So today Karson is not listening to the teacher. He is not doing the work she has requested that he do. Instead, he is "stuck" on doing somthing he is trying to complete. This back and forth continues twice. Finally, his teacher removes what he wants to work on from his desk and replaces it with what he is suppose to work on. She takes the "wants to work on" paper up to her desk. When she turns around he is starting to get up to go get the paper off her desk. She looks at him and says "If you come up here and take the paper off my desk it will be mine for forever plus 2 days!!!!"
Karson looks at her and says 'It can't be forever plus two days because forever is forever!"
Later at home he says to me "I am not sure my teacher can teach me anymore. She doesn't know how long forever is!"
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
A Couple Of Cuties From My Cuties
K2" If Obama is President for 1,000 years does that mean he is King?"
K1 "If I run for President will you vote for me?"
Me: " I could not vote for you right now. Presidents have to be able to listen to a whole lot of different people who want different things. Honey, you don't listen well enough to be President but if you keep practicing someday you will. Then I will be able to vote for you."
K1 "If I run for President will you vote for me?"
Me: " I could not vote for you right now. Presidents have to be able to listen to a whole lot of different people who want different things. Honey, you don't listen well enough to be President but if you keep practicing someday you will. Then I will be able to vote for you."
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Language of Love
The Language of Love
By Cheryl L. Dieter
Copyright 1/12/2009
Because he was an unusual shade of red most people thought he was an Irish Setter. He wasn’t. Not a drop of Irish in him. But if you saw the flash of the fetch and the gentle return of the ball you would recognize him for the retriever that he was. The dog became a member of our family when he had already aged out of puppy hood by a couple of months. He came pre-named. His name was not something fitting for a dog of his stature. It wasn’t the predictable Fido, Rover, or Bandit that so many canines answer to. No, his name was Goose. His was a horrible name, one that never fit until he was well into his senior years which is when he began to waddle like one. But alas, for him, the name remained.
Oftentimes bringing a dog into a family means someone has to move into the Alpha dog position just to keep the peace and establish whose boss. That wasn’t the case with Goose. He took to his new family and we to him without any of the usual dog/people skirmishes. There was no peeing on the floor to see if we would keep him. No chewing on shoes to get back at you for some unknown slight of hand you might have inadvertently dealt. No Goose just walked into our house and into our lives like he knew he belonged. And he did. Sometimes love just fits like the missing last piece of a puzzle.
Goose was a city dog. Unlike some fast talking city folk, he rarely spoke unless it was something important that needed to be said. One loud bark usually was a kind warning that he was there. A series of rapid barks meant you had better leave my family alone. But by and large he was content to let the other neighborhood dogs do the talking. Goose liked it that way. He would rather just lay around and let his humans feed him, bathe him and pet him when we were willing. Goose didn’t ask for much and he didn’t believe in schedules. He wasn’t pushy in that “I’M-A-POODLE” kind-of-way.
Now, I was never one to believe that dogs understood our conversations. Sure they might pick up on a few words like “sit, stay” and the like. But truly listening and comprehending a conversation…no way. Sure I had listened to little old ladies talk about how intelligent their costumed canines were but everyone knew that they were halfway around the bend anyway. Besides, Goose had never given a hint, nor it seemed, a desire to participate in any meaningful dialogue. Ever. But that all changed the year Goose turned eleven.
That was the year we moved to the ocean and Goose came alive. For a dog that had rarely moved his first ten years of life he made up for it by chasing waves along the beach until they collapsed in fright of “Big Red.” He discovered the joy of corralling seagulls and sniffing seaweed like some kind of big-name gourmet chef. The two of us took long walks together down the beach; the water’s spray soaking our coats. And suddenly our dog began digging for clams. Goose began to run so swiftly through the sand that his ears were pinned to the side of his head like an astronaut in G-force maneuvers. He lost weight, bulked up and even began gossiping with the neighborhood dogs. The highlight of his year was the day I locked my keys in the car. Stranded with a fierce storm coming ashore we were saved by a middle aged man in a red two-seater sports car. He gave us a ride back to the house with Goose sitting on my lap the entire way. Yes, those were the days and Goose was in heaven. The city dog had gone country and we liked him that way.
All too soon our year was up and it was time to relocate. After we finished packing we decided to take one last trip to “our” beach. Goose romped and dug. He rolled in the sand. That afternoon he even surpassed his seagull corralling record. He was one tired dog as we climbed up the sandy bank to the car. I opened the tailgate and Goose jumped in.
“Old buddy,” I said to no one in particular and most certainly not the dog. “You had better go take one last look at the ocean. You’re getting old and they don’t have beaches in Iowa. Doubt you’ll ever get to the ocean again.”
And to my amazement, Goose jumped out of the car and meandered over to the cliff in a haggard down-and-out-sort-of-way and gazed down the beach. He didn’t flinch. Not once. He just stood eerily still, taking it all in; his soft brown eyes scanning the sky for more gulls. We waited. He looked. We waited some more. Suddenly a lone gull appeared. He circled above Big Red’s head… and then … let an eight gun salute rain down upon it. Goose blinked. He snorted. Then the dog barked a series of barks in his “I’m really, really mad” voice and chased the gull through the parking lot. And when he won the war, gull gone, never to return; he climbed back into the car and slept almost all the way to Iowa. I think he was depressed. Yet, I never asked, even though we had many interesting conversations in the years that followed.
Maybe it was because I didn’t believe or maybe it was because I had just never given Goose the chance but whatever it was, on that last day at the beach I began to understand the powerful dialogue that takes place between a dog and his human. Some of it said out loud; some left unspoken; some just a quiet wag here and there. But however it is said, the language between a person and their dog is unique to one another. It is one that transcends species, age and gender. And whether it is spoken in barks or in whispers, ultimately, it turns out that we understand the same language. It‘s the language we humans call love.
By Cheryl L. Dieter
Copyright 1/12/2009
Because he was an unusual shade of red most people thought he was an Irish Setter. He wasn’t. Not a drop of Irish in him. But if you saw the flash of the fetch and the gentle return of the ball you would recognize him for the retriever that he was. The dog became a member of our family when he had already aged out of puppy hood by a couple of months. He came pre-named. His name was not something fitting for a dog of his stature. It wasn’t the predictable Fido, Rover, or Bandit that so many canines answer to. No, his name was Goose. His was a horrible name, one that never fit until he was well into his senior years which is when he began to waddle like one. But alas, for him, the name remained.
Oftentimes bringing a dog into a family means someone has to move into the Alpha dog position just to keep the peace and establish whose boss. That wasn’t the case with Goose. He took to his new family and we to him without any of the usual dog/people skirmishes. There was no peeing on the floor to see if we would keep him. No chewing on shoes to get back at you for some unknown slight of hand you might have inadvertently dealt. No Goose just walked into our house and into our lives like he knew he belonged. And he did. Sometimes love just fits like the missing last piece of a puzzle.
Goose was a city dog. Unlike some fast talking city folk, he rarely spoke unless it was something important that needed to be said. One loud bark usually was a kind warning that he was there. A series of rapid barks meant you had better leave my family alone. But by and large he was content to let the other neighborhood dogs do the talking. Goose liked it that way. He would rather just lay around and let his humans feed him, bathe him and pet him when we were willing. Goose didn’t ask for much and he didn’t believe in schedules. He wasn’t pushy in that “I’M-A-POODLE” kind-of-way.
Now, I was never one to believe that dogs understood our conversations. Sure they might pick up on a few words like “sit, stay” and the like. But truly listening and comprehending a conversation…no way. Sure I had listened to little old ladies talk about how intelligent their costumed canines were but everyone knew that they were halfway around the bend anyway. Besides, Goose had never given a hint, nor it seemed, a desire to participate in any meaningful dialogue. Ever. But that all changed the year Goose turned eleven.
That was the year we moved to the ocean and Goose came alive. For a dog that had rarely moved his first ten years of life he made up for it by chasing waves along the beach until they collapsed in fright of “Big Red.” He discovered the joy of corralling seagulls and sniffing seaweed like some kind of big-name gourmet chef. The two of us took long walks together down the beach; the water’s spray soaking our coats. And suddenly our dog began digging for clams. Goose began to run so swiftly through the sand that his ears were pinned to the side of his head like an astronaut in G-force maneuvers. He lost weight, bulked up and even began gossiping with the neighborhood dogs. The highlight of his year was the day I locked my keys in the car. Stranded with a fierce storm coming ashore we were saved by a middle aged man in a red two-seater sports car. He gave us a ride back to the house with Goose sitting on my lap the entire way. Yes, those were the days and Goose was in heaven. The city dog had gone country and we liked him that way.
All too soon our year was up and it was time to relocate. After we finished packing we decided to take one last trip to “our” beach. Goose romped and dug. He rolled in the sand. That afternoon he even surpassed his seagull corralling record. He was one tired dog as we climbed up the sandy bank to the car. I opened the tailgate and Goose jumped in.
“Old buddy,” I said to no one in particular and most certainly not the dog. “You had better go take one last look at the ocean. You’re getting old and they don’t have beaches in Iowa. Doubt you’ll ever get to the ocean again.”
And to my amazement, Goose jumped out of the car and meandered over to the cliff in a haggard down-and-out-sort-of-way and gazed down the beach. He didn’t flinch. Not once. He just stood eerily still, taking it all in; his soft brown eyes scanning the sky for more gulls. We waited. He looked. We waited some more. Suddenly a lone gull appeared. He circled above Big Red’s head… and then … let an eight gun salute rain down upon it. Goose blinked. He snorted. Then the dog barked a series of barks in his “I’m really, really mad” voice and chased the gull through the parking lot. And when he won the war, gull gone, never to return; he climbed back into the car and slept almost all the way to Iowa. I think he was depressed. Yet, I never asked, even though we had many interesting conversations in the years that followed.
Maybe it was because I didn’t believe or maybe it was because I had just never given Goose the chance but whatever it was, on that last day at the beach I began to understand the powerful dialogue that takes place between a dog and his human. Some of it said out loud; some left unspoken; some just a quiet wag here and there. But however it is said, the language between a person and their dog is unique to one another. It is one that transcends species, age and gender. And whether it is spoken in barks or in whispers, ultimately, it turns out that we understand the same language. It‘s the language we humans call love.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Conversation with KA
Karson has no desire to leave home...ever. Tonight I was talking to him about where he would like to travel.
Me: Kars, where would you like to go visit?
K: My bedroom
Me: How about somewhere else?
K: Well, I have to tell you I like living on the North American Continent. North America is just fine with me. I don't need to go anywhere.
Me: Well, if you were going to leave the United States where would you go? How about England?
K: King George lived there. He was a bad man. I don't want to go there.
Me: How about France?
K: They speak France there. I don't speak it. I'll pass.
Me: Well how about Brazil? Kylee lived there.
K: That is the place where you drink and party all the time. I don't do them so, no. It's not the place for me. Okay...I'm thinking maybe Australia...nope...there are great white sharks there.
Me: Antartica?
K: Too cold. I dont have a warm enough coat.
Me: Korea?
K: I am never going there. You know that.
Me: How about somewhere in Africa?
K: Nope you have to get shots.
Me: New Zealand?
K: Do they have dolphins and popcorn there? Yep. Okay, Maybe we can go there sometime in the future.
In the store trying to get him to consider boxers instead of briefs.
Me: feel these
K: Too hard
Me: How about these?
K: Too soft. Really going with out is just fine with me.
Me: Kars, where would you like to go visit?
K: My bedroom
Me: How about somewhere else?
K: Well, I have to tell you I like living on the North American Continent. North America is just fine with me. I don't need to go anywhere.
Me: Well, if you were going to leave the United States where would you go? How about England?
K: King George lived there. He was a bad man. I don't want to go there.
Me: How about France?
K: They speak France there. I don't speak it. I'll pass.
Me: Well how about Brazil? Kylee lived there.
K: That is the place where you drink and party all the time. I don't do them so, no. It's not the place for me. Okay...I'm thinking maybe Australia...nope...there are great white sharks there.
Me: Antartica?
K: Too cold. I dont have a warm enough coat.
Me: Korea?
K: I am never going there. You know that.
Me: How about somewhere in Africa?
K: Nope you have to get shots.
Me: New Zealand?
K: Do they have dolphins and popcorn there? Yep. Okay, Maybe we can go there sometime in the future.
In the store trying to get him to consider boxers instead of briefs.
Me: feel these
K: Too hard
Me: How about these?
K: Too soft. Really going with out is just fine with me.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
K has been getting in trouble at school
with his teacher for arguing, etc. For instance last week she told him
to finish work on paper A. He said he didn't FEEL like it and that he
would work on paper B instead. She told him that he had to finish paper
A before working on paper B. He continued to argue. So she took paper B
and put it on her desk. As she is helping another student she sees him
get up and start to walk towards her desk. She told me she is
thinking "Don't do it bud" He does. Takes the paper off her desk and
goes back to his. She goes back over and takes it back, etc.
Yesterday he got in trouble for arguing. She told him she was taking
away his recess today. So this morning she says "Hi K." He
responds, " I am not K. I am his twin brother,U.K is
absent today."
with his teacher for arguing, etc. For instance last week she told him
to finish work on paper A. He said he didn't FEEL like it and that he
would work on paper B instead. She told him that he had to finish paper
A before working on paper B. He continued to argue. So she took paper B
and put it on her desk. As she is helping another student she sees him
get up and start to walk towards her desk. She told me she is
thinking "Don't do it bud" He does. Takes the paper off her desk and
goes back to his. She goes back over and takes it back, etc.
Yesterday he got in trouble for arguing. She told him she was taking
away his recess today. So this morning she says "Hi K." He
responds, " I am not K. I am his twin brother,U.K is
absent today."
I KNOW Better
One of the things you learn as the mother of two autistic boys is to avoid the store like the plague. Unfortunately, the other day I had no choice but to go shopping with them. Keep in mind this was during a PMSing episode.
First we went to Whole Foods where the "keep your hands on the cart" speil just wasn't getting any airplay in their brains. Hands were everywhere, whining was unlimitless and when we checked out I had more items in my cart than I placed there and racked up my own national debt. After loading groceries in the trunk we went to do the dreaded "Mommy trying on fat-assed clothes" which made me cringe even thinking about it. It was in this store that Kullen was touching everything. Everything. I cajoled, I threatened, I whispered pleasant phrases such as "if you don't keep your hands off everything you will be keeping them in your pockets for the rest of your life." It was two seconds after uttering those words when I saw Kullen out of the corner of my eye about 2 feet from me. He had pulled up the blouse on the manaquin and was playing with its boobs.
First we went to Whole Foods where the "keep your hands on the cart" speil just wasn't getting any airplay in their brains. Hands were everywhere, whining was unlimitless and when we checked out I had more items in my cart than I placed there and racked up my own national debt. After loading groceries in the trunk we went to do the dreaded "Mommy trying on fat-assed clothes" which made me cringe even thinking about it. It was in this store that Kullen was touching everything. Everything. I cajoled, I threatened, I whispered pleasant phrases such as "if you don't keep your hands off everything you will be keeping them in your pockets for the rest of your life." It was two seconds after uttering those words when I saw Kullen out of the corner of my eye about 2 feet from me. He had pulled up the blouse on the manaquin and was playing with its boobs.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
For My Kids
Today our nation gave my children a gift. That gift was in the form of a man who I believe has the ability to inspire them for the rest of their lives. A man that will give them hope when there doesn't appear to be any. I showed them by voting for our first African American President that I value all people of color, just like I value them. I hope that by casting my vote for Barack Obama my vote assured them that I respect people of color and that I believe that they are capable, have the wisdom and innovation to lead this country on a course in history that when looked back upon will be remembered as one of our finest moments with our greatest leader. Today I let my kids know that I believe that there are times in our nations history when it is too important to just be complacent and that only through hard work of yourself and others can you aspire to some pretty lofty ideals. And that bridge burners end up with a scorched earth policy and blisters on their hands. Today was a historic day in America. I am proud to be a part of it. But more than anything, Barack Obama's win today showed me that I must do everything I can to make sure that my children gain the right to run for President. After all, if he can do it...they might someday have a chance too.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Them Bootstraps Aren't Really For Pulling On Your Boots
I confess. I am on a BB in which a majority of the people are conservative Christians. Recently many people on this BB have made repeated attacks on those who are down in their luck,those who are poor, etc and stating their belief that Obama wants to take care of all these "losers" at the expense of all these good God Fearing tax payers. Of course the word Socialism has recently been introduced to instill more fear and justify their irrational hatred of Obama. In fact one person went so far as to write:
The poor keep getting poorer because they keep doing whatever it was that made them poor in the first place. Ditto for the rich. There is nothing at all unexpected or unforseen about the behavior that's responsible for most of the poverty in this country. If you ignore your education, fail to develop a work ethic, do drugs, get pregnant before you're out of high school or before you can afford to raise a child, become a petty criminal, join a gang, hang with what you obviously know to be the wrong crowd, become a drinker, or generally comport yourself like a self-loathing slob, guess what? You're probably not going to make a lot of money!
So let's take a minute and examine this statement and while doing so lets look at it from the opposite end of the spectrum.
Let's examine those persons in the military/captains of business and industry who have used their parents positions/connections and money to circumvent the system to get opportunites that others deserved. They use the system for personal gain not based on merit but on these types of connections. And they use them in order to increase their wealth, grab power, or prestigue . Even worse is their sense of entitlement to those positions. It is truly mind boggling. We don't have to look very far to find examples of these types of people. Do the names Bush and McCain ring a bell? Frankly, these are the people that are far more dangerous to me than any two-bit hooker. Face it, plenty of rich people hang with the wrong crowd, become drinkers, fail to develop a work ethic, etc. Yet, they have the luxury of money, connections and family to sustain them and even promote them to places they do not deserve to be. A lot of people with higher grades/SATS etc do not get into the Ivy league where these connections are further developed and strengthened because someone's Daddy knows someone, has donated to the school, or their parents have attended. During the Vietnam war many kids were able to avoid serving or served in positions that kept them in the states due to the positions their parents held. People can become officers in the military because they can get into the academys that "normal" people cannot or someone who is truly deserving to be there is denied due to those connections. So to try to make the case that the poor stay poor because of their "laziness" while the rich get richer due to their "implied" hard work is not often true.
But even more troubling to me is this. So many of these conservative Christians tout the "Pick Yourself Up By Your Bootstraps" mentality and ,yet, we now have a candidate who stands before them having done just that. And instead of giving him the kudos for doing what they insist all people should do, they turn around and renounce him. So what exactly is it that is a black man is suppose to do? Stay at the bottom rung of society where you are chastised and beaten down? Or rise to the top and then you are labeled an elitist and a terrorist to boot. And if the truth be told many of these people don't want people of color to succeed because it goes against their idea of 'what things SHOULD look like' if all is right with their world. So the next time you hear the speel about bootstraps and the like acknowledge it for what it really is. Racism cloaked in everything but what it is. Hate.
The poor keep getting poorer because they keep doing whatever it was that made them poor in the first place. Ditto for the rich. There is nothing at all unexpected or unforseen about the behavior that's responsible for most of the poverty in this country. If you ignore your education, fail to develop a work ethic, do drugs, get pregnant before you're out of high school or before you can afford to raise a child, become a petty criminal, join a gang, hang with what you obviously know to be the wrong crowd, become a drinker, or generally comport yourself like a self-loathing slob, guess what? You're probably not going to make a lot of money!
So let's take a minute and examine this statement and while doing so lets look at it from the opposite end of the spectrum.
Let's examine those persons in the military/captains of business and industry who have used their parents positions/connections and money to circumvent the system to get opportunites that others deserved. They use the system for personal gain not based on merit but on these types of connections. And they use them in order to increase their wealth, grab power, or prestigue . Even worse is their sense of entitlement to those positions. It is truly mind boggling. We don't have to look very far to find examples of these types of people. Do the names Bush and McCain ring a bell? Frankly, these are the people that are far more dangerous to me than any two-bit hooker. Face it, plenty of rich people hang with the wrong crowd, become drinkers, fail to develop a work ethic, etc. Yet, they have the luxury of money, connections and family to sustain them and even promote them to places they do not deserve to be. A lot of people with higher grades/SATS etc do not get into the Ivy league where these connections are further developed and strengthened because someone's Daddy knows someone, has donated to the school, or their parents have attended. During the Vietnam war many kids were able to avoid serving or served in positions that kept them in the states due to the positions their parents held. People can become officers in the military because they can get into the academys that "normal" people cannot or someone who is truly deserving to be there is denied due to those connections. So to try to make the case that the poor stay poor because of their "laziness" while the rich get richer due to their "implied" hard work is not often true.
But even more troubling to me is this. So many of these conservative Christians tout the "Pick Yourself Up By Your Bootstraps" mentality and ,yet, we now have a candidate who stands before them having done just that. And instead of giving him the kudos for doing what they insist all people should do, they turn around and renounce him. So what exactly is it that is a black man is suppose to do? Stay at the bottom rung of society where you are chastised and beaten down? Or rise to the top and then you are labeled an elitist and a terrorist to boot. And if the truth be told many of these people don't want people of color to succeed because it goes against their idea of 'what things SHOULD look like' if all is right with their world. So the next time you hear the speel about bootstraps and the like acknowledge it for what it really is. Racism cloaked in everything but what it is. Hate.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
When is an embryo a child?
I saw one of my potential children when she was 8 cells. I say potential because that is all she was...a potential. She was a potential at conception. Without a woman's uterus she had no potential to be born (at least in this day and age) Had the temperature changed significantly in the petri dish that potential would have evaporated. Without oxygen flowing to the embryonic sac she would not be here. Had they placed the cells in the wrong place or at the wrong time in my cycle she would not have been able to grow and develop. So many variables any one of which had gone wrong and she would not be here today just like the other seven that did not develop. I am honored to be her mother and am extremely fortunate to be so. And as her mother I would not want her to be forced into being a breeder for a couple just because they wanted to experience parenthood. I want my child to have the right to be a mother when she is ready not when someone else is ready for her to be one. I was lucky I was able to choose when I was ready to be a mother and I am sure glad that no one forced me to be a mother, at say, age 13. We are lucky that we get to... for the most part... choose when we become mothers. We are lucky to live in a country that we are not sold off at age 8 or 10 destined to became a mother soon after because we have no choices/options available to us. That we can choose our mates, where we live, what we eat and who/what we worship.
What is a hero?
I am sure I will get slayed for this but I have been thinking about this for a while. Since before the election. In fact, I did just look up the definition for hero and will admit it is not in line with my own idea of what a hero is. It seems to me that today what with Higgleytime Heros and the like where everyone is a hero we throw the word hero around so that it no longer has the special connotation that it once did. Seems to me it was once reserved for people of exemplorary character who risked their life without concern for themselves and they performed their act of heroism without intent of getting any rewards, leniency, special treatment for themselves.
Three weeks ago Uncle Mark arrived home from Iraq and my kids asked if he was a hero. Frankly, we do not think he or the other members of our family who have served are heros though they are most likely brave. No doubt about it they did perform a very difficult and hazardous job that many of us would not like to be charged with. Yet, they were doing a job they were paid and trained to do and they knew the risks when they signed up. Now, if one of them had laid on a granade in order to protect their fellow soliders then to us they would be a hero. The firemen and policemen in the Twin Towers who knew they were going down but were determined to get others out despite the cost to themselves; they were heros. The woman or man who witnesses and accident and jumps in a river to save people in a car, they are a hero. Using my own ideas of a hero I am not sure McCain is although I do believe he was a brave man who surely suffered while in the hands of the North.
Three weeks ago Uncle Mark arrived home from Iraq and my kids asked if he was a hero. Frankly, we do not think he or the other members of our family who have served are heros though they are most likely brave. No doubt about it they did perform a very difficult and hazardous job that many of us would not like to be charged with. Yet, they were doing a job they were paid and trained to do and they knew the risks when they signed up. Now, if one of them had laid on a granade in order to protect their fellow soliders then to us they would be a hero. The firemen and policemen in the Twin Towers who knew they were going down but were determined to get others out despite the cost to themselves; they were heros. The woman or man who witnesses and accident and jumps in a river to save people in a car, they are a hero. Using my own ideas of a hero I am not sure McCain is although I do believe he was a brave man who surely suffered while in the hands of the North.
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