This is from a real auction on ebay and it was so funny and true to life that I had to post it! You can see the auction here http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=130144061675
Her set of Pokemon cards were up to $103.50 with 6 hours left when I posted this! Way to go mama!
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I'm selling a bunch of Pokemon cards. Why? Because my kids sneaked them into my shopping cart while at the grocery store and I ended up buying them because I didn't notice they were there until we got home. How could I have possibly not noticed they were in my cart, you ask? Let me explain.
You haven't lived until you've gone grocery shopping with six kids in tow. I would rather swim, covered in bait, through the English Channel, be a contestant on Fear Factor when they're having pig brains for lunch, or do fourth grade math than to take my six kids to the grocery store. Because I absolutely detest grocery shopping, I tend to put it off as long as possible. There comes a time, however, when you're peering into your fridge and thinking, 'Hmmm, what can I make with ketchup, Italian dressing, and half an onion,' that you decide you cannot avoid going to the grocery store any longer. Before beginning this most treacherous mission, I gather all the kids together and give them "The Lecture".
"The Lecture" goes like this…
MOM: "We have to go to the grocery store."
KIDS: "Whine whine whine whine whine."
MOM: "Hey, I don't want to go either, but it's either that or we're eating cream of onion-ketchup soup and drinking Italian dressing for dinner tonight."
KIDS: "Whine whine whine whine whine."
MOM: "Now here are the rules: do not ask me for anything, do not poke the packages of meat in the butcher section, do not test the laws of physics and try to take out the bottom can in the pyramid shaped display, do not play baseball with oranges in the produce section, and most importantly, do not try to leave your brother at the store. Again."
OK, the kids have been briefed. Time to go.
Once at the store, we grab not one, but two shopping carts. I wear the baby in a sling and the two little children sit in the carts while I push one cart and my oldest son pushes the other one. My oldest daughter is not allowed to push a cart. Ever. Why? Because the last time I let her push the cart, she smashed into my ankles so many times, my feet had to be amputated by the end of our shopping trip. This is not a good thing. You try running after a toddler with no feet sometime.
At this point, a woman looks at our two carts and asks me, "Are they all yours?" I answer good naturedly, "Yep!
"Oh my, you have your hands full."
"Yes, I do, but it's fun!" I say smiling. I've heard all this before. In fact, I hear it every time I go anywhere with my brood.
We begin in the produce section where all these wonderfully, artistically arranged pyramids of fruit stand. There is something so irresistibly appealing about the apple on the bottom of the pile, that a child cannot help but try to touch it. Much like a bug to a zapper, the child is drawn to this piece of fruit. I turn around to the sounds of apples cascading down the display and onto the floor. Like Indiana Jones, there stands my son holding the all-consuming treasure that he just HAD to get and gazing at me with this dumbfounded look as if to say, "Did you see that??? Wow! I never thought that would happen!"
I give the offending child an exasperated sigh and say, "Didn't I tell you, before we left, that I didn't want you taking stuff from the bottom of the pile???"
"No. You said that you didn't want us to take a can from the bottom of the pile. You didn't say anything about apples."
With superhuman effort, I resist the urge to send my child to the moon and instead focus on the positive - my child actually listened to me and remembered what I said!!! I make a mental note to be a little more specific the next time I give the kids The Grocery Store Lecture.
A little old man looks at all of us and says, "Are all of those your kids?"
Thinking about the apple incident, I reply, "Nope. They just started following me. I've never seen them before in my life."
OK, now onto the bakery section where everything smells so good, I'm tempted to fill my cart with cookies and call it a day. Being on a perpetual diet, I try to hurry past the assortment of pies, cakes, breads, and pastries that have my children drooling. At this point the chorus of "Can we gets" begins.
"Can we get donuts?"
"No."
"Can we get cupcakes?"
"No."
"Can we get muffins?"
"No."
"Can we get pie?"
"No."
You'd think they'd catch on by this point, but no, they're just getting started.
In the bakery, they're giving away free samples of coffee cake and of course, my kids all take one. The toddler decides he doesn't like it and proceeds to spit it out in my hand. (That's what moms do. We put our hands in front of our children's mouths so they can spit stuff into them. We'd rather carry around a handful of chewed up coffee cake, than to have the child spit it out onto the floor. I'm not sure why this is, but ask any mom and she'll tell you the same.) Of course, there's no garbage can around, so I continue shopping one-handed while searching for someplace to dispose of the regurgitated mess in my hand.
In the meat department, a mother with one small baby asks me, "Wow! Are all six yours?"
I answer her, "Yes, but I'm thinking of selling a couple of them."
(Still searching for a garbage can at this point.)
Ok, after the meat department, my kids' attention spans are spent. They're done shopping at this point, but we aren't even halfway through the store. This is about the time they like to start having shopping cart races. And who may I thank for teaching them this fun pastime? My seventh "child", also known as my husband. While I'm picking out loaves of bread, the kids are running down the aisle behind the carts in an effort to get us kicked out of the store. I put to stop to that just as my son is about to crash head on into a giant cardboard cut-out of a Keebler elf stacked with packages of cookies.
Ah! Yes! I find a small trash can by the coffee machine in the cereal aisle and finally dump out the squishy contents of my hand. After standing in the cereal aisle for an hour and a half while the kids perused the various cereals, comparing the marshmallow and cheap, plastic toy content of each box, I broke down and let them each pick out a box. At any given time, we have twenty open boxes of cereal in my house.
As this is going on, my toddler is playing Houdini and maneuvering his little body out of the seat belt in an attempt to stand up in the cart. I'm amazed the kid made it to his second birthday without suffering a brain damaging head injury. In between trying to flip himself out of the cart, he sucks on the metal bars of the shopping cart. Mmmm, can you say "influenza"?
The shopping trip continues much like this. I break up fights between the kids now and then and stoop down to pick up items that the toddler has flung out of the cart. I desperately try to get everything on my list without adding too many other goodies to the carts.
Somehow I manage to complete my shopping in under four hours and head for the check-outs where my kids start in on a chorus of, "Can we have candy?" What evil minded person decided it would be a good idea to put a display of candy in the check-out lanes, right at a child's eye level? Obviously someone who has never been shopping with children.
As I unload the carts, I notice many extra items that my kids have sneaked in the carts unbeknownst to me. I remove a box of Twinkies, a package of cupcakes, a bag of candy, and a can of cat food (we don't even have a cat!). I somehow missed the box of Pokemon cards however and ended up purchasing them unbeknownst to me. As I pay for my purchases, the clerk looks at me, indicates my kids, and asks, "Are they all yours?"
Frustrated, exhausted from my trip, sick to my stomach from writing out a check for $289.53, dreading unloading all the groceries and putting them away and tired of hearing that question, I look at the clerk and answer her in my most sarcastic voice, "No. They're not mine. I just go around the neighborhood gathering up kids to take to the grocery store because it's so much more fun that way."
So, up for auction is an opened (they ripped open the box on the way home from the store) package of Pokemon cards. There are 44 cards total. They're in perfect condition, as I took them away from the kiddos as soon as we got home from the store. Many of them say "Energy". I tried carrying them around with me, but they didn't work. I definitely didn't have any more energy than usual. One of them is shiny. There are a few creature-like things on many of them. One is called Pupitar. Hee hee hee Pupitar! (Oh no! My kids' sense of humor is rubbing off on me!) Anyway, I don't there's anything special about any of these cards, but I'm very much not an authority on Pokemon cards. I just know that I'm not letting my kids keep these as a reward for their sneakiness.
Shipping is FREE on this item. Insurance is optional, but once I drop the package at the post office, it is no longer my responsibility. For example, if my son decides to pour a bottle of glue into the envelope, or my daughter spills a glass of juice on the package, that's my responsibility and I will fully refund your money. If, however, I take the envelope to the post office and a disgruntled mail carrier sets fire to it, a pack of wild dogs rip into it, or a mail sorting machine shreds it, it's out of my hands, so you may want to add insurance. I will leave feedback for you as soon as I've received your payment. I will be happy to combine shipping on multiple items won within three days. This comes from a smoke-free, pet-free, child-filled home. Please ask me any questions before placing your bid. Happy bidding! :)
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Getting to the bottom of cloth diaper debate
Saving the earth, one question at a time
By ADRIA VASIL
Q I recently heard cloth diapers are just as bad as disposables. Is this true?
A Get your rattles out – the battle of the nappies is heating up again. You heard right, a four-year-long British study has just concluded that cloth diapers are as damaging to the environment as the plastic type. While the media is jumping on the story with glee, the whole thing is giving environmentalists a bad case of diaper rash – and with good reason.
Yes, the government-funded report did look at the life-cycle costs of three options: home-laundered cloth, commercially laundered cloth and disposables. And yes, the hefty 200-page paper weighed everything from the dirty oil extraction process involved in making plastic diapers and the water and pesticides used in growing cotton to the electricity needed to iron fold 'n' pin types.
In the end, the study concluded that all three are neck and neck. The electricity used to wash and dry cloth diapers is just as damaging to the environment as burying disposable diapers in landfills. The results actually landed the British government in hot water for spending $30 million on its Real Nappy promotional campaign. But is the study right?
Environmentalists don't think so. They're freaked because they say the report is hinged on some old-fashioned assumptions about cloth diapers that only looked at the habits of 200 washable diaper users (versus the 2,000 surveyed on disposable diapers). The UK's Women's Environment Network says warm water washes in A-rated (i.e., Energy Star) machines, for example, reduce climate-changing pollutants by 17 per cent (not to mention all the water savings).
The report also factors in a good chunk of tumble-drying when parents should be air-drying their nappies, not just to save a lot of power but also to make them last longer. If you're one of the 10 per cent the study says irons your cloth bum wraps, all I have to say is you gotta chill out. You're wasting hydro, and your babe doesn't need a smartly pressed bottom!
Investing in diapers made with unbleached, pesticide-free fibres like hemp, bamboo or organic cotton puts you even further ahead, especially if they are stitched locally and used on more than one kid.
Thanks to the outcry, the British government has supposedly promised to reassess the cloth diaper thing. Keep your eyes peeled for yet another report at some point in the future.
Need another reason to stick with cloth? A German study linked use of plastic diapers to male infertility. The plastic keeps their boy parts hotter than cloth, which ain't good for long-term sperm health.
Keeping cloth nappies green
• wash in cold or warm water
• skip the dryer and hang to dry
• pass on chemical detergents
• only flush poop-filled liners
• buy more diapers so you wash full loads
By ADRIA VASIL
Q I recently heard cloth diapers are just as bad as disposables. Is this true?
A Get your rattles out – the battle of the nappies is heating up again. You heard right, a four-year-long British study has just concluded that cloth diapers are as damaging to the environment as the plastic type. While the media is jumping on the story with glee, the whole thing is giving environmentalists a bad case of diaper rash – and with good reason.
Yes, the government-funded report did look at the life-cycle costs of three options: home-laundered cloth, commercially laundered cloth and disposables. And yes, the hefty 200-page paper weighed everything from the dirty oil extraction process involved in making plastic diapers and the water and pesticides used in growing cotton to the electricity needed to iron fold 'n' pin types.
In the end, the study concluded that all three are neck and neck. The electricity used to wash and dry cloth diapers is just as damaging to the environment as burying disposable diapers in landfills. The results actually landed the British government in hot water for spending $30 million on its Real Nappy promotional campaign. But is the study right?
Environmentalists don't think so. They're freaked because they say the report is hinged on some old-fashioned assumptions about cloth diapers that only looked at the habits of 200 washable diaper users (versus the 2,000 surveyed on disposable diapers). The UK's Women's Environment Network says warm water washes in A-rated (i.e., Energy Star) machines, for example, reduce climate-changing pollutants by 17 per cent (not to mention all the water savings).
The report also factors in a good chunk of tumble-drying when parents should be air-drying their nappies, not just to save a lot of power but also to make them last longer. If you're one of the 10 per cent the study says irons your cloth bum wraps, all I have to say is you gotta chill out. You're wasting hydro, and your babe doesn't need a smartly pressed bottom!
Investing in diapers made with unbleached, pesticide-free fibres like hemp, bamboo or organic cotton puts you even further ahead, especially if they are stitched locally and used on more than one kid.
Thanks to the outcry, the British government has supposedly promised to reassess the cloth diaper thing. Keep your eyes peeled for yet another report at some point in the future.
Need another reason to stick with cloth? A German study linked use of plastic diapers to male infertility. The plastic keeps their boy parts hotter than cloth, which ain't good for long-term sperm health.
Keeping cloth nappies green
• wash in cold or warm water
• skip the dryer and hang to dry
• pass on chemical detergents
• only flush poop-filled liners
• buy more diapers so you wash full loads
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Perspective: The Invisible Woman
Not sure of the author, but this is good!
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?"
"Nobody," he shrugged.
Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,
> and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?"
"Nobody," he shrugged.
Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,
> and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Fast Food Milkshakes Exposed
Even though I live in America now, I still like to keep an eye on the British press to see what's going on in Britain. A little while ago, I came across an article in one of Britain's biggest newspapers, The Guardian. I found the article funny, but at the same time, shocking.
The headline of the article went like this: The 59 Ingredients in a Fast Food Strawberry Milkshake. Now, that's not a very good start. Is it? Fifty-nine ingredients. So, I looked a little further, and it turns out that in one fast food restaurant strawberry milkshake from a big fast food chain, there are two ingredients that are notably absent: Milk and Strawberries!! Does that put you off for life already? Well, let's see if I can put you off a bit further.
It turns out that the strawberry flavor they use to flavor their milkshakes is actually made from 40 different chemicals. Let me read you a couple of the names of these chemicals. This is just the strawberry flavor. Forty different chemicals.
* Amyl valerate
* Anethol
* Ethyl lactate
* Methylphenylglycidate (Oh, my word! That's a mouthful and a half!)
* Ionone
* Maltol
* Methyl benzoate
That's just to name but a few of those 40 ingredients that go into their strawberry flavoring.
Now, I don't know about you, but I've had strawberry milkshakes from fast food chains before, and some of them are very, very tasty. But after finding out that there's 59 ingredients, and that both milk and strawberries are absent from these milkshakes, I can definitely say I've been put off for life, and I hope you are as well.
So, is there a healthy alternative? Of course! And in a future video, I will be showing you how to make your own raw, very healthy, strawberry milkshake, start to finish, in only one minute. So, I hope you'll going to enjoy that recipe.
But in the meantime, now that you've got this information about fast food restaurants' strawberry milkshakes, (and I'm sure this goes for their other milkshakes as well) I hope you will want to avoid them like the plague. I know I sure will.
The headline of the article went like this: The 59 Ingredients in a Fast Food Strawberry Milkshake. Now, that's not a very good start. Is it? Fifty-nine ingredients. So, I looked a little further, and it turns out that in one fast food restaurant strawberry milkshake from a big fast food chain, there are two ingredients that are notably absent: Milk and Strawberries!! Does that put you off for life already? Well, let's see if I can put you off a bit further.
It turns out that the strawberry flavor they use to flavor their milkshakes is actually made from 40 different chemicals. Let me read you a couple of the names of these chemicals. This is just the strawberry flavor. Forty different chemicals.
* Amyl valerate
* Anethol
* Ethyl lactate
* Methylphenylglycidate (Oh, my word! That's a mouthful and a half!)
* Ionone
* Maltol
* Methyl benzoate
That's just to name but a few of those 40 ingredients that go into their strawberry flavoring.
Now, I don't know about you, but I've had strawberry milkshakes from fast food chains before, and some of them are very, very tasty. But after finding out that there's 59 ingredients, and that both milk and strawberries are absent from these milkshakes, I can definitely say I've been put off for life, and I hope you are as well.
So, is there a healthy alternative? Of course! And in a future video, I will be showing you how to make your own raw, very healthy, strawberry milkshake, start to finish, in only one minute. So, I hope you'll going to enjoy that recipe.
But in the meantime, now that you've got this information about fast food restaurants' strawberry milkshakes, (and I'm sure this goes for their other milkshakes as well) I hope you will want to avoid them like the plague. I know I sure will.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Judge lets off rapist of girl, 10
June 25, 2007
A JUDGE spared a man who raped a girl of ten in a park — because she wore a “provocative” frilly bra and thong.
Window cleaner Keith Fenn, 25 — who could have got life in jail — will be free in just FOUR MONTHS after admitting twice having sex with the child.
Judge Julian Hall decided to be lenient because the girl “didn’t look 10”.
He caused fury earlier this year by freeing another paedophile, telling him to buy his six-year-old victim a new bicycle.
The judge referred to the 10-year-old as a “young woman”, and called her “very disturbed, very needy and sexually precocious”.
He told Oxford Crown Court: “She liked to dress provocatively. She was 10. She’d been in care since she was four.
“Did she look 10? Certainly not. She looked 16.”
Fenn, of Oxford, got two years’ jail but will soon be free because of time spent awaiting sentence. Accomplice Darren Wright, 34, of Henley-on-Thames walked free after getting just nine months.
Last night, campaigner Dr Michele Elliott of children’s charity Kidscape called the sentences “beyond pathetic”.
The NSPCC added: “There’s no excuse.”
A JUDGE spared a man who raped a girl of ten in a park — because she wore a “provocative” frilly bra and thong.
Window cleaner Keith Fenn, 25 — who could have got life in jail — will be free in just FOUR MONTHS after admitting twice having sex with the child.
Judge Julian Hall decided to be lenient because the girl “didn’t look 10”.
He caused fury earlier this year by freeing another paedophile, telling him to buy his six-year-old victim a new bicycle.
The judge referred to the 10-year-old as a “young woman”, and called her “very disturbed, very needy and sexually precocious”.
He told Oxford Crown Court: “She liked to dress provocatively. She was 10. She’d been in care since she was four.
“Did she look 10? Certainly not. She looked 16.”
Fenn, of Oxford, got two years’ jail but will soon be free because of time spent awaiting sentence. Accomplice Darren Wright, 34, of Henley-on-Thames walked free after getting just nine months.
Last night, campaigner Dr Michele Elliott of children’s charity Kidscape called the sentences “beyond pathetic”.
The NSPCC added: “There’s no excuse.”
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