GRANDMA NUGGETS: OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES FROM 4 TO 79

Mom and I had a date with 4YO Brady. On the way to the apple orchard we stopped at a little place renowned for its fried chicken. Brady, a chicken nugget aficionado, was hungry, and here's the conversation that ensued:

"I got you a chicken leg."

 "A chicken LEG? This is a LEG?"

Realizing that I may have entered sensitive territory, I resort to subterfuge. "It's called a chicken leg because it looks like a leg and it tastes like chicken."
 

Satisfied, Brady indulges, releasing a flurry of comments about this delicious new food that tastes like his beloved nuggets.  "This chicken is really good, Grandma, 'cept I found something in it."

 "What?"

 "I think it's a bone. It gots a bone inside it!"

 "It's like a handle, Brady. So you can hold it easier."

 "Oh. That's cool. Do you eat the bone?"

 

 "No. Do Not Eat the Bone."

 A moment later he cries out, "Ow!"

 "What's the matter, Brady? Did you bite your finger?"

 "Two fingers."

 "Oh, dear. Sorry, Buddy."

 "Where do you get chicken legs?"

Now my mom, who has been a farmer, has dementia, and has not picked up on my efforts to avoid being the cruel fiend who first exposes Brady to the reality of a carnivore's food chain.

 "Farmers raise them on farms. That's where we get all our meat."

 "Chicken is MEAT?" asks Brady.

 "One kind of meat. There's beef from steers, mutton from sheep, chicken and pork."

 "What kind of meat is a fork?"

Mom jumps back in. "Not a fork, Brady. Pork. Pork. P-P-P Pork with a 'P'. A fork is something you use to eat your meat. It's not the meat."

 "Ohhh. Well, what do I do with my bone? My hands are greasy. Never mind. I just stuck it on your seat."

Yeah, next time we're going with the Happy Meal.

 

THE MORMON POLICE RAID

For you gluttons of punishment, another epic from the Lewis household's police files. All true, people, all true.

We're LDS, (Mormon), and every summer we invite the young, single adults (18-30) in our area to come over and have a barbecue. We've got a pool and a hot tub out back, and with five acres the singles can spread out and play softball and relax. (Surprisingly, Tom finds inexplicable reasons to be away on these days when the stereo streams the outdoor speakers with clean tunes and crooners like David Archulletta at ear-splitting decibels, but I digress . . .)

We spiff the yard and house up for our guests, and on this day, after running to the grocery for some odds and ends, I shoved my car keys in my pocket, slung my purse over my shoulder, and moseyed into the backyard to set my goods on the picnic table. On the way I saw some litter the mower had chewed up and spit out, so I picked it up and shoved it into the pocket housing my keys as I made my way.

Minutes later cars filled with tanned, sunglass-ed, bathing suit-clad water-warriors began arriving, toting beach towels, coolers, and bags of food. I greeted the first round of singles, and then, knowing that these young adults could manage their own party, I retired to the house to man the kitchen.

A few minutes later a young man knocked on my door. "Sister Lewis? The police are here."

"What?" I asked.

"An officer wants to talk to you."

I hurried outside and found a tall dubious trooper eyeing the scene.

"Are you the owner?" he asked.

"I am. Is there a problem?" (Duh, Laurie?????????)

"You're alarm reported a break-in fifteen minutes ago."

I tried to see the scene through the officer's eyes--an alarm going off at a house where a party is about to commence. He surveyed the young guests and their coolers which I assumed he presumed were filled with alcohol. I reached in my pocket and pull out my paper-littered set of keys which contain an alarm fob. "I was picking up some trash and shoving it in my pocket. I must have hit the alarm button by mistake. I'm so sorry."

He was not amused. "Can I see some ID?"

I raced back inside to produce my purse and my license and then back out before the kids started getting frisked. When I arrived I noticed a marked change in the officer's demeanor. He was smiling, and chatting with the young people. No bikinis, no speedos on the men. One opened a cooler filled with nothing more nefarious than root beer. The grocery bags produced chips and veggies, and a Tupperware container revealed a few dozen homemade cookies. While the pulse of the music was loud the tunes were innocent and cheerful.

I handed him the ID and he gave it a cursory glance.

"These kids (they hate being called that but at my age anyone under 35 is in kid-range), are from my church."

His smile broadened. "I kinda figured that out after a while."

"I'm really sorry."

One of the young men offered him a soda. A girl offered him a cookie. He declined both but stood amidst the scene, studying the group of returned missionaries, future missionaries, and clean cut twenty-somethings. For a moment I sensed that he wished he could stay and soak up the sweet innocence permeating the group. It's likely a far cry from what he would encounter as the day progressed.

"Nice place," he said, and then, as if needing to add something policeman-like, he adds, "Just be aware of that button the next time you shove your keys in your pocket."

"I will. And thank you again. I'm really sorry for dragging you out here."

"No problem," he added with a tap of his hat. "Have a nice day."

As he left I felt sad for him leaving this moment of peace to return to the real world. The young people seemed to sense it too. I wondered in that moment if they realized how wonderfully peculiar they must have appeared to that officer. How blessed they were that this was their normal.

If pride is a sin, I was guilty of it that day, for them, and for the good trooper who paused to soak up that sweetness for a moment.

And yes, this will be a chapter someday, in some very special book.

CHOOSING BETWEEN TWO GOODS

A few weeks ago I wrote a post titled, "In the Thick of Thin Things" about prioritizing the things we invest our time and resources on. Well, this week I had several opportunities to put my own advice into practice.

Each year the LDStorymakers group, of which I'm a part, holds a wonderful writer's conference in Provo, Utah. Fun trip. The classes are taught by some of the most recognizeable LDS authors--writers on the front lines of the decency war in literature. There are excellent classes, pitch sessions with agents and editors, opportunities for networking, book buying and autograph collecting. What I love most about it is the chance to be among my peers--other nutty, obsessive LDS writers who crank out novels at what works out to about 15 cents an hour because they have a passion for writing clean, uplifting books. Attending the conference also provides an excellent opportunity to extend the trip and vist my Utah children and grandchildren. Not a bad plan, right?

Well, it's that priority thing. My newest daughter-in-law is graduating from BYU's School of Nursing on Friday, the same day the conference begins. When we realized there was a conflict, there was no question where I wanted to be on Friday. Family trumps writing every time.

And then things became more complicated when my pregnant daughter, who lives here in Maryland near me, became ill. I was packing my briefcase when I felt it . . . the undeniable whispering of the Spirit telling me, "Call Amanda and offer to delay your flight." I made the call and Amanda's response was, "They want me to go to the hospital, Mom!"

Again, priorities became clear. Her husband was torn between being with his wife and caring for their son, and I knew my wonderful daughter-in-law would understand, so I changed my itinerary to remain in Maryland and help out.

It was the right choice, and the choice I wanted to make, but guilt does still come when circumstances force us to choose between two good and needful things. My daughter learned that herself this week. Staying in the hospital was good and needful to protect the baby she's carrying, but even so, leaving her 15-month-old behind nearly broke her heart. Life has taught me that these situations arise frequently, and choosing correctly isn't hard, but avoiding self-flogging can be. We can't be two places at once, but we often punish ourselves as if we could. Why is that? I wonder if men are as likely as women to torture themselves over such things.

Everything is working out now. Amanda is home and feeling better every day. My daughter-in-law's parents arrived a few days ago to celebrate this great milestone in their daughter's life. I'll miss the actual graduation, arriving a few hours late, but I'll be there to hug the graduate on her graduation day and participate in the revelry. Life will go on and the world will not end.

More of these good/good choices will arise in the future. If only I could master the skill of being in two places at one time before then.

IN THE THICK OF THIN THINGS?

There are always more things to be done than there is time to do them, and so proper prioritizing may be the single most important skill of life. I know that, but I often need a reminder.

I have a book launch this weekend so I'm eyeball deep in Key Lime Jelly Bellies, bookmarks, favor tags and promo stuff.

I was driving yesterday and I had a CD in the player from last October's LDS Church Conference. I heard President Monson's comment about how too many of us are "in the thick of thin things." It struck a chord. It really struck hard, and I wondered if the hours it will take to make Jelly Belly favors for the launch will matter in a week, in a month, or even on Saturday.

It's an obsession. We're over-scheduled, over-committed to "thin things." We all want to do our best at whatever we're doing--that Relief Society lesson or that dinner for the missionaries--so we kill ourselves to hit perfection when prayerful preparation will suffice. We want to invite the new family over for supper, but we wait until we get can get the rugs scrubbed and then the opportunity and the inclination slip away.

We should at least be finding joy in the "thin things" we choose, but how often do we postpone enjoying our life while we endure it, saying, "As soon as I get past this event or that I'll. . ." What a sad thought. I don't want to "get past" my life in order to enjoy it. I want to enjoy whatever I'm doing, whatever my circumstances . . . right now.

So many seemingly essential things that seem urgent today do evaporate in an instant when an emergency arises--a call from a worried child, a notice of an overdraft in your bank account, a health alert, or a few inches of standing water in the basement. What absolutely had to be handled today suddenly seems less important, and a fully-packed schedule suddenly opens wide. What if the call were to meet at the park? What if the emergency was that the sunset was spectacular? Would we push the calendar back for those?

That dreadful winter of a hundred inches of snow gave way to this magnificent spring. What a shame it would be to miss this momentary glimpse of heaven, one which I dreamed about all winter, because I was over-progammed or too engaged in "thin things."

I'm still going to make those favors, because right now I have the time-luxury to be invested in a in fun thin thing while I sit with my daughter, basking in this beauty, and watching my grandson try to steal jelly beans.

It's all about priorities.

BEING A MOTHER

Maintaining balance in life is the number one struggle for most of us. Parents and spouses struggle over it, our kids do too as they get older. Here's a tender story about an intuitive daughter-in-law who understood that mothers always need to feel like "mothers". I'm blessed with especially good daughters and daughters-in-law. I also try to keep a weekly "date" with my mom. This week has been one of the hardest weeks for me, and I almost cancelled, but after reading this story today, I'm so glad I kept our "date." Thanks, Sharon, for sending this to me today!
*****
BEING A MOTHER...

After 17 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to
take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She
said, 'I love you, but I know this other woman loves
you and would love to spend some time with you.'
* * *
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit
was my MOTHER, who has been alone for 20 years,
but the demands of my work and my two boys had
made it possible to visit her only occasionally.
* * *
That night I called to invite her to go out for
dinner and a movie.
* * *
'What's wrong, aren't you well,' she asked?
* * *
My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a
late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign
of bad news.
* * *
'I thought it would be pleasant to spend some
time with you,' I responded. 'Just the two of us.'
She thought about it for a moment, and then said,
'I would like that very much.'
* * *
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick
her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her
house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous
about our date. She waited in the door. She had curled her hair and was wearing the
dress that she had worn to celebrate her last
birthday on November 19th.
* * *
She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an
angel's. 'I told my friends that I was going to go
out with my son, and they were impressed,' she said,
as she got into the car. 'They can't wait to hear about our date'..
* * *
We went to a restaurant that, although not
elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my
arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat
down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only
read large print. Half way through the entries, I
lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at
me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. 'It was I
who used to have to read the menu when you were
small,' she said. 'Then it's time that you relax and
let me return the favor,' I responded.
* * *
During the dinner, we had an agreeable
conversation- -nothing extraordinary but catching up
on recent events of each other's life. We talked so
much that we missed the movie.
* * *
As we arrived at her house later, she said,
'I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me
invite you.' I agreed.
* * *
'How was your dinner date ?'
asked my wife when I got home.
'Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,'
I answered.
* * *
A few days later, my mother died of a massive
heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't
have a chance to do anything for her.
* * *
Some time later, I received an envelope with a
copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place
mother and I had dined. An attached note said: 'I
paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I
could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two
plates - one for you and the other for your wife.
You will never know what that night meant for me.
I love you, son.'
* * *
At that moment, I understood the importance of
saying in time: 'I LOVE YOU' and to give our loved
ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is
more important than your family. Give them the time
they deserve, because these things cannot be put off
till 'some other time.'* * *
Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back
to normal after you've had a baby.... somebody
doesn't know that once you're a mother,
'normal' is history.
* * *
Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by
instinct ... somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.
* * *
Somebody said being a mother is boring .....
somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.
Somebody said if you're a 'good' mother,
your child will 'turn out good'....
somebody thinks a child comes with
directions and a guarantee.
* * *
Somebody said you don't need an education to be a
mother.... somebody never helped a fourth grader
with his math.
* * *
Somebody said you can't love the second child as
much as you love the first .... somebody doesn't
have two children.
* * *
Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother
is labor and delivery....
somebody never watched her 'baby' get on the bus
for the first day of kindergarten ...
or on a plane headed for military 'boot camp.'
* * *
Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her
child gets married....somebody doesn't know that
marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a
mother's heartstrings.
* * *
Somebody said a mother's job is done when
her last child leaves home....
somebody never had grandchildren.
* * *
Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so
you don't need to tell her....
somebody isn't a mother.

WISDOM FROM FOOTBALL AND WAR

Vince Lombardi is credited with saying, "Fatigue makes cowards of us all." The same words have also been credited to General George Patton. Irregardless, the truth remains that if manly men of football and war know that fatigue can break our spirits and cause us to cower, we can admit it too.

We've all had those days when the laundry list of life overwhelms us and instead of beginning at the top and working through it, we slump in a chair and whimper, unable to organize our thoughts enough to even choose where to start.

I remember day five of a siege of illness that plagued our family. The laundry backed up with fetid linen--the refuse of the children's illness--the dishes were piled like Mount Vesuvius and you could have turned my stove top into a Science Fair contender. Still, meals needed to be prepared and well-intended classmates kept stuffing make-up work through the doorway, despite my complete disinterest in participles, dangling or otherwise. It had been days since I had had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and REM was a distant memory.How did I handle it? I sat in a chair and stared at the greasy water marks running down the front of the sink cabinet, the residual by-product of the well-est of the children's attempts to do the dishes. . . and then, good soldier that I am, I cried.

Tom was out of town as I recall, but other help was available. It almost always is, but I was too stubborn or proud to ask. And so, determined to stay in the pocket, to march on, I wore myself to a frazzle. I'm two decades older now, and I'm still that way to a degree. I'm buried by obligations right now and pressed against a wall of deadlines, but experience and wisdom have taught me to recognize when it's time to accept proffered help. And help is coming in abundance this weekend.

It's Conference weekend for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will sit and listen to the voices of modern day apostles and prophets of God, and feel the Lord's peace. And next week? Some of the things I pushed back today will still be there, but they'll concern me less. I'll remember what few things really matter, and I'll be still and remember that God is ultimately in charge.

Sometimes we get ourselves into trouble. But sometimes stuff just happens. Stuff is happening to a lot of people these days, but help is still at the ready, if we will accept it. Comfort? Peace? Could you use some of that? Then push the debris back for a few hours, and come listen with me. Their counsel isn't just for Mormons. It's for anyone hungering for a pocket of quiet and hope in the storm.

(Links above for internet feed. Also available on Directv 374, Sat and Sun- 10-12 Mountain , 12-2 Eastern; 2-4 Mountain, 4-6 Eastern.)

GLENN BECK AND THE 9/12 PROJECT

In 1754, when Benjamin Franklin first posted his political cartoon, titled "Join or Die", it was an attempt to rally the American people, to draw them from complacency and force them to realize that only in a unified body could they possibly survive the approaching threat posed by a foreign enemy. A decade later it was raised again and renamed "Unite or Die", this time calling for rebellion against Mother England whose forces already resided on American soil.

On March 13th, Glenn Beck raised this banner once more as a call to Americans to unite against another internal threat to her freedom. The enemy at our door, and in our homes, Beck explains, is not another nation, but the loss of identity in our own. But this enemy is a smoke and shadow show, easily defeated, not by armies and armament, but by a return to some core values and principles.

Read Glenn Beck's own words:

Do you watch the direction that America is being taken in and feel powerless to stop it? Do you believe that your voice isn’t loud enough to be heard above the noise anymore? Do you read the headlines everyday and feel an empty pit in your stomach…as if you’re completely alone? If so, then you’ve fallen for the Wizard of Oz lie.

While the voices you hear in the distance may sound intimidating, as if they surround us from all sides—the reality is very different. Once you pull the curtain away you realize that there are only a few people pressing the buttons, and their voices are weak. The truth is that they don’t surround us at all. We surround them. So, how do we show America what’s really behind the curtain? Below are nine simple principles. If you believe in at least seven of them, then we have something in common. I urge you to read the instructions at the end for how to help make your voice heard.

The Nine Principles
1. America is good.

2. I believe in God and He is the Center of my Life.

3. I must always try to be a more honest person than I was yesterday.

4. The family is sacred. My spouse and I are the ultimate authority, not the government.

5. If you break the law you pay the penalty. Justice is blind and no one is above it.

6. I have a right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, but there is no guarantee of equal results.

7. I work hard for what I have and I will share it with who I want to. Government cannot force me to be charitable.

8. It is not un-American for me to disagree with authority or to share my personal opinion.

9. The government works for me. I do not answer to them, they answer to me.

The Twelve Values:

Honesty
Reverence
Hope
Thrift
Humility
Charity
Sincerity
Moderation
Hard Work
Courage
Personal Responsibility
Gratitude

You Are Not Alone If you agree with at least seven of those principles, then you are not alone. Please send a digital version of your picture to: wesurroundthem@foxnews.com and then stay tuned to the radio and television shows over the coming weeks to see how we intend to pull back the curtain.

*********************************

Latter-day Saints will recognize how closely these values coincide with President Hinckley's value-laden "Bees". All those who love of American history will recognize the nations founding principles embedded here. These are not new ideas. But new voices are reminding us to clean our house . . our inner house, and to demand nothing less from those who govern and lead.

The 9/12 concept sums up the nine priciples and the twelve values nicely, but it is also a call to remember another 9/12--the day after the events of 9/11--the day we hung our flags and ribbons, and knit together and fell on our knees to ask God to show us the way to help and to heal. Remember that 9/12? Of course we do. . .

God, family, country . . . God, family country. . . God, family country. . .

Thump, thump, thump. . . That's the beat of the American heart. Can you hear it?

Please forward this and/or the link to Beck's wesurroundthem@foxnews.com.

Thanks!

laurie

MORE THAN MERELY HUMAN

Grandparenthood arrives not a moment too soon for most of us. As was the case with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, the starry-eyes that reflected awe in our presence began to dim some time ago. Our little children who once believed we knew all things and were capable of super-human things, slowly and subtly let us know that the ruse was over, our cover blown, revealing that we are merely mortal, and ever-weakening specimens at best. And then grandchildren come along, and the vestments of hero-dom reappear, glorious and bright once more.

A board game where the rules lean slightly to bless a child, a ride on a snowplowing yard tractor and a snuggle accompanied by a show on Noggin bring that glint of adoration to their eyes. But tonight, for the mere price of 100 Chucky Cheese tokens and a pizza, Tom and I exceeded humanity and re-entered the world of Superheroes once more. As our five-year-old grandson ran around, playing games and gathering tickets, utter ecstasy was present on his face. From time to time his joy would bubble over into expressions of his superb gratitude and love, and those old feelings of reflected omnipotence returned.

His aunt and uncle were there also, with little Brady in tow. We all took turns playing with Tommy, and likewise sharing the pleasure of tiny infant Brady sleeping alternately on our chests. The feelings were familiar. For a few fleeting minutes, for two little grandsons, we had the exquisite privilege of being the embodiment of love and happiness once more.

We cannot leap tall buildings or stop a bullet mid-flight, but we were able to hold the world at bay for a few hours and create exquisite happiness from a pizza and a string of paper tickets, and that is quite lovely for two semi-retired superheroes.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING TO LAST FOREVER, YOU TREAT IT DIFFERENTLY. . . .

I'm a visual person. Tell me a story that plants a picture in my mind, and I'll remember it--well, I'll remember the gist of it--forever. That's why I fell in love with this particular excerpt from a talk given back in 2003. It planted a vivid, metaphorical image, that of a bride's cherished silver and the care she took to protect and preserve its beauty, as a marital standard. It keeps coming back to me, like a rubric, prompting evaluation and course corection. "How am I doing on this?" it prompts us to ask ourselves, reminding us that we need to honor and cherish our unions if we want good marriages.

You could base a thesis on the principles contained within. Given by F. Burton Howard, it remains one of my favorites, and it's especially perfect today. Tom, I hope you're reading today. This one's for you, honey! Happy Valentine's Day everyone!
**********************

By F. Burton Howard, emeritus member of the First Quorum of the Seventy:

. . .I think eternal marriage cannot be achieved without a commitment to make it work. Most of what I know about this I have learned from my companion. We have been married for almost 47 years now. From the beginning she knew what kind of marriage she wanted.

We started as poor college students, but her vision for our marriage was exemplified by a set of silverware. As is common today, when we married she registered with a local department store. Instead of listing all the pots and pans and appliances we needed and hoped to receive, she chose another course. She asked for silverware. She chose a pattern and the number of place settings and listed knives, forks, and spoons on the wedding registry and nothing else. No towels, no toasters, no television—just knives, forks, and spoons.

The wedding came and went. Our friends and our parents’ friends gave gifts. We departed for a brief honeymoon and decided to open the presents when we returned. When we did so, we were shocked. There was not a single knife or fork in the lot. We joked about it and went on with our lives.

Two children came along while we were in law school. We had no money to spare. But when my wife worked as a part-time election judge or when someone gave her a few dollars for her birthday, she would quietly set it aside, and when she had enough she would go to town to buy a fork or a spoon. It took us several years to accumulate enough pieces to use them. When we finally had service for four, we began to invite some of our friends for dinner.

Before they came, we would have a little discussion in the kitchen. Which utensils would we use, the battered and mismatched stainless or the special silverware? In those early days I would often vote for the stainless. It was easier. You could just throw it in the dishwasher after the meal, and it took care of itself. The silver, on the other hand, was a lot of work. My wife had it hidden away under the bed where it could not be found easily by a burglar. She had insisted that I buy a tarnish-free cloth to wrap it in. Each piece was in a separate pocket, and it was no easy task to assemble all the pieces. When the silver was used, it had to be hand washed and dried so that it would not spot, and put back in the pockets so it would not tarnish, and wrapped up and carefully hidden again so it would not get stolen. If any tarnish was discovered, I was sent to buy silver polish, and together we carefully rubbed the stains away.

Over the years we added to the set, and I watched with amazement how she cared for the silver. My wife was never one to get angry easily. However, I remember the day when one of our children somehow got hold of one of the silver forks and wanted to use it to dig up the backyard. That attempt was met with a fiery glare and a warning not to even think about it. Ever!

I noticed that the silverware never went to the many ward dinners she cooked, or never accompanied the many meals she made and sent to others who were sick or needy. It never went on picnics and never went camping. In fact it never went anywhere; and, as time went by, it didn’t even come to the table very often. Some of our friends were weighed in the balance, found wanting, and didn’t even know it. They got the stainless when they came to dinner.

The time came when we were called to go on a mission. I arrived home one day and was told that I had to rent a safe-deposit box for the silver. She didn’t want to take it with us. She didn’t want to leave it behind. And she didn’t want to lose it.

For years I thought she was just a little bit eccentric, and then one day I realized that she had known for a long time something that I was just beginning to understand. If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by.

Eternal marriage is just like that. We need to treat it just that way. I pray that we may see it for the priceless gift that it is, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

THE WRONG WEDDING RING

There's an old movie whose premise has long fascinated me. For the life of me, I can't remember the title, or the actors, but I clearly remember the message.

Set in the 60's, it involved a French-born mother whose only daughter was preparing for her upcoming nuptials. Recognizing that her parents have what seems to be the perfect marriage, the bride-to-be asks her mother to share the secret of her success. Reluctantly, the mother reveals the Holy Grail of marital bliss. It is a book. And not any book. Certainly not a book you'd expect. It's title? "How To Train Your Dog".

Interestingly enough, the irreverent topic comes full circle. Amy Sutherland, renowned animal trainer, behaviorist and author, had a 2008 release of a book titled, What Shamu Taught Me About Life, Love, and Marriage: Lessons for People from Animals and Their Trainers. In it, Sutherland explains how she used animal training techniques to improve her marriage and modify her husband's behavior.

As demeaning as the idea may sound on the surface, there are some great lessons to be harvested from this field, and both the movie and the book hit the point solidly. It is positive reinforcement that creates the desired change in a pet, and Sutherland notes that similar rewards of kindness, patience and affection improved her marriage.

Think about it. Compare the enthusiasm with which most people greet their pets at the end of a day to the anemic welcome home greeting most spouses receive. Now consider the appreciation poured out upon a pet for performing a task versus the attaboys our mates get when they complete an item on our honey-do lists? Do we rub their ears and wrap our arms around their neck before telling them how wonderful they are in that mushy voice reserved for Fido? Are we cringing yet?

If the topic seems ludicrous or disrespectful, well, it is. And that makes the point even more critical. Because no matter how uncomfortable it makes us to admit it, too often in too many homes, our pets are getting better treatment than we're giving our husbands or wives.

So the next time our husband replaces a light bulb, or after the next well-prepared meal your wife prepares, (or vice versa for that matter), share the puppy-love. A lot of spouses might consider the dog's treatment a step up.

MAKING A CASE FOR CHILDREN AND FAMILIES

The airwaves and Internet are filled with comments by those inflamed by Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi's recent comments regarding a specific portion of her plan to balance the budget. Rightly so.

In her Sunday morning ABC interview with George Stephanopoulos, Ms. Pelosi defended a plan to address the budget problem in part, by increasing funding for contraceptives and abortions. As quoted from that interview between Ms. Pelosi and Mr. Stephanopoulos:

"The family planning services reduce cost," Pelosi said, "One of the elements of this package is assistance to the states. The states are in terrible fiscal budget crises now and part of what we do for children's health, education and some of those elements are to help the states meet their financial needs. One of those - one of the initiatives you mentioned, the contraception, will reduce costs to the states and to the federal government."

"So no apologies for that?" (Stephanopoulos) asked her.

"No apologies. No," Pelosi said. "And this is a, to stimulate the economy, is an economic recovery package and as we put it forth we have to deal with the consequences of the downturn in our economy. Food stamps, unemployment insurance, some of the initiatives you just mentioned. Believe it or not, they're the right thing to do but they also stimulate the economy."

In essence, the idea is that we reduce the cost of services to children by reducing the number of children.

As appalling as that thinking is, I am at least energized by how outraged people are over it. Finally, a sign that the dying, or at least sleeping giant of American values is still capable of being revived! I hope everyone of us raises such a din of objection to this mode of thinking, (the same thinking that sent President Obama off the cameras and away from the limelight of a paparazzi-like press to covertly overturn the Mexico City bill, authorizing the funding of abortions and contraceptives in foreign countries), that we shake the halls of Congress and the White House. I hope they remember that they serve us at our pleasure, and see that we do not want our budget balanced at the expense of, nor the elimination of children.

Yes, children are costly. But they're not the problem. The problem is that we've lost our vision of the essential nature of the family and the home. Mothers and fathers were intended to bear the responsibility for their children. But look at how we've undermined these roles.

And it's not just government. Look at the media's perception of marriage and the family. How many current shows can you name that have stable married parents? Now ask yourself how many of those have parents who work as equal, responsible partners as heads of their homes? The current trend in media is to paint women as overbearing matriarchs who spend as much time parenting their husband as they do their kids. And look at the portrayal of fathers. Most are buffoons whose kids are brighter than they, or the really cool ones--the detectives and doctors and secret agents? They're generally divorced or unaware of they even have children. And how are they regarded? As sensitive, misunderstood, a work in progress. Great. . .

Now add to these aberrations of family life the media's obsession with break-ups, hook-ups and the ensuing custody battles over the poor children, and then ask yourself, "is it any wonder that the Hollywood royal duo who openly shun marriage despite their every-growing number of children, gets named the 'Couple of the Year'?"

Hollywood and the media may plead the fifth and say that this is just entertainment, and such programs don't shape youth's ideas regarding marriage and families. Oh really? Well, the network marketing people sure prepared a hundred items for launch into your neighborhood stores because they anticipated that little girls would watch Hannah Montana and High School Musical and they'd want to be just like them. Then they have to also know that images of weak, dysfunctional families leave their marks as well. Hollywood can't have it both ways. Imprinting is occurring, and we need to up the quality of the images we portray.

Perhaps government will recognize what many of us have always known--the correlation between strong families and a strong nation. Ms. Pelosi does realize that we have a crisis here. But her view is skewed, as if seen through a kaleidoscope. Madame Speaker, when the family fails, the burden of rearing the children does fall to government. So instead of blaming the children, please help America strengthen her families.

There is an old adage that says, "When man wants to change the world, he sends armies. When God wants to change the world, He sends a child. Children are our hope, not our burden. We need every one of them. We just need them to be reared by mothers and fathers leading stable homes.

Now that's an economic stimulus plan we can support.