Why is it when you spend time with an older person (the kind with graying hair that always leaves their turn signal blinker on for mile after mile when they are not turning) they always get around to showing you photographs? Usually it is a picture of their grandchildren. They carry them with pride right next to their preparation H. If that isn't love I don't know what is! They are usually good looking youngsters too. However, whenever you are shown the grandparent's own portrait from "back in the day" they always look equally gorgeous! I'm not kidding. Folks in the 1930's, 40's, and 50's have stellar snapshots of themselves. It was perhaps the heyday of portrait photography. Most look professionally placed and have the appearance of a model posing for a magazine cover.
My high school graduation picture doesn't look anything like me either so that's gonna be my benchmark when I'm old and wrinkly! Their head is tilted just so and they have a smile on their face. Their skin is a creamy white and they are always pleasant upon the eye. You look at their picture then you look at them standing there with you in the present moment. You look again at the picture and back to them once more. If you squint just right you catch the resemblance to the beauty in the photo.
What happened? Time, the avenger of all that is skin deep, is having a slow yet equally amusing laugh at our expense. We, the culture that worships wrinkle free, smooth skin, single chinned, firm breasted, muscle toned, hard bodies are fighting a losing battle. It's similar to climbing a hill of sand. The longer we struggle toward the heights of beauty the more the foundation under our feet ebbs away. If only those old fogies taught us that sometimes you peak right at the beginning then maybe we could handle aging more gracefully. I guess they weren't warned either so they probably secretly enjoy watching our slow motion battle to stay pretty and chuckle to themselves.
Women especially have been targeted to fight the good fight that they are destined to lose. If you are not 18 years old with a tight face and butt to go with it then you've got a problem. As a woman you become old while a man who has considerable mileage on him can be viewed as "a catch" long past his prime. Being self-delusional, rationalizing shell of oneself, helps keep the illusion alive.
I have never seen one of those older people's youth photos that were an ugly one. C'mon! With all of the goofy looking young adults running around our streets the ugly gene must go back generations! The term ugly gene is the technological term for those in the field of human genome study. It's easier to say than "ewe doggie did ya see that ugliosis thrombosis case in the waiting room?"
Why is there no pictorial evidence to back up the logic of this "they weren't all beautiful once" theory? Is it that photographers didn't take pictures of homely people or something? It is nearly as disturbing to check out the obituary page of metropolitan newspapers and see the dearly departed 110 year old with a picture from when they were 35 standing next to Herbert Hoover (and of course they are good looking). Sure when we get over 40 we begin the slide into the hideous and gruesome category of eye pain inflictor. Somewhere after the 50- 60-year range we begin to look like our ravaged beauty should be gauged by something akin to a Richter scale.
Perhaps it is a matter of perspective. If you had stood next to the older person when the picture was initially taken you would recognize a lot more of that beauty that is still on their face. Since you only know them as an older person it is more of a shock to your mind to fathom that they could have ever looked as good as you think you do! Boy you'll have a surprise when the Choo- choo train of time runs over your illusions.
Then again this is the age of plastic surgery, face-lifts, tummy tucks, body lift's and fountain of youth beauty supplies. Perhaps with a little dab of beauty cream and the right doctor you will be able to regress into a second childhood of sorts. Just make sure you look good doing it and turn off that damn turn signal!
Contributed by:Giosue' Santarelli
Are Our Young Women In Trouble? Today’s Illusionary Icons
My generation grew up watching Mary Tyler Moore proudly hold her own in the boorish business world, Edith innocently defy Archie’s intolerance, and Maude argue for social reform. We read about the “women’s movement” in Cosmopolitan magazine, while Cher broke new ground with her unabashed sexuality. Over the years, the struggles of our older sisters made it possible for us to open doors, to attain more than they had, to soar. As we grew up, we dreamed of meeting our Prince Charming, but we also envisioned working in the city or becoming a doctor or a lawyer. Indeed, over the years we made important strides in our quest for equality with men in business and in society, but what about in relationships?
Science tells us that women’s domesticity and nurturing qualities are instinctive, however, we also learned ways of thinking and interacting with others from our mothers, who had, of course, learned from their mothers. But what had we learned? Thirty years ago, most of us saw our mothers cater to our fathers, while dismissing their own ideas, and neglecting themselves. They did what was expected of them, but were they happy? As one woman said, “I’ll never forget that look on my mother’s face… she couldn’t have been happy.” We told ourselves that things would be different in our relationships, and they are, to some extent. But had the freedom and independence that had finally bubbled to the surface made us wiser and more connected to our inner selves, or did it just give us more outside choices? Had those achievements influenced our roles as loving and lovable companions?
In discussing this subject with women as young as thirteen and as old as never mind, I could see that the older women who had been influenced by our pioneer sisters, knew how important individuality and respect were to women. The younger ones, however, seemed to demonstrate the same self-effacing behavior as in years past, putting the needs and desires of men ahead of their own. This new breed of female seemed unprepared, naïve, and oblivious to what women before us had accomplished. Accordingly, if how we think and behave is a result of what we were taught and exposed to as children, what does that tell us about girls growing up today?
Have you noticed how obsessed most young women appear to be with having the best body, face, and hairstyle? Why is physical “perfection” such a priority today? Could it be the dozens of makeover and plastic surgery shows on television or the constant marketing of products consuming the airwaves and billboards, luring our young women with false promises of happiness and everlasting love, and almost hypnotizing them into buying their magical potions and gadgets -- look like your favorite movie star, and have a wonderful life! Those kinds of deceitful messages are shameful and potentially harmful to women who try futilely to reach the media’s ideal archetype. Our young women need to believe that they don’t have to look, think, or behave like the rich and famous, or do what the so-called “trendsetters” dictate just so advertisers and retailers can make a buck.
I am also concerned that a lot of girls feel they need to have a man (actually, a boy) in their lives in order to feel complete. Part of the reason is age -- the dawn of hormones -- but could it also be a result of reality shows where a dozen women compete for one man by using any means necessary? These shows have turned meeting and winning the heart of a man (a/k/a “falling in love”) into a spectator-driven, cut-throat event featuring ruthless women who act as if men were almost extinct!
Now, I admit that as young girls we wanted to have boyfriends and we wore makeup (remember that black eyeliner and blue eye shadow?), but I also remember that all of that was just a part of our lives as budding young women. We were also curious about the world, about finding out who we were, and what we would become.
One reason for the somewhat distorted thinking of young women today could be that the world around them is not teaching them about integrity, confidence, or self-esteem. Parents today work really hard and can only hope that their children will listen to their words of wisdom and experience. It’s a losing battle when young women are then bombarded by self-serving, deceptive messages emanating from the media around them.
Please know that when I state my case I am not advocating censorship here. Nor am I in favor of producing a class of male-hating women -- far from it. I am talking about taking responsibility for teaching our young people the difference between what is true and appropriate for them in real life, and what is put out there for “shock value” and entertainment purposes. We need to spread the word to our young women that they have a choice not to be that woman in the video dancing half naked and that they will still get a boyfriend (and one of better quality). We have to tell them that it’s okay to refrain from using (and listening to) offensive and disgusting language, and that Britney and Christina are dressed like that because they are on stage (not in a classroom), and that yes, blow jobs are sex!
We have to teach our little sisters how to be comfortable in their own skin by shouting Be kind to yourself! Don’t obsess about your looks or berate yourself because you’re not model-thin. As women, we are our harshest critics and hold ourselves to ridiculous standards. Be independent! Don’t just say, “Wouldn’t it be nice to…” Do it! Set limits! Don’t let anyone mistreat you -- stand up for yourself and keep your word. Express your appreciation! When we embrace gratitude and humility, even more goodness and love comes to us. Listen to your inner voice! Don’t be someone who jumps to conclusions, but if you have that “feeling” deep down, don’t ignore it -- trust your instincts. Believe in yourself! Decide what you want, go after it whole-heartedly, and stay committed. Let ‘em see your joy! Joy comes through in our smiles and our eyes, and enables us to attract even more love into our lives. Remember, what you give out, you get back.
Contributed by: Audrey Valeriani
Science tells us that women’s domesticity and nurturing qualities are instinctive, however, we also learned ways of thinking and interacting with others from our mothers, who had, of course, learned from their mothers. But what had we learned? Thirty years ago, most of us saw our mothers cater to our fathers, while dismissing their own ideas, and neglecting themselves. They did what was expected of them, but were they happy? As one woman said, “I’ll never forget that look on my mother’s face… she couldn’t have been happy.” We told ourselves that things would be different in our relationships, and they are, to some extent. But had the freedom and independence that had finally bubbled to the surface made us wiser and more connected to our inner selves, or did it just give us more outside choices? Had those achievements influenced our roles as loving and lovable companions?
In discussing this subject with women as young as thirteen and as old as never mind, I could see that the older women who had been influenced by our pioneer sisters, knew how important individuality and respect were to women. The younger ones, however, seemed to demonstrate the same self-effacing behavior as in years past, putting the needs and desires of men ahead of their own. This new breed of female seemed unprepared, naïve, and oblivious to what women before us had accomplished. Accordingly, if how we think and behave is a result of what we were taught and exposed to as children, what does that tell us about girls growing up today?
Have you noticed how obsessed most young women appear to be with having the best body, face, and hairstyle? Why is physical “perfection” such a priority today? Could it be the dozens of makeover and plastic surgery shows on television or the constant marketing of products consuming the airwaves and billboards, luring our young women with false promises of happiness and everlasting love, and almost hypnotizing them into buying their magical potions and gadgets -- look like your favorite movie star, and have a wonderful life! Those kinds of deceitful messages are shameful and potentially harmful to women who try futilely to reach the media’s ideal archetype. Our young women need to believe that they don’t have to look, think, or behave like the rich and famous, or do what the so-called “trendsetters” dictate just so advertisers and retailers can make a buck.
I am also concerned that a lot of girls feel they need to have a man (actually, a boy) in their lives in order to feel complete. Part of the reason is age -- the dawn of hormones -- but could it also be a result of reality shows where a dozen women compete for one man by using any means necessary? These shows have turned meeting and winning the heart of a man (a/k/a “falling in love”) into a spectator-driven, cut-throat event featuring ruthless women who act as if men were almost extinct!
Now, I admit that as young girls we wanted to have boyfriends and we wore makeup (remember that black eyeliner and blue eye shadow?), but I also remember that all of that was just a part of our lives as budding young women. We were also curious about the world, about finding out who we were, and what we would become.
One reason for the somewhat distorted thinking of young women today could be that the world around them is not teaching them about integrity, confidence, or self-esteem. Parents today work really hard and can only hope that their children will listen to their words of wisdom and experience. It’s a losing battle when young women are then bombarded by self-serving, deceptive messages emanating from the media around them.
Please know that when I state my case I am not advocating censorship here. Nor am I in favor of producing a class of male-hating women -- far from it. I am talking about taking responsibility for teaching our young people the difference between what is true and appropriate for them in real life, and what is put out there for “shock value” and entertainment purposes. We need to spread the word to our young women that they have a choice not to be that woman in the video dancing half naked and that they will still get a boyfriend (and one of better quality). We have to tell them that it’s okay to refrain from using (and listening to) offensive and disgusting language, and that Britney and Christina are dressed like that because they are on stage (not in a classroom), and that yes, blow jobs are sex!
We have to teach our little sisters how to be comfortable in their own skin by shouting Be kind to yourself! Don’t obsess about your looks or berate yourself because you’re not model-thin. As women, we are our harshest critics and hold ourselves to ridiculous standards. Be independent! Don’t just say, “Wouldn’t it be nice to…” Do it! Set limits! Don’t let anyone mistreat you -- stand up for yourself and keep your word. Express your appreciation! When we embrace gratitude and humility, even more goodness and love comes to us. Listen to your inner voice! Don’t be someone who jumps to conclusions, but if you have that “feeling” deep down, don’t ignore it -- trust your instincts. Believe in yourself! Decide what you want, go after it whole-heartedly, and stay committed. Let ‘em see your joy! Joy comes through in our smiles and our eyes, and enables us to attract even more love into our lives. Remember, what you give out, you get back.
Contributed by: Audrey Valeriani
A day with Children
I had always thought I was a failure around kids. I feared I would either spoil them rotten or choke them to death. The first one was more probable though.
Then one day I was stuck into an outreach program where I was assigned to handle three kids. The first time I heard about it I was mortified…er…close to panicking to be exact. Instantly I imagined toddlers running around and ducking from my every grasp, pulling at my clothes and ruining my hair. My little sis gave me the phobia when she reached four and I was nine. (If she reads this she's going to kill me.)
Yet the havoc the little ones could cause was not really the problem. I feared they would hate me. What was I to do with them? I was never good at babysitting and most people thought I was too serious and boring.
Still I showed up at Family Park. A sense of responsibility made me. I could not resist it. I just hoped the lessons I learned in the Educational Psychology classes I took back in college would work.
When the banner was hung and chairs were positioned in the field, the children came bounding in. Children of different colors and sizes. Right away I spied two of them knocking down two chairs. I thought, oh boy, this would be one forgettable day.
Soon the children fell in line like cherubs as my colleagues and I handed them their nametags. I searched for my adopted kids Joely (age six), Jeimes (four) and Beam (14).
As I walked to and fro I saw this little slim, tan girl with long tresses and bangs watching me. Suddenly a little hand grabbed my shirtsleeve. It belonged to another little girl with shoulder-length hair.
She pulled me closer as she accused a grinning chubby boy of pushing her.
Somehow I got the boy to behave and pacified the girl with mere words, words that came out of nowhere. I then asked them if they knew Joely and they pointed at the girl with the bangs.
Getting along with Joely was easy. She was sweet and gentle. She even gave her mineral water to another girl who was thirsty. I was so proud of her I could not bear not to show it, and it was easy to tell she was pleased. Though she seemed to want to shy away out of embarrassment at my outright admiration, the flushing of her cheeks could not hide the fact that her eyes were dancing.
Unlike Joely, I had quite a hard time with Jeimes. I had to keep an eye on him and make sure he would not run off, which he managed to do every once in a while. I could not blame him. It was getting hotter by the minute. Other kids got restless too, and the demand for water was fast rising. I had to go up and down the stage for the supply.
Then there was Beam - a tight-lipped loner. He was taller than I, with a skin a hue darker than Joely's. I kept encouraging him to join the games so he would not get bored and be another runaway Jeimes.
I was surprised I was having fun with the sack race though my only role was to scream. And yes, there was the job of picking up a kid or two at every stumble. I had to hold their IDs and nametags so they could move freely and enjoy the game without being distracted.
Jeimes shunned away from me even at lunchtime. I thought he would grow up as a man with his own mind. I told him to roam around and help me find Beam. Instead, he stayed put. Reverse Psychology…of course! I eventually won the cute one over.
Beam, on the other hand, would lower his head every time I would speak to him. He was, however, a gentleman. He helped in carrying boxes of Zesto and other stuff.
All of a sudden I became everybody's sis. Kids took turns in pulling me to their side. They huddled close to me and they didn't even touch my hair! They would lean to me and ask me questions such as what grade I was in (kids don't know much about high school and especially college).
I answered that I was already working. Joely looked shocked. To make sure I was telling the truth she asked me if I finished grade one, grade two...and so on. When another kid declared that I would soon get married, Joely verified it to me again with sullen expression on her face. I couldn't help but laugh. I was in Pluto where marriage is concerned.
Then came Jollibee and the angels around me, who were hanging on my every word, morphed into mobsters. I had to help my fellows keep the kids at bay. They were murdering the poor mascot. It was a nightmare on Jollibee's poor butt. Only when he had gone back to his truck did the kids become human at last. They asked me if Jollibee was a man and not really a mutated oversized bee that could dance. I looked at their expectant faces, and replied in a manner they could understand, laugh at, yet always remember. I told them that Jollibee was also human and that he could also get hurt. Kamo bay tabangag sumbag di ba mo mabun-og, I told them. If you were the one being punched to death, wouldn't you be all black and blue? They laughed, but their faces gentled with a new light.
I actually enjoyed being with the kids. I got lots of hugs. I never felt so alive and so young for such a long time.
Before leaving, Joely asked if she would see me again. I told her yes, if she would be a good girl and that, she promised. She gave me a great big hug though she only managed to wrap her hands around my waist. But this she told me: Ate She, you're a very good person. I wish you were my sister.
Does a six-year-old lie? I wondered. Why did I ever say I hate kids? Perhaps it was because I was scared of the responsibilities and commitment but then, I'm no longer a nine-year-old.
Contributed by: Sheryl Joy Olano
Then one day I was stuck into an outreach program where I was assigned to handle three kids. The first time I heard about it I was mortified…er…close to panicking to be exact. Instantly I imagined toddlers running around and ducking from my every grasp, pulling at my clothes and ruining my hair. My little sis gave me the phobia when she reached four and I was nine. (If she reads this she's going to kill me.)
Yet the havoc the little ones could cause was not really the problem. I feared they would hate me. What was I to do with them? I was never good at babysitting and most people thought I was too serious and boring.
Still I showed up at Family Park. A sense of responsibility made me. I could not resist it. I just hoped the lessons I learned in the Educational Psychology classes I took back in college would work.
When the banner was hung and chairs were positioned in the field, the children came bounding in. Children of different colors and sizes. Right away I spied two of them knocking down two chairs. I thought, oh boy, this would be one forgettable day.
Soon the children fell in line like cherubs as my colleagues and I handed them their nametags. I searched for my adopted kids Joely (age six), Jeimes (four) and Beam (14).
As I walked to and fro I saw this little slim, tan girl with long tresses and bangs watching me. Suddenly a little hand grabbed my shirtsleeve. It belonged to another little girl with shoulder-length hair.
She pulled me closer as she accused a grinning chubby boy of pushing her.
Somehow I got the boy to behave and pacified the girl with mere words, words that came out of nowhere. I then asked them if they knew Joely and they pointed at the girl with the bangs.
Getting along with Joely was easy. She was sweet and gentle. She even gave her mineral water to another girl who was thirsty. I was so proud of her I could not bear not to show it, and it was easy to tell she was pleased. Though she seemed to want to shy away out of embarrassment at my outright admiration, the flushing of her cheeks could not hide the fact that her eyes were dancing.
Unlike Joely, I had quite a hard time with Jeimes. I had to keep an eye on him and make sure he would not run off, which he managed to do every once in a while. I could not blame him. It was getting hotter by the minute. Other kids got restless too, and the demand for water was fast rising. I had to go up and down the stage for the supply.
Then there was Beam - a tight-lipped loner. He was taller than I, with a skin a hue darker than Joely's. I kept encouraging him to join the games so he would not get bored and be another runaway Jeimes.
I was surprised I was having fun with the sack race though my only role was to scream. And yes, there was the job of picking up a kid or two at every stumble. I had to hold their IDs and nametags so they could move freely and enjoy the game without being distracted.
Jeimes shunned away from me even at lunchtime. I thought he would grow up as a man with his own mind. I told him to roam around and help me find Beam. Instead, he stayed put. Reverse Psychology…of course! I eventually won the cute one over.
Beam, on the other hand, would lower his head every time I would speak to him. He was, however, a gentleman. He helped in carrying boxes of Zesto and other stuff.
All of a sudden I became everybody's sis. Kids took turns in pulling me to their side. They huddled close to me and they didn't even touch my hair! They would lean to me and ask me questions such as what grade I was in (kids don't know much about high school and especially college).
I answered that I was already working. Joely looked shocked. To make sure I was telling the truth she asked me if I finished grade one, grade two...and so on. When another kid declared that I would soon get married, Joely verified it to me again with sullen expression on her face. I couldn't help but laugh. I was in Pluto where marriage is concerned.
Then came Jollibee and the angels around me, who were hanging on my every word, morphed into mobsters. I had to help my fellows keep the kids at bay. They were murdering the poor mascot. It was a nightmare on Jollibee's poor butt. Only when he had gone back to his truck did the kids become human at last. They asked me if Jollibee was a man and not really a mutated oversized bee that could dance. I looked at their expectant faces, and replied in a manner they could understand, laugh at, yet always remember. I told them that Jollibee was also human and that he could also get hurt. Kamo bay tabangag sumbag di ba mo mabun-og, I told them. If you were the one being punched to death, wouldn't you be all black and blue? They laughed, but their faces gentled with a new light.
I actually enjoyed being with the kids. I got lots of hugs. I never felt so alive and so young for such a long time.
Before leaving, Joely asked if she would see me again. I told her yes, if she would be a good girl and that, she promised. She gave me a great big hug though she only managed to wrap her hands around my waist. But this she told me: Ate She, you're a very good person. I wish you were my sister.
Does a six-year-old lie? I wondered. Why did I ever say I hate kids? Perhaps it was because I was scared of the responsibilities and commitment but then, I'm no longer a nine-year-old.
Contributed by: Sheryl Joy Olano
Saturday Night
Did I really come in on Saturday night and see my mother-in-law passed out on the living room floor? Did I leave my three little kids with the poser that posed as a grandma a few days earlier, saying that she would be happy to watch them while we went out to dinner?
We were only gone for two hours. More than a lot of scotch happened in those two hours. We left after they were all in bed and mostly asleep. We scrapped our plans for going to a hotel for some much needed...um...privacy in exchange for a nice dinner, in part because I wasn't all that hot on leaving the kids for too long.
But I did because I think I was high with the possibility of actually having something to do, somewhere to be - so much of my time here so far has been spent waiting for the hours to pass until I can go to bed. I wash dishes, I do laundry, I mess around on the computer forever (reading weblogs), I go to the grocery store, I take Jake to and from school, I talk to Molly and play with Sammy. I try to ignore the fact that I am unhappy here with a life in a house that's not my own and with no end in sight. So, when Chris asked Bunny Grandma to watch the kids so we could go out and she said she would, I almost got excited about something! I had an excuse to wash my hair, to put on perfume and wear my favorite bracelet. I was excited to have some time alone just to talk with this person that brought me here.
Turns out I had a lot more to say than I thought I did. Did I let my enthusiasm for these little things cloud my judgment when it came to the safety of my children? Probably. And they were and are fine. Thank you to whomever was really watching them.
Contributed by: C Linnen
We were only gone for two hours. More than a lot of scotch happened in those two hours. We left after they were all in bed and mostly asleep. We scrapped our plans for going to a hotel for some much needed...um...privacy in exchange for a nice dinner, in part because I wasn't all that hot on leaving the kids for too long.
But I did because I think I was high with the possibility of actually having something to do, somewhere to be - so much of my time here so far has been spent waiting for the hours to pass until I can go to bed. I wash dishes, I do laundry, I mess around on the computer forever (reading weblogs), I go to the grocery store, I take Jake to and from school, I talk to Molly and play with Sammy. I try to ignore the fact that I am unhappy here with a life in a house that's not my own and with no end in sight. So, when Chris asked Bunny Grandma to watch the kids so we could go out and she said she would, I almost got excited about something! I had an excuse to wash my hair, to put on perfume and wear my favorite bracelet. I was excited to have some time alone just to talk with this person that brought me here.
Turns out I had a lot more to say than I thought I did. Did I let my enthusiasm for these little things cloud my judgment when it came to the safety of my children? Probably. And they were and are fine. Thank you to whomever was really watching them.
Contributed by: C Linnen
A bond between a Mother and a Child
What a women goes through before and after having a child is a miracle. Having a child is a blessing and a whole new way of life.
After a child is born a women faces many challenges physically and mentally. When a woman gives birth she needs to heal tremendously and mentally she realizes she just became a mom. She realizes that the last 9 months she spent with someone is now over.
A women's body goes through a lot before she delivers, weight gain, motion sickness, water gain, nausea, cravings, mood swings, dr. visits and shots. When she delivers the shild she now faces new challenges like losing the weight, taking care of herself and not only the baby, nuture this child and face the responsiblities.
Some women are happy , excited, and some reach postpartum. She must get check by a doctor or midwife within a week or two. As for her and her new child live life from now on caring, loving and bonding with each other.
They are called mother and child, a bond that can never be broken. When raising this child is hard enough sometimes there are more responsiblities for the mom. She is faced with this child forever. No turning back and no returning her/him. The mother will have this child for the rest of her life.
She needs to love, teach, praise, feed, clothe, house, care and most of all LOVE this child. Children don't disappear or hide they are with the mom for 24/7 unless she goes back to work. A child needs its mom no matter what ages/stages, newborn, toddler, adolscent or an adult.
The mother needs to take care of herself as well as this child. She needs to get out and spend time alone, join a gym, join the community, or som e go back to work to have a social life. Most causes for depression are known fact for women who do not have a social life.
A new mom has just giving birth and now has 2 instead of one to provide for so that is a lot of work. Raising a child is not only a lot of work, time, money, stress, worries, commitment and responsilbities but a friendship that can not be broken. These are my honest words and experience.
Contributed by:~Photohappymama
After a child is born a women faces many challenges physically and mentally. When a woman gives birth she needs to heal tremendously and mentally she realizes she just became a mom. She realizes that the last 9 months she spent with someone is now over.
A women's body goes through a lot before she delivers, weight gain, motion sickness, water gain, nausea, cravings, mood swings, dr. visits and shots. When she delivers the shild she now faces new challenges like losing the weight, taking care of herself and not only the baby, nuture this child and face the responsiblities.
Some women are happy , excited, and some reach postpartum. She must get check by a doctor or midwife within a week or two. As for her and her new child live life from now on caring, loving and bonding with each other.
They are called mother and child, a bond that can never be broken. When raising this child is hard enough sometimes there are more responsiblities for the mom. She is faced with this child forever. No turning back and no returning her/him. The mother will have this child for the rest of her life.
She needs to love, teach, praise, feed, clothe, house, care and most of all LOVE this child. Children don't disappear or hide they are with the mom for 24/7 unless she goes back to work. A child needs its mom no matter what ages/stages, newborn, toddler, adolscent or an adult.
The mother needs to take care of herself as well as this child. She needs to get out and spend time alone, join a gym, join the community, or som e go back to work to have a social life. Most causes for depression are known fact for women who do not have a social life.
A new mom has just giving birth and now has 2 instead of one to provide for so that is a lot of work. Raising a child is not only a lot of work, time, money, stress, worries, commitment and responsilbities but a friendship that can not be broken. These are my honest words and experience.
Contributed by:~Photohappymama
Skittling, the Lethal Fad among Teens
If you thought the fight against drug abuse is limited to illegal substances such as marijuana, ecstasy, phencyclidine hydrochloride (PCP), etc. Think again. When you sit down to talk to your kids about drug abuse, you may want to add cough medicine to your list of no-no's.
Robitussin, Coricidin, Nyquil, Vicks, even some generic brands, these drugs are legal and sold over-the-counter everywhere. Cough and cold medications containing Dextromethorphan (DXM) are chemically related to codeine and is a component in over 140 non-prescription over-the -counter (OTC) cough and cold medications in forms of cough drops, syrup and tablets.
The use of Robitussin and Coricidin are the most popular among teenagers and young adults looking for a cheap high. "Skittling" or "Robotripping" is a growing trend among 13-19 year olds and some cases are even being seen in middle school. Availability of the OTC drugs may be the reason it has become so popular. It is easy to obtain through any store, gas station or through the Internet. They are cheap to purchase and easy to steal.
DXM is safe in the recommended doses you see on the label to treat coughs and colds, but in large doses, such as 100 mg or more can cause hallucinations, impaired judgement, even seizures. In some cases, overdoses and deaths have occurred when caregivers have treated small children with inappropriate doses of cold medicine containing DXM.
Street names are adapted from the similar appearance to candy or obvious slang: Skittles, Red Devils, Robo, Triple C, Poor man's PCP, Dex, Tuss, DXM. The high is called "robotripping" referring to taking large amounts of Robitussin and "skittling" when ingesting large amounts of Coricidin, that also contains an antihistamine called chlorpheniramine (akas Triple C's). Effects are similar to alcohol intoxication and can increase heart rate and blood pressure.
An on-line survey showed that only 1 in 10 people were aware of Skittling
This lack of awareness may be the reason DXM abuse has more than doubled since last year. All across the country, emergency room doctors have been reporting an increasing amount of overdose cases due to DXM abuse. In some cases, death had occurred.
Parents should be aware of signs to look for in their children such as: agitation, drowsiness, confusion, blurred vision, impaired judgement, dizziness, paranoia, excessive sweating, slurred speech, seizures, fever, nausea, vomiting, itchiness, lethargy, pupil dilation, hot and cold flashes, oedema, hypertension, hallucinations and skin rashes. Long term problems include: panic attacks, psychotic break downs, depression, high blood pressure, mania, liver, heart, central nervous centre damage and sometimes coma.
Check your medicine cabinet and know what is in there, if anything is missing find out why. Look for these DXM products or empty bottles in jackets, backpacks, purses, bedroom, trash, or even the car if your teen drives. Do not ignore the signs or assume it is only a phase, this phase can kill. Parents are encouraged to sit down and talk to you children about the potentially deadly affects of OTC medications.
Contributed by:Donna M. Shelton
Robitussin, Coricidin, Nyquil, Vicks, even some generic brands, these drugs are legal and sold over-the-counter everywhere. Cough and cold medications containing Dextromethorphan (DXM) are chemically related to codeine and is a component in over 140 non-prescription over-the -counter (OTC) cough and cold medications in forms of cough drops, syrup and tablets.
The use of Robitussin and Coricidin are the most popular among teenagers and young adults looking for a cheap high. "Skittling" or "Robotripping" is a growing trend among 13-19 year olds and some cases are even being seen in middle school. Availability of the OTC drugs may be the reason it has become so popular. It is easy to obtain through any store, gas station or through the Internet. They are cheap to purchase and easy to steal.
DXM is safe in the recommended doses you see on the label to treat coughs and colds, but in large doses, such as 100 mg or more can cause hallucinations, impaired judgement, even seizures. In some cases, overdoses and deaths have occurred when caregivers have treated small children with inappropriate doses of cold medicine containing DXM.
Street names are adapted from the similar appearance to candy or obvious slang: Skittles, Red Devils, Robo, Triple C, Poor man's PCP, Dex, Tuss, DXM. The high is called "robotripping" referring to taking large amounts of Robitussin and "skittling" when ingesting large amounts of Coricidin, that also contains an antihistamine called chlorpheniramine (akas Triple C's). Effects are similar to alcohol intoxication and can increase heart rate and blood pressure.
An on-line survey showed that only 1 in 10 people were aware of Skittling
This lack of awareness may be the reason DXM abuse has more than doubled since last year. All across the country, emergency room doctors have been reporting an increasing amount of overdose cases due to DXM abuse. In some cases, death had occurred.
Parents should be aware of signs to look for in their children such as: agitation, drowsiness, confusion, blurred vision, impaired judgement, dizziness, paranoia, excessive sweating, slurred speech, seizures, fever, nausea, vomiting, itchiness, lethargy, pupil dilation, hot and cold flashes, oedema, hypertension, hallucinations and skin rashes. Long term problems include: panic attacks, psychotic break downs, depression, high blood pressure, mania, liver, heart, central nervous centre damage and sometimes coma.
Check your medicine cabinet and know what is in there, if anything is missing find out why. Look for these DXM products or empty bottles in jackets, backpacks, purses, bedroom, trash, or even the car if your teen drives. Do not ignore the signs or assume it is only a phase, this phase can kill. Parents are encouraged to sit down and talk to you children about the potentially deadly affects of OTC medications.
Contributed by:Donna M. Shelton
The Au Pair
When I envisioned myself having five kids, I never once thought I would need "help." I don't mean the professional kind with a couch in their office. I mean the help as in Mary Poppins or Alice Nelson from "The Brady Bunch."
In all of my dreams of motherhood, I assumed that with five perfect children who never fought and who obeyed my every word, I could do it all myself. I would have the kids' laundry perfectly cleaned and pressed. A five coarse dinner would be whipped up every night, without so much a complaint from the kids about what I was serving. They would love broiled fish, steamed green vegetables, you name it…after all, and they were perfect children. And of course, my four-bedroom house (the two girls were thrilled to be sharing a room, as were the twins!) was always immaculate. I did it all. I was the quintessential chauffeur/ babysitter/ housekeeper/nurse/psychologist and I was a successful paediatrician too!
Reality hit me in the form of a positive result for baby number two. My first words to my loving husband were "Get the number for that Au Pair agency our friends use!" Mind you, we wanted our first two kids to be close in age. According to my mother-in-law, my husband and his younger brother were 14 months apart and they have always been close. Naturally, we wanted the same thing for our own children.
I don't know if my panic was because I saw that plus sign only seven months after I had my C-section. All I know is that I thought of the Au Pair agency as I was watching my petite, beautiful daughter moving around on her hands and knees, drooling helplessly and wishing she could get the right words out. And I never looked back.
I never understood why a good friend of mine needed a nanny. I figured, she had three children so how hard could that be? It didn't dawn on me that her kids were close in age and she just might need someone to help keep her sane. Three kids just seemed easy to me. My mother did it. I am almost three years younger than my brother and two years older than my other brother. She never had any help with us kids. She had a lady who came into clean once or twice a week but there was no nanny or Au Pair. I assumed that I could handle five (or for sure, two) kids without any hired help.
Wrong! All it took was one look at that plus sign (seven tests later!) and all of my principles went out the window! Of course, I reasoned that I wanted an Au Pair to help me balance my motherhood. I just couldn't see myself schlepping a newborn to my daughter's Mom and me playgroups and Gym boree classes. She and I were a team and I didn't want her to miss out on our special time out together, just because there was another baby in the house.
I began the search for an Au Pair. I filled out all of our application forms and waited for the girls to start a' calling. I don't remember how many applications we read through. Picking our first Au Pair was easy. She had a lot of child care experience, she was patient and she loved children. Her background check was impressive and she sounded like a dream over the phone.
Fast forward to my life today. I have my five wonderful children. My criteria for the perfect Au Pair has changed quite a bit since the kids were little. Granted, I make sure to check out the references and the childcare experience. After all, I don't just hire anyone to watch my precious babies. But I don't lose sleep over it. If a girl can stay on the line after hearing about "the five children" part, I make like Donald Trump on a finale of "The Apprentice" and let out a "You're Hired!"
Contributed by:Hildee Weiss
In all of my dreams of motherhood, I assumed that with five perfect children who never fought and who obeyed my every word, I could do it all myself. I would have the kids' laundry perfectly cleaned and pressed. A five coarse dinner would be whipped up every night, without so much a complaint from the kids about what I was serving. They would love broiled fish, steamed green vegetables, you name it…after all, and they were perfect children. And of course, my four-bedroom house (the two girls were thrilled to be sharing a room, as were the twins!) was always immaculate. I did it all. I was the quintessential chauffeur/ babysitter/ housekeeper/nurse/psychologist and I was a successful paediatrician too!
Reality hit me in the form of a positive result for baby number two. My first words to my loving husband were "Get the number for that Au Pair agency our friends use!" Mind you, we wanted our first two kids to be close in age. According to my mother-in-law, my husband and his younger brother were 14 months apart and they have always been close. Naturally, we wanted the same thing for our own children.
I don't know if my panic was because I saw that plus sign only seven months after I had my C-section. All I know is that I thought of the Au Pair agency as I was watching my petite, beautiful daughter moving around on her hands and knees, drooling helplessly and wishing she could get the right words out. And I never looked back.
I never understood why a good friend of mine needed a nanny. I figured, she had three children so how hard could that be? It didn't dawn on me that her kids were close in age and she just might need someone to help keep her sane. Three kids just seemed easy to me. My mother did it. I am almost three years younger than my brother and two years older than my other brother. She never had any help with us kids. She had a lady who came into clean once or twice a week but there was no nanny or Au Pair. I assumed that I could handle five (or for sure, two) kids without any hired help.
Wrong! All it took was one look at that plus sign (seven tests later!) and all of my principles went out the window! Of course, I reasoned that I wanted an Au Pair to help me balance my motherhood. I just couldn't see myself schlepping a newborn to my daughter's Mom and me playgroups and Gym boree classes. She and I were a team and I didn't want her to miss out on our special time out together, just because there was another baby in the house.
I began the search for an Au Pair. I filled out all of our application forms and waited for the girls to start a' calling. I don't remember how many applications we read through. Picking our first Au Pair was easy. She had a lot of child care experience, she was patient and she loved children. Her background check was impressive and she sounded like a dream over the phone.
Fast forward to my life today. I have my five wonderful children. My criteria for the perfect Au Pair has changed quite a bit since the kids were little. Granted, I make sure to check out the references and the childcare experience. After all, I don't just hire anyone to watch my precious babies. But I don't lose sleep over it. If a girl can stay on the line after hearing about "the five children" part, I make like Donald Trump on a finale of "The Apprentice" and let out a "You're Hired!"
Contributed by:Hildee Weiss
Is it Spring yet?
So, tell me. Do you know how they get the yellow cream in the middle of a Cadbury’s Crème Egg?
I am currently eight months along in my fifth pregnancy and crave those chocolate dreams daily. But, alas, in the United States, the stores only sell these alluring delicacies in the spring. It is September. This is where my problem begins.
Last night, well, actually in the wee hours of the morning… (1:37am to be precise,) my husband who knows I have been dying for a crème egg broke the silence of the night with, “I wonder how they get the yellow part of the crème perfectly in the center of the egg.”
Good question isn’t it? How Do they do it?
As long as I can remember the Cadbury Crème Egg has been a staple food for my Easter breakfast, lunch and dinner. It is amazing how popular these crème eggs are. This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, as per normal morning routine to check email, what’s happening in the world and my daily weather, I did a search on the eggs. Have you ever googled Cadbury Crème Eggs? Wow! There are endless sites and forums about these delectable eggs. There are even tribute sites! I was agog at all the talk, and yet stupefied at the same time.
“How do you eat yours?” was a catchphrase that Cadbury used to market their eggs back in the mid eighties. Want to know how some people replied to that question? Of course you do! Some say they eat the crème with a spoon… a special, tiny spoon just for that job. Others just pop it all in their mouth at once and let the chocolate and crème unite for a divine taste explosion. A few say they carefully cut and divide the egg in half and eat it like a deviled egg. Strangely enough, I found that some even pierce a hole in the egg, and watch the inside drip out, and then eat the parts separately. But I, like many others bite the top of the egg off and then lick out all the crème. Then when I am so sick of sugar I can hardly stand it, I start on the chocolate egg which leaves me so incredibly thirsty; no amount of water can quench it. Why do I eat the whole thing if it does that to me? Well, the answer is universal among all Cadbury Crème Egg lovers. Of all the chocolate eggs produced; this one is truly the classic. Could you really imagine life without them?
Well, back to my quest of finding out how Cadbury positions the yellow crème just so, I have learned some things that all you trivia buffs like me will find interesting. The world was first acquainted with the Cadbury Crème Egg in the early 1920's by the Cadbury brothers, John and Benjamin. People began their passion for the eggs in 1923 when they became available to the public. But the crème egg as we know it today was not unleashed until 1971.
Ok, enough with the history lesson and onto the point of this article… the yellow center. The Cadbury Crème Egg is made by forging a chocolate shell into a half-egg mould. One side of the egg is laid out and filled with the gooey and savory white fondant and a dollop of yellow fondant that simulates yolk. Then, the two egg halves are closed quickly and allowed to cool which sets the chocolate and the crème inside. Somehow the white fondant magically spreads all around the yellow fondant perfectly. The eggs then travel on a conveyor for their final journey to be foiled and packed. And voila, the Cadbury Crème Egg is born!
There you have it folks, the answer to the impossible question that was proposed to pregnant, craving me, who still has an unbelievable urge to eat one of these suckers.
My next phase into figuring these eggs out is this; what flavor is the center crème? This is something we never really think about while eating it. It’s not vanilla, but it is similar. It is a mystery that will leave me googling until I find it out!
So, I leave you with this thought since you know the all-inclusive truth about how the yellow gets in the egg; how do you eat yours?
Contributed by: Amanda Goodall
I am currently eight months along in my fifth pregnancy and crave those chocolate dreams daily. But, alas, in the United States, the stores only sell these alluring delicacies in the spring. It is September. This is where my problem begins.
Last night, well, actually in the wee hours of the morning… (1:37am to be precise,) my husband who knows I have been dying for a crème egg broke the silence of the night with, “I wonder how they get the yellow part of the crème perfectly in the center of the egg.”
Good question isn’t it? How Do they do it?
As long as I can remember the Cadbury Crème Egg has been a staple food for my Easter breakfast, lunch and dinner. It is amazing how popular these crème eggs are. This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, as per normal morning routine to check email, what’s happening in the world and my daily weather, I did a search on the eggs. Have you ever googled Cadbury Crème Eggs? Wow! There are endless sites and forums about these delectable eggs. There are even tribute sites! I was agog at all the talk, and yet stupefied at the same time.
“How do you eat yours?” was a catchphrase that Cadbury used to market their eggs back in the mid eighties. Want to know how some people replied to that question? Of course you do! Some say they eat the crème with a spoon… a special, tiny spoon just for that job. Others just pop it all in their mouth at once and let the chocolate and crème unite for a divine taste explosion. A few say they carefully cut and divide the egg in half and eat it like a deviled egg. Strangely enough, I found that some even pierce a hole in the egg, and watch the inside drip out, and then eat the parts separately. But I, like many others bite the top of the egg off and then lick out all the crème. Then when I am so sick of sugar I can hardly stand it, I start on the chocolate egg which leaves me so incredibly thirsty; no amount of water can quench it. Why do I eat the whole thing if it does that to me? Well, the answer is universal among all Cadbury Crème Egg lovers. Of all the chocolate eggs produced; this one is truly the classic. Could you really imagine life without them?
Well, back to my quest of finding out how Cadbury positions the yellow crème just so, I have learned some things that all you trivia buffs like me will find interesting. The world was first acquainted with the Cadbury Crème Egg in the early 1920's by the Cadbury brothers, John and Benjamin. People began their passion for the eggs in 1923 when they became available to the public. But the crème egg as we know it today was not unleashed until 1971.
Ok, enough with the history lesson and onto the point of this article… the yellow center. The Cadbury Crème Egg is made by forging a chocolate shell into a half-egg mould. One side of the egg is laid out and filled with the gooey and savory white fondant and a dollop of yellow fondant that simulates yolk. Then, the two egg halves are closed quickly and allowed to cool which sets the chocolate and the crème inside. Somehow the white fondant magically spreads all around the yellow fondant perfectly. The eggs then travel on a conveyor for their final journey to be foiled and packed. And voila, the Cadbury Crème Egg is born!
There you have it folks, the answer to the impossible question that was proposed to pregnant, craving me, who still has an unbelievable urge to eat one of these suckers.
My next phase into figuring these eggs out is this; what flavor is the center crème? This is something we never really think about while eating it. It’s not vanilla, but it is similar. It is a mystery that will leave me googling until I find it out!
So, I leave you with this thought since you know the all-inclusive truth about how the yellow gets in the egg; how do you eat yours?
Contributed by: Amanda Goodall
Two-timing a three-year-old and the television set
When I say kids don't become human till about the age of seven, it's not for lack of human emotion, but rather the excess of it; they cry for everything, laugh at nothing and get excited at the most mundane things (see, the sun! wow, a toilet roll! bah!)
Consider this: I have been stuck with babysitting my American-born and fastidious three-year-old niece on and off for the past few days because the poor little thing has been really sick lately.
For the many hours that I have spent in this humongous task, I have realized that two-timing her and the television set is the only reasonable way to do this. After all, the idiot box has in the past helped me deal with stress, impending doomsday and plain boredom; it failed miserably at the job of taming a toddler, however. I still think I did extremely well for the fact that I have never been left in charge of such a tiny little thing ever in the past. So, I decided to take a leaf out of my book and leave it for anyone else (god forbid!) stuck in a similar situation:
First of all, if a kid lives around a 50 feet perimeter of the television, never turn the TV off on a possible kids-channel---Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network and Disney are strictly off limits (your local PBS channel is the most deceptive---beware if you watched the NewsHour the night before). Here's what happens: after a lot of nerve-racking, you somehow figure out a way to keep the child occupied and heave a sigh of relief before finally turning on the TV ---and bam, in float the high pitched shrills of Dora and her fellow-adventurers. That's it: she turns to eye the idiot box, is totally absorbed in no time, downright oblivious of the hundred other channels a fully-grown human being would rather watch.
And don't ever forego a news show and switch to a sitcom --- believe me, to a three year old, it doesn't make a whit of difference --- the background laughter doesn't seem to fool the kids like it does us (the fact that they guffaw at the most serious statements is a different point entirely; "you'll get very sick if you don't take this medicine" *peals of laughter* duh!) If you are indeed watching a news program, choose one carefully--- she's a little more sympathetic to good looking anchors, so I'm sticking with Brian Williams; this is not the time for old newsmen like Scheiffer and Larry King is definitely off the table (sure respect her judgment there!)
On sitcoms, there's a wider range of choices; Full House and The Cosby Show are likely to be better tolerated; believe me, nothing interests them more than their own kind (read: those that shriek with delight on spotting a spider and giggle uncontrollably at the sight of a ball). Which reminds me, if you absolutely have to play a game, play ball or Hide-and-Seek. Tossing the ball back and forth not only allows you to watch TV in peace, you'd be impressed at a three-year-old's hand-eye coordination. Hide-and-seek is not only a fun game (from age 3 to 33) but it also allows you to sneak into the den and check your e-mail while you are "hiding" and sometimes you can just "forget" to seek. Leaves the three-year-old out of your hair for a while.
If she decides its story time, I choose to listen. In that case I can get off with an 'uh-huh' every five minutes. In my defense, the few minutes that I do turn my attention to her, she doesn't make any sense. But you can't escape your turn at reading. So, make sure you pick your times right. And at this, I have advice for the so-called kids' book writers. Can't they make it just a tad interesting? I read a 15-page book, the entire content of which was: "Shhhhh, tigger, pooh is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, piglet is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, Eeyore is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, roo is asleep. Goodnight, tigger"! It's only fair, because she, for one, is not even listening to it. I might as well be reading The Times. That, by the way, is another good strategy: reading the newspaper out loud. Choose the Art or Sports section as opposed to Politics. And put up with her absolutely frivolous observations--- "Blue shorts" as opposed to 'Federer won the Nasdaq Open'. It has something to do with the colors. Reason why Barney's purple. Speaking of which, kids' videos are brilliant. I actually watched three Barney videos and would watch more if I have to.
If its pee time or poop time, there's no way out. Just your hard luck. Time to start cursing the digestive system that you marveled at in high-school biology. Paraphrasing Marge Simpson, "How did you make that into that?"
At the end of the day, when she has just spent an hour to successfully finish a bowl of ten pasta shells and your patience is wearing thin, she looks up with a winning smile and shrieks "love you, maasi". That's when you hug her, decide she's adorable and switch off the television. Only for a bit though. Friends is up next....
You explain to her that Friends is the grown-up Barney and that you can't get through an entire day without it…Hearing her chirpy "okay" you switch on the idiot box only to watch Monica, Rachel and Phoebe ogle at pictures of little Ben. Can't the world function without little kids anymore?
Contributed by:Karthika Muthukumaraswamy
Consider this: I have been stuck with babysitting my American-born and fastidious three-year-old niece on and off for the past few days because the poor little thing has been really sick lately.
For the many hours that I have spent in this humongous task, I have realized that two-timing her and the television set is the only reasonable way to do this. After all, the idiot box has in the past helped me deal with stress, impending doomsday and plain boredom; it failed miserably at the job of taming a toddler, however. I still think I did extremely well for the fact that I have never been left in charge of such a tiny little thing ever in the past. So, I decided to take a leaf out of my book and leave it for anyone else (god forbid!) stuck in a similar situation:
First of all, if a kid lives around a 50 feet perimeter of the television, never turn the TV off on a possible kids-channel---Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network and Disney are strictly off limits (your local PBS channel is the most deceptive---beware if you watched the NewsHour the night before). Here's what happens: after a lot of nerve-racking, you somehow figure out a way to keep the child occupied and heave a sigh of relief before finally turning on the TV ---and bam, in float the high pitched shrills of Dora and her fellow-adventurers. That's it: she turns to eye the idiot box, is totally absorbed in no time, downright oblivious of the hundred other channels a fully-grown human being would rather watch.
And don't ever forego a news show and switch to a sitcom --- believe me, to a three year old, it doesn't make a whit of difference --- the background laughter doesn't seem to fool the kids like it does us (the fact that they guffaw at the most serious statements is a different point entirely; "you'll get very sick if you don't take this medicine" *peals of laughter* duh!) If you are indeed watching a news program, choose one carefully--- she's a little more sympathetic to good looking anchors, so I'm sticking with Brian Williams; this is not the time for old newsmen like Scheiffer and Larry King is definitely off the table (sure respect her judgment there!)
On sitcoms, there's a wider range of choices; Full House and The Cosby Show are likely to be better tolerated; believe me, nothing interests them more than their own kind (read: those that shriek with delight on spotting a spider and giggle uncontrollably at the sight of a ball). Which reminds me, if you absolutely have to play a game, play ball or Hide-and-Seek. Tossing the ball back and forth not only allows you to watch TV in peace, you'd be impressed at a three-year-old's hand-eye coordination. Hide-and-seek is not only a fun game (from age 3 to 33) but it also allows you to sneak into the den and check your e-mail while you are "hiding" and sometimes you can just "forget" to seek. Leaves the three-year-old out of your hair for a while.
If she decides its story time, I choose to listen. In that case I can get off with an 'uh-huh' every five minutes. In my defense, the few minutes that I do turn my attention to her, she doesn't make any sense. But you can't escape your turn at reading. So, make sure you pick your times right. And at this, I have advice for the so-called kids' book writers. Can't they make it just a tad interesting? I read a 15-page book, the entire content of which was: "Shhhhh, tigger, pooh is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, piglet is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, Eeyore is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, roo is asleep. Goodnight, tigger"! It's only fair, because she, for one, is not even listening to it. I might as well be reading The Times. That, by the way, is another good strategy: reading the newspaper out loud. Choose the Art or Sports section as opposed to Politics. And put up with her absolutely frivolous observations--- "Blue shorts" as opposed to 'Federer won the Nasdaq Open'. It has something to do with the colors. Reason why Barney's purple. Speaking of which, kids' videos are brilliant. I actually watched three Barney videos and would watch more if I have to.
If its pee time or poop time, there's no way out. Just your hard luck. Time to start cursing the digestive system that you marveled at in high-school biology. Paraphrasing Marge Simpson, "How did you make that into that?"
At the end of the day, when she has just spent an hour to successfully finish a bowl of ten pasta shells and your patience is wearing thin, she looks up with a winning smile and shrieks "love you, maasi". That's when you hug her, decide she's adorable and switch off the television. Only for a bit though. Friends is up next....
You explain to her that Friends is the grown-up Barney and that you can't get through an entire day without it…Hearing her chirpy "okay" you switch on the idiot box only to watch Monica, Rachel and Phoebe ogle at pictures of little Ben. Can't the world function without little kids anymore?
Contributed by:Karthika Muthukumaraswamy
Caring in My Sister's Way
Last summer, I had an acute case of bronchitis. I was downright bummed. Summer for me meant sun, sand, sea…a gazillion trips to the mall or to my friends’ houses, or to another province. I was supposed to exhaust every excess fat on my calves, thighs and belly to hours and hours of fun. Instead I was stuck in the house, stuck with bronchitis.
I didn’t have a night’s worth of sleep since my cough attacks chose to antagonize the peaceful slumber of the entire household.
My sister, a sub-zero in the sensitivity department, would grumble about people not having enough sleep and that I should take dear old doggie’s job.
I wanted to cut off her oxygen supply. Bummer. I didn’t even have the voice to put her to place, only an ancient queen’s glare which, unfortunately, didn’t work.
Thank God for the good doctor. The expensive medicine he prescribed made its worth and soon my bout with bronchitis was over…sadly, so did summer.
Once again my lungs were pumped up for cleaning duty. While doing my room, I accidentally nudged a notebook from my cluttered desk (sis was always a human tornado). I recognized the all too familiar carefree scribbles revealing a prayer for me to be well again because it hurt seeing me suffer like that.
A tear dropped from my eyes- okay, okay. So the Niagara was in town. Who would know the brat felt that way about me? She, who had lived to contradict me, who had continuously stretched my patience to the limit. It was like she had grown a new head. The little weirdo was so beyond me. But this I finally know- my sis does care about me.
She had done the sweetest thing in my life without letting me know it. She could have rubbed it to my face and proclaimed it to the world to make me look like an ungrateful beast. But she didn’t do any of those things.
Sometimes, the most unthinkable of persons turn out to be the ones who truly care for us. They just find it awkward to be obvious. They don’t need an audience to boost their ego because their kindness is not for show. They are merely content that we are well.
Most of the time, we judge people by the way they treat us and by how they make us feel. We don’t bother to dig dipper, to skim below the surface of Jack or Jill. We never can know what is hidden in the flesh because we see only what our eyes expect to see, because we see only what they want us to see.
To little sis who would bet a week’s allowance to hear me say, thank you. You may get goose bumps as I am getting while writing this, but it comes from my heart.
Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano
I didn’t have a night’s worth of sleep since my cough attacks chose to antagonize the peaceful slumber of the entire household.
My sister, a sub-zero in the sensitivity department, would grumble about people not having enough sleep and that I should take dear old doggie’s job.
I wanted to cut off her oxygen supply. Bummer. I didn’t even have the voice to put her to place, only an ancient queen’s glare which, unfortunately, didn’t work.
Thank God for the good doctor. The expensive medicine he prescribed made its worth and soon my bout with bronchitis was over…sadly, so did summer.
Once again my lungs were pumped up for cleaning duty. While doing my room, I accidentally nudged a notebook from my cluttered desk (sis was always a human tornado). I recognized the all too familiar carefree scribbles revealing a prayer for me to be well again because it hurt seeing me suffer like that.
A tear dropped from my eyes- okay, okay. So the Niagara was in town. Who would know the brat felt that way about me? She, who had lived to contradict me, who had continuously stretched my patience to the limit. It was like she had grown a new head. The little weirdo was so beyond me. But this I finally know- my sis does care about me.
She had done the sweetest thing in my life without letting me know it. She could have rubbed it to my face and proclaimed it to the world to make me look like an ungrateful beast. But she didn’t do any of those things.
Sometimes, the most unthinkable of persons turn out to be the ones who truly care for us. They just find it awkward to be obvious. They don’t need an audience to boost their ego because their kindness is not for show. They are merely content that we are well.
Most of the time, we judge people by the way they treat us and by how they make us feel. We don’t bother to dig dipper, to skim below the surface of Jack or Jill. We never can know what is hidden in the flesh because we see only what our eyes expect to see, because we see only what they want us to see.
To little sis who would bet a week’s allowance to hear me say, thank you. You may get goose bumps as I am getting while writing this, but it comes from my heart.
Contributed by:~Sheryl Joy P. Olano
The unhealthy divide
There are different types of separations on the surface of the globe: oceans separating land, mountains separating climate, and borders separating countries. And this demeanor of nature has, perhaps, influenced the life style of human beings on the earth too. Reason for this assumption is the life style of human society, which is replete with sundry divisions.
Cleavage between the black and the white, the rich and the poor, and the strong and the weak has been discussed seriously, but one division hasn’t been scrutinizes as them. And that division is: the division between the healthy and the indisposed population of the world.
However queer it may seem, this division is a reeking truth of today’s human society. If we leave out a handful of selfless NGO’s and generous celebrities, the society as a whole is very indifferent, very inconsiderate, and very insensitive towards the emotional needs of an ailed person.
Be the ailment due to accidents or physical vulnerability, stagnation is a word that smears with every ailing person. Wheel chairs and hospital beds sap energy and hope and all other positives that make a life worth living. The legs of patients get so weak that they struggle to keep pace with the rest of the world; the hands get so weak that they tremble to hold the gauntlet; the eyes get so weak that they grapple to hold delightful dreams. Even so, they are winners in their own right. Therefore, they deserve all respect in the world for their courage to fight, for their volition to win and for their endeavor to survive.
But often, they don’t get what they deserve. Their friends, partners and relatives (save for parents and siblings) try to steer clear of them as soon as the disease gets disclosed. Suddenly, the sick are unwanted; the sick are unproductive; the sick are out of contention and race.
The “healthy heard” of society, very soon, indulge itself in its own routine life for the quest of hollow materialistic success. I don’t mean that the chasing for success is bad, no, what I am saying is just to appreciate the contributions made in your life by that ill and to resurrect the hope for life in his/her heart too. Help the stagnant views of the diseased get wings of resplendent tomorrow.
The yelling, heard at regular intervals from some nook and corner of the world, to outcast the patients of Leprosy, T.B, Epilepsy, Aids from the social circle is still making humanity feel ashamed.
The disdain only shows that how brittle we are despite of making steels; how little we are despite of touching the sky; and how shallow we are despite of fathoming the oceans. It serves a purpose to be reminded here that the headway of present-day human race is the upshot of an evolution process entailing million years.
Now back to the subject of patients. When situation becomes unbearable for some patients, tolerating bitter pills and pointed jabs and indifferent behavior they succumb. But their capitulation is solemn and asks answer to the question: when the Homo sapiens will become humane sapiens?
However, this might not be too tough ask if we rinse our heart in pursuit of love, care and passion—the gifts bestowed upon us by the almighty to be human being in true sense. We must try to paint our soul with these three elements profusely and the time is no far when we see the lacuna between two leanings of behavioral pattern plugged for the progression of society and its inhabitants
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
Cleavage between the black and the white, the rich and the poor, and the strong and the weak has been discussed seriously, but one division hasn’t been scrutinizes as them. And that division is: the division between the healthy and the indisposed population of the world.
However queer it may seem, this division is a reeking truth of today’s human society. If we leave out a handful of selfless NGO’s and generous celebrities, the society as a whole is very indifferent, very inconsiderate, and very insensitive towards the emotional needs of an ailed person.
Be the ailment due to accidents or physical vulnerability, stagnation is a word that smears with every ailing person. Wheel chairs and hospital beds sap energy and hope and all other positives that make a life worth living. The legs of patients get so weak that they struggle to keep pace with the rest of the world; the hands get so weak that they tremble to hold the gauntlet; the eyes get so weak that they grapple to hold delightful dreams. Even so, they are winners in their own right. Therefore, they deserve all respect in the world for their courage to fight, for their volition to win and for their endeavor to survive.
But often, they don’t get what they deserve. Their friends, partners and relatives (save for parents and siblings) try to steer clear of them as soon as the disease gets disclosed. Suddenly, the sick are unwanted; the sick are unproductive; the sick are out of contention and race.
The “healthy heard” of society, very soon, indulge itself in its own routine life for the quest of hollow materialistic success. I don’t mean that the chasing for success is bad, no, what I am saying is just to appreciate the contributions made in your life by that ill and to resurrect the hope for life in his/her heart too. Help the stagnant views of the diseased get wings of resplendent tomorrow.
The yelling, heard at regular intervals from some nook and corner of the world, to outcast the patients of Leprosy, T.B, Epilepsy, Aids from the social circle is still making humanity feel ashamed.
The disdain only shows that how brittle we are despite of making steels; how little we are despite of touching the sky; and how shallow we are despite of fathoming the oceans. It serves a purpose to be reminded here that the headway of present-day human race is the upshot of an evolution process entailing million years.
Now back to the subject of patients. When situation becomes unbearable for some patients, tolerating bitter pills and pointed jabs and indifferent behavior they succumb. But their capitulation is solemn and asks answer to the question: when the Homo sapiens will become humane sapiens?
However, this might not be too tough ask if we rinse our heart in pursuit of love, care and passion—the gifts bestowed upon us by the almighty to be human being in true sense. We must try to paint our soul with these three elements profusely and the time is no far when we see the lacuna between two leanings of behavioral pattern plugged for the progression of society and its inhabitants
Contributed by: Neeraj Kumar
The means Literature deigned employ
There is no dispute that literature is the reflection of life. The relation of literature with society is to be considered in the two fold aspect of source and aim. The question arises whether art should arise from and reflect social conditions or be the subjective creation of the artist’s fancy. Its natural corollary is whether art should have any social role to play, painting the society as at present and leading the mankind towards its betterment. From this controversy arises the question whether literature should create only beauty and create delight by playing upon the eternal instincts of love and hatred, or shall have any relation with the conditions of life as lived in society.
If it is to play any social role it must reflect social conditions as they exist. It must be born out of the interaction of social forces. Hence the relation of literature to society is firstly one of its source and secondly of its aim. It is man who creates literature. God creates life; man reproduces it in the form of literature with the help of his imagination. It is man for whom literature is created .God is creator of the universe. He has created man in his own image making him a demi-creator.
He has made man an imitating animal. In the process of creating he not only imitates but also improves upon it. To appreciate a piece of art is as delightful to man as to create it. When we find a literary piece life-like and realistic, we enjoy this feeling. A man of literature not only presents life as it is but also as it should be. As a comprehensive subject literature encompasses, the present, past and future of a community and of humanity at large, it is the mother of all sciences. A man of literature looks before and after and weighs and considers something .
He possesses subjective as well as objective vision. His treatises bear his mind and personality. Objective realities do exist in his creative work along with personal or subjective outlook. What his imagination seizes as beauty that is rightly compatible with truth. Absolute truths are found in literature in the form of quotations. Such sayings and common parlances are quoted everywhere by scholars to further elucidate their points. Literature has no comparison with history which is merely chronological record of past events based upon second hand knowledge.
Sir Philip Sidney was right to say that nothing is true in history except names and dates; nothing is untrue in literature except names and dates. Often laymen ask the question whether such and such a story is factual; I am obliged to be amazed at their innocence that they do not know what a piece of literature aims at. Literature is a subject of probability and symbolism. When we name somebody ‘tiger’ we expect the listener to think of its attributes. Just like symbols used in mathematics, physics, chemistry and other physical sciences, we are expected to read a literary piece between the lines and find in it something said after our hearts. Truths in the domain of literature are truer than truth itself. I have the audacity to say that poetic truths are an improvement upon scientific realities.
It is the penetrating vision of the literary artist which lends various colors and shades to an ordinary scientific reality. A man of literature passes for a common man undergoes trials and tribulations of life. He universalizes the personal findings .The reader finds in them his own feelings defined and represented. Literature alone entertains and tolerates the opposite opinions. It is very much republican in its approach. Emphasis, dogmatism, self-assertion, egotism, didacticism etc find no place in a piece of literature. A single man of literature looks at a thing and incorporates all his expressions in a pleasurable and melodious way of saying. His imagination is just like a prism which refracts various colors and shades giving a wide birth to Methodism, fanaticism and egotistic sublime. An artist passes through a garden, a thorn runs into his heel, he describes the whole history of garden, it is called macrocosmic approach.
To his seeing eye a grain of sand is nothing but a desert in miniature. A drop of water is an ocean in the literary sense of the term. To an artist the proper study of mankind is man [pope].Likewise he lives among men, studies them minutely and claims to be the doctor of human nature. It is the literary vision that determines the status of a literary artist. Literature is nothing but a philosophy which aims at the love of mankind. How can you report about men and matters unless you possess negative capability and emotional involvement in men and matters.
Literature raises its voice above season, climate, territory, race, color, creed and culture. Safety and well-being of a community lies not in the hands of the scientists, politicians and technocrats, but in the hands of men of ideas through whom a social group sees. Wordsworth has rightly said: One impulse from the vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good Than all the sages can. In my view study and teaching of literature can be a panacea for all our social and political ills. It is literature that both teaches and delights you.
It kindles your curiosity, creates In you quest for the unknown and enables you to learn something new with a palpable design. In this context, Naziri Neshapuri, the Persian poet says: If the lecture of a littérateur were in the language of love, even the truant boy would attend the school on Friday, the weekend holiday. Nature’s world is brazen but that of literature is golden, the gardens of nature see autumn but those of literature are evergreen.
Lovers of the world of nature are fickle minded, false and untrue whereas those of literature are constant. Literature denies euphemism, hypocrisy, affectation, half baked realities, one sided facts, half truths and truth seeming lies. A spade is called by its own name without circumlocution. In short the study of literature has an ennobling effect on man’s personality, heart and mind.
Contributed by: Amir Aziz
If it is to play any social role it must reflect social conditions as they exist. It must be born out of the interaction of social forces. Hence the relation of literature to society is firstly one of its source and secondly of its aim. It is man who creates literature. God creates life; man reproduces it in the form of literature with the help of his imagination. It is man for whom literature is created .God is creator of the universe. He has created man in his own image making him a demi-creator.
He has made man an imitating animal. In the process of creating he not only imitates but also improves upon it. To appreciate a piece of art is as delightful to man as to create it. When we find a literary piece life-like and realistic, we enjoy this feeling. A man of literature not only presents life as it is but also as it should be. As a comprehensive subject literature encompasses, the present, past and future of a community and of humanity at large, it is the mother of all sciences. A man of literature looks before and after and weighs and considers something .
He possesses subjective as well as objective vision. His treatises bear his mind and personality. Objective realities do exist in his creative work along with personal or subjective outlook. What his imagination seizes as beauty that is rightly compatible with truth. Absolute truths are found in literature in the form of quotations. Such sayings and common parlances are quoted everywhere by scholars to further elucidate their points. Literature has no comparison with history which is merely chronological record of past events based upon second hand knowledge.
Sir Philip Sidney was right to say that nothing is true in history except names and dates; nothing is untrue in literature except names and dates. Often laymen ask the question whether such and such a story is factual; I am obliged to be amazed at their innocence that they do not know what a piece of literature aims at. Literature is a subject of probability and symbolism. When we name somebody ‘tiger’ we expect the listener to think of its attributes. Just like symbols used in mathematics, physics, chemistry and other physical sciences, we are expected to read a literary piece between the lines and find in it something said after our hearts. Truths in the domain of literature are truer than truth itself. I have the audacity to say that poetic truths are an improvement upon scientific realities.
It is the penetrating vision of the literary artist which lends various colors and shades to an ordinary scientific reality. A man of literature passes for a common man undergoes trials and tribulations of life. He universalizes the personal findings .The reader finds in them his own feelings defined and represented. Literature alone entertains and tolerates the opposite opinions. It is very much republican in its approach. Emphasis, dogmatism, self-assertion, egotism, didacticism etc find no place in a piece of literature. A single man of literature looks at a thing and incorporates all his expressions in a pleasurable and melodious way of saying. His imagination is just like a prism which refracts various colors and shades giving a wide birth to Methodism, fanaticism and egotistic sublime. An artist passes through a garden, a thorn runs into his heel, he describes the whole history of garden, it is called macrocosmic approach.
To his seeing eye a grain of sand is nothing but a desert in miniature. A drop of water is an ocean in the literary sense of the term. To an artist the proper study of mankind is man [pope].Likewise he lives among men, studies them minutely and claims to be the doctor of human nature. It is the literary vision that determines the status of a literary artist. Literature is nothing but a philosophy which aims at the love of mankind. How can you report about men and matters unless you possess negative capability and emotional involvement in men and matters.
Literature raises its voice above season, climate, territory, race, color, creed and culture. Safety and well-being of a community lies not in the hands of the scientists, politicians and technocrats, but in the hands of men of ideas through whom a social group sees. Wordsworth has rightly said: One impulse from the vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good Than all the sages can. In my view study and teaching of literature can be a panacea for all our social and political ills. It is literature that both teaches and delights you.
It kindles your curiosity, creates In you quest for the unknown and enables you to learn something new with a palpable design. In this context, Naziri Neshapuri, the Persian poet says: If the lecture of a littérateur were in the language of love, even the truant boy would attend the school on Friday, the weekend holiday. Nature’s world is brazen but that of literature is golden, the gardens of nature see autumn but those of literature are evergreen.
Lovers of the world of nature are fickle minded, false and untrue whereas those of literature are constant. Literature denies euphemism, hypocrisy, affectation, half baked realities, one sided facts, half truths and truth seeming lies. A spade is called by its own name without circumlocution. In short the study of literature has an ennobling effect on man’s personality, heart and mind.
Contributed by: Amir Aziz
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