Ingoings and outcomings

This will be a brief one.

Like I needed something else to contend with, the yarks that the kids all had several days ago descended on Bodog and myself on Friday.

Bodog mostly had diaroeah to contend with but I had the whole pie.  I spent all night Friday night vomiting (what does one vomit up after the first few times?  There's nothing left in your stomach!) and felt queasy all of the day Saturday. Sunday morning I was able to tentatively sip coffee and by supper time I felt good enough to eat a bit.

Fast forward to 1am this morning.  I had to get up and puke and by the time I woke up for the day (at 3:45, oh joy) I had to go hang over the toilet and retch several times an hour.  If I even sipped water, I threw it back up.  Bleh. How could I get better, then feel bad again?!

Now, let me interrupt the bulletin for some good news (it'll all tie back in):

Ms B, the teacher of the 4-year-old Kindergarten, had a child move out of district and had an opening!

BITTY GOT IN SCHOOL!

We found out Friday and she actually started today! w00t!

Now, recall the whole mummy-blowing-chunks thing.

Yeah.

So, this morning, I'm fixing lunches, fixing breakfast, getting school clothes out - my normal routine - in between running to the loo to briefly worship the porcelain god, scrub my hands and dash back out, hoping the whole time that I can make it to the school this morning, because, by golly, unless I'm in an ambulance somewhere, I'm going to be there my child's first day of school.

Well it went fine.  Bodog went with us (he's her focus parent) and she was really really excited.  I had to drag my sorry arse up to the front office and fill out the paperwork again that I'd already bloody filled out the first of the year and then the two wee boys and I dragged home.

So now I'm once again cautiously sipping coffee and resisting the urge to ring the school and make sure Bitty is OK.

I don't know why I'm so worried. Thousands of kids MUCH farther 'along' the autism spectrum attend school happily every day.  I guess because she's never been away from both me and her father; never been in another's care or away from her siblings or home.

Well, I'm terribly happy with all of my children's teachers, and I trust them and the school staff, and, of course Daddy is just a phone call and 4 minutes away right there in the district.

More later when she gets home!

Won't you blog about this song?

I just had to share this.

As an internet entramanure myself, I found it hysterical (and telling).

Via my Blackadder List (thanks, Howie!):

Here comes another bubble



I wonder whose t-shirt that is at the end? I haz a jealous.

In a rut, still digging

Ugh.

So, we were having a convo on one of my bulletin boards about what someone called 'invisible people'. You know, waitresses, cashiers, baggers, etc; folks people tend to ignore.

Fast forward to this morning.

I was doing the morning washing up and, as I sometimes do, dwelling on the fact that I wash the same dishes over and over. Same plates, same glasses, same bowls; sometimes three times a day. Over and over.

And the same clothes. And I sweep the same floors, twice a day; let the dogs out; leave at promptly 12:45 to wait for Boy to get out of school; snacks at the same time; supper at the same time; watch a few minutes of a film; go to bed. Rinse and repeat.

I realised that I feel like one of those invisible people; like a photocopy of a photocopy, blurred and indistinct. I spend all day doing things that anyone could do, contributing nothing unique or valuable, making absolutely no difference in the world.

Heck, aliens could abduct me and replace me with a similar unit and no one would be affected. Are there no pictures of me because I really don't exist?

All the mommy websites, books, and magazines say "take time out to do something for yourself".

Yeah? What? And when?

I used to have a dozen projects going. I haven't gotten to work on an outside project in 6 months; or an inside project in a year (heck, I've got a burgeoning list of basic repairs that desperately need doing). I haven't been to the stock sale in months.

I used to do all sorts of crafts as well as draw and paint. I used to write. All of that's out the window. The crafts require a place to set it up and leave it out safely. And I can't do anything of that sort without uninterrupted quiet anyway or I lose my concentration and it's the opposite of relaxing.

I used to love gardening. I had a wee little garden (in the English sense - mixed flowers, trees, shrubs, and veg) that was just mine but the babies took it over. It's now strewn with plastic toys and beat up here and there.

Still, I stubbornly worked at my garden for a bit. I kept it as tidy as possible and kept replanting. This winter pretty much did it in, though, as the only thing I got time to plant - collards - suffered. I had six gorgeous plants and the gate got left open and the pony ate all of them but one (and smashed my pots and dragged stuff about).

Ditto with my books and collectible junque and furniture. Not that the pony got in and ate them, lol, but that they've been smashed, ripped, scratched, and lost.

I know one is not defined by stuff, but it gives one a sense of accomplishment, of worth, to be able to say "I made that", "I grew that", or "That is my meticulously researched and accumulated antique beer bottle cap collection". If I were to fall over dead right here on my Wacom Tablet, I doubt anyone would say: "Man, she sure got a lot of firewood in and stacked neatly!" or "Jeez, I can see myself in these plates!"

Would anyone even realise I'd croaked until they ran out of clean socks?

Anyway, so this morning, after I washed those same. dishes. again. I went out to get something out of the car and discovered ... the gate standing open and the pony in my garden.

Is it stupid to cry over a collard plant?

Just a funny vid

If you are a mom or are thinking you might ever be a mom click below ( Here is the link if the embed doesn't work):




I laughed so hard I had tears rolling down my face.

When she was done, I stood up in front of my computer and applauded. (Scared the cats, as well. w00t! Twofer!)



I've had this shirt for ages:

Do you think I should do a whole series with all the popular 'Momisms' on? ROTFL!

EDITED to add: this chick's name is Anita Renfroe and she is, apparently, (waaaait for it ...) a christian singer. I'm going to look into getting her DVDs anyway!

(That was sarcasm for you folks who may not know me. The 'anyway' part, not the 'getting' part. I'm definately getting them!)

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A day at the beach

Thought you might like to see a few (belated) pics from our foray to the beach.

Boy's fabulous sand castle:

If you look closely, you can see the sea oat stalk bridges and flagpoles. Behind him is my 'encampment' - The cool wee tent is from Dr. Sister in Law who got it last year for Cousin Aye. I'm so glad she brought it, because we would have been lost without it. Fiver is asleep inside:

A sandy, hot, slightly disenchanted Bulk. He's still not 100% with this whole beach thing.

Bitty spent most of her time with the beach toys.


THCTD spent most of her time in the water with EGH.


"See this? Sand! Gritty, hot, sand ... and it's everywhere!"



New farm blog up, nothing much, just a few more pics. For an updated shot of the family (no, I'm not in it), check out our newly re-done family site. I'm still working on it, so there are broken links and a few bits of weirdness. Bear with me.

Sand and surf?

Good morning everyone!

Just a quick update.

We're actually going on holiday tomorrow! We'll be going to the beach for two days thanks to Type A sister-in-law (who arranged the entire trip, thank you so much!) and my mum (who is caring for the animals and the farm while we're away, again, thank you!). Many sun-soaked pics to follow. (And, hopefully, a more relaxed me.)

EGH had a birthday! Here's the cake midway through icing:

Bleh, chocolate icing! Happy birthday you chocolate-loving sweetheart!

Here's a hat-trick of handsome young men who take after their daddy:

Bulk, Fiver, and Boy.

And some girlies in their summery clothes:

The HCTD and Bitty.

And here's another shot of a completely toilet-trained Bulk (by about two weeks now) and our newest family member, Roy:

More after we get back from the beach on Thursday. For the Farm Report go here.

PS: So, did the last Harry Potter RAWK or what?! OMG, I so want to be Molly Weasley when I grow up!

PPS: Check out my new site for the store. I separated out just the snarky stuff for ladies onto it's own site. I have the Pirate stuff up on it's own page as well. What do you think? The teacher stuff is next.

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Day two in Hell

Apologies right up front. This is one big ol' whine at 4:30am (Friday). Feel free to give it a miss.

Well this damned yeast is kicking my bountiful arse. As of this morning (1am, whee!) Fiver latching on was so painful I had to keep myself from yelling out and waking EGH. I can't go on like this. I have an unusually high threshold for pain and I was crying after a few minutes. I ended up having to unlatch him - something that has never happened; usually there's an initial stabbing/burning pain then I 'get used to it'. Not this time. He's getting more blood than milk from the left side.

I've just taken a load of my pain meds to see if I can make it through nursing the other side. I'll go out to the Wal Mart today when EGH gets home and get one of those cheapo manual breast pumps. I've used them before and they work well for me and I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to stop breastfeeding. I don't mind tossing in a little formula until we get over this and I absolutely cannot keep eating pain meds all day just to be able to feed.

I feel so bad. I'm just depressed in general with the daunting task of losing weight. It's 100% my own fault, of course, that I have it to lose in the first place, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. All the post-partum swelling doesn't help, making me gross and awkward like I was still pregnant. I also have no energy. I try to get stuff done and get so tired. I suppose all the Percocet isn't helping that. Bah.

I'm feeling and looking old, fat, and tired.

And since I've dragged you down into this sudden pity party, let me go ahead and say that all this crap makes me feel bad for EGH, too. Nothing like having an in-pain, half-doped, old, fat, tired, and crabby wife wandering about and complaining. Oh glee.

To top it all off, he's having enough trouble at work with a few fellow teachers (who deserve the moniker that starts with a 'B' and ends with 'itches', but I'll be polite and not say that here *ahem*). These cows are of the sort (and I know all of us have worked with this type before) who are just never satisfied. They don't want to do any work but they don't want anyone else to be recognized or praised. They gossip and are nosey. They fight every policy change by undermining the administration, talking behind the Principal's back, going to the district office, yet they never present viable alternate suggestions for solving problems. All they do is stir the pot, stir the pot, bitch, gripe, gossip, and moan.

I hate women like this. HATE them.

Ya know, if you don't agree with something, then stand up and say so. Come up with a better idea on how to do things. Voice your concerns to everyone. Follow the chain of command. Do your freakin' job.

How hard is this?

If you're not happy with yourself, unfulfilled at home, or whatever, then too bad. This is your job. Suck it up, pull on your big girl underpants and freakin' deal with it. I say this almost every day: these women better be damned thankful that it's the sweet, polite, pushover of an Evil Genius that they have to deal with and not me.

Especially me with thrush.

(This is me. This is me with thrush. Be afraid. Be very afraid)
(How's that for mixing catchphrases?)
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PS: thanks everyone for reading this drivel. Sometimes I feel like you guys are the only ones keeping me sane.

Birthdays everywhere!

The exo-nesting continues.

The blokes finished the fence Monday, and I, in what can only be described as a fit of enthusiasm, tore down a corner of the picket fence around the house while the babes frolicked in the slightly chilly air. (I was not just being destructive, lol, I put the fence back up minus the corner.) Since I had to crank the chainsaw (read: Evil Genius Husband had to crank the saw for me since I can't bloody well bend down), I went ahead and cut some firewood, too.

Meanwhile my bag's not packed and I haven't even found the gowns that I like to wear to the hospital. They're in this house somewhere, I just know not where. Erg.

I went to my last OB appointment yesterday, saw Dr. S (this is the one who had to abandon me appointment-before-last when his pager went off) who didn't bat an eyelash when I refused an internal exam. We had a bit of a good-natured guessing game over how big Fiver might be. I say that he's my smallest yet (I gained only 2lbs last appointment and had actually lost a pound this time*. This is unheard of for me.) and he speculated that he was about 8-81/2 lbs. this puts him well under my others (10lbs 8oz, 9lbs 1oz, 9lbs, and 9lbs 12oz, respectively) but, of course, is just a guess based on external palpation. I'm not worried, BTW, just curious.

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Well, my oldest, Boy, turned five on Sunday. I enacted the new Rules for Five-year-olds: 1) anyone five and over may request a 'theme' cake, and 2) ice cream of the birthday baby's flavour choice will be served.

We had a blast. There were presents and balloons as well as the food. The cake was a near-disaster; the cats attempted to get it while it was cooling (and almost earned the new title of Permanently Outside Pets), and I ran out of icing and so had to do a rush job to get it done prior to Boy waking from his nap. I had intended to have the top be textured like grass and water and the volcano be a LOT cooler with different coloured lava.

Ahh, well, Boy still loved it and that's all that counts.

Baby Bulk loved it too ... allll over himself.

Sorry there aren't more pics. It was cloudy out and all the pics turned out dark. I took a bunch of the girls and never got a good one. :( Bitty Girl's birthday is just days before Fiver gets here, so I'll have more opportunities for pics.

Boy has turned quite serious lately. I'm not sure if it's just him or a phase or what. He takes everything waaaaay too seriously (a big problem for me and EGH since we're kidding-around types). Boy will let the tiniest, most frivolous thing bother him, even bursting into tears over it. It has me baffled and I hope it's just normal for this age.

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From my dinosaur-obsessed children, crashing through the house, and showing how grave Boy can be:

Human Crash Test Dummy: (seizing a white balloon left over from the birthday) "I'm a girl dinosaur so I can lay an egg!"

Boy: "And I'm a boy dinosaur so I don't lay eggs!"

HCTD: (clutching 'egg') "I have to take my egg or you'll eat it!"

Boy: (sliding to a stop, clearly outraged) "Do you think I'm an oviraptor? I don't eat eggs! I'm a Dromeosaurus!"

See what I mean?

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Oh, I found this and about laughed my generous arse off: check out this YouTube clip of an old Bill Cosby skit.

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*And are the Gods of Happenstance being perverse or what? Why is it that I have TWO effin' appointments with little or no weight gain immediately after the appointment where I had to see Dr. You're-Too-Fat and had gained 8 freakin' lbs?! ARGH!

In the news

*EDIT* Sorry for the delay in this post. I actually composed it Monday but both Evil Genius Husband and I have been immobilised by The Crud. Some horrible crap (and I mean that literally) of vomiting/diarrhoea/etc that has laid us both out. I have been living on the couch for two days with a trashcan nearby and EGH - who is normally a quiet and taciturn fellow - has been immobilised upstairs like a droid who's been switched off.

Anyway, on to the juicy stuff before I yark again:

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Seen in a post on one of my many email groups:


Hi My Name is (whisky tango). I am offering to do taxes at a reduced rate. I do taxes completely online. I do e-filing and paper filing.

my fee's are as follow's
non-itemized (simple taxes) $35.00 for the first hour and $ 10.00 each additional hour. Which does not include the e-file fee .the e-file fee for state and federal are $15.00

Itemized taxes are $45.00 for the first hour and $10.00 each additional hour.

(note) I am not a CPA. I just have the tax soft ware and the know how to do taxes. I figure what better way for you not to pay some one $200 or $300 for a simple tax job.


Uhm, honey, I don't think so. Would YOU trust someone with this poor a grasp of the English language to do YOUR taxes? "Fee's are as follow's"??

I was sorely tempted to post on the group this very same sentiment but know that it wouldn't do any good. They'd simply say things like: "no body's perfect" and "every one make's mistakes". Yeah. Tell that to the IRS.

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Here's an almost unbelievable one from the news ( It's the article that Mrs Chili mentioned in her comment: crying child .)

While over 100 passengers waited, two parents tried to calm their daughter and get her in her seat on an airplane. This child - aged 3 - was apparently crawling under the seat, hitting her parents, and being generally disruptive. The parents had had 15 minutes to get this girl in her seat. They said they just needed more time. They were also outraged that the flight attendants wouldn't let them just hold her in their laps.

1) FAA regulations require that anyone age 2 and up be in her own seat and buckled in for take off. If they had broken regs and allowed the child on her parent's lap and the child had been hurt the airline would have been sued out of existence.

2) WTF? She's THREE. You pick her up and PUT her in her seat and strap her in! Nuff said.


I got this story off of my Large Family board and those ladies had some interesting comments as well; the best being: "what do they do if she won't get in her carseat at home? Let her ride on their laps?"

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And I suppose you've heard about the bloke whose wife was induced so he could go to the bears game .

Yeah. Uh-huh.

I'd have said: 1) "In your dreams. I'm not risking my or my child's life for a football game." and 2) "You just plan on going to that game, but take a suitcase! If I go into labour while you're gone you can move back in with your mother."

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Blimey ... there was another one that I saw in the paper, I think, but I've forgotten it. If I find it I'll drag myself back to the computer to edit.

PS: Mrs. Chili, Stacey, and Luna (and anyone else who wants FABoolus prizes), you need to EMAIL me, yo! I need to know what you want and where to send it.

PPS: Ugh. Gotta go hurl now.

PC rich, puke-free, and perusing the TAR-zhay

Ahhhhhh!

D'you hear that? That's the sound of someone back at her desk.

Yep, my new computer has arrived - thanks to Dad (Thank you, Daddy!) - and has been feverishly set up, plugged in, turned on, had various bits of software installed, etc.

Bliss!

Now to go about retrieving my bookmarks, logging back into all my sites, and remembering my passwords ... ugh.

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The family is finally well. The children suffered through about 5 days of vomiting and diarrhoea. Every sheet and towel in the house got washed three times and I made about a gallon of home-made 'pedialyte' (note to self: never make it with red kool-aid!). I also got the stomach bug; and let me tell you (what you mommies already know) that changing manky sheets when you yourself are about to hurl is a tough one.

At some point early on I caught my obligatory upper-respiratory crud (my resistance is at zero what with being preggers and having the other bug) and Bulk picked that one up as well. Fortunately he got over the yarks pretty quickly (he was the first to exhibit symptoms - all over his carseat) but he just stopped snotting a few days ago.

And the coup de grace? Evil Genius Husband snagged the head cold just in time to return to work. Poor thing spent the latter half of his holiday stripping nasty sheets and cleaning puke off himself only to get a stupid cold. *very unhappy face*

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Regarding my last post and my decision (which still stands), I have not figured out how to address the person at whose house we are exposed to the other child. I emailed the other two moms and received no response. I can only assume that they disapprove of my decision (although they are both v. busy professionals, as well as moms to young kids, so they may just have not had time).

At any rate, I'm a 'do-er' when it comes to stuff like this. I like to be right up front and lay my cards on the table. I don't have anything to hide and I like to just get stuff over with; hash it out; be done with it.

I'll keep you updated. (BTW, thank you all for your supporting comments. They really helped!)

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So I was at the Target yesterday.

I hate Target. The whole Wal-Mart/Target war amuses me no end but I'm a willing participant (I know folks who wouldn't be caught dead in a Wal Mart because only white trash and Mexicans shop there *gasp* and I hate Target because it's a pretentious pain in the arse. I hate their stuff, the sales staff and other shoppers act like they're better than you (it ain't Saks, people), and their return policy blows. See? Isn't that fun? *snicker*)

So, anyway, I've only been in Target three times and it was to quickly use a gift card or return an item purchased there.*

Well, we disembarked the HMS Behemoth amidst a parking lot full of Lexuses (Lexi?) and Beemers and not a few snooty little glances from what seemed like a stampede of pregnant suburbanites and suburbanites with small children. Does the Target spray their customers with some alien-derived fertility formula? It was bizarre. (And what's up with the new maternity clothes fitting like fitness gear? I don't expect you to wear a tent but find something flattering, honey. Wearing clothes that look two sizes too small when you're not pregnant is stupid and ugly. When you're pregnant it's grotesque. I feel like the female form is a beautiful thing - especially when pregnant - but a white t-shirt so tight that I can make out the edge of your areolae and see your stretch-marks through it is NOT CUTE. I don't care if you do drive a 2007 Lincoln Navigator and your dog costs more than my car did!)

So, we're walking as quickly as my knee will allow through the store (and the herds of pregnant bellies/small kids) and I see children running, children crying, children yelling and folks are staring at us (a vast, very pregnant, cross-looking woman, who is not wearing a form-fitting Old Navy maternity shirt, and has four children? Do you blame them? The sky is falling!) when we encounter this:

The mother is about my age (40-ish), the father is dressed in that carefully calculated yuppie style (faded Lands End canvas hat, regular looking t-shirt that probably cost $60 [organic cotton, natch!], those bizarre knee-length shorts that suburban men love that look like cut-off golf pants - they're seersucker, loudly checked, and cut like dress pants [like Bermuda Shorts only uglier???], and deck shoes.) and their child (a girl of about 3-4) is lying on the floor screaming.

Mom: "Taylor, I know you're frustrated about going (didn't catch the middle bit), but Grandma said she would (something)"
Dad: "Taylor, I'll get you that Dora (something) ... let mommy and daddy finish shopping ..."
Mom: (glancing down the aisle in the other direction) "Sweetie, we're in the way of other babies ..."

Now, please bear in mind that my children are behaving thus: (aside from gaping in wonder at the show) Bitty and Bulk are sitting silently in the cart, Boy and the HCTD are walking quietly next to the cart.

Mom: (looking my way and speaking in a LOUD, shocked-sounding voice) "LOTS of babies! Tim, move out of the way!"

Uhm. We were taking up less than half the aisle. Her child was lying in the middle of the floor. Tim, by the way, was not in anyone's way. WTF?

I'll chalk this behaviour up to her being embarrassed (I'd have been mortified, myself) although she didn't seem embarrassed. She seemed pretty damned belligerent. As if I was interrupting her careful (and clearly effective *snort*) psychological reasoning with her child. Heck, if she'd just had, oh, say, another half hour unimpaired, she probably could have calmed Taylor down (or daddy's bribe would've worked.)

What would've been Blue's method, you ask? I'd've said this: "Get your arse off the floor and calm down or we're leaving right now, young lady. Let's go."

Now, see? Target clientele are clearly loads better than us Wal-Mart people!


*Please don't construe this as lack of gratefulness for the gift/gift card. I am very appreciative - a gift is a gift!. I just don't shop at Target

Another quick one ... sorry!

Well, I'm currently without a computer, so don't be alarmed if I'm gone more often.

Arrgh! I HATE it.

Obviously, I have something (since I'm typing this) but it still sucks arse.

Having your PC crash is irritating for many reasons - not least of which is folks who say: "well why don't you just use the other computer?"

Yes, it's true, I actually have four PCs on a wireless network in my house (ex-PC tech, remember?) and it's true that I did replace the phone line from the BellSouth demarc, the phone jack (whilst lying on hard concrete, ouch!), spent 2 1/2 hours on the horn to Pakistan listening to a difficult-to-understand young man read troubleshooting instructions off his screen. True we did finally get the DSL back up, the router re-initialized, and the network back up (so the other PC's can get online) ...

BUT!

See, switching to another computer is not like borrowing a friend's car. There, you just toss in your purse, fumble with unfamiliar keys, adjust to strange seat positions, taller or shorter pedals, etc. You're uneasy in a new vehicle, but you can drive it OK after you warm to it.

No, losing your PC and 'just' switching to another is like being awoken in the middle of the night and told you must move house. You are snatched away from your home and bunged into the new one. Hey, it might be bigger, nicer, more expensive! It might have a oven you could roast a goat in, a fridge the size of a pantry, huge new washer and dryer, and so on.

But it's not your house.

You discover that the little niceties you're used to are missing: toilet paper, towels, food in the gleaming fridge, clothes in the sleek Ikea wardrobe. True, the house is bigger, better, nicer - and you're appreciative of that - but it will take weeks to replace and rearrange the little necessities, to make it livable.

That's why it's hard to 'just use another computer'. All of my bookmarks are on the old one; my bloggers, my boards, my faves (including passwords); my email is set up on the old one; all of my images and software for creating shirts ... on the old one.

Crudnuggets.

And you know what the funny part is? I don't just miss my computer, I'm also pining for my desk. It's weird. It's like my workstation over there. I have a place for my coffee/Diet Coke, my idea notebook, my Discman. The pencils and the pencil sharpener, various office supplies, are there. The camera hook-up and my cell phone recharger are right at my elbow, plus I have a comfy chair and a panoramic view of the family room where the babies play all day.

LOL, perhaps a bear turned out of her den would make a better analogy.

Ahh, well. I have all of my pics of the babies and my finished t-shirt designs on CD. I guess I can bide my time until I get a new PC, fiddle around on this one - while sat awkwardly twisted on the couch (in order to use a laptop one needs a lap *snort*) while Evil Genius Husband joneses in the background to play City of Villains (this is 'his' computer. While I'm on it he can't get his email, visit his sites, surf porn, argue with fellow geeks on comic boards ... you know, essential stuff.)

I hope everyone had a lovely and safe holiday! I got the coolest gift for Fiver EVAR from a fellow blogger and I'm dying to show it off (and pay it forward). More on that later!

A Monday crabby quickie, heh

So sorry this is late, but, a very Happy Chanukah to any and all who celebrate it! Be joyous and be safe this insane season.

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Seen on BabyCenter as a suggestion for the dilemma: "My toddler has no interest in books":

(From anonymous) - "I see parents telling you not to let her watch TV. Well, there is nothing wrong with TV." [Snip, then this:] "If your conserned, I would ask some mothers who have ..." [and so on]

No comment from her on encouraging the baby to love books. Uh, yeah, honey. I'm going to take the sage advice of some chick who has obviously never read anything thicker than a supermarket tabloid but can probably name all the characters, past and present, on "Lost". I want a woman who cannot spell 'concerned' and doesn't know the difference between 'their, they're, and there' to give me parenting pointers!

That's just sad and scary, people.

------

And in the news they are suspending executions in Fl and CA because lethal injection, especially if not administered correctly, might be considered cruel and unusual.

The bloke in Florida, they say, took 35 minutes to die rather than the standard 15. He "appeared to be moving 24 minutes after the first injection, grimacing, blinking ..." He was a career criminal sentenced to death for shooting a man and previously convicted of stabbing to death a prison worker.

The bloke in California, whose execution was put off because of this new row, is a rapist and a murderer. Let's visit the facts, shall we?:

He "attacked [the 17 year old girl] from behind and tried to strangle her with his belt. [He] then hit her head with a hammer, beating her into unconsciousness, and crushing the victim's skull. [He] then dragged [her] face-down across the road and into a vineyard, where he raped her and stabbed her four times in the chest."

OK. What am I missing here, folks? What do I NOT understand?

We are concerned about these creatures? Our heartstrings are tugged when a man who has raped, killed, tortured, (whatever) experiences pain when he dies? I DON'T EFFING THINK SO!

They didn't care whether their victims - innocent people like you and me - suffered. They didn't care if their deaths were painful. They trampled the ultimate rights of an innocent person and now we should be fretting over their just death's being agonizing?

I call bull$#!t on this one.

Google me, baby! [UPDATED]

Ohhhh ... new Blogger.

Shiny.

Or should we call it Bloggoogle?

I haven't actually had a chance to muck about with it so expect either high praise or crabby bitching here soon.

BTW, I am aware that my archives are not working. They've never worked. I shall endevour today to get Bloggoogle to help me fix 'em.

I actually have emailed them twice about it but got the tinned response of some bored NON-technical-minded telephone rep who was just looking through a database for an appropriate 'answer'. Like when I used to be a telelphone and computer technician. I worked with PCs all day. It was my job. I was solely responsible for about 200 machines. I'm no computer whiz, but I had the basic working knowledge.

I'd ring Dell and get some twinkie with her eye on the clock and I'd be saying: "Yes, whenever I push ctrl/alt/del smoke pours out of the back!" and she'd snap her gum (keyboard clicking in the background) (pause) and go: "See the little button in the lower left hand corner that says 'start'? Click that and hit 'restart computer'. Give us a call back if that doesn't fix it!"

Gosh! Why didn't I ever think of that?!

Anyway, I'll be back later. Keep your eyes peeled for a new farm blog entry: Pig Races!

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UPDATE:

HAH! *does awkward happy dance* Who da woman? I think I have gotten everything fixed! It's amazing what one can do while awaiting 'official' help from the 'experts'.

Go on ... click an archive link. Click it!