We are War and Peace.

I married a man whose parents are Quaker pacifists. My dad’s a former Marine. Pretty sure God was messing with us when Divine Intervention (aka, my desire to spend a summer at the beach, baby!) put us together. Greg and I call ourselves War and Peace. I get to be War, soooo… good times all around.

Greg’s away overnight. He and the Marine took our little boys camping along with my cousin who was raised by my peacenik hippie aunt and uncle. They’re the ones who taught me about skinny dipping, Adam’s peanut butter and daisy chains, and they had the full color, illustrated version of The Joy Sex on their bottom bookshelf right where a 10-year-old might discover it. I owe those peacenik hippies a lot, is all I’m saying.

I liked being raised by loving people with very different ideals who all worked hard for a better, more peaceful world. The grown-ups in my life made me think hard, and I’m grateful I get to raise my kids in utter confusion, too. It really is more fun this way, but — boy howdy! — it’s a real challenge with so many people around to find opportunities to indoctrinate my kids raise my kids up in the Way They Should Go. I have to optimize every chance I get, ya know? ‘Cause there’s usually some other grown-up in the wings with an equal(ish) and opposite position biding his time and looking for an opportunity to use counter-brainwashing measures.

Today, though, Greg is away. AWAY! And he left me all alone with this child.

And now she is mine. Mine. MINE!



P.S. Just kidding about the war mongering. I’m really a very peaceful person. Except if you get between me and my children. Or me and chocolate. Or me and beer. Then you’re on your own.

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17 responses to “We are War and Peace.”

  1. Holy cow I think your aunt and uncle are my parents and we may be cousins?Did they also have the Teenage Body Book and Where Did I Come From? And if they went through a carob is chocolate and seaweed should be eaten phase then we are definitely related!

    • Oh my gosh. The Carob Abomination! YES. We are clearly related. I’ll meet you by the lake this weekend – we can skinny dip at midnight and talk about how to secretly replace all of their Cliff Bars with Snickers. It’ll be fun! 😉

  2. The stock of that weapon needs to be buried in the child’s shoulder, and her finger should NOT be on the trigger when she’s not looking down range. A drill instructor’s work is never done.

  3. Well, is this a hint that we need to schedule more quality (indoctrination) time with the kiddos? However, we aren’t entirely pacifists, you know. It’s surprising how much we have in common with the Marine!

  4. I love your blog. It is crazy and fun and thoughtful. It appeals to my crazy side! But, 5 kids is NOT alot of kids.

    Monica Stephenson~mother of 9.

    • Bahahaha!

      LOVE this, Monica.

      You TOTALLY have me beat. Power to you, mama. For the record, when I had one kid, I was known to shake my head and say, “One kid is a LOT of kids.” Still pretty sure than any amount of kids is a lot of kids. But with nine? I bow to your perseverance! I do.

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