#so we go on family vacations and one of my cousins is diabetic and another is on the autism spectrum

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

The time thing is actually something I'm glad you mentioned in your response because I've been puzzling over it myself. I can see this happening one of three ways so far: 1) the RDA have been there for longer than in canon and Grace and them ended up arriving at a later time. 2) the meshing is less organic and more purposeful. After gaining their independence they still want to keep parts of their culture but want to sort of move away from the more traditional stories told by their creators/captors, so they mesh the stories and songs on purpose to make something uniquely theirs.

Or 3) since they are just experimental versions of the recoms, it makes sense that the RDA scientists might have needed time to perfect the memory transfer, especially since around two-thirds of their test subjects are from the people who volunteered their memories way back when the science of memory transfer was just becoming a thing as to not waste more valuable memories. Therefore a lot of their memories are often muddled, and those who can remember fully are few and far between. I imagine that if this was the reason I chose it would also give me a reason as to why Paz went up so high in the rankings: she's one of the last to be made, therefor all of her memories are intact. With the knowledge she knows, it's no wonder she became the Priestess of Songs. Plus, she knows far more about the RDA than the others because of how long she was with them, which could be another part of that.

Hmm, very interesting!! I think any version could be very cool. I think it seems like you have the most fleshed out about the last one. I kind of like the idea of them all being somewhat defective memory-wise.

My best friend suffered a brain injury while we were growing up, we were about sixteen, and sometimes talking to her is just having the same few conversations over and over with slight variations. She is the same person with the same personality, she just doesn't remember that she told me this story last week, you know? It really isn't that big a deal, because she lived and she is much better than she used to be. Often with fictional memory issues or brain injuries, I feel like a repeated story or a forgotten detail is treated as a sign of the character still being broken, not quite healed. Sometimes it's every day life. I like the idea of a whole clan of characters who are... I don't know, damaged mentally, for lack of a better word, but it's just their way of life. I've read a few stories where Spider has mental trauma from the RDA mind reading machine, and the memory thing being such a major deal always makes me vaguely sad. I'd love one where he'd adjust to his new normal.

When my best friend is tired she CANNOT balance, she will fall trying to walk over something even if it's the only thing on the floor. It's just her now so it's the funniest shit in the world, we just make fun of her. Idk. That idea makes me feel warm and happy. My apologies for going off topic, you made me think about something that's really only been a half formed thought.

[creampuffqueen]

Deep in the Heart of Texas - One

a/n: So, because I have zero self control, I went and wrote the first chapter of the ToG southern AU I was talking about. I did this instead of doing online school, so I’d appreciate some feedback! I’ll probably continue this, but you know, support is nice. I think it’s also important to note that Aelin would absolutely rock a southern accent. So would Aedion. It would be so hot. Just... imagine it.

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is ready for the best summer of her life. She’s home from college for the summer, and so are all of her friends. Even her cousin is on a break from the military. Everything is set up to be perfect. Until... her mother decides to let the son of an old family friend stay with them while he grieves the loss of a loved one. And Aelin is not going to let a party pooper ruin her summer.

Rowan Whitethorn has just suffered the biggest loss of his life: the death of his long-time girlfriend, Lyria. His family is sick of him moping around his tiny New York apartment, so they ship him down south for the summer. The last thing Rowan wants is to spend his vacation in Nowhereville, Texas, but he has little choice. Not to mention, the only people his age seem to hate him. How on earth is he going to survive 3 months of this?

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is living the high life. She’s sitting in a chair outside in her backyard, beer in one hand, barbeque in the other. Her dog, Fleetfoot, is perched at her feet, just waiting for some scraps. 

��So, little cuz,” Aedion says, sitting beside her. He reaches over to grab one of the ribs from her plate, but Aelin quickly slaps him away. “How was your junior year at A&M?”

“Pretty good.” Aelin concedes. She finishes off the rib she was eating and passes the bone to Fleetfoot, who immediately jumps to gnaw on it.

“How about you two?” Aedion addresses Aelin’s best friends and roommates, Lysandra and Elide.

“At least you two only have one more year.” Lysandra groans. “Next year I have to focus on getting into vet school.”

“You’ll make it, Lys.” Aelin assures her. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I still have to get into medical school.” Yrene sighs from her own seat. “And Nehemia, you’ve got to get into law school.” Their other friend nods and rolls her eyes.

“And this is why I’m just getting a business degree.” Aelin chuckles. “Four years and I’m out.”

It’s so good to see her friends again. They’ve known each other since high school, but only Lys and Elide stayed back home in Texas for school. Nehemia got accepted into Harvard, which they all saw coming. Yrene managed to get herself all the way up to Washington State. As for Ansel and Nesryn, they moved out too, scholarships taking them far, far away.

Aelin missed her friends. It’s so good to have them back. And Aedion, too. By some miracle or another, he’s managed to have a break over the summer. His next deployment isn’t until September.

When Aelin pulls herself from her thoughts, her plate of ribs is noticeably smaller. And her cousin has the tell-tale stain of barbeque sauce on his chin. 

“You prick.” Aelin sighs.

“You weren’t eating them!” Aedion laughs. “I’m not letting good barbeque go to waste.”

Aelin, being the mature adult she is, just sticks her tongue out at her cousin until he laughs so hard he chokes. She stands up and takes her plate, smacking him on the back as she does. Aedion just glares.

“I need more food. Any of y’all coming with?” Nehemia and Yrene take their plates and follow Aelin up to the long table where the food is being served. 

Aelin’s parents are sitting in camp chairs nearby, laughing. Evalin has a margarita in hand, while Rhoe’s got a beer. When they approach, suddenly all three girls find themselves pulled into a conversation.

“Are y’all having fun?” Evalin asks, smiling.

“Definitely.” Nehemia laughs, ever the polite one. “Thank you so much for inviting us, Mrs. Galathynius.”

“Oh, of course.” Evalin gushes. “I couldn’t just throw a welcome home party for my daughter without inviting all her friends, now could I?”

Aelin attempts to shrug off her mother, but it’s no use. Evalin Galathynius has perfected her Southern charm, and of course Nehemia and Yrene are defenseless against it. 

So her friends and mother chat, about life, college, relationships. Evalin even gets Yrene to confess she’s been keeping a long-distance boyfriend, and Aelin is pissed that her friend didn’t tell her first.

But she gets more food; barbeque, mostly, but she heaps some beans and a roll on as well. 

“Save some room for banana pudding!” Her mother warns. 

“Mom, I will always have room for banana pudding.” Aelin grins. Finally realizing that they don’t have any food on their plate, Nehemia and Yrene pull themselves away and pile their plates high.

By the time they get back to their group of chairs, Aedion has managed to down two whole beers. Ansel and Lysandra are arguing, (or flirting, Aelin can never tell), and Elide is scratching Fleetfoot’s ears as the dog chews on another rib bone.

“Mom’s bringing out the desserts soon.” Aelin alerts her friends. Lys perks up at her words, glancing back towards the house, where all the food is.

“Please tell me she made banana pudding.” Elide groans. “I haven’t eaten it in like, years. Your mom always made the best.”

“Okay, but your mom makes really good butter cake.” Aelin laughs. “I mean, it’s got enough fat to give you diabetes with one slice, but that’s a problem for another day.”

“Mom didn’t make any for the party, though.” Elide pouts. 

Before Aelin can respond, three kids crash into their circle, laughing wildly. It’s Evangeline, Lysandra’s little sister, along with Hollin and Terrin, the younger brothers of Dorian and Chaol. Who, for the record, Aelin didn’t know were invited.

“Sorry!” Evie chirps. She stands up again and runs off, the younger boys chasing after her. Fleetfoot, done with her bone, jumps up and dashes after them with a bark. 

Lys just rolls her eyes. “Kids.” 

Beside her, Nesryn nods in agreement. “Kids.” Aelin spots Nesryn’s older sister, Delara, with the rest of her very large family. Delara has a baby on her hip, while the other three helions run circles around their mother’s feet. Nesryn’s younger cousins soon join in, creating a whirlwind of small children. Aelin has to look away; they’re making her dizzy.

This time Nehemia joins in, a huff of laughter on her lips. “Kids.” She points to her two little brothers, antagonizing Rhoe Galathynius by the house, likely begging for dessert to come out sooner.

“Well, as nice as this is, I don’t have any siblings, so I cannot relate. Sorry to burst your bubble.” Aelin’s comment gets a laugh from all around their circle, and soon everyone is back to eating food.

“Look! The pudding’s out!” Aedion shouts, and all the college-aged kids drop everything and sprint to the house, shoving each other out of the way. Nobody is getting between Aelin and her banana pudding.

“Hey! Slow your roll!” Evalin scolds. “There’s enough pudding for everyone. As long as you only take a small scoop. Aedion, I’m talking to you.” She fixes her nephew with a stare, and Aedion winces.

“Yes ma’am.” They all chorus. Satisfied with their manners, Evalin serves them all dessert.

She’s in the middle of scooping out Aelin’s portion when Rhoe appears, holding her phone. “Honey, someone’s calling.”

“I know how to use a phone, Rhoe.” Evalin sighs. She scoops Aelin a little bit more pudding and then takes her phone, letting her husband go on dessert-serving duty.

Aelin links arms with Elide, the two of them grinning madly before plopping down right there, next to the dessert, digging in with their spoons.

The rest of their friends are soon to follow, and Aelin doesn’t miss how Lysandra chooses to sit a little bit closer to Aedion than is probably socially acceptable. 

She chooses to ignore it, however, and instead focuses on interrogating Yrene.

“How long have you had a secret boyfriend for?” She demands.

“When I came home for Christmas.” Yrene laughs. “We went to the Havilliards’ party and I met him there.

The Havilliards, some of the most prominent people in their little cluster of small towns, have a reputation to battle even the Galathyniuses. And the Ytgers, for that matter. Their parties attract attention from all over, which was how Aelin’s friend group met each other.

Aelin and Elide had grown up practically as sisters, though Elide lived one school district over, in the neighboring town of Perranth. Orynth was the largest city in their area of South Texas, holding a whopping 10,000 people.

That was whopping to Aelin, at least. Elide’s town, Perranth, had around 8,000, with Rifthold nearby being 9,000. All the other towns that their friends lived in had even less than that, the smallest being Caraverre, Lysandra’s town, with barely 1,000 people.

The Havilliards, being the socialites of tiny Rifthold, have parties all the damn time. They even let their eldest son, Dorian, host wild gatherings of drunken teenagers. 

Aelin and Elide, barely seventeen, had managed to sneak into one of these elusive parties. They’d met Lys, Nesryn, Ansel, Nehemia, and Yrene, although the last girl was only there because her friends dragged her there and then abandoned her. Some friends, they were.

“Okay, that doesn’t give us any clue as to who he is.” Lys points out, pointing her spoon at Yrene. “Everyone and their cousin goes to the Havilliards’ parties.”

“Chaol Westfall.” Yrene giggles. Aelin nearly spits out her banana pudding. 

“Him?!” She yelps. Yrene’s laughter turns hysterical.

“Yes! Chaol Westfall is my boyfriend.”

“He’s here, though.” Ansel adds. “Why aren’t you over there with him?”

“Because I missed y’all.” Yrene says. “I haven’t seen y’all since summer last year. None of you came home for Christmas.”

“Too busy.” Aelin, Elide, and Lysandra say in unison. Yrene rolls her eyes.

Other people come for dessert, and Aelin scoots away as one of Nesryn’s nieces tries to peek over her shoulder. Delara scolds her and drags her away, and the whole group bursts into laughter.

Aelin looks up, seeing her father still serving. That’s strange, where is Evalin?

She sees her mother, standing on the porch of the house, hand over her mouth. Something’s wrong. Evalin’s porcelain face is ashen, the color drained from her cheeks. Aelin thinks she can see tears.

Before anyone can ask what she’s looking at, Aelin’s jumping up and rushing to her mother, bounding up the steps two at a time. She nearly crashes into her uncle’s rocking chair, but stops at the last second. Evalin hardly looks up.

“Of course. Of course he can stay here. For as long as he needs. Yes, please, send him my love. I’m so sorry.” Aelin catches Evalin’s eye, who holds up a finger, gesturing for her to wait.

When she finally hangs up, she just lets out a long sigh, putting the phone on the porch railing.

“Do you remember the Whitethorns, Aelin?”

The question catches her off guard, but Aelin nods, anyway. “I do. Sellene and Enda, mostly. And… there was another one, right?”

Evalin just hangs her head. “Yes. Rowan, that’s the other one. Poor boy, his girlfriend just died in a car accident.”

Now it’s Aelin’s turn to put her hands to her mouth. “Oh Lord.” She hardly remembers the Whitethorns, just that she met them a few times when she was young. She remembers that Enda and Sellene were nice and would play with her, while Rowan hung back, always saying mean things to her. She remembers Aedion beating him up one time, too.

Still, just because he was rude to five-year-old Aelin doesn’t mean he deserved this tragedy. 

“If you call Mrs. Whitethorn again, please tell her I’m so sorry for their loss.” Poor Rowan. 

“Well, here’s the thing, Aelin.” At Evalin’s tone of voice, Aelin knows she’s about to say something she won’t like. “Mrs. Whitethorn is very worried for him. They’re so busy up there, you know, they don’t always have time to check in on him. So… she asked if we would let Rowan stay down here for a bit.”

“Mama!” Aelin sighs. “I feel bad for the guy, but that doesn’t mean he has to come and live with us! All of my friends are down here! I don’t want him ruining my summer vacation.”

“Don’t you start sassin’ me, young lady.” Evalin snaps, her accent coming out in full force. “How can you be so heartless? Rowan is grieving.”

Aelin feels like a kid again, getting sent to her room for giving her mother attitude. So she relents before she gets embarrassed in front of the entire town of Orynth. And then some.

But she’s in a pissy mood, now. Of course she feels bad for him, but not that bad. Not bad enough to let him stay in her house over the summer. For all she knows, Aedion could be deployed all next summer. Lysandra might not be able to come home, being to busy getting ready for vet school. This could very well be their last summer together. 

And Aelin Galathynius will not let Rowan Whitethorn ruin her summer.

~~~~

Rowan Whitethorn steps out of the Uber, taking in the sight of the small town. He’s flown into Houston, Texas from Doranelle, New York, and it’s cost him a stupid amount of money to get a car to take him all the way down here. They don’t even have taxis in this god-forsaken state. 

Though, to be fair, it’s partially his own fault. His flight had gotten moved up, and he’d forgotten to text Evalin Galathynius the new time after she insisted she’d pick him up from the airport.

As the Uber pulls away, Rowan takes a long minute to glance around. He’d seen the sign as they’d driven in, had nearly felt his eyes bulge out of his head when he saw ‘Population: 10,000’.

He fingers the strap of his backpack, taking in the scenery. He’s in what must be a public park, but why anyone is outside is beyond him. It is so fucking hot outside.

However, the park is full. A pair of mothers with strollers, chatting as they walk along the park trail. Kids play on a playground in the distance. And a couple, seated at one of the picnic tables, have their hands clasped.

Rowan looks away at that. 

There wasn’t any place he could go, or that his parents could ship him off to, where he could just forget about Lyria. She’d been the love of his life. When he had a bit more money saved up he was going to ask her to marry him. He wanted to start a family with her.

And it seems like she haunts him, because no matter where he looks there is something that reminds him of her. 

Rowan sighs deeply, starting to walk. He needs to be away from this place, with so many… people. And he needs to get inside somewhere, away from the oppressive heat. How anybody manages to live in this weather is beyond him, being born and raised in New York.

He observes the town as he walks, taking in the architecture, the style. It looks fairly modern, save for the houses. The houses all look like miniature versions of that house from Gone with the Wind. The movie, of course. He didn’t bother to pick up the book.

This tiny town seems as if it’s been permanently frozen in time… in the Civil War era. 

Rowan goes back to walking, searching for a store or something where he can step inside for a minute, pull out his phone, and turn on Google Maps. However, as he approaches the little chain of shops, he’s stopped by a slightly older woman.

“Are you visiting someone, dear?” She asks, smiling broadly. 

“Uh, yeah.” He replies awkwardly. Why is she talking to him? Back in New York, it’s pretty much every man for himself. You find your own way or you don’t. Nobody ever offers help. 

“Where are you headed?” She’s still smiling, and that puts Rowan on edge.

“Um, I’m looking for… Evalin Galathynius? Do you know her?”

The woman’s face lights up. “Oh, yes, I know her. You’re gonna want to walk down that street right there, then take a left at the blue house, keep going until you reach the small park, then-”

Rowan doesn’t know what to say. Her instructions drone on, and he just can’t pay attention that long. He’ll just take out his phone when the lady leaves. 

“You got all that, sweetie?” Rowan jolts back to the present.

“Yeah, thanks.” She smiles, and keeps walking. Rowan lets out a sigh, and pulls out his phone, plugging in the address to Google Maps. 

Fifteen minutes of walking. Rowan looks up, at the sun beating down on him. This is going to suck, isn’t it?

~~~~

Rowan holds a scowl as he finally makes it to the Galathynius house. Carrying both a backpack and dragging along a suitcase in the sweltering Texas heat is not doing good things for him. 

He’d also gotten lost multiple times, even with the help of Google Maps, meaning he’d nearly doubled his walking time. All he wants to do now is to go inside somewhere they have some goddamn air conditioning. 

Rowan drags his suitcase up the porch steps, nearly panting. He’d sweated through his shirt, which had only added to the awful heat. 

There isn’t a doorbell; or not one he can see, anyway, so he knocks on the front door, hard.

He hears a muffled “I’ll get it!” before the door swings open to reveal a young woman, golden hair tied up in a messy bun. 

Her expression turns suddenly sour as she takes him in, her turquoise eyes glaring. “Are you Rowan?”

“Yeah.” He says. “Sorry I didn’t let you know, but my flight got pushed up.”

“That’s what I thought. You weren't supposed to get here until this evening.” She sighs and opens the door. “Come inside.”

Rowan does so gladly, smiling as the cool air kissed his sticky skin. “Is your mom home? You look too young to be Mrs. Galathynius.”

“My name is Aelin.” She says. She doesn’t offer her hand to shake, just keeps walking further inside. “Do you want me to show you your room?”

“Sure.” Rowan follows Aelin through the house, marvelling at how… large it is. And, he’d noticed as he’d approached, it was on a massive piece of land, as well. 

Aelin walks quickly through the house, pointing out a few things like the kitchen, dining room, living room. They come upon a large staircase, and she bounds up them. Rowan sighs and goes to dragging his suitcase upstairs.

Aelin even has the audacity to look annoyed at him for being so slow. Rowan resists the urge to snap at her. He’s exhausted, and just wants to lay down somewhere and sleep.

Aelin leads him down a long hallway, and points to one of the doors. “That’s your room. And the bathroom’s right there.” She gestures to another door across the hall. “All the other rooms are occupied right now, so no snooping.”

Rowan doesn’t answer, just nods. Stepping inside the room, he can’t help but notice how big it is. Just like this entire house, it’s giant. He’s got a four-poster bed, plush carpet on the floor, a dresser, and a closet. It’s more luxurious than anything he’s ever had.

He doesn’t bother to unload his stuff. Sleep is pulling at him, making his eyes heavy. So he quickly pulls off his sweaty shirt and collapses on the bed, sinking into the mattress.

He’s gone quickly, but right before he falls asleep, one last thought materializes in his head.

Lyria would have loved it here.

[dreamisawishyourheartmakes]

10.18.2020 

Thursday was not a good day. Let me tell you. 

I have let go of what happened but I think this is the last step for me to let things go for good. It has been on my mind but I don’t want to talk about it with my husband no more. I respect how he feels and don’t want to let it show no more nor let it bother me anymore. 

What happened was I made a post on my FB account about a shopping trip my husband took me on to a Whole Foods to spend $115 to get food that I could eat. I was dying for bread options. I do have some from a place I use my insurance but I wanted to see if there was a place that actually had bread that had less than 2 grams of protein more than 1 slice of bread. I found it and it was 1gram of protein for 2 slices of bread. HELL YES! The only BAD thing is that Whole Foods is expensive! Healthiness comes with a hefty price tag, that’s for sure. I have a rare metabolic disorder known as PKU(which is the shorter name). It basically means my liver is missing the enzyme that breaks down large amounts of protein. I can only have 8 grams of protein daily. For a very long time I did not follow the 8 grams of protein daily I was supposed to be doing me entire life. Anyway back to that post I made on FB. My cousin’s friend commented on it saying that I am a strong person and she could not imagine having to follow such a strict diet. I commented saying it was a diet of never having meat, seafood, chicken, dairy, etc. I also said that my sister went through it 3 times. My sister then posted saying “Yes, 3 times I went through it! It was extremely difficult to say the least. Even going on vacation and going out to eat at say a buffet, it was difficult. There is no such thing as eating out when you are pregnant. You technically shouldn’t just because it is harder to portion everything, unless you would be one of those people and bring measuring cups with you(i never was). But for what it’s worth, why eat at a buffet when what you’ll end up being able to eat there you can just eat at home. You would waste money honestly, so even though I knew eating out at a buffet was bad, I ate veggies and french fries and rice sometimes, knowing it was going to raise my level. But I told Kerri she should avoid eating out at all costs, but with her husband and his parents wanting to eat out often(NOW KEEP IN MIND I INVITED MY IN-LAWS TO COME PUMPKIN PICKING WITH MY HUSBAND and MY FAMILY and then MY MOTHER-IN-LAW SAYS SHE and HER HUSBAND CAN”T MAKE IT BUT IF WE GO OUT TO DINNER LATER LET HER KNOW...THERE WERE NO PLANS TO EAT OUT THAT DAY BECAUSE I TOLD MY HUSBAND I DIDN’T WANT TO DUE MY PRE-CON DIET BUT THEN I THOUGHT OF WANTING TO SEE THE IN-LAWS AND SAID WE WOULD GO TO A BUFFET WHICH IS MY BETTER OPTION BUT WAS 45 MINUTES AWAY FROM IN-LAWS...DID REALIZE SHE FIGURED WE WOULD GO TO DINNER UP THERE PLUS MY DAD CAN’T EAT A WHOLE BUNCH OF THINGS SO IT WORKS BETTER FOR HIM). Okay so back to finishing my sister’s comment off: that is going to be a huge problem. So she’s going to have a responsibility on her hands, basically making him and his parents understand the importance of this diet before and during pregnancy. After the pregnancy, it’s your choice as to what you want to do as far as the diet goes. But the ONE key thing in the PKU diet is the formula intake. Without that, the levels will stay high, not matter how good you watch what you eat. And while my sister goes food shopping at Whole Foods, I never did. Yadda, Yadda, Yadda” There was more but this is the part needed to understand what happened. I commented and said “Yeah ^^^^^^ Without my pku formula pills my levels would most likely be higher than they are now. Like a diabetic needs insulin a pku patient needs their formula to survive. The only problem there is the cost of the formula and without really good coverage no one can afford the cost and still we need many people in congress to support the nutrition equity act. It’s a bad battle but these people think ‘oh with controlling your diet with foods you’ll be fine’ WRONG! I don’t need my muscles breaking down because I’m trying to maintain low phe levels but not taking my formula! (Muscle breakdown happens when you don’t have formula and are taking in less formula or no formula at all). I also was reading about anabolism and catabolism. It’s quite complex but basically we need calories to keep levels lower too but we also need to lose body fat which also helps too(losing weight in pregnancy is not what any woman aims for) but you don’t want to lose muscle. It’s a complex diet that a lot of people do not understand and some doctors are like “What’s PKU?(It happened to me last year seeing a covering PCP doctor that has never treated a PKU patient nor ever heard of PKU before). So Thursday I get text from my mother-in-law “When you are done working at X-time we need to talk.” Well, I kind of was thinking “what happened now?” I thought it might have had something to do with a post on FB because what else could be wrong and if it were serious she would have called. I said to her text “Sure. What’s going on? Everything ok???” She says “Physically I’m ok. We will talk at x-time” Mind you I got stuck with training so I clocked out a few minutes later than my off time. I get a call on my phone and a minute after that first call comes another. I was finally able to look at my phone see I had 2 missed calls a minute a part from one another. Now I am in pain with my left arm trying to hustle and make dinner for myself on top of rearrange pots and pans so I can have better access to them when needed. I called my mother-in-law back on a different number so I could record what is being said exactly. YES, I RECORDED IT SO SHE CAN HEAR HOW SHE JUST TALKS AND TALKS AND DOESN’T LET YOU TALK WHEN NEEDED AND IF SHE DOES LET YOU TALK SHE DOES NOT ACKNOWLEDGE WHAT IS BEING SAID TO HER AND NEVER FINISHES WHAT SHE SAYS AND JUST GOES ON AND ON IGNORING ANYTHING YOU NEED HER TO HEAR. 

Well I will try and break down a 23 minute conversation of all her talking and me getting to say some things 3 different times. She basically told me she knows I(meaning me) don’t care and was asking what my sister was talking about airing on FB about eating out at buffets MIND YOU MY SISTER WAS GENERALLY SPEAKING AND NOT SPEAKING ABOUT LAST WEEKEND BUT SEE ASSUMPTIONS ARE MADE BECAUSE HIS MOTHER SITS ON FB AND READS EVERY LITTLE COMMENT MADE ON MY POSTS. SHE ASSUMED MY SISTER WAS TALKING ABOUT LAST WEEKEND when we were not planning to have dinner out. The only reason we talked about having it is so we could see his mother because YES I DO KNOW WE DON’T SEE MY HUSBAND’S FAMILY OFTEN. MY HUSBAND’S PARENTS DON’T SEE THEIR SON OFTEN BECAUSE HE WORKS 6 days a week and has ONE DAY OFF from his 2nd job. He then works his full-time job 5 DAYS A WEEK. She brings that up at the end of the conversation saying that I see my family a lot more and yet my sister doesn’t say anything about that. WHY WOULD SHE? THAT IS IRRELIVANT ANYWAY. I go to my parent’s house I take care of myself and my parents understand when I can’t do something, I CAN NOT DO IT. My in-laws though will push it and say “OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMEWHERE YOU CAN HAVE SOMETHING. THERE ARE OPTIONS.” Right, there are BUT I should not even consider eating out because there is more to it like knowing every little ingredient in foods, weighing foods out, etc. Yes my sister did right out say in her comment “But I told Kerri she should avoid eating out at all costs, but with her husband and his parents wanting to eat out often that is going to be a huge problem.” YES SHE IS RIGHT because THEY DO LIKE TO EAT OUT. I know his mom wants to get me out of the house but do we always have to involve food? We can’t see a movie? We can’t go bowling(She bowls in a league)? We can’t go have our nails done? You can’t come down here and have dinner with me and we can cook together which she loves doing? I don’t get it. There are so many other options that don’t involve eating out and an option of coming here as she does not work and is not tied down anymore. I said to her “You know could have just come down here since I work from home and am off of work too late to drive an hour and 10 minutes away and I should have said that but I didn’t because I KNOW YOU WON’T MAKE THAT COMMUTE SINCE IT’S TOO FAR FOR YOU/” She didn’t know what to say. She said “Yeah, well that is true, but yeah well you know maybe we can take turns going back and forth eating at each other’s place” YEAH OKAY BECAUSE THAT WON’T HAPPEN. HER SON KNOWS IT TOO BECAUSE THEY NEVER PICK UP THE PHONE TO ASK IF THEY CAN COME HERE BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS TELL ME THAT THEY NEVER SEE THEIR SON.....NOT MY FAULT. WE CAN’T AND WILL NOT BE TRAVELING UP THERE ALL THE TIME AND WE HAVE BEEN. GET OVER IT. 94 year old landlord drives more than my own mother-in-law who is 63! 

Anyway, I need to get done. I have to do some laundry! 

My sister was generally speaking and because the WORD BUFFET WAS IN IT FROM MY SISTER’S PAST EXPERIENCE EATING OUT BUFFETS KNOWS HOW HARD AND TOUGH IT IS TO DO SO and HOW BAD THAT IS AND CAN ABSOLUTELY RAISE PHE LEVELS. 

[secretchipmunk]

PSA, absolute garbage rant

Literally this is like a 10 minute post just about bull, that I'm frustrated about and I'm tired so it doesn't even make sense but I had to put words onto my frustration.

I live in a like...8×3 ish room. So my bed goes wall to wall on the smaller side and takes up 90% of my room. It's not even a 'room'its essentially a cubby. I share a room with my grandma and they put shelving units between us for some semblance of privacy. My doors will close but hers stay open so my aunt can see when she needs help. Problem with that? I literally havent been able to have a private conversation in my room for...2 years? Had to call a gynecologist to get an IUD? Aunt overheard. (ABSOLUTE TMI) trying to have a intimate moment with Hamish. Basically just cant, I rarely even try unless everyone's asleep or away. (TMI OVER). Crying because I'm overwhelmed, stressed, something happened, people will overhear and ask me about it later. Singing? Aunt tells me to be quiet even though I'm singing quieter than my grandma's westers that she watches almost 24/7. She cant turn her light off cuz of bathroom reasons, so I havent been able to sleep in the dark for the last 2 years other than when I was with Hamish and the week i got to sleep in my parents room when they were gone. Speaking of bathrooms my grandmother uses a kamode cuz she's not really mobile. Which means so goes in our room....for the last 2 years... I frequently have to leave for bits of time or it wakes me up cuz...yeah. I moved into my aunts house being told it was temporary, a month or so at most. Then it became financially hard to move for us...then my aunt lost her job and my mom felt to bad to move cuz she'd loose her house. Then my cousin got into and accident and came go live with us. Then my grandpa passed away so my aunt became her caretaker and my mom felt tripley bad. I cant move out by myself because a 1 bedroom in this area is about 1500-2000 a month. A 2 bed room is like 1500-2500 a month. My best friend I was supposed to move in with got another great offer and she moved in with them. I have 2 other friends that I could move in with but a 3 bedroom is 2500-3000 and they have animals and one of them is frequently in and out of jobs. So it's not feasible for me to move out in this area.

Anyways, my mother won quite a bit of money and she bought a trailer. Which I'm happy for her it was a life goal for her. The problem is, that leaves an open room. I'd already talked to my aunt and she was going to take down her bed frame in there so I could put mine in, and I'd have my parents room. But before my cousin moved out years ago that was his room. And hes currently complaining that his 14×12 room is way to small for him and his stuff and he wants his room back....so my aunt gave it to him even though I already talked to her about it...which I'm still grateful I even will have a room with a closed door I'm just very frustrated...because my aunt wants to 'deep clean that room because of our nasty dogs we had'. Which that pissed me off because literally less than a month ago I had to make a call to put my last dog down because he went into extreme diabetic shock while my parents were on vacation and it was pretty traumatizing for me. And all 3 of my dogs have been put down in the last 2 years... so it was extremely insenstive( which is just my aunt in a nutshell). But that means itll be about 2 weeks till my cousin moves into my parents room and at least another 2 weeks to clean his room/ however long it takes her to decide she wants to do it cuz if it ever involves me they just kinda avoid it. When I used to be in my cousin's right now room. I had about 7×4 room because it was their storage room and they didnt actuall move anything out until they decided they wanted the shelving for their "hobby room" and then 2 weeks later or so my cousin got into an accident and moved into my grandma's room and then my grandpa died and I had to move into my grandma's room to share it with her.

It's literally like 1 am and I'm just so. Fucking. Frustrated. My uncle said I shouldn't even get a room because I'd leave it less than I leave mine already and at least they can look over the wall to see if I'm alive....I literally cant even sleep in light cloths for fear a tiddie will fall out and someone will decide at 5 or 6 am to open my door and look in or look over the wall at me...which has happened....a lot. I just. I wish I had like a go pro of my life to put some of the clips in from my life of my cousin being soooooo pissed off that toothpaste got onto the counter from my dad, or someone moved his bread to get to another bread, or I left one hair in the shower on accident, or his girlfriend broke up with him...again. cuz hes a massive fucking narcissistic prick with intense anger problems. That he literally goes around the house screaming about everything and taking it out on anyone he sees and opening doors to slam them that most days hes home. I'm literally afraid to leave my room. Or have dinner with him cuz I'm afraid to talk cuz he'll tell at me.

I really...just cant wait to move...I have to take a another fall quarter at my college which means I'll have to wait till at least january after i get married to move...assuming Hamish gets a good enough job for me to be able to. But honestly I've been thinking about just living in a car when I get my license. Buying a cheap ass car and living in it cuz...I cant...

I used to have quite a lot of anxiety attacks...like...almost every other night but they relatively went away before I moved here after dating Hamish, maybe once a month every other month I'd have one here. And now they've mostly stopped. But every. Single. One. Of my anxiety attacks I still have, are all caused by my family. Work and school stresses me out but I can handle that shit. It's literally just my family and the constant lack of privacy, thought about my feelings, jibbing me about the way I eat the way I look or the way I talk. Literally I'm pretty sure the only reason I still have body issues is because of them. I'll have an amazing week of loving myself and then my aunt will tell me I look stupid in my super cute crop top, or I look like I'm putting myself out there or I look like I gained weight. My step dad gives me anxiety sometimes too but that's for different reasons. My parents are pretty much exempt when I say "family problems" obviously we have our problems but it's never major or anything, just annoyances.

I gave one of my cousins one of my trumpets cuz he really wants to do band and his mom has 5 kids and cant afford one so I let him use it for now and he gave me a hug and everything, I didnt get a thank you, appreciation or anything. It was indifference to me even being there showing him how to take care of it and start to learn how to make noise with it. She was actually pretty annoyed when I said he'd need slide grease and oil for the keys.

Anyways, this has been my diary post of things I feel bad talking to people about cuz first world problems but they're still vivid feelings to me.

[alekakers]

The Story So Far (or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Existential Dread)

- 32-

When I was a kid I thought of thirty-two as this incredibly significant age. For whatever reason I viewed it as the epitome of reaching adulthood. Of course as a child I thought of everyone older than me as an adult. You know that weird skewed perspective thing, when you recall memories from childhood and even high school kids looked like grown ups. But in my head thirty-two was a mythical age that solidified your status as an adult. An age that once reached meant you were no longer a young man/woman, but a full fledged adult-y adult.

Now as I sit here looking back on thirty-two years of life I can say I had no idea how my perspective on age and life would change over the next couple decades. But in some strange way I wasn’t completely wrong either. I had wanted to do this kinda thing when I turned 30 but that was a chaotic time so I never got around to it. So now with two more years behind me, here is a reflection on a simple life and what I’ve learned from it. Let’s start at the beginning...

- Born On The Bayou -

I was born in the early afternoon in Nassau Bay, Texas. I grew up on the same 25 acre ranch my mom was raised on. 30 minutes outside of Houston, 20 minutes from the Gulf of Mexico, and 10 minutes from the Johnson NASA Space Center where my grandparents were instrumental in the Apollo and space shuttle programs. My grandfather was an Oklahoma farm boy that crossed the Mississippi in a covered wagon who ended up putting men on the moon. My grandmother came from New England and was breaking ground in the country’s fledgling space program when she fell in love with a cowboy rocket scientist and brought my mom into the world. Unfortunately they died when my mom was in college. I wish I could have met them.

My dad grew up in a sleepy suburb outside Portland, Oregon. His mother was an eccentric, loving, and strong-willed woman. It was her grandfather, Aleksander Justice, that I’m named after. A wolgadeutsche immigrant, he moved to America to start a new life for himself and his family. My grandmother was harshly old-fashioned to say the least, but she loved me and my sister with all her heart and was in our lives more than any other extended family member. Her passing a few years ago wrecked me more than I thought it would.

My father’s father was an orphan adopted and raised by his Uncle. As an angsty youth he enlisted in the navy to avoid jail time, served as a frogman in Vietnam, worked as a motorcycle cop for decades to support three kids, helped raise my cousin after my aunt got divorced, and was a volunteer firefighter and loving grandfather and great grandfather when he passed a couple years back. He was and will always be the prime example of the man I judge myself against. I miss him a lot.

- Beans and Cornbread -

My parents met in college and were soon after married and the proud parent’s of a baby boy. My dad was serving in the navy when both I and then my sister, Erin, were born. After his tour of duty my parents moved to the property in Texas that was left to my mom and my uncle. Despite being crazy young, dirt poor, and perhaps in retrospect being wildly unprepared to raise a family, my parents managed to keep us fed and clothed and sheltered. Most importantly they instilled in us the values and morals I still hold dear. Treat others with kindness. Be grateful for what you have. Work hard, try your best, and never give up no matter what life throws at you. In some ways I’m grateful for my modest upbringing and the appreciation it gave me for the little things in life.

Even though my friends lived in nice suburbs while I lived in a run down ranch house, even though they had nintendos and nerf guns while I had cheap plastic toys, even though we ate on a shoe string budget and couldn’t go on fancy vacations, even through the emotional trauma of it all, I still look back on my childhood fondly. I am eternally grateful for those years. Wandering around the pasture. Erin and I letting our imaginations run wild. Going to cub scouts every week. Making our own fun roaming around the church after hours while our mom was there to do whatever she was there to do. My parents scraping every penny to make holidays and birthdays special. I wouldn’t trade all the dinners of beans and cornbread for anything else. I’ll always be a humble country boy at heart.

- Misty Mountain Hop -

Three months after my 11th birthday we packed up the house, loaded the moving truck, and drove half way across the country to start a new life in Washington. My dad had been unemployed for a while and ended up finding a job with the boy scouts in Everett. It would give our family a modicum of economic security and put us closer to my dad’s family in Oregon. It was a jolting transition to say the least. Shortly after we moved puberty hit like a ton of bricks. My early childhood was firmly left in Texas and my teenage years made their angsty debut in Washington.

We moved into a quiet suburb 30 minutes north of Seattle and for the first time our family had a level of comfort we had never had. We could afford name brand cereal! But simultaneously my father’s anger issues were coming to a boiling point. Also my sister and I were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. It was a very tumultuous time. My defense mechanism was to retreat, and I became terribly introverted and detached, retreating into music and video games. My sister went the opposite direction and became a loud, boisterous spit-fire, finding herself at home in the world of theater. I think we both already had the predilections for these respective personality traits, but the dissonance in the family only exaggerated them.

After a few years we moved into another house around the block. It was around this time that my father’s temper finally became too much and he started seeking help to work through some things. It took some time but I can’t stress enough how much of a different person he was after that. Night and day. I was in high school at this point and it was also around this time that I started to become disillusioned with the status quo of society. The modern school system seemed pointless, I started smoking weed, and music became the end all be all of my existence. It still is. Music is life! I dropped out of high school and decided to live the life I wanted to live.

Throughout my teenage years I played in different bands, experimented with all kinds of drugs, met and broke up with my first true love, entered the work force, and started the slow painful transition from adolescence to adulthood. It was a wild time! While part of me wishes I had stuck out high school, I have never regretted the choices I made. I saw that so much of the reality around me was a construct of our culture and I sought to push the boundaries of that reality. And I’m glad I did. I learned lessons the hard way, on my terms. I saw past so many lies and illusions and fallacies of how we’re expected to live our lives and perceive the world. I created my own world of truths and morals instead of blindly accepting the ones being pushed on me. It was an incredibly eye-opening and freeing time in my life and I credit those experiences for a lot of the wisdom and knowledge that I’ve absorbed.

*Disclaimer: I am grateful that I came out of that time in my life relatively unscathed. I know/knew many people that couldn’t claim themselves so lucky. It takes an incredibly strong will to toe the line and step back without going over the edge. Even though I wouldn’t change a moment of it, I wouldn’t recommend the life I led to anyone.

- Retreat and Rebirth -

After the last band I was in during those days broke up, our collective friend groups started to dissipate. As the realities of adult life started to pull from different directions most people rose to the occasion. I did not. Burnt out from the crazy ride and being overwhelmed by life I retreated to a world of isolation. A little solitude is healthy. I consider myself an outgoing introvert (A term a like a lot). But I took it too far. Unemployed for three years. Letting many friendships dwindle and slip away. Spending my days doing nothing but smoking weed and playing video games. It was unhealthy and I didn’t know how to change. Then the universe decided it was time. Just after my 22nd birthday I finally cut ties with a very close but deceptively toxic friend. After smoking half a pack a day since I was 16 I decided to quit. And I decided to take a break from smoking weed. Then to top it all off my childhood dog that I had had for 14 years died. To this day that remains the most transformational time in my life.

I spent that spring and summer reconnecting with myself and what was important in life. Taking care of my diabetes. Eating healthier. Gardening. I leaned into making mixtapes like never before. It is still my main hobby. Musica es vida! I had what I can only describe as a spiritual awaking. Come fall I was smoking weed again but with a renewed respect for the plant. I had a job doing something I had unexpectedly developed a passion for, cooking. And I found myself coming out of my social isolation. It was like I ended a three year hiatus from the world. I still think of my life in terms of before that time and after.

Then three years after I hit the reset button on life I was ready for another change. I was 25 and the inexorable march of time wasn’t stopping. So I finally moved out of my parent’s house. No shame! Science says that adolescence in modern humans lasts into our early twenties. And I was definitely still weening out of my teenage years at that age and was lucky to have such amazing supportive parents. It wasn’t until 24/25 that the existential dread of life started to set in and I thought, shit I gotta get outta here. December 2012, the apocalypse didn’t happen, and I moved in with my sister in downtown Seattle. She herself had spent the last few years overcoming her own traumas and wrestling with her own demons, and she helped me step even further outside my comfort zone into the greater world. I am so grateful for the two years we got to live together as fledgling adults.

- She Saved Me -

Just shy of a year living among the sights and sounds of the city, I found myself falling into a dangerous rut. I had been at the same job for three years. Commuting between the suburbs and downtown. Six years since my last relationship. Not much of a social life. And finding escape from the dull routine at the bottom of a bottle. Get up. Go to work. Come home. Get drunk and high and play video games or watch tv. Rinse, repeat. I suddenly found myself back where I was. And again I didn’t know how to break the cycle. Then I met the one person that would change my life in ways I never could have expected. The one person that would rock my world, wake me up to the true possibilities of existence, and become the one person that I could truly never live without.

One fall day I walk into work to see a new face. Olivia was her name. Damn she’s cute, I thought. And I quickly became enamored with her personality. But it would take 6 months of quietly pining for her before I had the courage to try my hand. Then on a fateful day in May we spent a whole day together. Then a whole week together. Then the summer that would change my life forever. We fell madly in love. I stopped drinking like a horse. My heart was opened to another for the first time in many many years. My mind was awakened by a mind I so closely related to. My body was refreshed by the passion I had been so long without. It was another rebirth of the soul, the kind that shook me to my very core. I had almost resigned myself to being alone forever, working a dead end job and drinking the nights away. Then she saved me. She remains my best friend, my rock, and my favorite person in the whole world.

- My Place -

Invigorated and encouraged, I found a new job. A slight step up in the culinary sense. Challenging yet rewarding. Olivia moved in with us. Then a few months later we got our own place in north Seattle. Shortly after we got a pupper. It was an incredible time. Feeling truly independent and self-supportive for the first time. Developing an amazing relationship with the person that I quickly realized I could spent the rest of my life with. This was the first time in my life I could attest to feeling the slightest bit like an adult. Of course I had realized long ago that you never really feel like an adult. You don’t just wake up one day like a switch was flipped and go, oh I’ve got it now. Life is a constant journey of growth and learning. We’re all just faking it till we make it.

But this was the first time in my life where I felt like, ah okay this is it, this is life, this is being an adult. Waking up every day, doing your best to navigate life, and constantly trying to figure out what it means to be you, what's important to you. Then life set up to deliver another wave of challenges to overcome. It was around this time that my family experienced a huge upheaval. We almost lost someone very close to us and it rattled me to my core. Then my boss was involved in a car accident and as his assistant I was suddenly interim kitchen manager. A couple months later the owner was impressed enough to make it official and I toke my first salaried job.

I relished the opportunity and strove to run that kitchen the absolute best I could. I went above and beyond. I poured everything I had into it. I learned so much about the restaurant game, management, cooking, and above all about myself. It was an intense period of personal growth. At the same I was coming into my own as a leader and a cook, I was also dealing with multiple family tragedies. And as much as I loved the work, the restaurant, and the owners, the stress of the job started taking its toll. Salary is a double edged sword in any industry, but especially in food service. If you know you know. I was doing my best to soldier on but I got to a point where enough was enough. I had come into some money and decided to take some time off. I left on good terms and will never forget the lessons I learned and the people I met.

- Intermission -

I had just turned 30. I had spent the last two years running myself ragged as the kitchen manager of a bustling Seattle restaurant. I put my blood, sweat and tears into that place. It was time for a break. I invested most of the money I inherited, and then set enough aside to to take some time to live life again. I rested. I remembered how to not be anxious every waking moment. Olivia and I went on a cross country road trip to see the national parks and visit my home town in Texas. I proposed. She said yes! It was so incredibly cathartic and needed. I am still grateful I had the opportunity to take the time I needed to reset.

Later that year it was time to go back to work. I ended up back at the little place in the burbs where I started my journey. I was happy to take the lessons I learned and come back as kitchen manager. It was just what I needed to ease back into the industry. The perfect place to put into practice my new found appreciation for work life balance. Meant to be a temporary step, as soon as I did all I was able to do to help them right the ship, it was time to move on. My father in law put me in touch with the chef he worked with and he brought me on board. It was a significant step up in the culinary scene, and I’ve been tapped to take over for the sous chef.

- And Now For Something Completely Different -

Now here I am. 32 years old. That mythical age I held in random esteem when I was a kid. Looking back on my life and thinking about what I’ve learned along the way. Even though I still struggle with my less savory qualities - I fear change and the unknown. I’m scared of success. I suffer from impostor syndrome and doubt my own strengths. I avoid confrontation. - I’m working on it. For the most part I love who I am. I’m proud of the person I’ve become. But it took a time. And work. I made peace with childhood traumas. I fought through pain, did some serious introspection and soul-searching, and came out the other side a better person for it. I looked inside myself to find the strength to overcome my demons. I think it’s inside all of us. Some people attribute it to a higher power. Some people find peace and comfort in the company of others. Whatever it takes, we’re all capable of making changes for the better.

If there is one thing life has taught me it’s that we are never done learning. We never stop growing. We never “figure it out”. We’re constantly being tested by the realities of life and doing our best to rise to the occasion. At 32 I may be an adult by most standards, but I’m still sorting out what that even means, what my purpose in life is, and waking up every day just trying to be the best me I can be. That’s life. And I’m grateful for the safety and security that gives me the luxury of musing on such ephemeral topics. I’m grateful for every day I wake up and get another whack at this crazy thing called living. I’m grateful I got to exist at all. I don’t spend much time these days waxing on the countless possibilities of the what’s and why’s of reality. At the end of day it’s a mute point. My consciousness still inhabits this physical body in this physical realm, and if I wanna keep seeing how far I can take it I have to play by its rules. Even if I occasionally see how far I can bend them. Whatever comes next, whatever is beyond the great void, my reality exists in the here and now. I’ve come to terms (for the most part;) with my mortality and the existential dread. It reminds me that its up to myself to find purpose in life. So I try to live in the present, to work on my shortcomings, make the best of every day, and treat others how I would want to be treated.

As I stare down the barrel of the “best years” of my life, I am hopeful and optimistic about the future. If not for the world at large (jury’s still out on that one) than at least for my ability to navigate it and make the best of it for myself and others. I'm engaged to my best friend, I'm in a kick ass band making music with some of my oldest friends, and I've got a job that I'm incredibly excited about. Lao Tzu said, “If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future.” Wise words. But at the same time I think its important to remember where we came from and retain the lessons we’ve learned along the way. As well as looking to the future so that we may live with purpose. I think living is a delicate balance of keeping in mind all that was, all that is, and all that may be. And we’re all just doing our best to find the balance. Do whatever makes you happy as long as it doesn’t hurt others. Try to leave the world a better place for those that come after. Be nice and work hard. Love yourself so that you can love others. Namaste!

- Alek

TL;DR - I just turned 32. Life is crazy. Be nice and work hard. Love yourself and love others. Do your best. Namaste!

[welivingindreams]

Compilation  0f 2013

29 November 13

1st dream: Jill since experience 2nd dream: hug Jill 3rd dream: Jill come to my store with an old skinny man to buy air pump

24 October 2013

Having an outing and eating at kopitiam Bangkit with ITE friends. They happily ate and they all wanted to go to another place. I ask if anyone saw my shoe and Shahidah told me that Dina threw away my shoe. Angry and frustrated, I canceled my plan and went home . On the way home I saw my family going on vacation. They told me to meet at the place while I went up and packed my things. A lady went in the lift with me and we talked. The lift went to B1 but it didn't open. I told the lady if reached already tell me. So she alights at level 4 and the lift continues to reach level 9. A guy came in and asked my name. The lift went down again! I was so angry because the guy should let me go to my room so that  i can change and go take the bus. So I drove back to a bus station and  halfway saw my sister. She told me that my family left the hotel and said she had to go back and she left me for her bus. The bus stop at a parking lot so i alight   because I saw Mak Usu while walking in saw Wak's family and Syidah were kissing with her boyfriend then i saw Mak Usu and my family they ask why im not on the holiday I told them hotel fully booked and dad say Wak's room still have vacancy.

22 October 2013

Ending my class and I need to write something . The GGX  left me behind so I walked with Mr Soo, he told me he lost his sister while traveling. And his sister lost him in the market. We had a good talk until we reached the staff room. I saw the dance teacher was scolding elisa(?) and Atika and she in great pain

30 September 2013

In some mafia countries (Mexico or what), newbies in that place are placed in the opposite site from the other group of gangsters. I Got close with this cute guy who was always left out. We were Having a break and I wanted to eat. The handsome and cute boy asked if I wanted to go tour around the place. At first I hesitated. But then we went together. Then I ask them " why are both of you feeling so warm?".  The cute boy is having fever and they argue. After a few turns in the tunnel, I needed to use the toilet. We went to a boys toilet when I was done and I saw a tragic accident. But I acted like nothing happened so I told them I’ll meet them outside. I waited outside the toilet but the aisle was too small to wait. So i went to another side trying to get back the entrance but there was a gunshot between this lady and another group. The girl from another group saw me and she chased me and I ran back to the toilet. I got to the wrong aisle and got injured. The handsome and cute boy manage to saved me and we went back to Singapore

19 September 2013

Ariz went in the same class. He was in my room in JB. We were fooling around then I went to the toilet with Syahidah, to the boys toilet. The toilet needed to pay fine because it was being flooded. I use the toilet until the boys come queuing and I haven't even worn my underwear! Farhan was there. When i went out all of the boys tried to catch me. Ariz save me with a bicycle? We went to a condo. At first we planned to go Mak Usu house but no one there so we went to Ariz cousin in the condo. It happened that Mak Usu was there with Aisyah. My whole body was shaking and there's a cat curling upon my toes.

18 September 2013

I rode on a scooter with Izzue. We were “married” but he didn't tell his wife. His reason is because that I will always be by his side

13 September 2013

1st dream: 

There's a war in Singapore and Malaysia. Nowhere is safe

2nd dream: 

I just gave birth to a baby in JB house, someone is after me for my baby which happens to be like his baby? Like the baby I gave birth was his. I was also being hunted by a lady. The lady and her husband, they already had a son. So I have no choice but to run. I ran and escaped through the back gate where there was a security guard. He didn't even know me when I asked for help. So I continue to run from the backyard which happens to have an MRT station. I had no money for the train fare but I know I have to go to Bedok because the lady will definitely be going to Bukit Panjang and Yishun to find me. My Sister in law has a new house  and i was afraid to ask her for help because I am afraid to risk her new house. I was afraid that she got bullied by that group of girls which wanted to rob me.

12 September 2013

Going for an exam but already failing the exam before I even start the paper. Dream of going for o level again but Business Environment (BEV) module!

1 September 2013

Was walking with my siblings and we were being followed by Ibu's friend. Amin got bribed by the monkeys like he was hypnotized to follow them. I had to run after him to save Amin

31 August 2013

Eating with Izyan then called Mr Soo to ask to change venue. Very sleepy and took a cab but didn't know where to go. Wanted to call Izyan but was using a monopod to call, not clear find phone and charger to Call Izyan. she asks a man to give directions but it's very far i cannot hear. Get out of the cab & run away from the cab. Go inside the shops and take the stairs nearby. The cab driver say say don't hide and I  saw 2 vampire

29 August 2013

(Short dream before the date)

1st Dream:

Going to an open house in a classroom setting met Munah and Hirzi. They were tired but they still layan people around.

2nd Dream:

Dream about going to the Italian style town but it's actually the aisle behind our Beijing hotel with Khairina

3rd Dream:

Wanted to buy a burger and was queuing behind a thai boy. The boy was attached to me and I had to get him a student visa. After we finished we took a car and the boy started to drift. Then we stopped and met another boy. He was an Ustaz but i run away from him and conclude that Dandelion is a fish

4th Dream:

Was in GRPS but in a lecture hall. Had a bad stomach Ache and was so afraid to tell anyone Mr Soo asked if anyone wanted to go break with me. So when Erina & Amelia come to class we  walk to the canteen together. Half the building is in renovation. I said Yuan Dao eat pork sandwich with Nasi Goreng

I then met an indian lady who said I can cure my "cramp". In order to cure, I have to swallow RM50 & drink it with water and stone. After drinking the RM50 I am not allowed to drink any water. After the recess ended, we went to buy prata at a bookshop. The scene relocated to a civil defence place surrounded by MRT like Fajar - Bangkit station and we toured around the store and went to the store owner's office. He live in the office

We went back to class and it looked like an Ultraman space room. Syahidah turned on the light and got scolded by the leader. After that we must wait for abg Salleh to go in the room to have some quiz. Until the end of the dream, the money that i drank was still in my  throat

5th Dream:

Last night I dreamt that a lady in white with red lipstick & red nail polish finding me. I peed through the peephole and saw her face. I was so scared and I ran out of the house! Ironically the lady is outside of my house! I woke up on whatsapp! Zahra & Amelia having random nightless text. The next dream was, I was  driving to some hospital. The weird thing is I drive! And at the hospital I meet my mom's supervisor who happens to work at the hospital and has a patient ? The hospital was hit by a storm or flood and water was filling up everywhere and the place look so old !

6th Dream:

Yesterday I dreamt my left foot middle toe broke! Totally detached ! And I only notice it when I bend down. I still can "put it back", there was no bleeding at all ! Like when you cut the chicken breast there's no blood ! So I am supposed to go to the hospital because in my dream I have diabetes ! Like my uncle who recently cut his legs due to diabetes. But I ended up in my primary school. The situation is like Hogwarts being struck by Sirius black ! But the school is being attacked by GHOST ?!?!?

7th Dream:

The day before yesterday I dreamt about my sister in law, brother in law. I was excited because my niece & nephew were coming here but in my dream the brother in law also came! And he brings the whole family from grandparent to great great nice !

[jonjordanforrealz]

The Chronicles of Elfdom

Last December, I documented my struggles with Hermie the Elf - you know, of the “on a shelf” variety, sure, but more accurately, in my head, eating my brain and in my soul, tormenting from here to eternity. 

This is my story, shared only in hopes that it may help others.

Tread lightly... Vol 1: Narrowly avoided complete disaster after totally forgetting about the little bastard on Night 1, despite having read the special book/instruction manual/elf commandments at bedtime. Oldest boy Kramers through our bedroom door at 0500, announcing that he'd prefer to use our bathroom over his. As I pondered the logic behind this, thinking, "Boy, he's assertive," something felt amiss and within seconds, I realized my worst December nightmares (since exam time during the old teaching days) were already coming true. As Boy 1 finished his business, I sprung into action, anticipating his yearning to find our annual household guest at this ungodly hour, escorting his proactive little ass back to his bedroom. Always (read: sometimes) a step ahead, I waited in the hallway for the inevitable: an attempted rendezvous to join forces with little brother. After that was easily intercepted, it was time for a little psychological warfare. Warding off both emotional sabotage (Boy 1's, "Daddy, I love you") and an honesty play (Boy 2's, "We we were trying to find Hermie but he's tricky") some redirecting was in order. Authoritative Dad speaks! "It's 5:00 am. No one comes to this house unless everyone is sleeping." With that understanding in mind, aided by the musical distractions of the old Epcot Canadian band and, of course, Kidz Bop 27, I hunted down Public Enemy #1 in his top secret hideaway. Tucked away in a Target bag - dead giveaway, right? Duh. - I shoved him into my pocket and moved on to recover the donuts that he brought with him from the North Pole. Breaking kayfabe here, I'd actually purchased these GMO-laden diabetes bombs myself from Dunkin Donuts on the way home last night, on direct orders from the General, but yes, still totally forgot about this whole charade... Does anyone realize how fucking loud a paper bag is at 5:15 am? Donuts on a paper plate and little orphan Hermie's demanding ass still secured in my Florida State sleepy pants, I knew I had very little time to reach the intended destination and disappear into whatever remained of this night. Cat- or zombie-like in my movements (not quite sure which) down went the plate and into a bouquet of flowers leftover from Thanksgiving landed Osama - or whatever his name is. Somehow, now back behind my bedroom door, I'd survived. There would be no more sleeping for our hero this morning. The sweet taste of victory would be the lone reward. Looking ahead to Night 2, it is possible that we may bribe an acquaintance to drop the bomb on Boy 1, letting him know that this is all a bunch of honkybonk, and thus, instantly creating a valuable ally to continue the ruse for Boy 2. It is now clear that the oldest is the mastermind of what will surely be a constant barrage of this sort of subterfuge for the next 24 days. Vol 2:

There will be no threat of disaster tonight. Since yesterday's torment weighed on my mind all day, it would have been nearly impossible to forget my elfly duties this evening. So, there he sits, the little prick. He's made friends with another rather smug trio that has taken up residence in my home (rent-free, I might add.) Yes, nestled snugly between Alvin and Simon, while Theodore's fat ass looks on, in the morning, the kids will find Hermie, appearing to have read the timeless holiday classic, "Santa Comes to Florida" with his rodent buddies. If you haven't read this piece of literature, it's worth at least a passing glance. But I must warn you that it isn't all that accurate. For one, there is no mention of meth or bath salts, even as Santa flies right over Apopka. And two, there isn't a lot of love for Melbourne, which is pretty shameful since such visionaries as Jim Morrison, Darrell Hammond and that guy I went to high school with who ended up in that reality show boy band are among its native sons. Let's not get too sidetracked here. There is still work to be done. I was informed earlier that one of Boy 2's little friends announced that he received a letter from Santa himself this morning, officially putting him on "The Nice List," while, shame on me, all I did was make sure the kids saw the fuckin' elf and got to eat donuts for breakfast., sacrificing sleep, sanity and something else I forgot about because I'm tired and crazy. I guess lil' man used the power of deductive reasoning and, sans Santa letter, convinced himself he was on "The Naughty List," creating a bit of a challenge at bedtime. Dad here, who may or may not have occupied a spot on the unsavory version of the imaginary fat man's lists a time or two over the years, did his best to convince the young buck that he was not on any such document - that things were going just fine - but I'm not sure he bought it. Thanks to utter exhaustion, a self-inflicted derivative of last night's bullshit adventures, sleep came quickly for the littlest Jordan, allowing me time to think of what I might include in the now necessary piece of prose needed to support my earlier claims of his green light toward Christmas presents galore. Ideally, it'd be straightforward: [Hey, kid(s). If you're worried that you might be on the wrong side of Santa's ledger, maybe you weren't as good as you thought you were all year. You ever hear of the NSA? Ever see any of my text messages? Holy shit! Now that's a list you don't want to worry about being on. Anyway... Keep the faith. The truth is, we like you. And you'd probably have to try to stab one or both of us before we'd make sure you didn't get anything at all for Christmas. Love, Dad PS: On Saturday, I want you to sleep until 10 am. Remember: THE LIST!] But traditions are traditions and in this family, as in so many others, we lie like a muthafucka - especially around the holidays! And so, the propaganda continues. Hermie, it will appear, took a break from reading his Florida Santa book to his pals to write a letter to the Jordan kids, detailing how fantastic they've been and urging them to be good listeners and make good choices at least for a few more weeks. (Pretty suspicious - or "ironic," as Alanis Morrisette might deem it - that the stuffed elf, who I think wears makeup, uses the exact same discipline terminology as Mom and Dad do, ain't it? These kids get any smarter any time soon and they'll bust me for sure. And what then?!?) Depending on what time they wake up in the morning, I may have to stage a sacrifice when it comes to the chipmunk population in this home. If we can send positive messages via letters from imaginary people, we can also send negative messages by offing a fake friend or two. And since they haven't seen "Christmas Vacation" just yet, nor do they know for sure that I don't have a Cousin Eddie, they'll have no idea that he stopped eating chipmunks (yeah, yeah, chipmunks and squirrels are different things, I get it) when he found out they were high in cholesterol. Black and white photos should do. I'll use the old Hitchcock chocolate syrup trick. Tomorrow brings the added challenges of that batshit crazy Chick-Fil-A with all the lights, what the food there does to my insides and selecting the 2016 Jordan Family Christmas tree. There will be booze. Two down, 23 to go. Vol 3:

It's clear that my efforts here are drawing something of a crowd, which is much appreciated but not at all the intent. One trusted advisor has even suggested I attempt to profit financially from this record but the truth is simply this: It has to be done. For the betterment of all mankind, our successes and failures with this Johnny-come-lately holiday irritant must be documented. Tonight, I was reminded of a better day that has passed us by. As we decorated our tree, I took some inventory of the many ornaments we've accumulated over the years. Among them, holiday stalwarts like Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus and The Grinch make their presence known. We also have the typical representation of some of our sports teams (all of whom suck out loud), life milestones ("2006 New Home" is a real joy, since that was two houses, two kids and one lawsuit ago) and the innocence of homemade trinkets featuring the younger versions of Boy 1 and Boy 2, long before they discovered the art of whining. There is also an ornament that is simply a beer glass (right on!) and the disembodied head of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which I find terrifying. It wasn't so long ago that my biggest holiday concern was making sure that as few of these characters were damaged during tree-trimming time as possible. (Why do they call it "tree-trimming" anyway? When I go to get my hair trimmed, I'm not looking for Akbar the barber to scatter random trinkets about my rapidly-depleting mane.) But as I longed for the days of yore tonight, there it was, right in my face, as if to say, "Not so fast, asshole! The glory days are over, mother fucker!" Hermie - this sonofoabitchofanelf - is also present as an ornament on our tree. Well, shit in my hat. Just as I discovered this mini version of our mini-monster, both boys began to melt down, merely an hour past their regular bedtime, and I was already on my way to a conniption fit myself, three days into the shit and already running out of placement ideas for Elfrey Dahmer. Coincidental timing, my ass! This guy's in my head. Or he's like the alien thing from Stranger Things. If my lights start flickering, I'm setting him on fire and we'll tell the kids he didn't stop, drop or roll because he wasn't a good listener. But at least I'm not in danger of forgetting at the moment. Tomorrow may prove difficult, what with multiple activities involving alcohol already scheduled - after the children's sporting events, as per societal acceptance. I figure if I can make it through a day like that and still move "it" from Point A to Point B, that's a big win for ol' Daddio. His mind powers working on both me and the young'ins tonight jives with my recognizing the cheery-cheeked, red-and-white clad fuzzy thing to be quite clearly a demon in cahoots with Beelzebub himself. So, I've now paired him up with a dragon statue that we have atop our curio cabinet. (Never thought you'd hear me use the term "curio cabinet," did you, old friends? That's right, I'm cultured. Or I've lost all street cred. Not quite sure which distinction to hang onto here.) What's the connection between Hermalerm and the dragon? Well, heroin of course. That's right, kids, the elf didn't just chase the dragon. He caught the damn thing. Which means as I drift off to sleep tonight, I'll be headed for a righteous dream of Hermie sinking through the floor to the sounds of Lou Reed's "Perfect Day," a la Trainspotting. You'll be alright, elf boy, but this one won't be easy. One bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus. Preparation is key. You're in a new kind of hell for now, fella. See you on the flip. Vol 4:

The voodoo appears to be working. In the last 24 hours, my better half and I have each been caught making mention of "having a talk with Hermie" about this instance of a slight misstep in behavior or that. It's worth pondering what sort of residual effect this may have on the boys (or any kids, really) long-term. Is life truly one observed event after another, with an eye in the sky passing judgment in turn? And let's not get all religious here. I'm seeing this through an Orwellian lens at the moment. If we do slip up, must we live in fear of being told on? I should get out more... Speaking of, having been out quite a bit yesterday, bailing on my "move the elf" responsibility was a distinct possibility but it did not come to pass. Late at night, headache looming, our favorite holiday hobo was relocated from the dragon's back to a high perch overlooking the entrance to Boy 1's room. It's a creepy spot for sure. Like, if you were to walk out of your bedroom and find a person situated the way Hermie is at the moment, laying on his belly, chin resting on his hands, smiling like a whackjob, cheeks as rosy as ever, you'd definitely call the cops. Or shoot him. Or both. The creative maneuvers are lacking for yours truly this year - although I guess mounting the dragon was pretty cool. That's ok, though. My goal is simply to survive this month with as few mid-sleep panic attacks as possible. Started off 1-for-1 but we have a clean slate since, so I'll call it a win so far. Perhaps tonight, we'll set the elf up with a lady or something - freak Carrie out a little, if nothing else. The boys have been warned - née, reminded - that no one is supposed to be up and moving about until at least 7 am in this house (great rule, hardly ever followed) and they seem pretty beat from a long weekend so there might be hope for a more restful slumber. If not, maybe it's time for the elf to get shelved for a day or two, go visit Santa (or Satan?) or something. That'll get these tired kids back on track. Tired kids are like drunk adults, by the way. But that's a story for a different setting. 21 days to go. Zeus help me. Vol 5:

There has been no shortage of remarkable moments in our adventures with the red devil of late. Boy 1, in an apparent attempt to extort his elf friend, left him a tangerine on Monday, after finding him purportedly reading through one of Mom's cupcake cookbooks. Perhaps he was being proactive, in the event that the elf delivers cupcakes as he did donuts on opening day of this annual charade. A simple, "Hey, man. I gave you a tangerine. Whatchyougot for me?" Or maybe he's overheard dear ol' Dad opine on the corruption of politics, in general. Either way, Boy 2 was not pleased. The littlest Jordan, you see, has developed an affinity for these tangerines and while he is almost always quite willing to share his snacks, such was not the case here, as he relocated Boy 1's offering back to its original box. This incensed the elder sibling and the back-and-forth game from tangerine box to offering table began. I should note that the boys are still suffering from Christmasitis - the plague that renders otherwise lovable little humans into demon beings, drunk on exhaustion, impulsive and exhibiting a bravado unbecoming of their age or social status. Now off to school, Mom stepped in with a solution, staging a scene where the elf appeared to have eaten the tangerine in question, abandoning his cookbook perch in favor of a seated position at a makeshift snack area and leaving scraps behind, along with a note that read, "Thanks for the tangerine! I'll only eat one!" (It is also likely that a smiley face was included but I cannot confirm with any certainty, having destroyed this document, and thus, in the name of accuracy and out of respect for journalism, it is omitted here.) This was, largely, an intelligent counter tactic by my female counterpart and while its intended result - assuaging the pending civil war betwixt brothers with a reasonable compromise - was achieved, ultimately, the strategy lacked the necessary foresight to continue the mind games without needling questions from the youngsters. Of utmost importance: "Wait... You moved him?" Crickets. "No, kid," I thought to myself - but dared not say aloud. "He moved himself, of course!" But, of course, this was not supposed to be a part of the pestilent pixie's skillset! For his meandering about is only supposed to take place at night, according to the owner's manual! Far be it from Mom to not have her next move planned, however, and as I stood stock still, considering a swift exit strategy (were the neighbors home? Could a friend pick me up? Where is my rocketpack?) as if beamed in by the projector of Orson Welles himself, the holiday classic "Home Alone" was suddenly on the living room television and Mom's invite for cuddle time was accepted by both young Jordans. Crisis averted, once more. In the time since, the attitudes of drunken demon children 1 and 2 have worsened. Boy 1 resisted piano practice and was not permitted to walk the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights in turn, then admittedly plotted revenge on yours truly, attempting to stave off bedtime as long as possible by prancing about the house, giggling and speaking in tongues. And Boy 2 ignored my orders to disarm, wielding his light saber freely about the living room as though I wasn't even there. With Mom on a run (and not 100% sure she was coming back) I engaged hand-to-hand, demilitarizing my target and receiving his "Mad Dog" glare for my troubles. In fairness, Boy 2 pulled it together enough to join me on the aforementioned Christmas walk, where he graciously educated me on the difference between frogs and what he calls "toadfrogs," (apparently this has everything to do with their tongues - who knew?) and I shared with him my disdain for projector lights. Nonetheless, the net result of Sunday/Monday called for a sabbatical for the nefarious imp creature, who has, as far as the boys know, "gone to visit Santa for a day or two," according to my - no, his! - note. Improvements are expected in short order but just in case, the vodka supply has been restocked. I now count 19 days, which looks far less daunting than 20. Still, my sleep pattern has been erratic. We'll call that 20% problem drinking, 60% guilt from blatantly lying to one's offspring and 20% New York Jets football. With apologies to my parents and, more importantly, to Mark Twain, I haven't told the truth, out of necessity, thanks to you-know-who, and now I can't remember anything.

Vol 6:

Tensions have subsided. The elf was brought back after the exhibition of acceptable behavior on the part of both boys on Tuesday night. 1 did a fine job at his school Christmas concert, while 2 gave a great effort at soccer practice. (It is also important to note that Dad scored a goal in an impromptu coaches/kids mixed scrimmage. That this feat was accomplished against 6- and 7-year-olds matters not.) More importantly, bedtime was without incident on the evening in question. Why that is ever an issue is still beyond me but never has a more relatable tale been told than that of "Go the Fuck to Sleep," by Samuel L. Jackson a few years back. (Well, maybe it isn't exactly the written work of Jules Winnfield himself but I'd like to think it is, as no one could possibly ever recite it better.) Boy 1 is a fan of the every-excuse-in-the-book technique (from pooping to asking questions to feigning injury to everyone taking turns laying with him, telling stories, needing water, etc.) while Boy 2 is more straightforward with his thoughts on sleep overall. Namely, he says he never sleeps. He just relaxes. While I know this isn't completely true, having witnessed him sleeping myself on thousands of occasions, there is something a little vampiresque about the littlest Jordan, who is almost always the first to arise in the morning, often long before the sun. Today, in fact, I awoke to a noise and thinking it was either intruders (that I would have to exterminate, obviously) or my youngest son dicking around (slightly more likely) I promptly began a seek-and-destroy (or G the F to S) mission. The latter scenario proved to be reality, as there he sat, hiding behind his bathroom door, sitting on the floor with the light on, cuddling with his blanket. I don't know either, people, but hey... We all have hobbies... The return of Hellboy Hermie, fresh from his visit with Santa, Satan or Sam Kinison - can't recall which and perhaps it was all - featured him choking out one of the boys' forgotten bath toys, a gator. In this house, that visual brings more joy than the hair of the dog cure-all on a Jordan Family Christmas morning. (Well, almost.) As we enjoy this new era of peace, recognizing that it may be a brief interlude, I'm appreciative of the pause its given me, for the war against the imaginary (?) black magic of this shitbag of a Christmas toy is rather taxing. 17 days. #tylenol Vol 7:

This tradition begets strange bedfellows. Hermie the Elf, who is destined to be renamed Beelzebub, I assure you, commandeered a ship belonging to Jake and the Neverland Pirates last night, along with John Cena and Sleepy (of Seven Dwarfs fame.) Oh, if this were only real, what an adventure they may have had overnight. Sleepy, groggy to the point of hallucination, no doubt, likely from a mixture of NyQuil, booze and some medicinal herb (since we can do that here now!) wouldn’t have been much help to his shipmates. The elf, in his Luciferian glory, perched atop the crow’s nest, would attempt to serve as captain, I would think, causing immediate conflict with Cena, the jorts-wearing, self-important hero, who nobody above the age of 12 really likes. (I’m told he was actually at a local bar I’ve been to a time or 200 a couple of weeks ago. Think I could take him?) They’d square off at some point to determine the alpha male and I’d have to give that decision to the only being on this ship with supernatural, other-worldly powers. “You can’t see me,” John? Well, that’s fine. Hermie doesn’t need to see you to breathe demon fire into your soul. And they'd land at their final destination knowing that the little red-faced asshole with the pointy hat was absolutely in charge. The destination was our TV stand, by the way, because I didn't feel like thinking anymore - or leaving the ship somewhere it might easily fall, ruining everything for everyone. (Or saving them?) The children seemed to approve of this newly established faction, upon this morning's discovery, and I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Unfortunately, it’s also proven to be all about my own sick mind, full of delusions and unfulfilled desires belonging to my inner child. Back in my day, all we had was the mystique of Santa Claus himself – and thanks to friends, Sean and Tina, that gig was up for me at around eight. (Eight! That’s Boy 1’s age now. Well, balls... Getting old indeed.) I believe the big reveal upset me for a few minutes but already conditioned toward materialism (thanks, America!) I reasoned that, hell, I’d still be getting presents, so I don’t think I really cared whether they came from Mom, Dad, Uncle Charlie (who I’m pretty sure once stole a trampoline before gifting it to me) or an old, fat stranger in a furry red suit who likes to have little children sit in his lap. I was skeptical – maybe my friends lied to me. After all, this was the same brother/sister combo that once had me convinced that the oil I spotted floating atop the drink they’d made for me was perfectly normal for “Swedish chocolate milk.” (Looking back, the accompanying smell of vinegar should have been a dead giveaway. Tasted like shit but I’m sure it built character. Appreciate that, S&T!) But alas, as I gave my dad a goodnight hug on Christmas Eve, 1987, there sat the Nintendo I’d be receiving the next morning, in his closet behind him. When I found it, unwrapped, as was Santa’s style, at the foot of the tree, the bullshit meter exploded but I wouldn’t let it get me down. Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out and Super Mario Brothers (and Duck Hunt, if only so we'd all learn about tagalongs at an early age) awaited! I was smart enough to know that I didn’t want to deal with upsetting my mom so I didn’t let on that I knew that Santa was Keyzer Soze (or Verbal Kint? Sometimes my metaphors don’t work.) I think I hid that from her for at least two years. Point is, I guess I fear these kids of mine finding out we’re all the masterminds behind some pretty serious fabrications. What sort of example does that set? But mostly, it’s about the growing-up-too-fast thing. I mean, fuck. I’m 37, somehow. Oh and the other point is, how did we allow this elf thing to get so popular? We had friggin' Santa already! And wasn’t one lie enough? I’m tired. 16 days.

Vol 8:

Turnabout is fair play. Boy 2 had something of a rough day yesterday, although not in the sense that his behavior was unacceptable. With the added pressure of a snitch like the elf-demon watching over you at all times, I'm sure being a 6-year-old isn't as easy as it could be at this time of year so, when the boy wonder seemed exceptionally emotional, I should have known to chalk it up to just that. After eight straight days of "being on 'Good Citizen'" at school, the littlest Jordan was proud to announce that he had recorded No. 9 in a row. How about that? My own little Cal Ripken-type thing. But after dinner, the tiny tough guy started showing his sensitive side (a trait shared by his father - but don't tell anyone.) Seeking either a goalkeeper for his soccer game, an opponent in marbles or a playmate of any sort, he solicited the services of all of Boy 1, myself and the lady of the house, though we all politely declined, citing a collective desire to relax and/or consume the programming of WWE Network before bedtime. (The latter, of course, forced upon Mrs. Jordan, although I think she enjoys it at least a little, though she would never, ever admit as much.) His emotions played out with faulty reasoning - "No one likes me!" - and harsh accusations - "I don't have a nice family!" and "Nobody is being my friend!" My explanation was simple; that declining an invitation to any particular activity does not automatically disqualify one from being another's friend, since free will is an important quality and, if I asked a friend of mine to eat dog poop with me, their lack of participation would not stand in the way of my assessment of their loyalty toward me. But Boy 2 was not having any of this and in a brief fit of rage, he roared at me, "You better watch your attitude, Mister, or I'm telling Hermie!" Oh, did I laugh! But he did not appreciate that either and retired to his room. Confession time came quickly. As I laid with him to coax him to sleep - the sleep that, remember, he swears he never gets in favor of only "relaxing" - he exclaimed, "I'm a bad boy!" and began crying immediately. At first, he would not tell me why he had come to this conclusion but after some leveling with him in the form of a promise not to get mad, he told me he had lied and that he had not, in fact, achieved a ninth straight day of school-bestowed "good citizenship." Instead, he was stuck on "Ready to Learn," which is quite fine in this house, although anything less will need to be addressed. I blamed the elf. For the boy was convinced that he needed to be stellar each and every day without fail, whereas on most days, outside of this window of watching from on high (and by on high, I mean somewhere high enough so as not to tempt the "illegal" touching) he, like his father, would be just fine in the realm of acceptable mediocrity. Never again will I utter the words, "I'm telling Hermie." At this point, 1) I hate the name. The kids named him, after that failure of an elf from the original Rudolph special, now a dentist, or so we're told. (Probably one of those creepy dentists, I'd say. You know, the kind that gasses his female patients and plays peekaboo and stuff?) 2) The kids know the (completely fabricated) score. I will not add to this charade more than I already have. And I will not go gentle into this good night. The company Christmas party awaits and I've got some tomfoolery in which to partake. Still tired. 15 days.

Vol 9 and 10:

They sell both volumes of Kill Bill together now, as I understand it, so I’m allowed to drop a double dose of Elfdom if I want to. (This will be of no additional length, mind you, but we’ll call it two volumes nonetheless.) The uptick in emotion from Friday still fresh in my mind, the idea this weekend was to restore the spirits of Boy 1 and Boy 2 (and mostly the latter) and the elf, for all his faults, appears to be adept at aiding that, so long as the pressure he brings is tempered. I’d like to think that the littlest Jordan is less concerned, having had some weekend time, about trying to be “Good Citizen” levels of perfect than he was during our last volume. Saturday morning, Elfenstein, which is one of many names I am considering for a possible rebranding, took a ringside seat next to Boy 1’s toy wrestling ring, watching what was staged as a battle royal between all of his favorite toy wrestlers. Adorning the garb of a particular favorite, Samoa Joe, along with the NXT championship belt, he sat, smiling his usual satanic smile, as if to say that he was some sort of champion himself. You are not, sir, by any stretch. Let me make that clear. But, they enjoy your company, again, despite your many shortcomings. The wrestling set-up reminded me, however, that I would enjoy squaring off against you, were you of an acceptable size to do so, and perhaps if I can find someone of a similar appearance in human form, elbows will drop (and he shall fall.) Of course, then, I’d likely be arrested and/or sued but hey, that’s the cost of doing business, I suppose. This scene, like so many others featuring you-know-who, turned out to be less than perfect, largely because I set him up too low to the ground to be completely ignored or out-of-reach, but this turned out to be a positive step for the children, who resisted the temptation to move him themselves and asked for assistance when he flopped over at one point. Boy 1 wanted the championship belt the evil elf had been wearing, you see, and I was happy to strip it from him, since he did not deserve such an accolade by any means. Boy 2, it should be noted, held back his elfly interactions on Saturday. Maybe he was trying to determine just how emotionally invested in this thing he really should be. Saturday evening brought forth the annual company Christmas party and since the lady and I do not often stay out past 11 pm, let alone 2 am, anymore, it is no wonder that the Hermie the Hack almost did not get moved that night. Of course, I had every intention, and though my return home (thanks, Uber!) involved a certain level of whiskey breath as I spoke directly with my mother-in-law about plans for said move, in the fleeting seconds following that conversation, I forgot completely, probably focused on the pillows calling my name just a few feet away. Ever-clutch, Gran chipped in and relocated the impetuous imp, placing his (fake) happy little ass in the middle of a wreath on the door to the laundry room. Last night, as I stared at him, I honestly thought to myself, “You know, elf, you look like a real asshole sitting there smiling at me with your hands folded. I’d like to spear you with one of the skewers I use to make kebobs from time to time. Or drop you into a vat of bleach. Or something... Keep looking at me like that! Go ahead!” He was just lucky that there was no whiskey for a second consecutive evening. Of course, there can be no whiskey on consecutive evenings for yours truly anymore. Such is the penance that comes with age. Well, that and a vile attitude toward all things festive, it seems. Or at least all things purportedly festive that are nothing more than some sort of fabric, a little plastic and stuffed with cotton (or is it demon fiber?) 13 days. Unlucky 13, the elf might say, but we’ll see how lucky he is when I practice punting him later on today...

Vol 11:

The easy way seems like the right move at the moment. From one stocking (with Spider-Man) to another (with Ultron) - specifically recognizing each boy's individual preference for good guys vs. bad guys, we've killed two days and two potentially grief-inducing moments. But hark! There are three more stockings! That could very well be three more days. Lady Jordan would love to see the imp intruder in her stocking, along with, say, vodka? Yeah, she likes vodka. And Superdog would dig it if he were to show up in hers next to, ah yes! Something she always begs me for - leftover pizza! Perfect! As for me, well, this isn't really about me but if I'm to tend to this shithead as much as I do, why not treat myself and set the stage for him to gift me some Johnny Walker Blue? Mmmmm. We're already down to 12 days and if I can pull this off, we're into the single digits with plenty of creativity left in the reserve tank. Note to self: Boy 1 is looking more and more suspicious by the day. He is wise indeed. Perhaps it is time to distract him with fear and confusion. Would he believe the Russians hacked his elementary school, forcing an uptick in homework? That seems to be a popular play these days and it just might work. Operation: Borscht shall commence in the am. And looky, looky! It's now midnight! 11 days, just like that! We can do this. Ohhhhh, yes. We shall overcome.

Vol 12:

Rats once spread the Bubonic Plague. Prince Prospero's hubris allowed the Red Death to infiltrate his castellated abbeys, according to E.A. Poe. And I say these little elves carry their own special pandemic - a yuletide malady that flips the universe onto its head and turns otherwise relatively well-behaved children into distracted, exhausted malcontents, spewing tidings of discomfort and misery on adults the world over. It makes no sense. At a time when conventional wisdom would dictate that they walk the straight and narrow like never before, the little ones have truly gone mad. Under the watchful eye of the hellion in the red hat, I always expect that Boy 1 and Boy 2 would adopt model citizenship - and for small spurts, they do. For instance, Boy 1's cleaning dog poop from the backyard last Sunday was completely out of character and Boy 2's strong run of eight consecutive "good citizen" statuses (already chronicled in a previous volume, as well as his subsequent fall from grace) was quite a feat! (Suddenly, I'm reminded that I did not ask for details on the dog doo cleaning duty - nor can I say for sure if they showered that night... Nonetheless, the past is the past.) But these exceptions have not become the rule. instead... It took 47 utterances of the elder Jordan child's name tonight just to get him to come to the table to do his homework, when normally, it would only take 3-5. And that was just the beginning of the battle. "Math with Mom" may sound like a fun game show of sorts but in reality, it's quite torturous. Eating dinner in short order once that was finally complete, a necessary rush on an evening when baseball practice beckons, drew moans and whines and pouts and eventually, claims of complete disinterest in our national pastime - a sin, certainly, but more importantly, a lie, as proven instantly upon arriving at the field, where free-spirited fun commenced. (I noticed there, too, that it is not just my own children who have figuratively tooted the Christmas cocaine of late. Everyone's offspring is mental at the moment, it appears. We're all in this together, people.) As for Boy 2, well, that run of eight straight school days by which he was judged all chivalrous and what not has been followed by quite the struggle. Warnings and consequences and nastygrams from the teacher are the new trend. (Note to Teacher: I feel ya, girl. I mean, I ain't never did kindergarten and shit but I did teach at muthafuckin' Hillsborough High School for a hot minute. And you trippin' if you think students clownin' in December is only for the jits. Teenage fools be whack AF.) But we have reached the magic number of 10 and with that, I see the light. Alas, I am stupid enough to crank this sonofabitch waaaaaaaaaay past 10 on the Holly-Jolly-Christmas-o-Meter tomorrow night, as we venture to what some might call the happiest place on Earth (whereas I call it, "Whythehellcan'twedrinkhereagainland") for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party. We'll see how very merry it is this time, kids. Just keep up the shenanigans and maybe I'll tell you the story of the crazy Christmas kid who got left with the elephants on the Jungle Cruise back in 1984. Look for him, Reggie, I think... Yeah, he's in there, somewhere. Keep looking... Ah, but that's tomorrow night... Tonight, I'll resist the urge to send the elf into the garbage can, no matter how easy to pull off the narrative of "Hey, kids. Yeah, sorry... He must have really wanted that last piece of chocolate," might be. Single digits are afoot!

Vol 13:

As if Christmas madness wasn't already enough to make even the most level-headed parents consider sending their normally well-adjusted children to some sort of juvenile rehab, we went and introduced the idea of this all-powerful elf and sent things into hyperdrive. And then you have idiots like myself, who facilitate the special kind of speedball that is Christmas and Disney World to launch the youngsters into a stratosphere of holiday intoxication that would appeal to Belushi- and Farley-types the world over. I've spent enough time at the House of Mouse in the last seven years or so to know that on any random Tuesday, you can do some serious people-watching but on a designated Friday night in December, at something they jam down your throat as a "Very Merry" Christmas party, young bucks and grandmas alike are off the rails right from the jump. It's marketing, I get it, but shouldn't it be up to me to decide how to describe the levels of joy and/or merriment I get from a party to which I'm invited (and certainly one I've paid for?) I'm not going to throw a pool party in a couple of months, invite a bunch of you people, and call it "Jon's Super Enjoyable and Relaxing Pool Party." I might assist in the temporary adjustments of your dopamine and serotonin levels as best I can but I'll leave it up to you to determine what sort of accolades you bestow upon my event. Anyway, free from the eyes of the elf (theoretically, anyway) the children were a bit wild on the journey to WDW but I've found that any car ride longer than 20 minutes or so has the potential to become the clearest manifestation of their best friends/worst enemies style of relationship at this phase of their lives. One minute, they're sharing books and the next, someone's finger is in someone else's eye. I tried my best to sing Christmas songs to myself (no, really, I do try to get into it here and there) but my soul-soothing would have to come in the form of a bunch of junk food at the park and a ride or two. The kids had free reign to try and off each other in the interim. As evenings go, one could really do far worse, honestly. As I've said a million times, it would be tremendous if adults could wander around the Magic Kingdom with a beer but I get it. It's a kids' park. And I suppose that isn't appropriate EVERYWHERE, after all. Plus, there are fleeting moments on these nights that we just aren't going to get anywhere else - like Boy 2 cuddling with his mom or Boy 1 beaming from the front row of a parade route or both of them, giggling with laughter (and maybe a little hint of fear) as we whirl around on some roller coaster or other. Those are sights and sounds I'm tattooing into my brain for sure. But by the time it's all over, we have reached full-fledged juvenile Christmas drunkenness, where, just like your overserved adult friend, conversations ramble on making very little sense, emotions are high and the expression of as much can go from "I love yous" to crying in an instant. There is slurring, overindulgence on late night snacks and then, ultimately, they just pass out. And while one big difference between your friend, Drunky the Bear, and your overtired, cranky Christmas kid is that you usually don't have to worry about the latter throwing up, another is that you can't just leave them where they fall out. So, in my case, you're forced to scoop and carry the now 70-ish pound, increasingly long 8-year-old for miles into boats and trams and finally to the car. While waiting for said tram, I surveyed my surrounding area and confirmed my suspicions that, yes, out of the 500 or so people I could see in my immediate vicinity, Boy 1 was definitely the biggest human sleeping in another human’s arms at that point. But again... Special moments, I suppose, if I'm being honest. (And honestly, between that and multiple shoulder hoistings throughout the evening, holy shit is my back messed up! Thanks again, lady who rear-ended me a few years back to kickstart that now-lifelong pleasantry.) As for the elf, the vile, heinous, intrusive being that he is, he's joined forces with an Angry Bird and Sven from Frozen, and has taken up residence in the boys' bathroom - which is definitely a little weird and creepy, now that I re-think my most recent placement strategy but hey, can't touch him again until tomorrow now. And besides, weird and creepy suits him just fine. ONE WEEK.

Vol 14:

Creativity has ceased. There are no more ideas. The focus has shifted, solely, to survival. Christmas intoxication has run amok and both children are perpetually drunk in turn. I have not yet found the proper means to detox them, although I believe, once that bag of chocolate-covered pretzels was stolen and consumed, only time was to be my ally. Boy 2 turned emotional once more last night, expressing his desire to "go home." Since he was sitting in his bed as he proclaimed this, a deeper inquiry revealed that he wanted to go back to our old house, which we left roughly 18 months ago, because he missed his friends. Total bullhonk, of course, since he couldn't identify a single "friend" by name, other than the old neighbor's dog, aptly named Jordan, which weakens his argument even further. Boy 1 arose at 6 am today, reportedly uttering some nonsense about starting a band. (I cannot confirm this directly, as I was in the midst of a dream starring myself, Wolf Blitzer and Jennifer Lawrence, all scouring the planet for "the lost relics." But the reporting of my wife person is to be trusted, more often than not.) His level of Yuletide inebriation has manifested itself in a phenomenon known as "Low Eyes Syndrome" and whether you choose to admit it or not, you've all been there. Just look through photos in which you've been tagged by others - specifically anything after midnight, at weddings or taken by your most obnoxious friends. On the positive side, we've reached the 5-day mark and are just two days shy of relocating this clan to the other coast, where the grandparent folks can assist in keeping us all alive. The inherent danger of said grandparent folks inadvertently contributing to Christmas chaos matters not, for there is strength in numbers and reinforcements at this point are sorely needed. The elf is spooning with a San Francisco 49ers Christmas ornament today and I think I will say no more to that end. "Take a look around here, Ellen. We're at the threshold of hell!" - Clark W. Griswold, Jr.

Vol 15:

The day is nigh. The elf has been bagged in preparation for the cross-state trek. Part of me wanted that to happen legit abduction-style - little potato sack thrown over his head, a swat of a tiny baseball bat to the dome... A garrote, probably, would have been overkill but I wouldn't have ruled it out. Anyway, he's MIA - and of course, that means we'll have to lie to the children once more as to why he's disappeared. "I don't know, kids. I walked around the corner and he just wasn't there anymore!" Then, tomorrow morning when he shows up at La Casa de Jordan 1.0, I'll be ogling Boy 1 to see if there is any further hint of suspicion in his eye. Surely, Boy 2 will wake up some time between 3 and 5 am tomorrow as the excitement percolates. (I will not.) There will be no attempts to peer deeply into his eyes, mostly out of fear that they've turned black by now, undoubtedly the evildoing of you-know-who. The good news is that I believe all is reparable, once he is gone for good - or at least until next year. In my experience, Christmasitis usually takes a couple of weeks to fade away and then some semblance of normalcy returns. This year, I'm hoping that comes with a newfound affinity for sleeping in. I was never very good at that as a young kid and didn't master it until college, really - an achievement aided at that time by, well, let's just call them PEDs. But I know it is possible for even an 8-year-old to sleep until 9, 10 or 11, even, because I saw my pal Jeremy do it with my own eyes. Sleeping over at his house was great the night before amidst our usual hijinks but I could only describe the following mornings as, uh, educational, as in I seized the opportunity to read every single book on his bookshelf and watch every movie he owned, killing time until he finally woke up. (What the hell were my parents doing anyway, that they couldn't pick me up early, as I often asked? Actually... Don't answer that.) So, again, the hope is that Boy 1 takes after Uncle Berm and learns to hibernate (at least a little.) There is no hope for the other one to that end. He continues to remind us that he never sleeps and only relaxes. "Sometimes," he says, "I don't mean to but I accidentally go to sleep automatically." Clearly, he isn't to be trusted with this intentionally perplexing narrative of his but I believe he has convinced himself that it is all true. That, in and of itself, surely leads to the unique circadian rhythm he's adopted. He sure is cute, though. I imagine that'll keep earning him a pass, no matter how many times he fires a soccer ball directly into my nether regions. Perhaps only one or two more entries into these chronicles shall be necessary from this point forward. I should say that I'm pleased with the response so far, as it seems most of the free world can relate in one way or another, but the goal from the beginning was simply to document the daily deeds of our ignominious, inanimate, annual invader and their impact on our everyday lives. Plus, if I should meet my demise during his stay, surely this will aid law enforcement officials. As far as that goes, one only needs to buy one vowel to solve this puzzle, and that is the "E" to kick off "E.L.F." You see, although we are still in the pre-Christmas phase of my intensive study, I have learned enough to commit to the conclusion that it is indeed an acronym, standing for Evil Little Fucker, as some of you may have already ascertained. It is but one piece but a vital one indeed. I've got you now, you hellion. It is only a matter of time. Deportation is but three days away!

Vol 16:

He is everywhere and he takes on many forms. The shape-shifting shithead has obviously meandered about my home for weeks but also invaded my tree, in the form of a Christmas ornament, and now, as I've taken up temporary residence at my parents' house, he is present as a children's nightlight in the bathroom, staring, peering, judging as people partake in their most private and personal moments. He truly is a sick sonofabitch. He is also in my brain at this point, as evidenced by the masterful mindfuck he pulled on me on Thursday evening. I am a man of many talents but perhaps my most important task as the husband, father and clearly established second-in-command of our family is to handle all packing duties for out-of-town adventures. At Christmastime, this can get tricky, what with an overabundance of presents to account for, in addition to our regular haul. But, always up to the challenge, I gathered up all of the important items and successfully played the game of Tetris that is fitting all of them into the dadmobile, née Honda Pilot. All of them, you see, except for my own suitcase, left perfectly packed and wide open on my bedroom floor, only to be revealed at the most impactful moment from a psychological perspective, as we crossed the Brevard County line, all according to "Its" diabolical plan. I have no clothes. I have no toiletries. As a broken man at this point, I also have no soul. And now I seek redemption. A Christmas angel has aided my efforts to thwart this hostile takeover and my suitcase has been successfully recovered, here, two days later, so brushing my teeth and replacing the loin cloth I've adopted in the interim is but hours away. But the damage has been done. The little fucker has clearly won a round. His reign of terror ends for the season after tomorrow but does that give me time to recover my soul before he is banished once more? Clearly, his excommunication is more important than my return to human form so if sacrifice is required, I must remain committed to the cause. In the event of Christmas catastrophe, I offer warmest regards and eternal gratitude to all that have followed these chronicles. As I forge forward, know that I am acting not on my own behalf but for all that is good in this world. The final showdown is nearly upon us and with any luck - and the guidance of Lord Zeus, Ra the sun god, sweet baby Jesus, John Cougar, John Deere and John 3:16 - when it's all said and done, I aim to look the elf straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?

Vol 17:

It is all over. Since I am writing this, it needs not be clarified that the side of righteousness prevailed in the end but this was not always a foregone conclusion. The red devil was a formidable foe and I can say with near-certainty that we will do battle at least once more, as Boy 1 and Boy 2 will probably still be buying what he's selling. It cannot go undocumented that Hermie took one last pound of flesh as he exited, to the tune of me waking up in a panic at 5 am to remove him from sight and complete this festive ruse. Just as he had on Day 1 this year, he ruined my slumber and that cheeky little smile stretched ever so slightly. It did feel good, under the cover of darkness, to jam the little prick into my suitcase pocket and zip it up. I hope it's hot in your own personal hell, you heathen. And now, we pick up the pieces. I am in need of repair, inside and out. Tired, tattered, full of torment... But mostly tired. Is there no vacation from Christmas vacation? It's become clear to me that, despite my ultimate victory, this experience will haunt me for years to come. And in ensuing years, likely, it will be worse. So, when is a win actually a loss? Perhaps it is now. Perhaps it is more than just a pound of flesh the evil elf has taken with him. There is, it turns out, slight discomfort in my liver area, you see. That's either from the traditional holiday excess or, if you believe the ancient Navajo legend, that's where the soul is located and clearly, mine is gone. Back to our happy little lives? Sure - I can play that game. It is a beautiful existence. But he has broken me indeed. "And Darkness and Decay and The Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."

[charlotteslilweb]

Your Journey in my Belly

Dear Charlotte,

They say every pregnancy is different and while my pregnancy with you was easier than my pregnancy with Juliet in the beginning, it was harder towards the end (though you were in my belly 3 weeks longer than Juliet was).

The biggest difference in the beginning was that I got sick much less often. Less than 5 times total, whereas, with your sister, there were *days* where I threw up 5 times.

I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes again, but having been through it before, I knew how to manage my diet. I had many more cheat days with you because the doctors told me it was more important to keep my fasting levels controlled than my meal levels. They also said the consequence of uncontrolled diabetes was having a large baby, and with Juliet being born 4 lb 5 oz, I wasn’t worried about this. And any effect on you upon delivery would be short term.

Mama also ate sushi regularly until my dietician told me to check with my OB/GYN Dr. Beddow if the frequency was acceptable. When I asked Dr. Beddow, she gave me a look and asked “Why are you eating sushi at all?” Dr. Beddow was always very conservative with taking care of Mama’s health. She told me to stop eating it because of the risk of parasites, even if the places were clean and reputable. So Mama cut back, but still indulged every so often. I still needed to enjoy the pregnancy and my mother’s instinct told me you’d be born healthy (and I was right!).

Still, Mama needed to take insulin injections every night. I’m so scared of needles, but of course I would do anything for my sweet baby. This time around, I needed more insulin than before. So much, that the it wouldn’t fit in a single syringe, so Mama had to inject herself twice every night. I still have bruises on my belly, but I don’t mind them. They are a forever reminder of my love for you.

Mama, Papa, and Juliet went to Hawaii for a vacation a few months later. We met up with your Grams and your cousin Mila’s family. We waited until we got the call from the genetic counselor to confirm that you were healthy to share the wonderful news. It was also then in Hawaii when we found out your gender. Mama was so nervous. She wanted another girl so badly. Mama loves having 2 sisters and wanted a baby sister for Juliet. I almost cried from joy when we found out my dream was going to come true!

A month before you were born, during one of my NST (non-stress tests) appointments to monitor your heart rate, the nurses noticed a few decelerations. They decided to continue monitoring me for the rest of the day and overnight. I was a little nervous because this seemed like it could go in the same direction as Juliet’s premature birth, but I still felt fairly confident that everything was fine. That evening, Papa and Juliet came to the hospital to visit us. Juliet seemed a little scared to see Mama in the hospital bed with all the wires and machines. Fortunately, you were fine and the doctor let me go home the following day.

Towards the end of the pregnancy, things started to get quite uncomfortable. My belly was getting so big that Juliet couldn’t sit on my lap anymore when I read her books. She didn’t mind though, and she always pointed to my belly when I asked her where Charlie was. She has always loved you.

A week and a half before you were born, I took my friend Taryn out for a birthday dinner. Once the meal ended, I stood up, and I felt a sharp pain in my pubic bone. Not my pelvic bone, but my pubic bone. It was a feeling I never felt before and it was difficult to walk. It was that moment when I realized that my body was really preparing for you to come out!

Pregnancies are never easy for me, but I’d do it a million times over for you. You are the perfect little baby and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do just to see your beautiful smile.

I love you, my snuggle bunny!

Love,

Mama

[steadyprincesspeace-blog]

The Important Hidden latest Headline News

Politics, Entertainment, Travel, Sports, and another ten headlines composed the news menu on CNN.com on this day, July 27, 2009. People doing the "Moonwalk" and the death of a former "Idol" contestant were apparently far more necessary than the rationale why all people will scan and count: affirmative, indeed, you guessed it! No headline about colleges, good or unhealthy, about outstanding or so-so lecturers or superintendents. Nothing related to learning except perhaps the exciting BBC news point concerning the ineffable academician Gates attempting to interrupt into his own residence. I even searched the smaller headlines, hoping against hope that some enterprising reporter would speak regarding the come back to high school that may occur next month; no such luck.

I even searched the 15 most common news: Sara Plain's crack of doom in workplace, the death of a former boxing champ, more ladies looking erotica (believe it or not), France's President Sarky fainting near Versailles (as if we tend to ought to care), and the four most vital health problems for youths. But nothing even resembling education, unless the kids' health problems will be resolved through education...of the parents. Just to be truthful, I looked at Yahoo's homepage to envision on the newest regarding education: simply perhaps, Secretary of Education Arneb Duncan had additional info concerning the four billion greenbacks allotted to the "Race to the Top", supposedly to enact reform in public colleges throughout the land. But again, this noteworthy news found no follow up interest among the media's elite. Yahoo's page had the usual sensationalist (ugly word) potpourri of earthshaking information: Alice in Wonderland (pretty previous news is not it?), the Tour DE France (only as a result of Armstrong was in there), Vera Farming (never heard of this person), and, of course, the unending discussion on health care.

Again, to be perfectly truthful, I opened the BBC site to check on our language cousins: Killings in African country, Sarky again (sacrilege!), the theft of a German minister's automotive in Kingdom of Spain (who cares again?), and some playful dolphin interrupting a woman's swim (earth shattering indeed); nothing concerning education and/or learning within the land of poet. So I determined to require a glance at native papers, the ones nobody ever hears regarding except, for example, the 20,000 inhabitants of Newton, Pa: It's called the "Bucks native News" and there, at last, I found an article on education: a neighborhood jock and outstanding educational student named Tyler with a three.70 touchstone obtained a scholarship from the native yank Legion. So perhaps little communities recognize what is necessary a very little higher than national news organizations?

Perhaps as a result of native news applies directly to our way of life we tend to provides it additional attention. At the national level, the media coverage of what they consider interesting is extremely superficial nonsense for the foremost part; as an example, the Plain's farewell speech loaded with insults, innuendos and disconnected rants. Or the Gates affair, which drags on and on even when President Obama acknowledged that his comments were a very little too robust. In fact, we have become a society inquisitive about the superficial, the scandalous and the glitzy, and that doesn't embrace the stupid which might be applied to a number of the new TV comedies. Whenever the paparazzi come up with a "sensational" ion of a budding, immature, and sexy singing star, people rush to get the shameful magazine. Music has also evolved towards unhealthy style and loud noises. Our children, for the most part, have never detected of Mozart, Gershwin or Leonard Bernstein. When a teacher in high school asks for a current event prep, most students look at one another with a blank stare; they are doing not follow the important news, the ones that may affect their future, their jobs and their own families.

Were we totally different, 10, 20 or thirty years gone, when we tend to simply emerged from immature years? I bear in mind paying attention to the BBC news point on the radio at a awfully young age, even though I did not relate most of it to my world. But there was some discussion at the dinner table among my oldsters and cousins; they were involved regarding the conflict and therefore the awful chance of a nuclear holocaust. Even in high school, my buddies and I talked about some serious stuff, aside from the daily fluff. Our vacations were spent working to facilitate our families. Our musical tastes included classical and pop. We (gasp) scan books, lots of books, maybe as a result of we tend to did not have net or TV and that we extremely felt the nationalism flowing in our arteries once we detected the anthem. Today, I see crowds going to the beach on Memorial Day, forgetting the immense and generally final sacrifice of thousands or our troopers.

Education should be the main topic of our fashionable media; learning helps bring down the dropout rate, helps reduce health prices fewer fat and diabetic pope, contributes  to less welfare and Medicaid that AR used by such a lot of as a crutch to avoid their social responsibility. But learning should embrace ethical, social and economic values, and these must begin in the family from day one. It stands to reason therefore that education additionally starts with the oldsters. When I see teens having babies, I shudder at the plan that these youngsters having youngsters haven't any idea on the way to educate their relation. But is not our society the real offender by delegation education topics to the rear pages?

I was born a few years ago in Geneva, Switzerland, where I learned varied languages, including English - the Brit kind - before emigrating to America wherever I served in the Army for three years. My Mexican wife and I currently board metropolis, Texas, where I teach special education in a very native high school.