Sunday, March 26, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
adversity into manna
darrell is doing better. he has involved himself with productive things that keep him busy and is beggining to see the bigger picture.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
courage
http://www.jobbank-ja.com/downloads/jobbank_flair/20011210_fear.asp
Moral courage is a virtue of higher cast and nobler origin than physical. It springs from a consciousness of virtue and renders a man, in the pursuit or defence of right, superior to the fear of reproach, opposition, or contempt. - Samuel Goodrich
Moral courage is a virtue of higher cast and nobler origin than physical. It springs from a consciousness of virtue and renders a man, in the pursuit or defence of right, superior to the fear of reproach, opposition, or contempt. - Samuel Goodrich
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
cirilo
interest from ancestry.com
What does the Cirilo name mean?
Spanish: from the personal name Cirilo, from Latin
Cyrillus from Greek Kyrillos meaning ‘of the Lord’. This
name was borne by a large number of early saints, most notably the
theologians Cyril of Alexandria and Cyril of Jerusalem. It was also
the name of one of the Greek evangelists who took Christianity to the
Slavic regions of eastern Europe.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
grandbabies2
we enjoyed a saturday visit from our babies. these pictures are from before i got home from yard mowing (ravenna, ridgecrest, cemetary) with my boys, darrell & curtis. the spring flower video is later the same day after we got home. i have some other short clips i would like to upload when i figure out how to best compress them. any suggestions would be helpful.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
My Place - open letter
Open Letter to my Son
2004
My First Born Darrell.
Congratulations my dearest son.
You have discovered all the things, which make life beautiful. Its not the cars, the houses, or the boats, which bring pure happiness, but the miracle of birth and creation.
This newness of life starts out small, even though you have chosen to start your own family with super-size, and blossoms into all that you are, all that you have, and all that you will be, and this life will bring you much needed joy and fullness.
This fullness is made complete with a good dose of Christianity, and with the help and grace of God, and never forgetting that without him, all is for nothing. So, take your family to church, as often as you can, and acknowledge his greatness as it will give you purpose.
Ask for his guidance everyday so you can lead your children in the best ways and instill in them their source for strength.
Do the best that you can, for in a few short years it will be their turn to guide their children, your grandchildren, and you will be able to say without hesitation,
“I have done all that I know,
I have done all that is good and right,
I have done well”.
with love,
Dad
My Place - open letter
Open Letter to my Son
2004
My First Born Darrell.
Congratulations my dearest son.
You have discovered all the things, which make life beautiful. Its not the cars, the houses, or the boats, which bring pure happiness, but the miracle of birth and creation.
This newness of life starts out small, even though you have chosen to start your own family with super-size, and blossoms into all that you are, all that you have, and all that you will be, and this life will bring you much needed joy and fullness.
This fullness is made complete with a good dose of Christianity, and with the help and grace of God, and never forgetting that without him, all is for nothing. So, take your family to church, as often as you can, and acknowledge his greatness as it will give you purpose.
Ask for his guidance everyday so you can lead your children in the best ways and instill in them their source for strength.
Do the best that you can, for in a few short years it will be their turn to guide their children, your grandchildren, and you will be able to say without hesitation,
“I have done all that I know,
I have done all that is good and right,
I have done well”.
with love,
Dad
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
open letter
Open Letter to my Son
April, 2004
My First Born.
Congratulations my dearest son.
You have discovered all the things,
which make life beautiful. Its not the cars, the houses, or the boats, which bring
pure happiness, but the miracle of birth and creation.
This newness of life starts out small,
even though you have chosen to start your own family with super-size, and
blossoms into all that you are, all that you have, and all that you will be,
and this life will bring you much needed joy and fullness.
This fullness is made complete with a
good dose of Christianity, and with the help and grace of God, and never
forgetting that without him, all is for nothing. So, take your family to
church, as often as you can, and acknowledge his greatness as it will give you
purpose.
Ask for his guidance everyday so you can
lead your children in the best ways and instill in them their source for
strength.
Do the best that you can, for in a few
short years it will be their turn to guide their children, your grandchildren,
and you will be able to say without hesitation,
“I have done all that I know,
I have done all that is good and right,
I have done well”.
with love,
Dad
Saturday, March 04, 2006
a big fish story
darrell shows us a pretty large white perch from the same fishing hole that i caught the little brim and put in shannons pocket when he was a toddler.
all i wanted was a switch leg for the new vanity lights, what i got was a complete re-wire of the bathroom, sheetrock work, and painting of the whole room.
Friday, February 17, 2006
the sad little footstool
i'm a sad little footstool, what's wrong with me?
I was perfect and beautiful, when i left the factory.
upholstering is not one of my strong suits
Sunday, February 05, 2006
photo wall paper
if you look closely you can see the individual sheets (16) that make up this picture as it is only held together with painters tape on the back. in gluing the sheets to the wall a seamless look can be achieved just like wallpaper.
this is a new technique that i am willing to try
for my youngest who is fond of the outdoors.
a small program that allows you to resize any photo
to as large as you want and even turn it into wallpaper
with your existing printer.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
boring you silly with yet another photo session
kay gives me a break
never satisfied, we've built a mantel and stained the brick for a deeper richer focal wall
never satisfied
still after a look and feel we can both live with, i.ve built a mantel for the fireplace and stained the brick for a richer focal point wall.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
CoLoR mY WorLd
Absolutely the world's cutest helper helpsCoLoR mY WorLdTim Allen would
be green with envy
this is a special album for several different
reasons.
1) this is the first color change we've made in our
new home which, with the exception of the grey exterior that we are
going to change at a later date, was delivered to us as a blank slate
of white.
2) i am actually doing (and enjoying) the painting
myself which i usually leave up to kay because i don't have the
patience or the tidiness to do. (see: perservering )
Oct 10, '04 tejasmidget said:
firsti had kay scrape up the old paint spills off the floor. then i had kay
stain small areas while shifting the furniture around the room. then i
had kay go over the stain with clearcoat. now i'm watching it dry.
easy!
- tejasmidget
3) i have a witty bitty
helper.
(who puts a smile on my face, and a beat in my
heart.)
i literally started on the computer trying to visualize what it would look like, and it went from there........ALBUM
Saturday, January 07, 2006
CoLoR mY WorLd
proud of her work kailani shows off her smile
Absolutely the world's cutest helper helps CoLoR mY WorLd Tim Allen would be green with envy.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
moon&stars
One of the things that I like most about this new place is the unobstructed view of the night sky. Before, the trees crowded over the lawn, the drive, and the house so that when you stepped outside, hardly anything was visible.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4 A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible, they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve. Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory, all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard to unbelieve. When my grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4 A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible, they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve. Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory, all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard to unbelieve. When my grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
moon&stars
One of the things that I like most about this new place is the unobstructed view of the night sky. Before, the trees crowded over the lawn, the drive, and the house so that when you stepped outside, hardly anything was visible.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4 A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible, they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve. Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory, all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard to unbelieve. When my grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4 A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible, they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve. Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory, all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard to unbelieve. When my grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
moon&stars
One of the things that I like most about this new place is the
unobstructed view of the night sky. Before, the trees crowded over the
lawn, the drive, and the house so that when you stepped outside, hardly
anything was visible.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns
in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of
some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like
directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our
view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter
signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than
when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4
A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible,
they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars
in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just
random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like
that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve.
Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something
mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the
scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that
there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put
there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the
motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by
skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been
able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory,
all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why
it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard
to unbelieve. When my
grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest
stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them
more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
X-mas
in order to placate the the nay sayers, and the supreme court judges, i am posting a few pics of my non-intelligent design holiday. i failed to get a picture of myself with my new tin foil cap. sorry.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Christmas 2005 (really)
best holiday wishes & giving to all
ok, so it's a lot of pictures......last year i split this up into 3 albums. who's looking anyway?
Friday, December 16, 2005
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
morality
some of the memories that i have of visiting my grandpa & grandma's
house were of the childhood spankings that were sometimes unavoidable
by my dad. grandpa was a gentle man, at least toward us as he was well
up in age by the time of my collective memories. grandma was as nice as
any grandma could ever be, and one or the other would always take up
for us and say "Now Charlie, you shouldn't hit those babies". sometimes
he would listen, but sometimes he would just say that we were
his kids, and if we needed a whipping, he would give
us one. and one we got. over, and over, and over again until we were
just too big anymore. many whippings were born of just plain anger, and
the receiving end of one was not a good place to be.
i will not go any further into how this affected us psychologically,
all of us in different ways, but it definitely had an effect on our
personalities. it's perhaps one of the biggest reasons that i chose not
to whip my children. so much for the violence begets violence theory,
which usually does hold true.
i also recall a particular incident in which i probably needed some
sort of behavior adjustment and didn't get it;...i was standing in
front of the television program of something that my uncle, my dad's youngest
brother, really wanted to watch( i wanted to watch something else) and
no matter how much he pleaded, i wouldn't get out of the way, so he
asked grandma to make me move. my dad, being the short tempered sort
that he always was, overheard and chased his own brother out of the
house with a hammer and down the street. it's a good thing he could run
faster. later, after things calmed down, we all had to load up in the
car and go looking for him, i felt so bad for him because of my
mischievousness, that i still haven't forgotten it. i loved my grandpa
and grandma, they were such a positive influence on our lowly lives.
moral of this story? don't hit your babies, it hurts more than you will ever know, and you will learn to regret it in the end.
Its About Me
I hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very loudly, and irritating me.
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see?
Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute,
why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees,
and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never hit their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well,
but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away,
doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
No copying without author's written permission."
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see?
Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute,
why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees,
and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never hit their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well,
but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away,
doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
No copying without author's written permission."
Its About Me
I hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very loudly, and irritating me.
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see?
Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute,
why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees,
and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never hit their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well,
but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away,
doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
No copying without author's written permission."
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see?
Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute,
why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees,
and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never hit their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well,
but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away,
doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
No copying without author's written permission."
Sunday, December 04, 2005
it's about me, a poem
It's about me
I hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very loudly, and irritating me.
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see? Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute, why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees, and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never spanked their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well, but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away, doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me, a poem©Copyright Dec 2005, byronc, All rights reserved.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
parade 2005
ferriday's annual, heritage manor usually enters a float with kay in charge of activities
Monday, November 21, 2005
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
what gender?
i knew i was sweeter than sugar and crying a lot. i'm practically a girl.
Your Brain is 46.67% Female, 53.33% Male |
Your brain is a healthy mix of male and female You are both sensitive and savvy Rational and reasonable, you tend to keep level headed But you also tend to wear your heart on your sleeve |
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
What did I do today?
continued to restore a damaged mural, went to an office birthday outing for our accountant, Patti Jenkins, aka Kailani's other grandma (born on holloween....really).
Monday, October 31, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)