
Assuming a minimum age of 18, the oldest would now be near 60.
Seriously...who would pay money to see that?
Travel Man and I took some online quiz called "How Many Kids Will You Have?" tonight. My answer came back 6, which is about what we said we probably would have wound up with had I not been such a terrible pregnant woman. But Travel Man's answer was 8. When he told me that, I asked, "Where will you get the other two?"ANN ARBOR, Mich. (AP) - The top bowler for the Special Olympics looks forward to meeting President Barack Obama in an alley."He bowled a 129. I bowl a 300. I could beat that score easily," Michigan's Kolan McConiughey (KO-lahn Mc-KAHNA-he) told The Associated Press in an interview Friday.
The athletic-minded president made an offhand remark Thursday on "The Tonight Show" comparing his weak bowling to "the Special Olympics or something." He quickly apologized and told the Special Olympics chairman he wants to have some of its athletes visit the White House to bowl or play basketball.McConiughey, who is mentally disabled, is just the bowler for the job. He's bowled five perfect games since 2005.
The 35-year-old McConiughey has been bowling since he was 8 or 9. His advice for Obama? Practice every day.
Towards the end of his approximately 40-minute appearance, the president talked about how he's gotten better at bowling and has been practicing in the White House bowling alley.
He bowled a 129, the president said.
"That's very good, Mr. President," Leno said sarcastically.
It's "like the Special Olympics or something," the president said.

This is nice for us girls, who get to give him drive-by smooches as he works from the kitchen table. Plus, he gets to avoid work on his birthday (next Friday). He doesn't want some big fuss, over the hill nonsense, black balloons, etc. So instead, he'll stay home and then go work the Fish Fry at the parish, where I'll bake that chocolate cake that floats on a layer of melted chocolate. Oh, yeah, baby! I'll be posting that recipe ASAP. (Sorry, Stacey, for not getting to it sooner!)
CEOs, or Greedy Comsumers. Hallelujah! The third answer is probably the most correct, though I doubt ordinary people see themselves as the problem. I was a part of it, even though we didn't default on anything. But we were absolutely greedy - purchasing things on credit that we couldn't afford, not wanting to wait for something, buying into the consumeristic lifestyle that our country has become mired in. What is really sad is when I hear commentators say that our economy is driven by debt and loans. And then we get angry that Congress doesn't balance the budget! You know that old addage that says if you don't vote, you haven't got a right to complain? Well, I propose that if you don't balance YOUR budget, you can't complain about Congress not doing it. If everyone stopped borrowing money to buy crap they don't need and paid off their debts, then started paying cash for everyday purchases, we'd be a whole lot better off. But enough of that soapbox...Then came the midwife with the ultrasound machine. (Hooray!) The children all piled around me to get their first peek at our littlest one.
It was clearly sleeping. Nestled in peacefully and curled up in the fetal position. Then the machine beeped and #5 screamed.
#6 threw its arms wide in the classic infant startle. Then, the little hands flew instinctively up to cover the ears from a big brother's offensive racket.
The little face turned towards the direction of the crying brother, and it's mouth opened slightly. Then, its chin began to quiver. Clearly, obviously crying.
The disconnect between sex and the procreative nature thereof is seen a recent study, in which we learn that nearly 3/4 of all Black children are born into single-parent families. And that no group is below 15%. And that every group's illegitimate birthrates are up.
We're into the third Shakespeare play now - "Romeo and Juliet" - and the girls insist that I need to be Juliet to Travel Man's Romeo. Who am I to argue? Every girl wants to be Juliet and do that balcony scene, right?That host that I receive every Sunday, is the only physical form of food for my soul that I receive. It doesn't matter if the priest gives a good homily, or if I have to roll my eyes a bit, or more likely in my case, that I don't even get to listen to the homily because I am busy shushing the kids. It doesn't matter if the priest is a hypocrite who says one thing but does another, or if he is a saint, hiding behind a meek manner. It doesn't matter if the people around me frown at my kids or smile indulgantly. It doesn't matter where the tabernacle is placed, to the side, to the middle, or if there are kneelers or not.
What matters in the end is that little round host. That is what I am there for. That is what I need to make it through my week. That is what I need to not break down and give up or melt down or go nuts or just do it my way or no way. The rest is secondary. I can read the readings and the gospel at home.









