydration. He grabbed his throat, begging for water. Someone had to get him some water.
     So now I'm supposed to believe someone planning to hack down trees can't fix a glass of water? I just glanced up with a "No hablo ingles" look.
     It wasn't long before my husband came home from work - with groceries- THANK YOU, ED! But still, the children gathered around me like a wounded animal. Even the dog jumped into the chair with me and promptly passed gas.
     I finally dragged myself to the table for supper. Everyone seemed so lively and loud. My youngest sat there eating his chicken with a little saw and hammer by his plate (I guess gearing up for his big day), and the oldest began speaking in an Austrailian accent that he thought would sound great coming from our family German shorthaired pointer. I peered at my husband and said in my best pitiful voice, "Can't I just be sick?"
    My oldest child jumped in there for him.
    "No, we are not a normal family."
     There really wasn't anything I could add to that.
    After dinner, my husband brought in the mail because I was really hoping we got some Christmas cards or good catalogs.
     But even during his sweet gesture, he couldn't resist hiding a little plastic lizard amongst the catalogs.
    It didn't scare me though. In fact, I never saw it. It fell out and was obscured by my muffin top and my yoga pants.
    So the joke was on him...I think. 
    
     

Elf Norris

     Okay, I feel pretty certain that there is no one else in the world right now who is awake at 11:24 p.m., contemplating what type of ninja costume to make for the family elf. I think the odds are in my favor that I'm probably alone on this one.

     Today was one of those groggy Monday mornings where I don't really feel like I am totally awake until the kids are probably already having their first school snack. I kicked back in the comfy green chair, zoning out to the Today Show. Our big, spoiled family dog was at my feet chewing. I heard him chewing. Of course, he was chewing. He is always chewing. But he is sort of like my third child. Rather than freaking out every single time he finds a Lego on the floor (which is pretty dang often in this house), I've gone to only freaking out if he swipes an important Lego or possibly poops out the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

     But I assure you, I would have jumped front and center if I had realized he was EATING OUR CHRISTMAS ELF'S FACE!!!

     As if our elf wasn't 'Chucky-like' to start with, now he could audition for the movie Saw. But it was much more than the fact that he scarred our Christmas mischief maker, the bigger problem was breaking this to the boys (particularly the five-year-old who can have a come apart when a Beyblade gets a scratch on it.) How am I supposed to say, "Ummm, well, yeah, he IS missing an eye, and there IS stuffing coming out of a big hole in his head, and his little plaid elf pants are ripped to smithereens, BUT he's still perfectly capable of riding a zip line in the night.

     And, furthermore, I didn't want the kids harboring hostility toward the dog. I mean, doesn't he tear up enough?

     What to do? What to do?

     So, when the boys came flying in the house and spotted the elf on the mantle with his back to the room and slowly turned him around, I did what any 40-year-old, college-educated mother of two would do.

     I told them that I suspected that our elf, Terry, had been in a turf war.

     A flipping TURF war? I know. Go on. Say it. I know it's crazy. What actually IS a turf war? Isn't that something gangs do? Fight over an area? Or maybe prostitutes fight over a street? What the heck? I don't even know what I'm talking about!!!

     BUT...I had peaked their interest. They wanted to know more.

     "Well, I suspect that maybe another elf wanted to come to this house, but this is Terry's house, so I think they got in a scuffle."

     No tears. So far so good.

     "He is one bad (as in Chuck Norris-like) elf," I said.

     They beamed. Score one for Mom!!!

     But then the questions came. There was discussion over what instruments were used. Great. I've tied our elf to gang violence. One step away from Miracle on 34th, one step toward Scarface.

     Forget Chucky, my kids will be in therapy with dreams of elves with nunchucks.

     The next question I got was this: "Why would elves fight? They all live with Santa."

     "Well, you both live with me, and you're brothers and love each other, but you still fight sometimes."

     Whew! Another point for Mom!!!

     Suddenly, our run-of-the-mill Christmas elf became one of the most interesting topics we've had in a while. No screams, no tears, no, "Our elf is ruined!" Just fascination and a bit of delight. Our elf was one tough package of polyester.

    We no longer had just an elf, we had an elf that had survived an elf fight. A scrappy representative from the North Pole.

     What more could two little boys want than an elf who comes to life and does mischievious things in the night? I'll tell ya what-- one that can survive a kickin' and keep on trickin'.
    
     It was a close call, but I did it. I righted a wrong! I won!

     But did I really win? The boys have been asleep for hours now. The dog is snuggled upstairs in the bedroom and probably snoring. The dog who ripped off the face of an elf and was never blamed for it is now having pleasant dreams, possibly of peeing on the Christmas tree tomorrow.

     I, on the other hand, am about to toil into the night, making sure the elf is donning one tough ninja suit when the sun rises.

     But...with God as my witness...if that dog gets the elf again, I'm throwing in the towel.

     It will then be time to explain to them that sometimes gang fights don't end well-not even for our northern friends.