Bye bye Blogger, hello Hosting Matters.
trunkfullojunk is running.
12.06.2004
12.01.2004
Ick
You know what's worse than having a stomach bug?
Having one at the same time your six-year-old son does.
It was a puky night here at the Sarver home. This morning I have sheets in the washer (ick), towels ready for the next load (ick), and a large stainless steel bowl that served as Conor's portable vomitorium to wash (infinite ick).
Even the dog won't come near us.
Ick.
Having one at the same time your six-year-old son does.
It was a puky night here at the Sarver home. This morning I have sheets in the washer (ick), towels ready for the next load (ick), and a large stainless steel bowl that served as Conor's portable vomitorium to wash (infinite ick).
Even the dog won't come near us.
Ick.
11.22.2004
Kill the lawyers
Starting with this one.
This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I heard a story on NPR that I couldn't quite believe. After a little research, I couldn't help but be angry. Submitted for your approval, activist lawyer Lynne Stewart.
From her own website:
Radical human rights attorney Lynne Stewart has been falsely accused of helping terrorists. On Tuesday, April 9, 2002, she was arrested and agents searched her Manhattan office for documents. She was arraigned before Manhattan federal Judge John Koetl. This is an obvious attempt by the U.S. government to silence dissent and install fear in those who would fight against the U.S. government's racism, seek to help Arabs and Muslims being prosecuted for free speech and defend the rights of all oppressed people.
You know who she's in trouble over - the poor Arab/Muslim who's been denied his rights? Sheik Omar Abdel Rahman, the man convicted of planning to bomb multiple New York landmarks.
As for the "falsely accused" bullshit:
In May of 2000, Lynne Stewart signed an affirmation in which she agreed to adhere to SAMs [Special Administrative Measures]. These SAMs allowed her to be accompanied by translators when speaking to Abdel Rahman, but only to communicate with her client about legal matters. The SAMs also prohibited the dissemination of Rahman's communications to third parties.
A few days after agreeing to these conditions, Stewart allegedly visited with her client and pretended to consult with him on legal matters. In actuality, however, the government claims that she was permitting Abdel Rahman to discuss with his interpreter whether "the Islamic Group" should continue its ceasefire with Egypt.
The Islamic Group is an entity that has been officially designated by the Secretary of State as a foreign terrorist organization, and Rahman is allegedly the organization's spiritual leader. According to the government, after the meeting at which the prohibited conversation took place, Stewart announced to the media that her client had withdrawn his support for the then-existing ceasefire between the Islamic Group and Egypt.
Stewart is accused as well of having played a role in facilitating (by pretending to be consulting with her client) the release of other instructions given by Rahman. Among them was the issuance of a fatwah under Rahman's name, calling on "brother scholars everywhere in the Muslim world to do their part and issue a unanimous fatwah that urges the Muslim nation to fight the Jews and to kill them wherever they are."
* from Sherry Colb at FindLaw's Writ
Stewart doesn't deny she violated the court order she had signed. She challenges her indictment based on the idea that Rahman's right to free speech has been taken from him, and that her conversations with Rahman are covered under attorney-client privilege.
Again: bullshit.
She didn't support Rahman's right to dispute his guilt or to say he believed in fairies. Rather, she gave his followers the go-ahead to kill people. That's what happens when a ceasefire is declared void: the shooting can start again. On top of that, she let him declare a fatwah against the Jews with very explicit instructions.
Last I checked, incitement to violence was not free speech. Hate speech isn't free speech. And she can hug the Constitution to her sagging chest all she wants - it can't protect her from the fact that she is the embodiment of the reason our rights may be in danger: that lawyers like her have waved the Bill of Rights like a banner to protect the people that need protection the least.
These lawyers found the loopholes and stretched them to the point where all manner of scumbags have walked through, free, and back into a society that shouldn't have to deal with them. Is it any wonder, then, that something like the Patriot Act was conceived?
I'm reasonably sure the Founding Fathers didn't want their document, their beautifully-wrought Constitution, used like this. To them, every person had a chance, under due process of law, to prove his innocence. But that was all that was promised. They had a basic belief that the innocent would be free and the guilty would be punished.
I do so hope that's the case this time.
By the way: is my headline unprotected speech? If so, I know a good lawyer.
This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I heard a story on NPR that I couldn't quite believe. After a little research, I couldn't help but be angry. Submitted for your approval, activist lawyer Lynne Stewart.
From her own website:
Radical human rights attorney Lynne Stewart has been falsely accused of helping terrorists. On Tuesday, April 9, 2002, she was arrested and agents searched her Manhattan office for documents. She was arraigned before Manhattan federal Judge John Koetl. This is an obvious attempt by the U.S. government to silence dissent and install fear in those who would fight against the U.S. government's racism, seek to help Arabs and Muslims being prosecuted for free speech and defend the rights of all oppressed people.
You know who she's in trouble over - the poor Arab/Muslim who's been denied his rights? Sheik Omar Abdel Rahman, the man convicted of planning to bomb multiple New York landmarks.
As for the "falsely accused" bullshit:
In May of 2000, Lynne Stewart signed an affirmation in which she agreed to adhere to SAMs [Special Administrative Measures]. These SAMs allowed her to be accompanied by translators when speaking to Abdel Rahman, but only to communicate with her client about legal matters. The SAMs also prohibited the dissemination of Rahman's communications to third parties.
A few days after agreeing to these conditions, Stewart allegedly visited with her client and pretended to consult with him on legal matters. In actuality, however, the government claims that she was permitting Abdel Rahman to discuss with his interpreter whether "the Islamic Group" should continue its ceasefire with Egypt.
The Islamic Group is an entity that has been officially designated by the Secretary of State as a foreign terrorist organization, and Rahman is allegedly the organization's spiritual leader. According to the government, after the meeting at which the prohibited conversation took place, Stewart announced to the media that her client had withdrawn his support for the then-existing ceasefire between the Islamic Group and Egypt.
Stewart is accused as well of having played a role in facilitating (by pretending to be consulting with her client) the release of other instructions given by Rahman. Among them was the issuance of a fatwah under Rahman's name, calling on "brother scholars everywhere in the Muslim world to do their part and issue a unanimous fatwah that urges the Muslim nation to fight the Jews and to kill them wherever they are."
* from Sherry Colb at FindLaw's Writ
Stewart doesn't deny she violated the court order she had signed. She challenges her indictment based on the idea that Rahman's right to free speech has been taken from him, and that her conversations with Rahman are covered under attorney-client privilege.
Again: bullshit.
She didn't support Rahman's right to dispute his guilt or to say he believed in fairies. Rather, she gave his followers the go-ahead to kill people. That's what happens when a ceasefire is declared void: the shooting can start again. On top of that, she let him declare a fatwah against the Jews with very explicit instructions.
Last I checked, incitement to violence was not free speech. Hate speech isn't free speech. And she can hug the Constitution to her sagging chest all she wants - it can't protect her from the fact that she is the embodiment of the reason our rights may be in danger: that lawyers like her have waved the Bill of Rights like a banner to protect the people that need protection the least.
These lawyers found the loopholes and stretched them to the point where all manner of scumbags have walked through, free, and back into a society that shouldn't have to deal with them. Is it any wonder, then, that something like the Patriot Act was conceived?
I'm reasonably sure the Founding Fathers didn't want their document, their beautifully-wrought Constitution, used like this. To them, every person had a chance, under due process of law, to prove his innocence. But that was all that was promised. They had a basic belief that the innocent would be free and the guilty would be punished.
I do so hope that's the case this time.
By the way: is my headline unprotected speech? If so, I know a good lawyer.
The sky fell.
All the way down to 4,000 feet.
That's how it feels around here after the first official winter storm. Low gray clouds, and bright white snow plastering the mountains almost down to the edge of the valley floor. It's absolutely beautiful.
Yesterday was cold and rainy. I cooked ham and bean soup and made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. My son and I played video games and didn't feel guilty. I had the fireplace going. The dog got the hambone once it cooled and took it out into the backyard. Half an hour later, she came back inside soaking wet and hopped up onto her corner of the couch, but I didn't get mad. And I only had one near-death experience.
Last night, I was on my way to a fundraising thing for Conor's school at the mall. Mom was in the car with me. The roads were - surprise - wet. Just before my freeway exit, I saw a huge swath of standing water and took my foot off the gas. The Subaru hit the puddle, threatened to slide, and satisfyingly gripped the road. I accelerated, and looked into my rear view mirror just in time to see something unexpected: tail lights then headlights then tail lights. Near as I could tell, a Four Runner in the fast lane hit the same water going much quicker than I did. He spun out, all the way across four lanes of traffic, coming within three feet of literally wiping my ass off the road.
Then I did what I usually do in near-miss situations where I've emerged alive: I started laughing.
This is why my mother thinks I'm nuts.
Anyway, my mom and I are alive, and the sky is lower than normal, and much more lovely. Happy Monday.
That's how it feels around here after the first official winter storm. Low gray clouds, and bright white snow plastering the mountains almost down to the edge of the valley floor. It's absolutely beautiful.
Yesterday was cold and rainy. I cooked ham and bean soup and made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. My son and I played video games and didn't feel guilty. I had the fireplace going. The dog got the hambone once it cooled and took it out into the backyard. Half an hour later, she came back inside soaking wet and hopped up onto her corner of the couch, but I didn't get mad. And I only had one near-death experience.
Last night, I was on my way to a fundraising thing for Conor's school at the mall. Mom was in the car with me. The roads were - surprise - wet. Just before my freeway exit, I saw a huge swath of standing water and took my foot off the gas. The Subaru hit the puddle, threatened to slide, and satisfyingly gripped the road. I accelerated, and looked into my rear view mirror just in time to see something unexpected: tail lights then headlights then tail lights. Near as I could tell, a Four Runner in the fast lane hit the same water going much quicker than I did. He spun out, all the way across four lanes of traffic, coming within three feet of literally wiping my ass off the road.
Then I did what I usually do in near-miss situations where I've emerged alive: I started laughing.
This is why my mother thinks I'm nuts.
Anyway, my mom and I are alive, and the sky is lower than normal, and much more lovely. Happy Monday.
Monday . . .
. . . is the day of slow starts.
. . . is the day you spend most of Sunday preparing for.
. . . is the day you drink more coffee than usual.
. . . is the day you clear the weekend's drunk dials off your voicemail.
. . . is the first day of the rest of your week.
. . . is the only day shit like this makes any sense at all.
. . . is the day you spend most of Sunday preparing for.
. . . is the day you drink more coffee than usual.
. . . is the day you clear the weekend's drunk dials off your voicemail.
. . . is the first day of the rest of your week.
. . . is the only day shit like this makes any sense at all.
11.18.2004
It could be one of three things
My head is killing me, and my choices for culprit are the following:
1) Allergies
2) Caffeine withdrawal
3) You know that movie "Scanners?"
1) Allergies
2) Caffeine withdrawal
3) You know that movie "Scanners?"
Shut the Canuck up
This bitch is really starting to bother me.
And she also wears combat boots.
UPDATE: She got the boot.
Ha!
And she also wears combat boots.
UPDATE: She got the boot.
Ha!
11.16.2004
Things I still have left over from Halloween:
Four Kit-Kats
Three Almond Joys
Seven Hershey bars
Two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Five lurid orange popcorn balls in green plastic baggies
Three Almond Joys
Seven Hershey bars
Two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Five lurid orange popcorn balls in green plastic baggies
Our Lady of the Victuals
Some people see signs of divine providence in the clouds, or hear the voice of God in a dream. This nutball had divine intervention strike at lunch.
Really. She saw the face of the Virgin Mary 10 years ago on the toast of her grilled cheese sandwich. So what did she do?
She put the sandwich in a clear plastic box with cotton balls and kept it on her night stand.
Which is the modern version of what they did with relics in Medieval times. Back then, they would take an oaken box and line it with the fluff gathered from a monk's navel.
At first, she was scared by the image, "but now that I realize how unique it is, I wanted to share it with the world," Duyser said.
So she tried to sell it on eBay. She almost got to share it with someone for the low low price of $22,000, until eBay pulled her ad. Amazingly enough, they seemed to think it was a joke.
The sandwich, she added, has never sprouted a spore of mold.
And we dare doubt its divinity? After all, the Virgin was well known for her tidy house. She is the Lady of the Duster, as well as the Immaculate Mother of Clean Baseboards. I keep a baking soda Virgin statue in my fridge and I've never had so much as a wilted lettuce leaf, nor has my milk absorbed the odor of red onion.
(and now I'll stop, because I think it's impossible for me to lapse any further as a Catholic)
UPDATE: The auction has been reopened.
Really. She saw the face of the Virgin Mary 10 years ago on the toast of her grilled cheese sandwich. So what did she do?
She put the sandwich in a clear plastic box with cotton balls and kept it on her night stand.
Which is the modern version of what they did with relics in Medieval times. Back then, they would take an oaken box and line it with the fluff gathered from a monk's navel.
At first, she was scared by the image, "but now that I realize how unique it is, I wanted to share it with the world," Duyser said.
So she tried to sell it on eBay. She almost got to share it with someone for the low low price of $22,000, until eBay pulled her ad. Amazingly enough, they seemed to think it was a joke.
The sandwich, she added, has never sprouted a spore of mold.
And we dare doubt its divinity? After all, the Virgin was well known for her tidy house. She is the Lady of the Duster, as well as the Immaculate Mother of Clean Baseboards. I keep a baking soda Virgin statue in my fridge and I've never had so much as a wilted lettuce leaf, nor has my milk absorbed the odor of red onion.
(and now I'll stop, because I think it's impossible for me to lapse any further as a Catholic)
UPDATE: The auction has been reopened.
Hope Dies
Family believes Hassan murdered
Forgotten by the MSM in favor of our own soldiers' transgressions, Margaret Hassan finally makes the news again only after a video surfaces that may show her murder.
My prayers go to her family.
And, as always, I send sincere hopes that each of these fuckholes take a bacon-wrapped cruise missile up the ass.
Forgotten by the MSM in favor of our own soldiers' transgressions, Margaret Hassan finally makes the news again only after a video surfaces that may show her murder.
My prayers go to her family.
And, as always, I send sincere hopes that each of these fuckholes take a bacon-wrapped cruise missile up the ass.
11.15.2004
Bombers and Fighters and Tears, Oh My!
(WARNING: It's a long one, but necessarily so. Once I started, I couldn't leave much out.)
Sunday, we went to Aviation Nation, the big air show at Nellis AFB.
It was a beautiful day for air superiority. The sky was clear and blue. There was a bit of wind, but nothing unmanageable. And, oh! the planes.
When we arrived, the shuttle let us off and we walked the Air Force Red Carpet, right through the belly of a C-5 to be welcomed by the screaming jets of an F/A-18 Hornet.
We happily walked the flightline, eyeing the pins and patches and souvenirs. I let my jaw drop to the ridiculously clean tarmac when the F-117 Knighthawk flew overhead, eerily silent and slick. One of my favorite patches is one I collected from last year's show: "Stealth. When it absolutely, positively has to be taken out overnight."
We were in one the hangars, checking out the NASA display (I was trying to shove my hand into the glove of a flight suit) when an ear-splitting afterburner hit us. We hurried out to watch an F-14 Tomcat being gleefully put through its paces.
The F-35 was there, in all its prototypical glory. The Joint Strike Fighter is a smashing piece of engineering. In fact, the guys from the Skunk Works, rather than the test pilots, were there to talk to the interested masses about it. I hung around and got a great poster and a cool photo op.
Until this point, we were experiencing the standard shock and awe over all the great stuff. Then we crawled through a restored B-17. This is the same type plane as the "Memphis Belle." Tight doesn't begin to describe it. Neither does motherfucking flying deathtrap. A ladder brought us up to a low overhang. To the left at eye level, the nose gun was shoved right up against the front glass. Closer and above was the cockpit.
On hands and knees, we scraped to the right until we could stand. My head just barely edged into the top turret gun position. We crossed a narrow narrow catwalk above the bomb bay. The doors were open to the ground below, and I imagined being thousands of feet up. "Hello, Berlin," I whispered. More gun positions lined the sides of the cabin (13 total on the plane), and I tripped over the ball turret gun. It was tiny, and suddenly unimaginable that a person had been stuffed into this spot to hang and shoot the whole terrifying way to Germany and back.
We never did spot exactly how they got a man into the tail gun. I figured they slid the seat out like a drawer, jammed him in and slammed it shut. We stumbled out the rear, and back to the front. There, surrounded by a small crowd, was a grandad in full uniform. He was sharp and decorated to the hilt. This man had been a ball turret gunner in WWII. I didn't know whether to salute him, hug him, or shake his hand. I couldn't really get close enough to do any of that. Just the same, I said out loud, "thank you."
After that, I felt a little sad but I was soon very cheery again, thanks to the acrobatics of the F-15 Strike Eagle, my all-time favorite fighter. The A-10 Thunderbolt, a scrappy tank with wings, dropped bombs and made satisfying kabooms.
And then, another unexpected treat: the flight of the F/A-22 Raptor. I'd never seen it in the air before, and it was a thing of beauty: quiet, sleek and graceful.
We wandered some more, drank a beer (or three), had bratwurst cooked on the world's largest grill, and sat to wait for the Thunderbirds' finale.
But first, there was the 60th Anniversary of D-Day Aerial Reenactment. I can't begin to describe how it felt to sit there and watch B-25s fly overhead, pursued by a BF-109 with a swastika painted on its tail. Speeches from Roosevelt, Churchill and Eisenhower played over the loudspeakers, along with archival news reports on the invasion. P-51 Mustangs buzzed low and a circling C-47 dropped paratroopers (the Army's Golden Knights). When it was over, we stood as two bugles played "Taps." I began to cry, and cried right through as the speakers choked out "I'll Be Seeing You."
I cry a lot, I admit it. I'm a rank sentamentalist. In this case, though, I cried for a reason: all those boys and the people that loved them. My grandpa and grandma were in this group. My grandpa was a bugler at the Presidio in San Francisco who blew "Taps" over many graves. Twelve years ago, "Taps" was played as we buried him. And in January, I compiled a music CD to be played during my grandma's viewing. The same version of "I'll Be Seeing You" was on it.
Miles kept his arm around me until I stopped. I made sure I hadn't cried rivers down my face, and then it was time for the Thunderbirds.
Their precision was astounding. Their music was stirring. They were the perfect capper to a day of wonderful things. And I really had to hand it to them on this most important point: not once during the entire performance did they play that flaccid bit of cheese, Lee Greenwood's "Proud To Be An American."
In all, it was a fabulous day and the best Air Show I've ever been to.
Sunday, we went to Aviation Nation, the big air show at Nellis AFB.
It was a beautiful day for air superiority. The sky was clear and blue. There was a bit of wind, but nothing unmanageable. And, oh! the planes.
When we arrived, the shuttle let us off and we walked the Air Force Red Carpet, right through the belly of a C-5 to be welcomed by the screaming jets of an F/A-18 Hornet.
We happily walked the flightline, eyeing the pins and patches and souvenirs. I let my jaw drop to the ridiculously clean tarmac when the F-117 Knighthawk flew overhead, eerily silent and slick. One of my favorite patches is one I collected from last year's show: "Stealth. When it absolutely, positively has to be taken out overnight."
We were in one the hangars, checking out the NASA display (I was trying to shove my hand into the glove of a flight suit) when an ear-splitting afterburner hit us. We hurried out to watch an F-14 Tomcat being gleefully put through its paces.
The F-35 was there, in all its prototypical glory. The Joint Strike Fighter is a smashing piece of engineering. In fact, the guys from the Skunk Works, rather than the test pilots, were there to talk to the interested masses about it. I hung around and got a great poster and a cool photo op.
Until this point, we were experiencing the standard shock and awe over all the great stuff. Then we crawled through a restored B-17. This is the same type plane as the "Memphis Belle." Tight doesn't begin to describe it. Neither does motherfucking flying deathtrap. A ladder brought us up to a low overhang. To the left at eye level, the nose gun was shoved right up against the front glass. Closer and above was the cockpit.
On hands and knees, we scraped to the right until we could stand. My head just barely edged into the top turret gun position. We crossed a narrow narrow catwalk above the bomb bay. The doors were open to the ground below, and I imagined being thousands of feet up. "Hello, Berlin," I whispered. More gun positions lined the sides of the cabin (13 total on the plane), and I tripped over the ball turret gun. It was tiny, and suddenly unimaginable that a person had been stuffed into this spot to hang and shoot the whole terrifying way to Germany and back.
We never did spot exactly how they got a man into the tail gun. I figured they slid the seat out like a drawer, jammed him in and slammed it shut. We stumbled out the rear, and back to the front. There, surrounded by a small crowd, was a grandad in full uniform. He was sharp and decorated to the hilt. This man had been a ball turret gunner in WWII. I didn't know whether to salute him, hug him, or shake his hand. I couldn't really get close enough to do any of that. Just the same, I said out loud, "thank you."
After that, I felt a little sad but I was soon very cheery again, thanks to the acrobatics of the F-15 Strike Eagle, my all-time favorite fighter. The A-10 Thunderbolt, a scrappy tank with wings, dropped bombs and made satisfying kabooms.
And then, another unexpected treat: the flight of the F/A-22 Raptor. I'd never seen it in the air before, and it was a thing of beauty: quiet, sleek and graceful.
We wandered some more, drank a beer (or three), had bratwurst cooked on the world's largest grill, and sat to wait for the Thunderbirds' finale.
But first, there was the 60th Anniversary of D-Day Aerial Reenactment. I can't begin to describe how it felt to sit there and watch B-25s fly overhead, pursued by a BF-109 with a swastika painted on its tail. Speeches from Roosevelt, Churchill and Eisenhower played over the loudspeakers, along with archival news reports on the invasion. P-51 Mustangs buzzed low and a circling C-47 dropped paratroopers (the Army's Golden Knights). When it was over, we stood as two bugles played "Taps." I began to cry, and cried right through as the speakers choked out "I'll Be Seeing You."
I cry a lot, I admit it. I'm a rank sentamentalist. In this case, though, I cried for a reason: all those boys and the people that loved them. My grandpa and grandma were in this group. My grandpa was a bugler at the Presidio in San Francisco who blew "Taps" over many graves. Twelve years ago, "Taps" was played as we buried him. And in January, I compiled a music CD to be played during my grandma's viewing. The same version of "I'll Be Seeing You" was on it.
Miles kept his arm around me until I stopped. I made sure I hadn't cried rivers down my face, and then it was time for the Thunderbirds.
Their precision was astounding. Their music was stirring. They were the perfect capper to a day of wonderful things. And I really had to hand it to them on this most important point: not once during the entire performance did they play that flaccid bit of cheese, Lee Greenwood's "Proud To Be An American."
In all, it was a fabulous day and the best Air Show I've ever been to.
11.11.2004
On Veterans Day
Special thanks to Louie Howell, Donald Johnson, Dorothy Johnson (1918 - 1997), Arthur Mittry (1918 - 1992), Clarence James Sarver (1917 - 1992), and my stepdad, Gerard Graupman.
And thank you to all the rest.
And thank you to all the rest.
11.10.2004
Party hats, everyone!
Palestinian Leader Arafat Dies at 75
P.S. - What the fuck is with that nice, respectful graphic on CNN.com?
THE MORNING AFTER UPDATE: CNN pulled it. But boy, it used to be a fluffy piece of crap.
P.S. - What the fuck is with that nice, respectful graphic on CNN.com?
THE MORNING AFTER UPDATE: CNN pulled it. But boy, it used to be a fluffy piece of crap.
I've been had!
It's the (blessedly) first time this has happened to me: the call from the school nurse. When I answered my cell phone she said, "This is Nancy, from the Health Center at school. Is Shannon there?" This was delivered in a bland, "he's hurt, but don't panic" voice. Of course, I panicked.
All sorts of horrible things flew through my head: broken bones, head injuries, ebola. Even as my mind churned, I just as calmly said, "This is Conor's mom. What's going on?"
"He has a tummy ache."
Relief. That's it? He gets those all the time, usually followed by a ridiculously long and smelly trip to the bathroom at the end of which he asks me to check his butt. Oh, the joy of it!
So I asked her if he'd been to the bathroom.
"No, but there's a bug going around and he looks really pale. If he has it, it'll be over in 24 to 48 hours."
Immediately, I felt that sweeping, mom-pity for my poor little guy. I sprang into action, informing bosses, promising work from home, wondering if he'd throw up in the car, and I sped to his school.
When I retrieved him, he looked wan and sad. And yes, paler than usual. I promised chicken broth, potato chips, pillows and cartoons - all the things that made me feel a bit better when I was ill. When we got home, he took off his shoes and lay down on the couch as I went into the kitchen to make his lunch.
When I peeked out at him, he was JUMPING ON THE FURNITURE.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
He looked around at me. Smooth as silk, he replied, "Sometimes this makes me feel better."
I sat next to him on the couch, pulled him onto my lap and asked him, "What happened at school today?"
Five minutes later, I had the story: there was a substitute teacher, and he did have a stomachache. He asked to go to the nurse, but she wouldn't let him, suggesting that he was hungry instead. Not being understood made him physically feel even worse. Finally, after he'd worried himself sick, she let him go.
As soon as I came running to his aid, he felt fine.
I explained - gently - that he needs to learn how to deal with trouble a little better, and that I'd help him any way I could.
It's only first grade. I know, later, he'll play sick when there's a test or a report due that he hasn't finished. Then, I'll send him to school to face the consequences. Today, he's a little boy still learning how to deal with adversity. I can't rescue him every time, but today, I feel that I've done the right thing.
Even if he did trick me into it.
All sorts of horrible things flew through my head: broken bones, head injuries, ebola. Even as my mind churned, I just as calmly said, "This is Conor's mom. What's going on?"
"He has a tummy ache."
Relief. That's it? He gets those all the time, usually followed by a ridiculously long and smelly trip to the bathroom at the end of which he asks me to check his butt. Oh, the joy of it!
So I asked her if he'd been to the bathroom.
"No, but there's a bug going around and he looks really pale. If he has it, it'll be over in 24 to 48 hours."
Immediately, I felt that sweeping, mom-pity for my poor little guy. I sprang into action, informing bosses, promising work from home, wondering if he'd throw up in the car, and I sped to his school.
When I retrieved him, he looked wan and sad. And yes, paler than usual. I promised chicken broth, potato chips, pillows and cartoons - all the things that made me feel a bit better when I was ill. When we got home, he took off his shoes and lay down on the couch as I went into the kitchen to make his lunch.
When I peeked out at him, he was JUMPING ON THE FURNITURE.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
He looked around at me. Smooth as silk, he replied, "Sometimes this makes me feel better."
I sat next to him on the couch, pulled him onto my lap and asked him, "What happened at school today?"
Five minutes later, I had the story: there was a substitute teacher, and he did have a stomachache. He asked to go to the nurse, but she wouldn't let him, suggesting that he was hungry instead. Not being understood made him physically feel even worse. Finally, after he'd worried himself sick, she let him go.
As soon as I came running to his aid, he felt fine.
I explained - gently - that he needs to learn how to deal with trouble a little better, and that I'd help him any way I could.
It's only first grade. I know, later, he'll play sick when there's a test or a report due that he hasn't finished. Then, I'll send him to school to face the consequences. Today, he's a little boy still learning how to deal with adversity. I can't rescue him every time, but today, I feel that I've done the right thing.
Even if he did trick me into it.
11.09.2004
Like we didn't see this coming
Over at Debka:
Palestinian FM Nabil Shaath told world media in Paris that poisoning and cancer had been ruled out as causes of Yasser Arafat’s illness. He attributed bad health to long incarceration at his Ramallah HQ under Israeli siege. He also announced presidential elections in 60 days with Legislature Speaker Fathi Rouh acting president.
Joint Hamas-Al Aqsa Brigades-Jihad Islami statement in Gaza echoes Shaat accusation, holds Israeli responsible for Arafat’s death and vows revenge.
(If you visit Debka, be sure to read the article about "Suha's Payoff." It's only fitting that this ghoul should end his life surrounded by vultures.)
Palestinian FM Nabil Shaath told world media in Paris that poisoning and cancer had been ruled out as causes of Yasser Arafat’s illness. He attributed bad health to long incarceration at his Ramallah HQ under Israeli siege. He also announced presidential elections in 60 days with Legislature Speaker Fathi Rouh acting president.
Joint Hamas-Al Aqsa Brigades-Jihad Islami statement in Gaza echoes Shaat accusation, holds Israeli responsible for Arafat’s death and vows revenge.
(If you visit Debka, be sure to read the article about "Suha's Payoff." It's only fitting that this ghoul should end his life surrounded by vultures.)
Make shitty music, not war.
Thru Drudge:
Madonna calls for US troops to leave Iraq
"There's global terror everywhere and it's absurd to think you can get it by going to one country and dropping tons of bombs on innocent people."
Everyone's entitled to her own opinion. I'm entitled to call her a simplistic twat.
Though I myself don't completely agree with this choice of targets in the WOT, I still refuse to believe that our sole plan for winning that war is to - how did she put it? - drop "tons of bombs on innocent people." THAT'S absurd.
We have a situation there that can't be solved by just getting out, no matter how much Madame, in her fairytale London studio land, wishes it were so. It is regrettable that there will be civilian casualties, as was pointed out this morning. I hate knowing that children will suffer. That's human, and right.
But the people we fight don't even make that distinction. They kill the children of their enemies. They hide among their own children, drawing our fire. To them, there are no innocents - every person is subservient to their twisted cause.
Our place in this conflict is hard enough. I wish, sincerely wish, that the people who get the interviews and the headlines would consider their positions a little more carefully. I wish they'd use their influence, deserved or not, to educate rather than pontificate.
Ha. Who's living in a dreamland now?
Madonna calls for US troops to leave Iraq
"There's global terror everywhere and it's absurd to think you can get it by going to one country and dropping tons of bombs on innocent people."
Everyone's entitled to her own opinion. I'm entitled to call her a simplistic twat.
Though I myself don't completely agree with this choice of targets in the WOT, I still refuse to believe that our sole plan for winning that war is to - how did she put it? - drop "tons of bombs on innocent people." THAT'S absurd.
We have a situation there that can't be solved by just getting out, no matter how much Madame, in her fairytale London studio land, wishes it were so. It is regrettable that there will be civilian casualties, as was pointed out this morning. I hate knowing that children will suffer. That's human, and right.
But the people we fight don't even make that distinction. They kill the children of their enemies. They hide among their own children, drawing our fire. To them, there are no innocents - every person is subservient to their twisted cause.
Our place in this conflict is hard enough. I wish, sincerely wish, that the people who get the interviews and the headlines would consider their positions a little more carefully. I wish they'd use their influence, deserved or not, to educate rather than pontificate.
Ha. Who's living in a dreamland now?
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