We have been having a lot of fun lately. I know you all have been wowed by my new found love of baking everday things. LL, I tried a new tortilla recipe which was better than the 1st, much softer and definitey a keeper. Can't wait til you can taste them fresh off my griddle.

My latest delve into all things homemade was with pizza dough. I was a little scared after I made the dough and realized that I hadn't thought about the fact that I don't own a pizza pan. I never claimed to be brilliant, just poor desirous to learn how to do things the old-fashioned way. Then I heard from James that Mariah's mom used to make homemade pizza dough that never quite turned out. I waited and wondered if my yeast was going to let me down. I resisted the urge to go give it another squeeze to see if it was doing its yeasty thing. But, alas it rose and we marveled at its leavened goodness. 

Pizza Mama style

But the best part was the company in the kitchen:

She swore she didn't have anything on her face

One of the really cool things about Idaho is that there are A LOT of really fun things to do that fall under my two favorite catagories: a) cheap or free, and b) close, like within 30 minutes from our house. When Carly was here we went with the Buck's to Eagle Island state park, which is like 5 minutes from the Buck's house. Lucky Buck's.

And then last week, when my hands were elbow deep in tortilla dough, my new friend Laura Greif called and asked if we wanted to goto Sandy Point Beach in Boise with them that afternoon. They are pretty spontaneous, and as much as I would have liked to drop everything and hit the beach, my life just isn't like that anymore. So, we settled on the next day, as spontaneous as I could get.    

Whille we were there, she mentioned that she wanted to come over and give my kids art lessons and asked if I was interested. What she doesn't know is that these are the kind of things we homeschoolers usually have to pay for or find some helpless victim to reel in who feels sorry for us and agrees to share the talents. Well, it isn't that bad, but of course I was interested. So, when I got a call at 9:00pm last night from my new spontaneous friend who asked if she could come over this morning and start those lessons, even though I haven't been feeling well and did a brief mental scan of the state of my house, I said heck yeah come on over.

the new Van Gough's (ears in tact, of course)

And then, she even did a Kindermusik time with the babies, who absolutely loved it. It was a rare treat for them to have something specifically directed towards their age group. Jonah especially enjoyed it. He kept saying after every song, "Oh, that was a good one. Can we sing another one?" It was really cool for them. Thank God for spontaneous friend's who love to serve moms with no artistic or musical talent. (Not me of course, but you other loser mom's who can't draw or carry a tune. How can you call yourselves homeschooler's?.)

music and scarves, what's not to like?

See that smile on her face? That is how I always look when I am doing Kindermusik with my babies.

And last but not least, one of my six favorite things is a sweet baby with big brown eyes named Jess:

Jessica 6.5 months

stretch baby, stretch

teething, but still chill

please, stop taking pictures of me Mom!!

Okay, I'm done. I took like 30 more. I just can't help it. She is so darn cute. Am I right, people? Yeah, I know.

"When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel sooooooo bad." See, I told you I was musically inclined. I carried that "so".

~Tash 

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The verse from Genesis continues "...and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”  I also note that when the "creeping things" and other land animals were created, the commands to "be fruitful and multiply" and "subdue the earth" are missing.

Why do I bring this up? 

Well, I think the Squash Bug population here in Idaho misinterpreted the verse, and thought that the covenant God made with Abraham (specifically that God promised ol' Abe that his children will be as the sand on the seashore or the stars in the sky: numberless...and no, Abe's last name wasn't even 'Hussey') and this command to be fruitful and multiply actually applied to them.

Silly bugs!  The Bible's for man!

Of course, you can't fault the lovely critters too much.  They were only trying to obey a verse they misinterpreted and misapplied.  Let that be a lesson, though, in your Bible studies: consider the context.  Ask questions like "were Adam and Eve the first Squash bug parents?"  This should ensure you remain on the right footing.

I bring this up because I have just effectively buried our lone pumpkin plant.  Sorry, kids, we'll just have to go to the pumpkin patch again this year...Oh, well.  Could be worse.  Instead of a hay ride, we could've enjoyed a bug ride.

In any event, for the past two days I have been organically (read: by hand) killing the voracious little pests.  We misidentified them as stink bugs early in the season.  They, however, misidentified my garden as the Ritz hotel.  They also misidentified my pumpkin plant as their own version of Maui or Eden.  The plant was wilting for weeks now, and I thought it was merely due to the neighboring zuchinni elbowing for more room on the tanning bed.  To my horror, I found a frat party of bugs wearing togas and partying on like it was 1999!  They even refused to use private facilities for their mating rituals...

So I was left with no choice.  It was genocide, I am sorry to say.  Utter genocide!

Blow torch in hand, literally, I torched them...male, female...even the little ones.  They were so cute.  Especially the ornamental eggs, hiding underneath every leaf, near the base of each stalk...So decorative, so festive. 

Alas!  I had to bring the hellfire and brimstone and napalm.  At once I felt as if I should either give them a lesson in hermeneutics (study of how to properly interpret the Scripture), or as if I should simply do the easy thing: use bug spray.

Then I realized this: I am called to this task!  I am man, and this is my earth, my land, and my MAPP gas torch (which was collecting dust, so why not bring the brimstone?).  No, like Jonathan Edwards before me, I thought instead of the holiness of our Lord, and how we, like little Squash bugs, deserve nothing but the fire of judgment.  I also thought how pernicious the curse is, and how our life in Christ is just like gardening: constantly fighting against the weeds, the bugs; constantly pruning, training; constantly fighting the deliberate and good fight.  Otherwise: sin can so easily overcome and cut down our faith.  Just one unturned leaf, just one, and there's another infestation to fight.

[The really odd thing is: that last part is true.  This stuff really was going through my head.  If you see me with a torch...well...look out!  I'm going all "Great Awakening" on you!]

On another note: I realized that the best things in life are the most inefficient, most time-consuming tasks.  Honestly, who wants to spend hours pulling weeds or pruning plants?  Who wants to go through the trouble of taking your pumpkin or squash and combing over each leaf and vine?  Who wants to squat in front of these plants and hand-pick the bugs (or torch them....)?  It's time-consuming.  It takes so much less effort to simply spray Sevin or some other pesticide on the plants.

Having said all that, I realized also the rewards.  I realize the patience-building, and the fruit we'll reap.  Same with our children: who wants to homeschool?  Who wants daily time in training 6 kids?  Why not simply leave these tasks to the "experts"?  How much more "free time" would we have?  It's so tempting, but such a lie at the same time.  Much of the Christian walk is so inefficient, so time-consuming. 

When it boils down to it, isn't that what we're made for?  Isn't time itself something we need to dedicate to the Lord who gave it to us?  Aren't the more difficult, inconvenient tasks also the most rewarding?  That's why we're here, though.  If we really believe that we came from the hand of God, and will wind up with Him in the end, then is dedicating more time and effort to His cause and to obedience (however "inconvenient") exactly what we exist for?

I have to finally add this: these thoughts are directed at me, and are simply some things I was thinking while committing Squash bug genocide with a blow torch.  If I preach, it's to myself first and foremost, lest I forget why I'm here and what I'm doing.

Here's some public-domain pics of the critters.  I decided against including the actual varmints from our garden in this post.  They didn't deserve it...sorry, guys!

---JMH

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Have you ever had those times when God seems to be pressing upon your heart a particular theme in His Word?

Psalm 103:15  As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and its gone, and its place knows it no more.

See, it seems like not so long ago when I was dealing with this:

Hot Mama... That is what you were thinking, right?

and wondering when this was going to happen:

First Look

Because I really wanted to hold my baby and know what she was like, and then it happened:

JLH Bday!!

But now, six months of her little life have passed in the blink of an eye, and she looks like this:

Chillin' at the park

And one day I will turn around and she will be 14 and as beautiful as her sister next to her:

Jess 1/2

Right now, we Hussey's are flourishing, but one day the wind will come and blow across our field and we will be gone. Maybe that is why we should all celebrate half-birthdays. 

Psalm 90:12 So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.

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Taking a pair of pliers, he twists the wire together as he'd done over a decade before, fingers remembering the old dance around the rebar, under the supervision of the California sun.  This time, it isn't rebar or concrete forms he's dealing with, nor is he under a full layer of fire-retardant "Nomex" coveralls in the oldest oil refinery on the West Coast.  He's in his own backyard, tying not steel but bamboo together.  His aim: make the most cost-effective tomato trellis for his few dollars.  The sands of time have slowed down, stretching the minutes into hours.  He knew the project was taking longer than it should, but the garden had become his latest obsession.
 
Soon, he had tied together the first few supporting members.  It was taking shape!  The tic-tac-toe grid would help keep the tomatoes away from the cabbages, carrots and mesculine (salad greens mix).  He hears the piercing cry moments later:
 
"Daddy!"
 
A flash of copper glints in his periphery.  It was Jamesyn, the fighting-Irish redhead, breaking his reverie.  His heart beats a rapid tattoo in his chest.  His thoughts of years spent in the trenches at Avon refinery tying steel vanish in a moment, he can't help but grin: Jamesyn is a jealous child, and will not be ignored.  It's alright, though.  He doesn't want to ignore the chance at garden-time with one of his kids.
 
"Hey, beautiful!" he beams a smile at her.  She meets his stare with her steel blue eyes, purse in hand and her oversized Dora backpack, bursting with books and activities, clutches onto her back for dear life.  A Spiderman stuffed doll is clutched to her chest.

Daddy's Girl

 
"I got my baby, Daddy.  This is my baby.  I got my pink pursie, Daddy," she shows off her accoutrements and takes off in a beeline for Daddy's arms.
 
Dropping his pliers and the tie wire, the gardener lifts up his daughter, squeezing her for all she's worth. 
 
"Oh, this is your baby?  Well, you're my baby, Jamie.  I love you."  Her response is inaudible as she's smothered in his kisses.  She gives up trying to talk and surrenders to the onslaught, kissing him back and looking at the first trellis.
 
"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"Building a trellis for the tomatoes."
 
"A t-r-e-ll-i-s?" she responds, cocking her head to one side as she turns over the word in her mind like a jewler fascinated with a new gemstone.  He knew what was coming next: "What's a 'trellis'?"
 
He explains, best he can, but she keeps asking, "What are you doing out here?" followed by "What's a trellis?"
 
He knows it's a game, more than a search for information, but plays along, answering same two questions for the next ten minutes.  All the while, she's picking up the various tools in the yard, digging holes in the ground and picking up bits of wire.  She spots her carrying case of sidewalk chalk and bends to pick it up, dropping Spiderman in the Idaho dust.
 
"Oh, no!  My baby, Daddy!" 
 
"What happened?  Is he dirty?"  he says, dusting him off.  "Jamie, you're carrying too much stuff—your books are falling out, your baby fell, and you want to carry the chalk, too?"
 
He's forgotten, for a moment, what it was like to be two.  Of course she wants to carry all her worldly possessions and follow her daddy around!  He gives up the inquisition and returns Spiderman to his daughter. 
 
Satisfied, and carrying the chalk as well, she somehow manages to stick her "sucky" in her mouth while precariously balancing her cargo in each arm.  Soon, books begin to fall out of the open backpack again, and she trips.  Not one to cry, she dusts herself off and decides she's done.  The sun's rays beating on her coppertop were too much.  Daddy-time was over for now.
 
"Love you, Jamie," he calls after her, as the door closes.  He shakes his head, smiling and savoring his simple joys.

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There was tumult in the city,

In the quaint old Quaker town,

And the streets were rife with people,

Pacing restless up and down;—

People gathering at corners,

Where they whispered each to each,

And the sweat stood on their temples,

With the earnestness of speech.

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?"

"Who is speaking?" "What’s the news?"

"What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?"

"Oh, God grant they won’t refuse!"

"Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!"

"I am stifling!" "Stifle then!

When a nation’s life’s at hazard,

We’ve no time to think of men!"

So they beat against the portal,

Man and woman, maid and child;

And the July sun in heaven

On the scene looked down and smiled,

The same sun that saw the Spartan

Shed his patriot blood in vain,

Now beheld the soul of freedom

All unconquer’d rise again.

See! See! The dense crowd quivers

Through all its lengthy line,

As the boy beside the portal

Looks forth to give the sign!

With his small hands upward lifted,

Breezes dallying with his hair,

Hark! With deep, clear intonation,

Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people’s swelling murmur,

List, the boy’s exultant cry!

"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring, Grandpa,

Ring, O, ring for Liberty!"

And straightway at the signal,

The old bellman lifts his hand,

And sends the good news, making

Iron music through the land.

How they shouted! What rejoicing!

How the old bell shook the air,

Till the clang of freedom ruffled

The calm, gliding Delaware!

How the bonfires and the torches

Illumed the night’s repose,

And from the flames like fabled Phoenix,

Our glorious Liberty arose!

That old bell now is silent,

And hushed its iron tongue,

But the spirit it awakened,

Still lives—forever young.

And when we greet the smiling sunlight,

On the fourth of each July,

We’ll ne’er forget the bellman,

Who, betwixt the earth and sky,

Rang out OUR INDEPENDENCE,

Which, please God, shall never die!

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What does a homeschooling, Christian dad do with a flat tire? 

In my case, I had the opportunity to explain how, on the Gospel road Home, (you know: the one full of potholes, deadends, and perils of various sorts) is designed to teach us perseverance and patience, thanksgiving and joy, even hope and contentment--all the while when we have various obstacles such as flat tires to overcome.

I then explained how the flat tire represents our Old Man, or sinful self, which needs not only to go flat, but to go away.  What God does for us in His grace is change us, make us new (II Cor. 5:17), and we're like the new tire from the store. 

Did you believe me?  Hmmm....I'm still a flat tire, sorry.  A little less than holy (well, I guess a flat tire has a hole, but you catch my drift).  The only thing that is true of this story is that I had a flat, changed it and had Jules, Jake and Bones involved.  They did get a lesson on changing a tire, and believe it or not, I was able to keep my composure.  (Tasha was on the phone with her mom, Jess was nursing, and Jamie was in the cockpit making sure every signal light, hazard light, wiper, etc. would come on when Daddy ignited the engine...Oh, and the radio was pretty darn loud, too...)

A cool non-Californian, non-North Carolinian event occured (sorry, but such was my experience): immediately after the tire blew out, a pair of gentlemen pulled over and offered assistance!  Not sure if they were Mormon, but they were extremely helpful.  I knew I wanted to play hero with the kids and give a lesson on tire replacement basics, so I denied these fine citizens the opportunity.  What can I say?  The little lady needs to know I'm a man, and not afraid to get my hands, knees...and kids dirty!  It was nonetheless a great experience, all told.

Here's some pics.

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I love to cook. Not simply for the sake of cooking. For me, it always centers around the people I am cooking for. I am by no means gourmet in style or skill. Jordyn has coined a term for my cooking, "Tashanized." I usually will take the structure of a recipe or two and well, "Tashanize" them, I guess. Or, I will have an idea brewing in my head and I will put it all together and make my family the guniea pigs. Rarely, do I get a negative response from them. Thankfully, I don't have picky kids. From a young age my kids eat things like green olives, feta cheese, roasted red bell peppers, you get the drift. James, over the years, has come to me with many different things that he would love to try. It ususally starts like this, " You know what I would like you to make for me...." It isn't like I make it the next day or anything, but it will eventually make its way into my repertoire. I love that he and they know that they can come to me with these simple requests and that I will soon warm their bellies and hearts with something I have created with my own hands. For the Hussey's, food is not simply functional. It is a way to draw near to each other and God. It anchors memories.

I have a daughter that understands all of these things, and in her own right, has learned to bless those around her with her culinary talents. Julienne Nicole is a kindred for sure. Last night we were fed to the breaking point with a homemade, from scratch, devil's food cake with homemade chocolate fudge frosting. It was so good, that even though Jake's stomach started hurting he couldn't bear to miss a bite of its chocolaty goodness. It was so good that even after James had devoured his already huge piece, he went back for a little more with an extra scoop of frosting that was still left in the mixing bowl. As we sat down around the table to enjoy Julienne's labor of love, I thought about how God has given me a daughter who will "Juliennize" recipes and make her own children and husband come to her with their special requests. I thought of how people around her will love to gather at her table because they will know that it is more than just a meal to nourish their bodies but one meant to nourish their souls too.

It is good to be understood, especially over a piece of devil's food chocolate cake with chocolate fudge frosting created by the hands of a kindred.

You are a rare treasure, Julienne.

 

 

Julienne Nicole

 

 

 

 

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I am quite enamoured with this daughter of mine. I think I may be a tad bit in awe of her being my sixth child. But, all things considered, can you blame me? Look at this girl.

Angel baby

peacefully sleeping through my picture taking frenzy

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The title displays nothing less than pure, undistilled ignorance on my part.  I must admit, I have had a terrible appreciation for fine literature.  This, mind you, is no great quality in a wanna-be author of great stories.  As a bit of background, I cut my teeth on stories with my mother reading to us bedside.  It was a great formative exercise, and I'd beg mom to read to us "just one more time?"

A little further along my life I was introduced to the James Bond movies, and Star Wars, and Superman.  To make a long story short, I fell in love with fantasy stories, anything fiction.  I'd ride my bike across a huge field called the "Parade Field," which is the size of three football fields, end-to-end, to get to the library (about 1.5-2 miles away).  All this would occur during the humid tropical heat of Clark Air Base, in the Philippine Islands.  If I wasn't swimming to cool off, I'd be riding to the library and peruse the shelves of these little vaults of imagination called "books" for shorthand.

Being a bit short-sighted, I looked for books that had "Indiana Jones" or "James Bond" in the title, and most of these were "choose-your-own-adventure."

All that to report: I'm just now discovering what great stories I've missed.  Tasha's BFF, Laura C., was recently out our way and if you're around her much, you'll see her teaching her kids from some great classic work or other that I know nothing about.  Instantly, I made the decision to follow-up and fill in these gaps in my education, and started looking at what books we have around the house.

I have a book called "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More" from Roald Dahl.  I didn't even know who this fellow was before I began to read about "The Boy Who Talked With Animals," and have just finished a most amazing tale: "Lucky Break."  I had no idea who Roald Dahl was by name, and was reading the book to my two toddlers.  I was hooked, they were asleep!  (Alright, maybe 4 and 2 is a bit young, but is 32 a bit old?) 

It's that last tale, "Lucky Break," in which the reader catches a glimpse of the terrific life Mr. Dahl lived.  For instance, the author/creator of "The Horatio Hornblower" series, C.S. Forester, had everything to do with Mr. Dahl even discovering he was a writer!  What an odd thing to read: a well-known writer such as Dahl had to be told he was a writer in the first place!  Fantastic.  It's such an intriguing story that I am forcing my wife to read it at once.  For anyone even remotely interested in writing, this story is so much wind in your sails.  Other interesting tidbits about Mr. Dahl: he was befriended by President Franklin Roosevelt and his wife, worked with Walt Disney himself on a certain project, and he can see without even using his eyes!

Wait...maybe not that last part (that's actually the story of Henry Sugar).  However, as a writer of fiction (and creator of "James and the Giant Peach" and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"), Roald Dahl could certainly help his readers to see without using their eyes.

If you haven't had the opportunity yet, I'd recommend some leisure-reading with Mr. Dahl sometime soon.  If you call yourself a writer, and know that's what you are or are wondering if you might be, or, as in Roald Dahl's case--you don't even know you're a writer!--I'd recommend reading "Lucky Break," which can be found in the collection "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More."  If you simply want some beach or porch-reading this summer, his stories are far and away better than any "Choose-Your-Own-Adventure."  (But for an 8-year-old being raised by wolves and aboriginees, those will do.)

--JMH

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

Roald Dahl

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Roald Dahl

James and the Giant Peach

Roald Dahl

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It’s great news, if you have been living a la Osama Bin Laden (a.k.a. ‘neath a rock) and haven’t heard, that the Supreme Court of our great country (it still is that IMHO) has determined that the 2nd Amendment’s right to bear arms actually applies to individual’s rights and not just to the state militia’s.  Wow! How much college did that take to determine?  I mean, hey, I’m no genius, but I think I had that one figured out in the 5^th grade or so when we covered American History.  I think even most of the animals in the Boise Zoo knew that much was true…It’s pretty funny, actually, to listen to the radio pundits talking about how “we have now given individuals the right to bear arms!” as if this was a novel idea and not over 250 years old (strictly in view of our Bill of Rights).  It is, nonetheless, a great ruling.  Now I have to save up and get me some six shooters, on the real.

In not-so-great-news, however, this court, just days before, had determined that our “evolving ethics” and Constitution would be properly interpreted as protecting the life of child rapists.  So, let me get this straight: our Constitution does NOT give the right to life to unborn children, but it DOES protect the right to life for child rapists?  (They ruled that the death penalty could not be applied to convicted child rapists.)

Hmmm….Now, I’m not suggesting anything here, but hey, you remember that 2nd Amendment?   You know: right to guns and all?  “Take aim,” is all I’m saying.  On top of that, I say this to those convicted of said crime: unless you want a private lesson on our 2nd Amendment, keep away from the Hussey kids.

All of which reminds me of the joy and value of children.

In the slim chance you haven’t heard of Peter Singer, allow me to briefly introduce you to the esteemed Jewish professor of bioethics at Princeton University.  He and those like him, would zealously disagree with any such correlation of “joy and value” with the beings known as “children.”  Now, I don’t pretend to understand how Professor Singer, defends his notion that children are not “real people” until about the age of 2.  This thought led him to conclude that in his view, children could be aborted (read: “murdered”) up until that age.  He argues that children aren’t real people until they have a sense of tomorrow and a future.  Talk about genius: simply re-define the word “person” and you can literally get away with murder.  But why, you may be wondering, do I bring all this up?

Simple: we don’t live in an era that views children as “blessings of the Lord.”  Our Constitution has been interpreted and re-interpreted to protect the predators of our children.  Our laws have been twisted to produce an era in which the very lives of children don’t outweigh the parents’ “rights” to convenience and personal fulfillment.  Our drifting away from God’s standards of absolute Truth have re-produced the heinous crimes of those who worshiped Molech, casting their children to the flames to appease the mythical deity.  Children a blessing?  Not so!  Why, they aren’t even people until age 2!  To speak of children being a blessing is archaic Puritan-speak!

None of these legislators or perpetrators have ever met my children.  None of these wicked judges (please don’t call them “Justices of the Peace”) have put much stock in the inerrant Word of God.  None of these so-called judges can judge very well, if they conclude that a child’s life isn’t worth defending, at any age.  (Mind you, I know they aren’t unanimous in their foolishness, there are a handful who give the future hope.)

I’m thinking along these lines because our Jordyn, at age 14, has left with her Aunt Mariah and cousin Tyler on a weeklong trip to visit our pals and family in California.  Tash and I have caught a wounding glimpse of what many Americans long for: “the empty nest.”  Honestly, I have no idea what’s so great about that.  Mind you, with 6 kids total (so far), we don’t have an empty anything as of yet.  However, we do have an empty feeling and a glimpse of what life would be like if our Jordyn was married (she tells us this may happen when she’s 19!  Oh, stabbing, stabbing wound!).   I yearn for her speedy return, and I’m not sure if this traveling without her Daddy thing will ever happen again (though she does have friends and family across the country), with her or any of our kids.

The fact is, I cherish very deeply my kids.  Ask the Cole Junior clan, they’ll tell you that I cherish their kids as well.  Thank God that this notion of children as a blessing is bestowed with the gift of faith in Christ, or else I’m afraid I’d join society in sending my children the message: “I can’t wait until you’re 18 and out of the house.  Hurry along!”  I can’t claim any wisdom other than what the Spirit of God has spared me on this account.  Nonetheless, I am saddened at the message our children in general have received from the government on down. 

All that to say: empty nests are overrated.  Barrenness, though we purchase it with medical insurance and swallow it in pill form and have doctors cut and snip away our ability to breed, is much too prized in our world.  Children, those wee little souls that carry with them both our folly and all our wisdom, are marvelous little blessings that fulfill and change life for the best, IMHO.  If you have bought into the Chinese/atheist idea that population control is the order of the day, please move to China or some other communist country.  Please don’t spread the notion that children are the problem, or a nuisance to be avoided or a disease to be cured of.  Don’t do what a locally-shot TV show (“Baby Borrowers,” shot here in a town called Eagle, Idaho, not too far from here) has done: shown kids to be a nuisance and therefore to be a burden that’s to be avoided—all in the name of a public message to teenagers to practice “safe fornication.”  Hey, let’s call a spade a spade. 

Do tell your kids you love ‘em, at every turn.  I don’t do this enough IMO, but so I’m no hypocrite: I love, enjoy and miss my kids when they’re gone.

By the way, to all the boys who will ever see my daughter Jordyn or any of her sisters: she (they) is (are) beautiful.  If you value your ability to walk, breathe and live an otherwise healthy life: keep your hands off.  In fact, unless you must rescue one of my daughters from a burning building or some imminent physical harm, keep your distance!  Remember: I fully enjoy that 2^nd Amendment.

To my beloved daughter, I miss and love you, Pipsqueak.

--JMH

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