Today on CMR — February 9, 2010

I Am A Miracle Man
—@NCRegister: The miracles all around us.

Say What You Want - This Is Funny
—Billboard of the day!

Dress Up Bedroom Games
—A near miss on the internet.

Post-Natal Abortions?
—Killing children as an act of mercy is coming.

Contraception Is The Key
—@NCregister: Why Contraception is the key to understanding much anti-Catholicism.

Intervention: Just Say No (More)
—Its a classic case of addiction and nothing short of intervention will do.

Hide and Seek
—My Irish Twins.

The Tebow Ad
—Check it out here.



El Gato de la Muerte Still Loose
—That cat is evil.

This Is A Metaphor For...
—I am sure this video is a metaphor for something.

Dean Koontz is the Man
—Check out what he wrote for the foreword of Wesley Smith's latest.

The High Point
—A moment of grace on the way to school.

TwitterCounter for

I Am A Miracle Man

I've often read that the scientific mind and the musical mind are similarly wired. I believe it because I have not been blessed with an understanding of either. I simply don’t speak music or science. I hear music. I enjoy it. But music is background to my life. Ambiance.

The musical mind can deconstruct a piece and understand it as if it were language. It's the same with the scientific mind, I would guess. They see something and must investigate what makes it work. I feel no need to deconstruct things or examine the gears of the world. I'm not a science guy. I'm a man very comfortable with miracles.

Some say the word “miracle” is overused. Not me. I don't think it's used enough. Not nearly.

Continue Reading @ National Catholic Register

Say What You Want - This Is Funny

And apparently real...



Instapundit give us this story and apparently an eye witness account that this is NOT a photoshop job. Say what you want. That is funny.

NPR says it is real:

Internet chatter had led to speculation that it might be an urban myth -- nothing more than clever digital trickery spreading via the Web.

But our friend Bob Collins at Minnesota Public Radio assures us he's seen it with his own eyes:

There is a billboard along I-35 near Wyoming, Minn., with a huge photo of former president George W. Bush and this question: "Miss Me Yet?"

It takes a very "special" kind of President to make the Bush years seem like the good ol' days. Thanks Barack.

Now the hunt is on to see who did it.

Update: Now with video courtesy of Gateway Pundit

Dress Up Bedroom Games

My daughters love getting on the internet and playing games and watching X-Men and Justice League videos. I closely monitor them and sit nearby.

On Saturday we all went out into the snow. The children played while I shoveled out the cars. And when we came in the girls asked to get on the internet. I sat down to read a little and told the girls that if they were changing the web page they were on they had to tell me. They agreed.

I was only seven feet away. What could go wrong?

Well. The girls have been playing a lot of dress up lately. Don't know why. These things come in waves. But they've been traipsing about like ballerinas and speaking in falsetto voices. Again, I don't know why. It's just one of those things I've learned to accept as a father of four girls.

At some point the girls asked, "Can we type in dress up games to figure out what to play upstairs?"

Uh, sure.

So I hear the eight year old typing and the seven year old is reading what she wrote over her shoulder. "Dress...Up...Games...in...the...Bedroom."

Now I wish I could say it registered in my head right away but it didn't. 3...2...1..."Waaaaaaiiiiiiiittttttttttttt!!!!!!!! Don't press enter!!!!!!!!!"

The kids whipped around in their seats staring at me wide eyed. She hadn't pressed enter. I suggested some games to them and they tra-la-la'd away singing in falsetto voices. I shut the computer down.

Whew. Lesson learned.

Post-Natal Abortions?



Post-natal abortions are a logical extension of the culture of death. Why should birth be a demarcation when conception is not?

What kills me is how those supporting euthanasia couch their horrors in terms of mercy.

Radio Free Europe reports:

The Russian mother of a child with a developmental disability wants to sue a journalist who suggested killing babies with genetic diseases. RFERL's Russian Service reports from Moscow.

In late December, Snezhana Mitina received a tearful phone call from her friend Svetlana. Sobbing, Svetlana explained she had just read a newspaper article calling for babies with mental disabilities to be killed at birth.

The author, Aleksandr Nikonov, used the word "debil" -- a deeply offensive term in Russian -- to characterize such children. He argued that parents should have the right to euthanize newborns diagnosed with mental retardation and other developmental disabilities.

The article, which ran under the headline "Finish Them Off, So They Don't Suffer," went on to describe what Nikonov termed "postnatal abortion" as an act of mercy.

Mitina and her friend, Svetlana Shtarkova -- both mothers of children with developmental disabilities -- decided to take action. They filed a complaint with the Russian Union of Journalists against Nikonov, a correspondent for the popular tabloid "Speed-Info."

The two women say their aim is not to punish Nikonov but to raise the alarm about Russia's culture of intolerance toward disabled people. Shtarkova made an emotional appeal at a hearing last week at the journalists' union.

"The opinion expressed by the author is not unique; statistics show that one-fourth of Russians share similar views," Shtarkova told the February 2 hearing. "Complete strangers come up to me in the street and tell me that I'm depraved and deserve my fate. Doctors and social workers refuse to do their jobs, just because my child is severely disabled."

The lawyer representing the two mothers, Pyotr Kucherenko, told the board that Nikonov's proposal to put "flawed" babies to death only fueled discrimination and was dangerously reminiscent of the theories of racial superiority upheld by Nazi Germany.

Nikonov, however, was unrepentant.

"Let me introduce myself: I am Adolf Hitler. This is the way people want to portray me," Nikonov says. "But the real bastards are those who tell me, 'Yes, it is good and fair that people are in pain. We'll look on and say people can suffer, as long as our scholarly conception of humaneness is not affected.' To hell with you. People shouldn't suffer. This is my opinion, and you won't shut me up."
I'm sure we'll be hearing more about post-natal abortions in the future.

Contraception Is The Key

"Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful." -- Samuel Johnson

When reading the absurd comments of Harry Knox, who serves on President Barack Obama’s faith-based advisory council, I cannot help but think that Samuel Johnson missed a category.

In 2009, in response to the Pope's comments about condoms and AIDS in Africa, Knox said that the Pope is “hurting people in the name of Jesus.” This past week, Knox was asked if he stood by this statement and he answered with an emphatic “I do.”

Knox's statement is as ignorant as it is lacking in integrity.

Continue Reading @ National Catholic Register

Intervention: Just Say No (More)

Its a classic case.

He got really high at the beginning and everything seemed better. Everything seemed to go his way. So he kept using. But over time it didn't have the same effect anymore, so he used more. But he could never seem to reach that same high again.

Then other people began to notice. It began to affect his job performance. Even many who are very close to him began to notice something was wrong.

Then many people who used to support him could no longer look the other way, and they told him so. They told him, you have to stop. But he wouldn't listen. He was in deep denial. They shouted and the pleaded with him to stop, but to no avail. Then his former friends, left with no other choice, turned their backs on him.

He tried to mouth the words that he understood. He tried to convince people he would change his ways, but before long he was back to his old tricks. He ignored his wake up call. He will have to hit rock bottom. When he does, will he still have enough people who care left? The decision is his.

Barack Obama needs an intervention.

His blame Bush rhetoric used to command big applause but now it falls flat. President Obama continuously tries to achieve that same high he had in 2008, but his efforts are in vain. This past weekend President Obama tried to lay the economic crisis entirely at the feet of his predecessor.

"The country cannot return to the “dereliction of duty that helped deliver this recession,” Obama said. He added that the previous administration’s role in the economic meltdown was the “real outrage.”
But nobody is buying it anymore, nobody except the handful of enablers that he surrounds himself with. That's what they are, the bad crowd, the enablers. Mark Steyn had this to say about them:
The palpable whiff given off by the White House inner circle is that they’re the last people on the planet still besotted by Barack Obama, and that they’re having such a cool time starring in their own reality-show remake of The West Wing they can only conceive of the public — and, indeed, the world — as crowd-scene extras in The Barack Obama Show.
Everything Barack Obama thought his presidency would be is in shambles. His poll numbers have plummeted and even the great people of Taxachusetts voted to give him a wake up call, but he is in deep denial.

Its not that he is on the wrong track - its that he didn't explain himself well enough. If only they would listen, if only they understood. The people plead...

Stop trying to take over health care!

You don't understand, I am doing this for you. I can't quit.

Stop spending!

He says, "I can stop anytime I want to."

We say, "no you can't."

He says, "I am not an ideologue."

It is then that we know that nothing short of an intervention will do. That intervention is scheduled for Tuesday, November 2, 2010.

It may be his last chance, but it is definitely ours.

Hide and Seek

The two of them ran out of school together, their hair wild and their coats unbuttoned - a public argument against fathers staying home with children. They raced as they often do. Well, race might be inaccurate as the seven year old was intent on winning while the eight year old was content to chase. The seven year old won. She always does.

“How was school?” I asked the seven year old as she leapt into the van.

“Fine,” she shrugged and collapsed into her seat.

“You learn anything?”

She shook her head. She always does.

"Who did you play with?" I asked.

In answer, she simply pointed to her eight year old sister who climbed into the van already telling us everything that happened that day in what must be the most eventful second grade classroom in America.

Because of her continuous storytelling, the names of her classmates are legendary in the Archbold house while my seven year old still refers to a child in her class as "that kid with brown hair and the black eye." (The child fortunately has not had a black eye since the first week of school but I guess she feels for classification purposes it's a helpful identifier.)

My seven year old and my eight year old are what they call “Irish twins.” They’re eleven months and a universe apart. They couldn’t be more different right from the eight year old’s curly hair to the seven year old’s perennially moving feet. They’re a nature/nurture study waiting for funding. Yet, oddity of oddities, they couldn't be closer.

I announced we were heading to the mall Friday to pick up a gift for a birthday party the two of them were invited to this weekend. You see, just one of them is never invited. It's always the two of them.

My children love going to the mall mainly because they’re Merry-Go-Round kids. Most of them anyway. My kids have their favorite horses and we never leave without riding Raindrop, Sassafras, and Lucky, and Bullet. We sometimes have to wait to ride even though there's plenty of other horses available just because somebody else’s child was on one of their horses.

My eight year old seems to love it especially. She waves to Raindrop as he/she/it (?) disappears from view and then she delights at its reappearance, like a reliable game of hide and seek. I think my seven year old lost interest when she figured out that the dumb old horse just brings her back to where she's already been. She still rides but that's mainly because she's never done anything apart from the eight year old. She doesn't know the name of the horse she rides. She just knows it’s the one next to her sister's Raindrop.

My seven-year old was born head first. And her feet have been doing all the work since. She runs up escalators because "it's twice as fast." And she waits at the top for her older sister who just doesn’t see any sense in climbing steps when the escalator's so accommodating; as if walking up an escalator would be ungracious.

As we sat in the food court eating a pretzel, the seven year old moved from seat to seat with all the permanence of a carnival while the eight year old chatted like an old man in a barber chair.

When they selected gifts for the girl whose party they were attending the eight year old picked some princessy pink thingie while the seven year old picked an action figure. ( I assumed the child will like at least one of them.)

When tossing coins into the wishing fountain at the mall, my eight year old closed her eyes as if squeezing her eyelids shut made her wish more likely to come true. She tossed her coin into the air and announced her wish to everyone in the mall. My seven year old no sooner got the coin when she heaved it as hard and far as she could. When I asked her if she even remembered to make a wish she smiles and says "I know what I want." She always does.

But she doesn’t tell me.

I ask her more questions than all my other children combined. I tell my wife sometimes that I don't really get my seven year old. But to be fair she never stood in one spot long enough to get. My wife laughs because she says that she reminds her of me when she first met me.

When we got back home from the mall we all walked towards the house hand in hand. But the seven year old suddenly released my hand and raced ahead as if she alone were suddenly caught in an invisible rainstorm. I let her go and watched after her.

The eight year old looked up at me and shrugged. Then she chased her. She always does.

After dinner, we turned off all the lights in the house and I got the flashlights from the drawer and we played hide and seek. Me and the two year old were "it." We always are. I found the eight year old easily. But she plays to be found. The seven year old on the other hand plays to hide. It can take quite a while to find her. But I seek her out. I always do.

The Tebow Ad

Steven Ertelt at LifeNews has the Tebow ad from Focus on the Family. It's funny when you watch it, you can't believe how crazy the pro-aborts got over it.

El Gato de la Muerte Still Loose

Remember that cat that lives in the old age home and predicts people's deaths. Well that darn cat is still up to his old tricks.

Catholic Jedi reports:

Oscar, the resident cat at the Steere House nursing home in Providence, seems to be able to predict when residents are about to die. According to Dr. David Dosa, a geriatrician and assistant professor at Brown University medical school, Oscar has been accurate with his terminal diagnoses for the past five years. In fact, Oscar sometimes knows better than the staff. When a patient is close to death, Oscar will jump on his or her bed and keep vigil.
As I've said before, has anyone ever thought that...I don't know...MAYBE THE CAT IS KILLING THESE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hmmm. Old guy doing fine. Enter cat. Old guy dies.

And everyone thinks "oh that cat must be psychic?" NOooooooo! The cat's a killer. Everyone knows cats are evil. Everyone. Please join me in getting the word out to stop El Gato de la Muerte. Let's put him behind bars where he belongs. Do it now...or he might just show up on your doorstep.

Weatherman Predicts...End of the World?



You'd think this guy never heard of snow before. Chicken Little called this guy and said "Chill dude."

HT Daily Caller

This Is A Metaphor For...

Choose your own metaphor.

I say this is a metaphor for the Democrats insistence that passing healthcare is essential to their electoral survival. What do you say?



ht ViralFootage

Dean Koontz is the Man

Dean Koontz is the man. I read everything he writes. He is THE most life affirming popular author out there. Koontz wrote a great foreword for the new book coming out by one of my favorite bloggers Wesley J. Smith of Secondhand Smoke at First Things. Koontz starts:

When we self-blind ourselves to the Truth of the world’s magnificent complexity and mystery–of which we are a fundamental part –we do not only cut a thin wedge from the roundness of existence and convince ourselves that this one theory or ideology is the whole Truth. In our narcissism, we also insist that those who refuse to wear our blinders are villainous and depraved and corrupt. In this regard, an ideologue is no different from a member of a religious cult who has carved a sliver off the body of Christian theology and has made it his end-all and be-all. But the entire truth of a vast forest is not embodied in a single leaf...
It continues from there. I encourage you to read the rest here.

The High Point

One of the greatest moments of my parenting career occurred today. One of those moments that reminds me what miracles my children are.

I'll start from the beginning. My children have taken turns throwing up the past few days so there's been very little sleep for anyone. So I was already in fully grumpy Dad mode. I'm not defending myself. Just throwing it out there.

But now everyone's feeling better but I woke up a few minutes later than I normally do and called upstairs to the girls and the boy to come down. Then I began making breakfast and preparing lunch. Every morning at the same time I think to myself that if I were a better parent I'd prepare lunches the night before. But I never do.

After a few minutes I realize nobody's come down so I dart up the stairs and call them with urgency from their doorways. "Let's go guys. Move it."

So now everyone's late. My seven year old stumbles down and it turns out she slept in her school uniform and it looks it. She explains, "I wanted to be the first to be ready this morning so I slept in my school uniform." Oh no. I looked around but her other jumper was dirtier and more wrinkled than the one she's got on.

They all wobble into the bathroom where I hear the complaining that's probably inevitable with four tired children crowded around one sink. Somebody pushed me!!!!!! She didn't even say thank you!!!!!!!! He spit right near my hand!!!!!

I go in and break up the ruckus and rush them off to the breakfast table where I throw pancakes in front of them. The four year old proceeds to fill up his plate with syrup. I'm not kidding you when I say he filled it up. The ten year old screamed as if a tidal wave of syrup were threatening to wash the entire house away.

The eight year old spilled her milk. The baby repeated everything anyone said at the table and only stopped to breath and say "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy."

I've had it. I shoo everyone from the table to get dressed. The ten year old is still in full morning zombie mode so I have to keep reminding her to keep buttoning her shirt. The eight year old cries when I brush her hair. And the four year old can't find his shoes but continues looking around at the walls as if maybe his shoes might come floating into the room if he just looked confused enough.

I'm now convinced I have the worst kids in the world. I run outside to warm up the car and the four year old follows me in his socks and then falls on an ice patch in the driveway. Now he's crying. I start the van, pick up the boy, and come back in the house and the two year old it seems has decided to take a dip in the Olympic sized syrup pool created earlier by the four year old. She's got it all over her. I'm trying to imagine how it happened but the best scenario I can come up with is she reached onto the table, pushed the lip of the plate down, creating a catapult of syrup onto herself and the kitchen floor.

I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I get everyone ready and put them in the van. I announce that they'll be no talking on this trip to school. None. Everyone just sit and think how bad they were this morning and how they can improve themselves by the time I pick them up from school. And I tell the ten year old that as she's the oldest I'm especially disappointed in her. Why? I don't even know why. I know as the words are coming out of my mouth that they're the stupidest words uttered publicly since Tom Cruise's last interview.

As I'm driving the winter sun is shining right in my face slowing traffic so I'm squinting and holding my hand in front of my face and traveling haltingly. I see in the rearview mirror the baby is moving her face around and scrunching her face from the sun as well. I decide to take a side road to make up for lost time and what happens? I get caught at the longest traffic light in the world.

While sitting there exasperated I turned around to look at the children in the rear view mirror and I see it. There's the ten year old extending her hand out in front of the baby's face and blocking the sun for her. She wasn't bringing attention to herself for it. She was just doing it to protect her little baby sister from the sun. Because that's what she does. It's who she is.

And that was it. I don't know how to explain it other than to say it was one of the high points of my parenting career. To know that I'm raising a little girl who holds her hand out over the baby's face is just the most wonderful feeling. I was so proud of her. And I told her so.

Suddenly all of the children wanted to block the sun from the baby's face so now the baby's got hands all over her face, including the four year old who can only reach the top of the baby's messy syrupy hair from the back seat. The baby starts grabbing at all these hands and everyone starts laughing - even the grump in the driver's seat.

When I picked the kids up from school the baby was asking for everyone's hands again even though the sun was behind us. And they all reached out for her.

Narcissus and Dum-Dum

Irony is absolutely lost on some people.

Would you find it ironic if I used a large platform to demean and demonize those whom I find distasteful for my own ideological reasons. What if I were, through a series of ridiculous anecdotes and mindless non sequiturs, to project everything evil on to those I really know nothing about. And then, then I were to claim that my doing so was a call to arms against narcissism and a defense of the gospel.

That would, along with being ridiculously stupid, be very ironic, no? Somehow I think that the irony is lost on Anthony Stevens-Arroyo of the On Faith blog.

Stevens-Arroyo accuses younger priests of a more traditional bent of clerical narcissism. His attempt to prove his case reveals a mind so narrow that the chasm between his ears requires a donkey for tours.

I was prompted to sound this alarm when reading about the Confraternity of Catholic Clergy. The group describes itself as "an association of 600 Roman Catholic Priests and Deacons pledged to the pursuit of personal holiness, loyalty to the Roman Pontiff, commitment to theological study and strict adherence to the authentic teachings of the Magisterium."

Absent from their list of priorities is the Gospel, pastoral concern for lay Catholics, or commitment to social justice teachings. I have no reason to doubt that these priests would outshine me in personal holiness and outdo me in virtue. Perhaps they would say that Gospel values are already included when pledging loyalty to the Roman Pontiff or that they do not view the pursuit of personal holiness as opposed to ministry. But the Confraternity must assume responsibility not only for what it says, but also for how it is understood.
The pursuit of personal holiness is anti-gospel? Say what? What come next boggles. Boggles. As evidence Stevens-Arroyo relays a third hand anecdote about a young priest who didn't want to do bingo night. Then he tells tale of seeing a young priest in public and the fact that he didn't like the cut his jib in a coffee shop because he was so showy-- he wore a cassock. A CASSOCK! But just in case you didn't know that cassock wearing priests are evil narcissists, he tells us that the young priests order was later expelled from the diocese.

Stevens-Arroyo conveniently leaves out the fact that the order was suppressed by former Bishop of Scranton, Joseph Martino. A bishop who Stevens-Arroyo would likely accuse of many of the same sins as that young priest. Scratch that likely part. This is some of the descriptors used in the past by Stevens-Arroyo for said bishop. "The obnoxious, spiritually deformed, obnoxious, micro-managing, Republican sounding, out-of-step, theologically faulty, hated, Palin-esque, Roberto Duran-ish, obsolete, inefficient, polluting, control freak Bishop Joseph Martino. "

I don't know about you, but some might consider attacking those whom you don't like by means of third-hand anecdotes, innuendo, name calling, and guilt by association might be considered narcissistic by some. Others might disagree. I think what we can all agree on, it certainly isn't Christian. So much for the Gospel.

Perhaps if Stevens-Arroyo pursued a little personal holiness, like the priests that he casually derides, he would be better off. I know we would be.