I regret to inform you that your baby is cute.

Let me start by stating that I work retail. Then allow me to remind you of how often a child has a screaming fit because he wants the Barbie sparkling horse accessory case. Daddy doesn't want his boy to look gay, but damn if the little tyke doesn't love glitter purple. Listening to these types of arguments between parents and toddlers ten times a day, five days a week has only added to my repulsion towards tiny humans. The drool. The snot. The blank annoying stares. The screaming for no apparent reason. The smell of bad veggies mixed with baby powder and dried spit up. Buh. I have never felt an urge to breed.

Now, cut to January of 2002. I am not an only child. I have a brother. A blonde behemoth with blue eyes and a great sense of humor. Hence he is married. He comes to my mother's house one morning with his comic delivery of the news of his wife being pregnant all planned out. Shock. Happiness. For me, worry and confusion. I could not imagine my brother being a father. He was the older male version of myself. We had talked at length about our mutual distate for offspring. But she was pregnant. It was planned. He had deviated from our mind set. He was happy and wondering how I was going to accept his addition. I didn't know, but I smiled just the same and gave an oscar worthy performance of enthusiasm.

The months passed and the wife grew and glowed. We would watch tapes of the tiny wiggling thing within her. It was fascinating and yet gross when I would realise I was looking at her uterus as well. I found myself looking at baby bibs with funny sayings embroidered onto them. In tones of pink and cream the babies world was being purchased. I was getting nervous. I was not quite sure why.

September 24th-after bearing a pregnancy through the hottest months of the summer in a house with no central air-pay dirt. Very overdue and looking quite pudgey the pink child was born to its pink wardrobe with matching shoes and burp cloths. Bouncey chairs, high chairs, car seats, and play mats designed with developmental learning colors of red, white and black. Everything was ready. So was I.

Her scaley little hands and feet didn't even scare me away. Her hair was fine and soft. Eyes clear and blue. When she yawned her tiny nose would wrinkle up. She was beautiful. My first exposure to a baby I wanted to have a connection with. Needless to say the parents were glad to see that I had this open willingness to be around and with Claire. It is what I had hoped I would be able to do. The shocker is that I don't even mind it when she cries. That maternal instinct I thought I had killed off long ago is starting to revive from its coma. My grandmother was right after all. Hate is a very strong word that should be avoided, and never say never. Everyone changes at least a few times in their lives.

BAD DAY

Car ride

Pick up dog canine

Journey to the vetinary surgeon

Unsympathetic receptionist.

Euthansia

no dog

Drive home

COLD

Laters my friend, my pup

So, there it was, the early 1990s and I was growing discontent with my favorite football team. I discovered football during the season that lead to Super Bowl XV and the Oakland Raiders personified what I liked about the sport. It was a violent chess game between big, angry men and no one was bigger and badder than the Raiders. Ray Guy would inspire me to become a punter. I did for one game in high school and then quit. I couldn't deal with the jocks or the coach. Later, I would fall in love with a player. Marcus Allen was the man and I became more a fan of Allen than I was of the Raiders. Then they started to cut him out of their game plan and say he was over the hill. Allen signed with Kansas City in 1993, but although I followed the Chiefs just to keep up with me first and only sports hero, I just couldn't commit to them as a fan. They were a hated division rival of my old team. Even though I was distancing myself from the Raiders, this was too big of a leap. So, I began looking at other teams, wanting someone to root for that didn't leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Always considering myself an underdog, I sought out the underdogs. The New Orleans Saints and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers caught my fancy. I started following them both, but my devotion went to the Buccaneers. Anyone that would play in uniforms that looked like Creamsicles was brave enough and weird enough to earn my love. A new day was born.

It was a frustrating love, and it started to seem that I had chosen a difficult path. This was a team that would never win a championship. This was a team that fell down on its face constantly. They couldn't even play if the weather got a little bit chilly.

Eventually, they changed those orange and white uniforms. Although there was something I liked about them, they just weren't football uniforms. Well, unless maybe you are a college football team from Tennessee or something. They got these red and pewter uniforms. Who ever heard of pewter as a color for a uniform? They were still weird. They had also developed a mean streak and an attitude. They were starting to look like the old Raiders I once loved.

There were other weird things that happened along the way as well. I forgave weird Al Davis, who is so much like me that it makes me uncomfortable, and the Raiders for the whole Marcus Allen thing. I was back behind them, even though they had taken to playing like the Buccaneers of old. I would root for them again. Still, they hadn't looked good since Super Bowl XVIII. That was a good one. I was a freshman in a dormitory suite with eleven other guys and there was only one other freshman in the mix. Craig was a big fan of the Washington Redskins and he didn't leave his room for two days after my Raiders destroyed his honorable Hogs.

So, there it was, a new millennium and the guy who wears pirate shirts was back to rooting full time for his pirate teams. The Raiders were starting to look good again and the Buccaneers looked like they might one day end their hapless, bad luck ways. It was safe to root for them both. They were in different conferences and rarely met each other. I had moved to Orlando, in the midst of Bucs country and I could finally root for the Buccaneers without a bunch of glaring New Englanders calling me a nancy boy, claiming the New England Patriots would win a Super Bowl before my Buccaneers did. Hah! It didn't matter now. All was right with the world. I could enjoy the game. If one of my teams was down, the other would be up.

My team will be the winner of Super Bowl XXXVII. I know that before the first kick-off. And I need the Super Bowl. It is the only way I remember how old I am in Roman Numerals. The wonderfully distracting world of sports hasn't been this good to me since the 1986 World Series. And I need this distraction. And I need a beer.

After receiving an email from my former roommate "E" - I can't help but feeling extreme frustration over the "Generation Rx" and what I foresee as a future crisis of a scale that truly scares me.

"E" has lived with me 5 times in her life; first at age 12, and the last time when she was age 30. She's lived with me twice since her daughter was born and her daughter and I are very close. She was put on Ritalin for ADHD at age 5. After endless discussions with me on this topic "E" tried to take her daughter off Ritalin, the teacher refused to have her in class unless she was drugged.

I can't begin to explain how strongly I feel about this topic.

I was raised in the early 70's - in those days if you acted up in school you most likely would get a good spanking when you got home. The majority of kids did not need to be drugged to behave; they were able to control themselves and their behavior the majority of the time because of the deterrent of Daddy's belt or Momma's wooden spoon. So nobody can tell me that the only way that 1 in 10 of our children are capable of behaving is through being drugged.

There are approximately 8 million children in the USA currently on Ritalin - at $60 dollars per child per month for this drug - does anyone doubt the incentive behind this current trend? Schools receive $400 in federal funds annually for each of the 7+ million ADHD children in their schools. Does anyone doubt the reasons why our lawmakers and the political powers that be have NOT put a stop to this? There are billions of dollars in the kitty to encourage the drugging of Generation Rx. But it's a travesty and needs to be stopped.

I can only imagine the ramifications of this 10 or 15 years from now as these children many as young as 2 years old have NOT learned how to deal with and control their emotions and behaviors through normal ways my generation and all the generations before have had to do. They are not learning the skills they need to learn, they are being drugged so they will behave and learn their 3 R's better. But there is so much more to childhood then the 3 R's.

The U.S.A produces and uses 90% of the worlds Ritalin. What does this tell you? I know what it tells me - it's not about the children, it's about the $$. The life of most of the 1 in 10 children currently on Ritalin in the U.S.A can not be that much different than the life of, say, a child in Toronto and yet we use 90% of the worlds Ritalin?

We went from a few hundred thousand children on Ritalin 10 years ago to several million now - do you honestly believe it's because of the children? I don't - not for a second.

I think because parent's rights to raise their children in the way they best see fit has been taken away by Big Brother - the increase in children acting up in school is DIRECTLY linked to that. Trust me, I do not condone child abuse - and that would include the abuse of the new alternative to spanking; which is now drugging them with a mind altering addictive drug that prevents them from learning how to control their own behavior.

I had considered doing a WU on this topic, but there's a repost here from a Dr David Keirsey that says most I'd planned to say re: the statistics and facts on this. So instead I'm day logging my frustrations and would like to focus on WHY there's not enough being done to put a stop to this.

I believe it's because of the "I'm just one person what can *I* do syndrome" - there are so many people who feel as I do on this issue, but what can they do? What can be done about this and can it be done fast enough? I don't believe so, I think the BILLIONS of dollars being made off this drugging of Generation Rx will keep anything from being done till it's to late for most of the 10+ million children in the U.S. who 10 years from now will be facing the legacy of the choices being made (at their expense) today.

Times have changed - our children at age 8 have seen and dealt with more then most of us had by age 16. There are very very good reasons why our children today (IF it's true) have behavior issues - and finding out those reasons and ways to work with them now is the key. It's called Evolution, and WE with our computers and technology have accelerated evolution exponentially. Drugging evolution out of children is not the answer, finding ways to adapt to the evolution without drugs is.

Lets stop drugging them and start to find new ways to handle their behavior in the society we have given them birth into.

When I was 8 years old the biggest worry of my day was the school bully picking on me. Today 8 year olds are faced with most the stresses adults are faced with and have yet to learn how to deal with their feelings and emotions on these. And now they never will.

I remember clearly in grade school the boys who acted up. None of them were drugged, and most turned out to be great adults. One of the worst "trouble makers" in school is the sheriff in my home town now, and "Mr. Trouble" himself is an elected official there.

I DO believe there are many children who truly do have ADHD and some cases where a child truly does need to be drugged - probably about as many as truly needed it 10 years ago, no more no less. However those drugs should be used IN conjunction with alot of time and care on the part of the one giving them the drug. To help them learn to develop in such a way that they can start decreasing dosage. Honestly and unfortunately I don't see that very often.

The bottom line here - Big Brother, and the drug companies are making billions at the expense of this generation and I personally have no doubt that we will all pay for it, the light at the end of the tunnel is the flame on a torch lit by the drug companies that we sit back and watch burn...

We somehow need to find a way to get something DONE about this now. NOT 10 years from now when we realize what the Darwinism of the Generation Rx'rs will cost us all.


Side note - the fact that most of the 'school shooters' were on Ritalin or another alternative to that drug is very telling. T. J. Solomon, Shawn Cooper, Eric Harris, Kip Kinkel, Rod Mathews, Barry Loukaitis, Jeremy Strohmeyer are just a few of the examples of how well children learn to cope using Ritalin and other legal mind altering drugs.
I hate to put material that will one day be dated in a daylog but I'll include this here and delete it someday when it's irrelavant.

As little as I think we can do to fight this multi-billion dollar drug pushing conspiracy - can it hurt to try?

If you agree with my points here, and you'd like to be heard on this go here and sign the petition:
http://www.americanpolicy.org/petition-stopritalin1.htm


See Also:

Natural remedies for ADHD
Treatment options for Attention Deficit Disorder
Amphetamine addiction as a cure for ADHD

January 20, 1994

I'm driving home from work at the U.S. Army Health Clinic at Yakima Training Center, when I start feeling strong, mildly uncomfortable contractions. Of course, I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for several months now, first every 15 minutes, for the last month about every five minutes, so this really isn't anything too surprising. These just feel somehow different. But they're not really painful, so I go home, eat dinner, watch some TV and go to bed.

January 21, 1994

Around 3 a.m. I wake up. At first I'm not sure why, but I find out soon enough as a giant hand grips my abdomen and squeezes. I decide I don't have much chance of going back to sleep, so I run a tub of hot water, grab a book, pen and paper, and a watch, and settle down to soak and read. I time my contractions - first they're 3 minutes apart, then 2, then 1 1/2. Hmmm... it's almost 5:30 now - better get Dave to call in and let the Army know we might not be coming to work today. I wake Dave, he calls post, I get back in the tub, Dave goes back to sleep.

Around 7, the contractions are strong enough that I can't read through them anymore - it takes concentration to deal with them. I keep losing my place in the book.It's my first baby, and first-time moms always take forever, but just to reassure myself, I think it's time to go get checked out. I get up out of the tub, dry off, and go wake Dave. "Dave, I think it's time to go get checked out at the hospital." Dave rolls over... "Can I sleep for another half hour?" uhhhh... "No."

Dave gets up, we get dressed and get in the car. To get out of our neighborhood, we have to pass over a set of speedbumps. My contractions are strong enough that I make him stop, wait til my contraction passes, THEN go over the speedbump. We get to the hospital and go up to the maternity floor. I get checked out by the nurse; it turns out I'm 4 cm dilated and 75% effaced. As I try to get off the exam table to go to the bathroom, I'm basically paralyzed; everytime I move I have another contraction. Nobody told me about this part...

My OB doc determines that I'm in active enough labor that he wants to admit me. Anyway, it's not like the floor is even half full. I get admitted to a beautiful labor/delivery/postpartum room, change into a robe and gown, and start walking around the unit. Every time a contraction hits, I stop, hold onto the wall rail with both hands, back to the wall, and concentrate. A nurse decides I'm doing it wrong. She comes over and turns me around so I'm facing the wall, with my legs spread and leaning over. One contraction convinces me that this is a BAD PLAN (at least for me). I turn around as fast as I can and resume my original position. I walk and walk until my doctor comes and wants to check me.

My doctor says I'm at 6 cm and fully effaced, but my water hasn't broken yet. He decides to go ahead and break it, to try to move my labor along. I feel a pop and gush, and a whole new dimension of intensity with my next contraction. I have to stay in bed for half an hour for fetal monitoring now, which I don't like one little bit. As soon as I'm allowed, I get back up and start walking again. I wonder what my baby will be, and when I'll get to see it. I'm hoping it'll be really soon - this is not my idea of fun.

After my next fetal monitoring, I try to walk again, but my back and abdomen are hurting too much now. I sit in the rocking chair for awhile, just rocking back and forth. I wish I could read, but I need my concentration to deal with these contractions. I try to meditate during them - just blank my mind and live in the moment, without thinking of how long it's been or how long it will be. Just breathe, relax everything I can, and deal with the now.

I've never been a person who wants people fussing around when I'm in pain - all I want is to be left alone. That's the part that is really bothering me, that people are trying to talk to me or move me during contractions (which hardly seem to let up now), that they won't just leave me alone. One nurse comes to talk to me - she's very sweet. I try to make a joke... "I guess it's too late to consider adoption, eh?" "What, you want to give your baby up for adoption?" "No, I want to adopt it. This seems like a bad idea". She looks at me like I'm crazy - I don't blame her.

The pain seems to have shifted a little - it doesn't hurt so much now, but all of a sudden my stomach clenches. What the fuck??! Hmmm, this is new... I'm sitting there contemplating this new sensation, and a nurse comes in. She checks out the fetal monitor strip, and casually says "Oh, let us know if you get the urge to push." Eureka!! Aha, I must be having the urge to push. Time to break down the nifty neato keen multifunction hospital bed into a delivery chair.

I get propped up in the stirrups, the nurse checks me out and pronounces me 10 cm dilated, 100% effaced. Ready to go! Since this is my first baby, she decides to have me do a test push. "Ok, one, two, three,..., nine, ten..." My baby's head crowns. "Oh, crap. Don't push any more - your doctor went back to his office. I'll have to call him." She calls the doctor. I'm in my room, puffing and panting and 'blowing out the candle', trying to keep from pushing. I do this for half an hour (longest 30 minutes of my life!), with the nurse repeating "Blow out the candle. You can't push if you're blowing out the candle" and me replying "Yes, I can. I am!" because no matter how hard I blow, my abdominal muscles have a mind of their own and they want this baby OUT!

Just as I decide this is it, I'm pushing, my doctor rushes in, having a gown and gloves thrown at him by a (rather worried) nurse. He gives me a pudendal block (using a total of 20cc of Xylocaine), then decides to do an episiotomy. I'm not at all in favor of this, but would consent to just about anything at this point, as long as I get to push. He cuts me, and I STAND STRAIGHT UP in the stirrups saying "THAT'S STILL SHARP!!!"

Thankfully, I'm allowed to push now, and 8 pushes later, a dark head covered in hair is out. The doc suctions, then I am allowed to deliver the rest. My baby has a loose nuchal cord (the cord is wrapped around its neck twice), so the doctor unwraps it, flipping the baby around like a little pancake. Dave sees its little bottom, and says "Wow, what a set of balls!" Imagine his embarrassment when the doctor flips the baby right side up, revealing it to be a little girl...

2:10 pm, January 21, 1994. Welcome to the world, Rowan Michelle Thompson.

It's been nine years today. Unbelievable. I still remember the first time I saw you, with your dark hair, and your dark brown eyes. You had brown eyes right from the start, never that faded blue-grey that other babies have. I thought you were the most amazing, beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I still think so today. The feeling I had of "Wow. I made this. This little perfect person. Every little bit of her came from my body." I simply couldn't grasp it, I was completely in awe. I still sometimes feel that there must have been a mistake; I can't possibly be responsible for you (and your brother); someone will come and say it was all a terrible mistake and take you away, because I am not qualified to raise you. Who do I think I am, that I feel like I can tell you how to grow up? What qualifies me to care for you? All I can say is, I hope I'm not screwing up too badly, and that you can forgive me some day for the times I have, and still will screw up.

Happy birthday, Rowan. I love you.

Imperfect prose for perusal, created at random.

I have things to say
But I don't have anything to say
That hasn't been said before
Maybe I have to say what you think i'll say
Because then we can just go along with the script
And go our seprate ways.

I have things to say
But I can't say them, so i'll write them down
And quietly hand you a note
So you can throw it in the trash, with me.

I have things to say
But we can't listen to each other
Because when we listen to each other we both shut up.

I have things to say
Because i'm imperfect and wavering
And I want to understand what happened

I have things to say
But you don't know, because i'm afaraid to say.

And when I talk you make excuses for not listening
Because you don't need an excuse; You just don't want to listen
And i've given up on you, but I can't get over you
Because i've given up on a lot of things
But I haven't forgotten them.

Knight to... sacrifice. Her partner's pain at watching a loved one suffering was obvious. The choice was to protect one or lose both. She chose to fall upon the blade to save them both. There are no bandages that could aid in healing this wound.

She has given her partner the chance to evaluate the game as a whole. She has crawled away from the board, leaving the pieces as they were. It is not for her to determine where to go from here.

Even lacking the board to scrutinize, she is still left with questions. She has learned that the game began even before that fateful evening, with her partner's pieces already moving into position. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, barriers had been created. While her partner pondered where to place each piece, she had been oblivious. She cannot believe that all of this was organized with malice. This game begins in the mind and even if we attempt to fight it, the game must be played, no matter the cost to the players.

She fears the outcome.

I sit, stomach turning and pulse racing. I was supposed to call them yesterday, but I didnt get the nerve until the office had closed (I thought it closed at 4 pm., when it actually closed at 3 pm.). So I called today. "Hi, this is mr. Larsen. Yes, I have a course running at your place, I would like to know if it will start, how many have signed up?". I have done those courses before, but never at this level, or as well-paid. I really really want to hear the phone lady say "yes, it seems there are enough sign-ups for two courses". Instead she says "I'm sorry, the administrator is in a meeting right now, can he call back, say, within half an hour?". I of course agree that yes, he can. 30 minutes more of Hell of not knowing, no problem.

It has now been 35 minutes. No call. I feel like a high school kid before graduation, hoping he won't flunk out. I never feared exams in school, though, so the experience is fairly uncommon for me, making it even worse. 2.45 pm. They close in 15 minutes, still no call. Throat is dry, bloodstream pounding through veins.

I'll call them again. Wish me luck...

I called. No luck. Their advertisement couldn't catch enough people outside of the regular season...

So I've been recovering from a breakup with my exe gf. It's been a few months and I'd decided that it was time to start dating again... no serious stuff just sharing some time with a female and having a good time. Problem; I'm a dork.

I don't meet many women in the course of a day. All the "normal" meeting places around here are anathema to me. Clubs and bars are far too shallow of a meeting place. I'm not an ugly man, neither am I a wonderously handsome one. So in those environs where looks is usually the first draw, I tend to get passed over. Now I'm not a terribly confident person with women, but I usually have no problems after I meet them. I'm a sociable and articulate person with a rather sarcastic wit. I'm not into cold-calling a woman and just walking up with a pickup line. If I were them I'd probably get pretty annoyed at that. I don't want to bug people.

My female friends aren't much of a help although they try. :-) Most of their acquaintances are involved already. So I thought I'd put up a personal ad.

It's been a rude awakening. I've got no inbound replies to my ad, not that I really expected any though. I've replied to many ads with varying success. A couple looked really promising in our conversations, then all a sudden I never heard back from them. The rest have been scams.

Okay now these really make me angry. They reply back with a really positive sounding message and the desire to speak. Catch is they us a forwarding service for protection(said with hinting of bad past experiences) that is a double blind so neither party gets the other's phone number. Sounds pretty up and up right? So wrong. It's a frelling 900 number. The website is terribly set up. You can index their images folders and see all the dupes in there.

I haven't given up hope yet though. It's just tough. I write a well thought-out and personal reply to these women's ads. I put some time into theses things actually. I hit send and hope that somehow it magically ends up in a reply.

The question I keep asking is: why don't I receive replies? Am I simply discarded because of my own fault or looks? Perhaps my message didn't get read because their inbox is filled with others like it. It seems, to me at least, that women have a decided advantage in dating, as far as getting inquiries is concerned.

I don't know, but I'm not sure what else to do at the moment. I'm trying not to get discouraged, but more and more this feels like a waste of time. Incidentally I'm using Yahoo personals, although the ad is under another name. I'm not trying advertise here. :-) Perhaps there is my problem; simply the wrong service. Alright enough grousing. if you have advice you wish to impart /msg me. Have a good day and thanks for reading.

3 Pet peeves of anyone who has a brain

Many people have their own little pet peeves. Most of the ones I have are shared by my friends, with a few exceptions. These are things that not only make you feel stupid, they make you want to punch the persons that are doing them right in the kisser.

1. When someone talks to another person about you in an insulting manner and acts like you can't hear them when they know that you can.

This thoroughly annoys me. I work in a grocery store and one day this happened to me. A female customer was with another female customer and she said kind of casually, yet loud enough that I could hear, "Well Doris, it looks like we got one of the slowest checkers here." I tried with all my might to hold back my urge to smother the lady with a plastic bag.

2. When a person tells you to do something you have no idea how to do and doesn't offer an explanation on how to do it.

This is another thing that happens at my work that pisses me off. It's one of those "when I say jump, you say how high" kind of things. People who do this sort of thing generally think they are better than you. They believe that they are so much better than you that they cannot give up two freakin minutes of their time to show you how to do a task. Sometimes they just don't have the time, but at least they could give you a simple sorry or maybe a reference to someone who can help you.

3. People who blame their crappy circumstances on someone else and whine and moan about it to other people.

I don't mind people who have crappy circumstances, but I do mind when they whine to me about them instead of asking for help or something. And some times people have crappy circumstances just because they were idiots and made some stupid choices. For instance, if you got caught smoking crack in your car, get your license revoked and then you come to me complaining about the police and how it was their fault, I would have to knock your head in. Many people whine as newbies on here. Heck, I kind of did the first time and I got borged for it. The point is whining gets you no where. Get off your rump and do something about it. Even though I am practically whining now, at least I'm writing about it, having some vague someone will read this and go, "Hey! I've been doing this stuff. I should stop!"

If you can't tell, I am in an extremely un-cordial mood today. It may be the CONSTANT YELLING IN MY EAR! Or it could be that life can throw you flowers sometimes or it can throw poop. Big, stinky terds. Anyway, no matter how the day goes, God gets all the glory. Why? Because he's God. Duh.

This morning on the way to work it was snowing. This is unusual for Washington, D.C. -- the past few years we’ve gotten very little snow. But this year it seems to snow every day, maybe even once a week.

As I was shuffling along, I happened to look down at the snowflakes resting on my coat. What caught my eye was that they were formed into perfect crystallized geometric shapes-- like the snowflakes that kids cut out from paper and hang in classroom windows. My entire life, I always believed those paper snowflakes to be an abstract representation of the real thing -- something dreamed up by some school kid generations ago and passed down. Never did I imagine that they exist in nature.

I’m not sure if this is a special event -- that the unusually low temperatures have brought about something I’ve never seen before -- or if I just never noticed. But what I do know is that I must have looked quite odd, staring down at my coat as I headed to work, transfixed by something I could swear I’ve never seen before.

It’s these little moments that make me realize that there’s still so much to discover out there in the world that I’ve never seen before or bothered to notice. All I have to do is look for it.

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