A Tale of Intrigue

When I was a girl, back in the days when we rode the dinosaur to school, it was not at all unusual for girls (and they were girls, not prewomen, not young women) under the age of fourteen to play with dolls. Little girls, those in the toddler through age 8 or even 9 bracket, played with baby dolls, and all that came with playing with baby dolls. Baby dolls had high chairs, and bottles, and diapers, and everything for the younger set to pretend they were mommies, and to mother as their mothers did the little girls. 

Older girls, girls not ready to date and too old to play with baby dolls, had other options. 

The first was the paper doll. Paper dolls came in a book with a theme, for anywhere from 29 cents to a whole dollar for the really good ones! Paper dolls lived life on the edge, between TV show characters, brides, airline stewardesses, teachers and nurses. Just about every book contained at least one male paper doll, be he the groom, a pilot, a doctor or the principal. 

While the theme of the paper doll book was established, and with the theme the wardrobe, a smart older girl could easily whip up a wardrobe by studying the position of the tabs that held on a particular paper doll's clothes. Into my second year of magnet high school as an art major, my paper dolls wore fringed vests, bell bottoms, flares, body shirts, headbands, hot pants and culottes. They hadn't come with those outfits. They came with a mid-1960s bridal outfit and changes of clothing for the honeymoon. It got to the point where I no longer imagined my dolls in each other's arms doing who-knows-what. I had a good idea of what did happen, having heard the tales in the locker room. I just enjoyed making the clothes, seeing how realistic I could make them by applying what I learned in class. I discovered years later that I was not the only girl in my high school to secretly harbor paper dolls, or to design wardrobes for them. Some managed to hang onto their fashions despite their mothers cleaning them out when they went to college. One left the designs on sheets of paper and put them in her portfolio. 

None of my daughters has ever enjoyed paper dolls. They didn't like the fact that they had to actually cut the dolls' clothes from the paper, even with the prepunched sets. Even the famous Tom Tierney paper dolls at Dover didn't inspire them. After six months, I swept them up and they are no more.

Belle and Baby do enjoy Barbies. So do I . So do a lot of other grown women, some in their 70s and 80s who were moms when Barbie came out.

In my day, Barbie drove a Corvette my parents never bought us. That's OK. Our Barbies drove a shoe box we converted to a truck, which doubled as a bus. Her house was made from Pampers boxes covered in wallpaper samples from the local furniture store. She sometimes worked at the Neisner's behind the soda fountain counter. But usually, she worked for our doctor in an office, as a nurse, sometimes as a pharma saleswoman. Barbie occasionally took the veil and taught at a Catholic school. We often fashioned our own clothes for Barbies, not bothering with patterns and the like. 

As I got older, Barbie faded off with my sisters. I would sometimes play with my youngest sister and cousins when I baby-sat, strictly to help her out of course. Barbie was in love with Donny Osmond, but wasn't fond of Marie. Barbie dated Greg Brady and David Cassidy. Barbie finally got her car. 

I've heard the stories, about how Barbie is bad for the self-image of girls, and those hard plastic boobs make young girls pine away that their bodies are hopelessly never going to be as perfect as Barbie, with her feet shaped exactly for high heels. Balderdash. Barbie sparks the imagination, and that is a good thing.

One of the ways we found out Belle and Baby were in peril was Baby's recitation of TV programs in preschool. The other kids told the teacher, an older woman who had been teaching for some time, about Rollie Pollie Ollie or Bear in the Big Blue House or even Arnold and the Wild Thornberries. Not Baby.

Baby's first show described a man and a "lady" on stools, watched when Lulubelle was allegedly taking a nap during the afternoon. Another man, with a giant stick and wearing glasses, told the man on the stool, "It's 99% not your baby." The man apparently hurled invectives at the "lady" who screamed and cried. Her second show described a "lady in a long dress at a big table with a hammer" who listened to a man and "a lady in a pit." After listening to the woman cry and the man scream, the lady at the table banged her hammer, and said, "Divorce granted. All the money goes to the wife."

It was bad enough to know that Baby was left alone to watch "Jerry Springer" and "Divorce Court" at the age of 3 and 4. But when we found out Lulubelle left both kids to watch nighttime TV, we really started paying attention.

After we took her to our house again, some days later, Baby lined up the Barbies we'd scavenged on a toy couch. Baby had a big furry bank form the zoo, purchased by the Mister in an indulgent mood, called Wolfie. All of the sudden from the kids' room we heard, "And now, Live from Las Vegas, it's the Tonight Show, with Wolfie the Wolf and his Wolfman Band. Tonight's guests are Barbie 1, Barbie 2, Jerry Seinfeld, and tonight's host, Wolfie the Wolf, live from Las Vegas!"

It was later in play therapy that we discovered the kids had been left to do as they pleased through the night, as Lulubelle was asleep with her face on the keyboard of her computer, after drinking the "brown stuff" as the kids called it. They apparently preferred Jay Leno over Dave Letterman, a wise choice in my opinion. Barbie has been very helpful indeed.

These days, Baby still plays with Barbies, while Wolfie has been retired to a ranch in the San Fernando Valley, which is also Baby's desk. Belle will occasionally join in, and even a couple of the kids' friends have been known to participate a time or two.

TV is strictly regulated in our house. An adult must be in the house when the TV is on, in case questions are raised. The digital programming controls who sees what and when. But the kids are older now, and the shows have changed. The Barbies, as they are called, and were always called, live new lifestyles and have new adventures spawned by TV and imaginations.

The Polly Pockets were recently sent to juvenile hall as the result of mention of juvy in a Disney show. And the Barbies are on the move: 3 are in witness protection, under new identities. Hawaiian Barbie has taken up residence as the head of the Five-0 team, replacing Steve McGarrett, who was captured by Wo Fat and the alleged CIA agent who claimed to be his mother, then made Wo Fat's houseboy on an undisclosed island- and poor Steve must cook and clean, every day. Fashion Barbie is actually a CIA agent, who has a back story of another life in Seattle working for Microsoft, and was the jilted girlfriend of Bill Gates. You don't even want to know about the turnout at the Barbie National Convention, with a Barbie standing in for Condi Rice, Sarah Palin and Ann Romney (yes their Barbies are diverse, but strong in party unity).

Just Living Life

I haven't written anything in almost a month. 

Communication from other grandparents who follow this blog has been minimal. I think we're all busy, with education in full-force, not to mention all that autumn stuff.

Belle is being confirmed in a few weeks. While I have already been confirmed, thank you (in 1967), receiving the Sacrament of Confirmation means a great deal of preparation in the United States. The prep work is all on Belle, but as she isn't quite old enough to drive, the chauffeur service depends largely on me and the local public trans. Yes, I let the kids use public transportation. But public trans doesn't get everywhere at every hour, so it's up to me to make sure she gets where she's going when it doesn't.

I picked up a carload of pumpkins from the pumpkin farm. The farm charges by the car, and there were already kids occupying my small "clown" car. Nonetheless, we managed to get in quite a few pumpkins, some in places we never imagined. Pumpkin pie at home will be fresh, as will ravioli and gnocchi. We've already harvested the seeds of 8 Jack O' Lanterns, and we have at least thirty to go.

Herbal plants have been moved indoors, along with my geraniums. Geraniums make me very happy in winter, as did rosemary last year. I'm hoping the big pots of oregano, basil and peppermint bring the same cheer this coming winter. 

Other than that, it's been college Western Civ I with the kids on Mondays and Wednesdays, followed by English 101 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It amazes me that college courses I CLEPed as an adult, these kids are taking with ease. Belle is scheduled to start College Algebra in the spring. If you knew her pedigree, you would know how unprecedented this is, a female mathematics genius in our family! I've heard my two nieces were very good at math, and the one now a scientist is an ace. My Lulubelle struggled with any type of math, and  while I passed College Algebra, as well as Intro to Accounting, math has not always been my thing. My mother always claimed the girls in our family "just aren't good at math," something that was pointed out as a fallacy to me by my second grade teacher. Anyway, Western Civ is blending itself into a variety of readings and writing, almost a semester unit study.

Novels for class time have included Theras and His Town (how we skipped this in the past I have no idea), the Year Money Grew on Trees and Sophie's World. The research that accompanies college classes can be a little intimidating, even for these kids. Sophie's World ties in nicely with all the survey reading their instructor has them doing of ancient authors. 

Baby is herself, as ever. Our pastor thought he was getting another Belle when he saw Baby enter his Confirmation prep class! Oh no! Baby is conscientious in her own right, but she loves to have fun, loves to cut up, and is not afraid to speak her mind. He will find her assignments match those of her friends in class, even if she has to call them five minutes before they are due. 

So, that's our autumn thus far. The kids have their Halloween costumes planned, invitations to parties now that they're older.  Confirmation will bring my very dear friend from out-of-town, to serve as Belle's sponsor. Thanksgiving will come immediately after that, and then the Christmas rush will begin!

Grab an Affy Tapple before the season ends at your local Woodman's! Autumn is really my favorite season, for a lot of reasons. I intend to be out in it every day if I can do so.

Next Year's Garden Shapes Up

I am continuing my hanging garden plans for next year, the one that's going to grow between the poles formerly known as clotheslines. I don't hang laundry from them, so they might as well be useful for something. 

I estimated I needed at least 52, up to 72, hanging containers. I managed to pick up more Topsy Turvies, bringing my count up to 20. I'm saving gallon milk jugs, gallon vinegar jugs (we use it as a fabric softener for certain items), gallon detergent jugs and 3-liter soda pop bottles. We are at the 52 mark, so only 20 to go.  Drink up!

I have to protect the roots from overexposure to the sun, growing upside down like that. I suppose I could wrap the planters in a blue or green duct tape, much like a Topsy Turvy, but I think that would ruin my garden aesthetic. So, I cut down some already smallish pillow cases that weren't doing anybody any good and made bottle snoods. They have drawstrings top and bottom, and maybe I'll market them. I'm going to try a couple with Velcro as well. Hanging is a cinch: I have a pile of wire coat hangers nobody will use.

I was looking for something stronger than wire or clothesline on which to run the planters. I found this nifty steel cable at the big-box home supply store that is placed in a plastic tubing of sorts.  I'll put the metal clips onto the cable, first, then hang the cable in place.

As long as I am going for the gusto, I am also looking for other ways to stack and hold planters. I'm certainly not moving my wire baker's rack to the yard! I was thinking of converting a couple of old bookshelves that have stood the test of time. If I don't get to that, I can always make shelves with old boards, bricks and cinderblock. 

We're going to try a few experiments next year. I have some old boxes that are deep, that can have drainage holes so the containers can hold carrots, rutabagas, radishes, broccoli, garlic and onions. Not sure about doing potatoes that way. We have some cleared and ungrassed ground for in-the-ground veggies and fruits as well. 

As far as dirt- I have two compost piles at present. They meet local code and are covered. I am not going as far as putting human waste, or any animal parts whatsoever into them. Leaves, veggie and fruit peelings, worms to root around and aerate the soil. I have spare soil, about 200 pounds, and a big supply of Perlite and sand to lighten things up. I also have several fertilizers I bought at close-out. 

So now I am foraging seeds, both from plants we eat, plants we've grown, and close-outs at local stores. There was an interesting experiment on  growing pumpkins inside pumpkin shells that I'm anxious to try. We currently are set with: peppers of various colors, cucumbers of various sizes and uses, squashes that do and don't squish, herbs galore, chards and kales.

I will be making more planter snoods during the winter, and checking the compost, turning the soil. I can't start seeds indoors until at least early February. All in all, it's starting to be a lot more fun than I thought it would be. The kids are interested as well, except for the composting part.   

ddd 

Ring out the bells! Go get the dresses!

We have been invited to FOUR weddings this Autumn: Two cousins, a godson and an aunt.  While we won't be able to attend the godson's wedding Texas,we will be able to attend the local or near-local nuptials. 

This requires dresses for Belle and Baby. There is only one small problem. They are in growth spurts. Up. Tall. 

I am at a loss as to where the tall comes in. My mother's brother is quite tall, as were several late uncles from my father's side. My father is 5'7". Ex is about 5'9". Sonny, my Lulubelle's ex, is 5'7", while Lulubelle is 5'8" (Junior, our son, is 5'6"). My mother is 5'8", as is one of my sisters. I am 5'4".  I also have a sister who is just 5' even. So, while the DNA lottery points to short, it seems the kids are going to be tall. They give the Mister credit for it, at 5'11", but he actually has no chromosomal input into the matter of their height.  

Not only is this tallness affecting dress purchases, it is affecting ALL clothes purchases for the kids. Both Belle and Baby grew an inch overnight, within 3 weeks of each other. Belle can no longer hand down clothes and shoes to Baby. They wear the same size clothes; moreover, Baby wears a larger shoe size than Belle. Belle and I can exchange shoes, and do, as long as we're not going to the same place and want the same shoes. 

So, I have waited until a week before the first wedding to go shopping for dresses. I'm glad I did. The dresses they tried on in July at a closeout would never fit them now without leggings. 

And I can mend, and do lovely handwork such as embroidery and quilts. But I don't sew clothes well. I've never gotten the construction thing. I took 2 years of drafting in high school, as well as 4 years of commercial art, so my view of sewing clothes is not the same as a woman who learned to sew in a class. What often happens is a look of horror, followed by, "You made that, didn't you?" For all my advanced spatial ability, I can't do fabric 2D to 3D. I've tried imagining dresses as just a lumpy quilt, or upholstery. No dice.

Belle still has to practice walking in heels and not killing herself or others. She got the prettiest pair of plum kitten heels at a liquidation sale. Her Confirmation outfit in November will hopefully match them, provided she doesn't grow again, foot-wise. 

So, it's off to attempt to find two dresses, preferably that match shoes we already own (not Baby's "boy" PF Flyers-style gym shoes).  It should be interesting, hopefully not traumatic. The wallet will hopefully cover the expense.    

How'd we get here?

It always bothered me when I heard stories of kids in custody situations not of their own design. One of the lousiest to my mind is a person who nurtured and raised them- be it a custodial parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, or even an unrelated foster parent- who usually did this for years, suddenly got shoved aside by a court order and a judge with an axe to grind. The child had a home, a good home, stability, and there was no promise or expectation of the same with the parent. But because the parental tie is allegedly so strong, the child HAD to go live with the parent, even if the parent has not seen the child in years. In cases where that new custodial parent has harmed or even murdered the child, I wonder how judges sleep at night. 

There are such stories. Simply Google and you will see Lulubelles and Juniors bearing the title of Dad and Mom who, after promising protective services and a judge that NOTHING will ever happen to the kid again, he drove into traffic in the wrong direction, killing himself and the child. She took the kid out of the country, and it takes money and years to see that kid again. He got in a drug-induced snit, lost patience and beat the child beyond recognition.  The voices in her head told her the child was possessed by Satan, so she drown/ dismembered/ choked/ poisoned the child. He decided he didn't want to live anymore, and when his children were on a supervised visit in his home (a stupid idea if ever there was one), he shoved the case worker outside the door and blew himself and his children up. One fine day, protective services received one too many reports on a person, and went to investigate. There, among the filth, were little children of varying ages and sizes, without food, without clothes, without supervision. Take your pick.

You will also see plenty of stories where protective services has blown the load and taken away children for no darn good reason. I think of Illinois, because I am from Illinois, and the case of a family who lost their children for weeks on end because of a young teacher who imagined more than there was. I think of the family who ran a daycare, whose young daughter was accused of being a child molester, for no reason other than an odd parent among the daycare clients. I think of a family in another state, who lost their children in their later childhoods, because another child said the father was molesting them; no proof, but there was protective services, butting in and taking them away, until they turned legal age and went back to their parents. One guy almost lost his children because he couldn't speak English. So, I would be the last person on earth to support anything protective services said. 

So when it comes to the Lulubelles and Juniors of this world, I like grandparents to have a way to think out the situation for themselves. Judges have their own political party and theories. His or her spouse might have custody obtained in a bitter divorce, as an example. Case workers are overloaded with complaints, client children, foster parents, and may not have any background in child psychology or social work, but need a job. You know what's going on, and you know the facts. One of the best ways is to reflect on where we've been, and where we are today. How'd we get here?

Often, when the kids are placed in your care, there's little time to think about what's going to happen. You don't know what you're going to do next, it's all moving quickly. You barely have time to call the school, fill the fridge, and borrow a folding bed.

Then, there is a lull. Maybe the errant adult child straightens up in a few weeks or months, and the kids go back. Maybe not. I'm here to tell you from the reports I've received as well as my own experience, "maybe not" is what's likely to happen. 

Regaining custody takes work on the part of a person who has already proven that his or her favored way to do things is the easy way. Therapy sessions take time. Visitation takes time. Legal work takes time. Lulubelle and Junior simply have no more time for such things! There are people to date and bed, drugs to take, legal drugs to skip, booze to drink, video games to play, horses to race, bets to make.  It's so much easier to just skip it "this once" and show up at the extended family gathering, bearing whatever in the way of gifts and bragging on the clean, well-mannered child Lulu and Junior have not raised, as if he or she did in fact do all the work.

And let's face it, we probably indulged the adult child, what's known as "enabling" a person. We love our adult children, no matter how it seems now. We wanted to help them.  They were once our babies. We ignored the falsehoods, the downright lies, the hidden agendas, especially when bullied with "the grandkids" and their welfare. We are not guilty of what our adult children have done, by any measure. But there might have been times when we should have put on the brakes and said NO, in big bold letters. There were times we should have questioned the story we were being told. There were times we squashed down that instinct in our gut that somehow, we were being deceived by our very own children. We gave them money we shouldn't have, time we shouldn't have, leisure and material goods we never should have given them. 

So, there came the day when we opened our eyes fully. Maybe a local or state agency opened those eyes for us. Maybe we walked into a situation that was sufficiently horrific to wake us up. And there was a child, our grandchild, our grandchildren, who were in harm's way, who have had no real parenting, who were hungry, who were being raised in filth, left alone for who knows how long without adult supervision, who have been injured but pulled through- and they need us. They are children, after all. There might have been a phone call, a knock at the door. Our Lulubelle or Junior might have simply left the kids for a brief visit or overnight, and slipped out into the world. 

We might be older. We might have just sent our last off to college, and looked forward to an empty nest. We might be on social security and a pension, and have been for years. We might still have kids at home, the siblings of the adult child in question, who are doing their best to be their best. We might have a significant other or a spouse. We might still live in the same place where our adult child grew up, or a condo, or even a trailer home. 

But we decided to choose, even though it broke our hearts, and we chose the grandkids. Then we rolled up our sleeves and got busy. We hired experts. We did some fact-checking. We called on teachers and daycare providers to fill in some blanks. We took pictures. We got a therapist and an attorney. We checked to see if the pediatrician we used 15 years ago still practices, ditto pediatric dentist and orthodontist.  We went to court. The judge was impressed with our evidence enough to give us custody, or even allow an adoption. In our case, we had the intervention of the Servant of God Vincent Cappodano, along with the best attorney money couldn't buy. Many, many people prayed for us for years, living on Earth and in Heaven. 

And yes, we miss how things were! We didn't stop being parents to our adult children. They will always be our children! We would like to have a better relationship than visitation drop-offs, than family therapy, than always suspecting our adult child of lies because we discovered we'd only known lies for so very long, and that adult child has yet to earn our trust! We didn't like having to move to get away from abuse, manipulating or bullying at the hands of our Lulubelles and Juniors. We didn't like getting orders of protection, restraining orders, supervised visitation orders, guardianship, custody agreements, and the most final of all, adoption decrees. But we had to make choices, and we were given very little leeway. 

So here we are. Here I am, almost seven years from the time the Mister and I took action. I have to say, the grandkids have given us much, much more than we have ever given them. How we are raising them not only reflects new methods learned, but things we didn't want to see happen again. They are bright stars, now and in the future. 

I miss both my adult children, for the brother has taken the side of my Lulubelle, without really knowing the whole story. I am sure he's afraid he's going to somehow lose his children, and I don't blame him for that, even though he seems to be a hard-working guy who takes care of his family. I wish our son every happiness, and every good thing in his life.

But if I had to do this again, take custody and adopt this set of grandkids, YES, YES, YES, I would do it again! There is so much I've discovered over time that they were spared because we did this, on both sides of their DNA. 

As a good example, I don't think anybody would have tested them for academic giftedness. I know my Lulubelle wouldn't even consider interrupting her daytime nap to take Belle to speech therapy as a Kindergartner. I know my ex-son-in-law's present wife can barely spell, and at one point, wrote by typing one long sentence in caps, no punctuation, until she had a paragraph. I could easily see where Belle and Baby would have become permanent baby-sitters for their various biological siblings without breaks for silly interruptions such as school, especially Belle, who my Lulubelle simply hated and showed it.

So YES, I would do it again, and I bet there are many of you who would do it, as well. Nobody else is patting us on the back, and there's always the naysayers who think we've done something against nature. So, let's be glad we got here, and pat ourselves on the back.           

Open to Interpretation

So we went to a wedding shower this weekend, an almost exclusively female event, except for a cute little toddler boy, the groom, the Mister and an uncle.

Uncle asked the kids if they had any boyfriends, a usual uncle thing. And Belle replied, for herself as well as siblings, "Well, my mother doesn't allow us to date until we're in college. Personally, I don't think I'll date until I'm finished with college. I have too much to do."

Now then- This makes me look as if I'm Simon Lagree, "Toys in the Attic" crazy, bundling my kids up until they live in a cave, without any socialization. Lest you think I keep them confined to the house, you should know what I actually said, Belle's mindset, and how all that applies to her reply. 

• I told them they should not even think about having a baby until they have finished college, put enough money in the bank to have a cushion, had a decent place to live on their own as well as good transportation, and had a husband. I also told them that, should they get pregnant before they were 18, that our state considers the grandparents financially responsible for the infant, so should they decide to do that, we would be in charge of their child. Finally, I said I don't like teenage dating, that it did Lulubelle little good, and that I wanted it limited. I said I didn't consider a group of people, such as youth group, an actual date, and would make exceptions for such reasons as proms and banquets, where an escort was required. 
•  I've always told my kids, if you think in order to stop peer pressure you need to publicly blame me, go ahead. This didn't mean that Lulubelle could blame her adult life on me, by the way.
• Belle already started taking college courses, and has in fact completed a college math course online. She is excellent at Math, not merely OK or good at it, but excellent.  She might start dating around sixteen, which is about when she should be in college full time.
• Belle is upset with Lulubelle's young adult behavior, making babies out-of-wedlock, of which Belle was one.

Defending My Right to Say It

Even the eldest of us these days have an account on social networking sites. One aunt has several (but she is a young aunt, only 65). We Facebook, Tweet on Twitter and Pinterest with the best of them.

I have found both outlets helpful in educating the kids, keeping up with extended family and old friends, and a good place to connect with others, both those who think as I do and those who don't. It's opened my world.

I think we older folks bring the voice of reason to a world gone loco with yelling, screaming, diatribes and soapbox grandstanding, all through the use of keyboards and DragonSpeak. I'd like to think we bring a level of calm to a world that doesn't appreciate calm, that finds fault in every little thing said on social networks, and can get rowdy-nasty in a hurry.   

I've recently had to "unfriend" a few people. I've had to put others into "groups" where I don't want them to be, so that they will not be offended by my opinions. I don't do this lightly, as I look upon a friend as just that, a friend. However, the accusations against me make me feel as if I don't agree exactly and precisely with some folks, I am somehow WRONG. And they let me know how WRONG I am- stridently, shrilly, demanding I accept their way of thinking about things, without reason, without civilized discourse, simply because this is what THEY believe.

My Facebook page carries a caution for those who can see it: I believe and practice what I believe and practice. You don't have to like it. You do have to accept it. Within the confines of the Terms of Service, I can place whatever I choose on my timeline. My wall, the former nomenclature of the timeline, is just that, mine. 

In turn, I don't go to the timelines of others and tell them what they can and cannot post there. I may not agree with it, but that's no reason for me to type away on their space with feelings of hurt, angst, rejection or umbrage. Hey, we all have our ideas and ideals.

I will say there have been people who have had differences of opinion, and they have shown that difference with good manners, grace, their facts neatly and coherently displayed, elegantly displayed in fact. Our discourse did not make me unfriend them; quite the contrary, it made me value their friendship all the more. We can all agree to disagree, and state our reasons for doing so in an intelligent way.  

I won't go into what exactly started what I consider a big loss. I will state, for the record, that if you are a friend of mine on one of the many social networking sites, please be prepared to follow my rules:

• I get to state my opinion, and that includes memes, photographs and "likes". You don't have to like them, too. You don't have to look at them. I am very willing to put you into a group where you won't see them. That's why the groups are there.
• Please don't imagine things into my postings that aren't there, or read into what I've written. This type of media is not the place for deep ideas, but a lot of quick postings, even if there is space. I try not to write long diatribes, or esoteric theses. Again, there are groups for that. We all know what "assume" does. Please don't assume. 
• I am Catholic, not a Cafeteria Catholic. I stand with the Church on Her doctrine, which can't be changed or altered; indeed, it hasn't been changed or altered in 2000-plus years (so if you're hoping it will, save your time and hope no longer). I understand there are Catholics who do not, for whatever reason, agree with the Church, as they are the ones who complain loudly, while our Separated Brethren tend to be calm and open to discourse. Don't expect me to agree with you, allow you to post things on my timeline that disagree with Church teachings, or allow you to use your keyboard to yell and scream outrage at me, God or the Church. I can explain them to you, if you want. We can politely discuss them. But, as an example, you don't get to come on my timeline and tell me you plan on doing unspeakable things to the Creator of the Universe, when if you said you were going to do those things to a human being, you would be locked up and charged with at the least attempted assault and harassment.
• Please don't use vulgarity. Please. There's no point. Social media is VERY public, and it's just trashy in my mind.   

Oh, and lest you think all the folks who've been unfriended were young and hot-headed, making demands against God and Country- I've eliminated several seniors for out-and-out vulgarity. I don't care if a person IS the son of a female dog, or for that matter, the female dog in person.