tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342911152011-07-07T17:53:08.489-04:00Menoreply@blogger.comBlogger621100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-24516293752955695392009-10-29T20:22:00.005-04:002009-10-29T21:57:45.931-04:00I found this poem hiding between old pics of my cats. What was it doing there I have no idea, but I though I'll put it here. This poem is about 18-20 years old. It still holds truth to this day.<br /><p><br /><p><br /><b>Never</b><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>A look filled with anger<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>A look filled with hatred<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>for the hand that pulled the trigger</p><br /><br />The mother's cry<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>The orphan's tear<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>The widow, the widower, alone at night</p><p><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The killer smiles<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>A duty accomplished<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>He'll never be human again</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>A human, living<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to become animal<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Another, born<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to die too soon</p><br /><br />A leader, a general<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a president, all cowards<br />People, like herds,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>following, no aim</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>A war, to shred<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>families apart<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>A brother, to kill<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a brother once loved</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>They have no shame<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>for they have no pride.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>A gun, a bomb<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>ruling, forever</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>A life, a treasure<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>too cheaply ended<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The price for a heart to stop?<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- less than a fiver<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- a bullet</p><br /><br />On a television screen<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a woman<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>shrieking<br />There, on the scene.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>this woman<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>is dying<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- live</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Bricks and stones,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>furniture, scattered on the street<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>it is hard to believe<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>someone lived here<br /><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- another<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>still<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>does</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>The head of a doll<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a baby's chair<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a father looking<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>for his daughter's<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>corpse</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Mothers weeping<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Orphans screaming<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Widows, widowers</p><br /><br />All<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>alone<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>forever with their memories<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>tearing,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>cutting<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>sawing<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>through<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>their hearts.</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Will they someday,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>somehow,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>forget<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>forgive<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>that hand<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>that killed<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a loved one?</p><br /><br />Is it - ever - possible...<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>they say it is<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- the leaders<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- the generals<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>- the presidents<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ignorants</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>but,<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Is it - ever - possible<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to understand<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to comprehend<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>how<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>she - once a mother<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>he - once a father<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>they - once a family<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>now<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>lost<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>unable<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to understand<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>their loss<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>feel?</p><br /><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Is it - ever - possible<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>to predict what will happen?</p><br /><br />Is it - ever - possible<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>to believe<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>that peace<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>might<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>simply be<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>a<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>dream?</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-2451629375295569539?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-36370661623913870552009-03-22T12:20:00.003-04:002009-03-22T12:23:22.590-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzzLhs_I/AAAAAAAAAag/0i5wNKggAhg/s1600-h/Photo+21.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzzLhs_I/AAAAAAAAAag/0i5wNKggAhg/s320/Photo+21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316048350743737330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzUNPv5I/AAAAAAAAAaY/tCwvGdJDLvE/s1600-h/Photo+19.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzUNPv5I/AAAAAAAAAaY/tCwvGdJDLvE/s320/Photo+19.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316048342429450130" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzGQfkEI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/wS1xR-Jio-w/s1600-h/Photo+18.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScZlzGQfkEI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/wS1xR-Jio-w/s320/Photo+18.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316048338684973122" /></a><br />It sounded as if someone was being tortured, but that was just Aidan, getting a haircut! Except for a few long strands, he looks like a boy again!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3637066162391387055?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1369076455766365072009-03-19T20:45:00.002-04:002009-03-19T20:47:52.108-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScLnh99SzjI/AAAAAAAAAaI/wghH3TCbYRo/s1600-h/IMG_0315.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScLnh99SzjI/AAAAAAAAAaI/wghH3TCbYRo/s320/IMG_0315.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315065081003953714" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScLnhhw9pNI/AAAAAAAAAaA/aMBtWOb7P_A/s1600-h/IMG_0314.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/ScLnhhw9pNI/AAAAAAAAAaA/aMBtWOb7P_A/s320/IMG_0314.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315065073436042450" /></a><br /><br />This is little A, talking to brother "Dami" who is having the best time of his life in Cuba!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-136907645576636507?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-26378684568122065152009-03-18T17:57:00.002-04:002009-03-18T18:04:20.899-04:00My cell phone rang twice while I was sitting in the dentist - okay hygienist chair today - and I had a feeling, I just knew, that it was them. No message, but after I got home, there were three missed call, and one voice mail of Tamer telling me that Damian wanted to speak to his mommy. Clutching my cell phone with me wherever I went, i waited, hoping to hear back from them. <br /><br />I finally check my email:<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Hi Honey,<br />my cell phone does not work here, but we are having a great time.<br />we went surfing, Damian went sailing and we have been spending every minute either on the beach which is beautiful or the pool. do not worry, i am putting sun screen. we tried to call you but you are not answering the home phone or your cell. Damian just left me to go to the kids club. we are going to call you later so please answer the phone. Damian wanted to say hi and talk to mommy. love you and miss you.<br />Tamer"</span><br /><br />So I waited, and they finally called back :-)<br />They sounded so happy, and Damian told me how, he went to the pool, then he went to the beach, then he went to the pool, then he went to the Mini Kids Club... My precious boy. He wanted to speak with Aidan, and I had to say no!<br />-"Damian honey, I can't, he will cry! He's been asking about you. "We go down see my Dami? Dami sleeping?" And when I say, no baby, Damian is not here, he starts crying."<br />I could tell that Damian was disappointed for not being able to speak with his brother. Maybe, next time, I'll let him :-) And then deal with Aidan's tantrum....<br /><br />After he put me back on the phone with daddy, he adds: Tell Aidan I love him...<br /><br />Such a sweetheart.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-2637868456812206515?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-24306194985810745212009-03-17T05:13:00.002-04:002009-03-17T05:16:37.701-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Sb9qK_won6I/AAAAAAAAAZ4/m3ufFCzD9Sc/s1600-h/DSC00390.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Sb9qK_won6I/AAAAAAAAAZ4/m3ufFCzD9Sc/s320/DSC00390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314082822467133346" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Sb9qKGW08pI/AAAAAAAAAZw/rA5UU1-RdRU/s1600-h/DSC00391.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Sb9qKGW08pI/AAAAAAAAAZw/rA5UU1-RdRU/s320/DSC00391.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314082807058068114" /></a><br /><br />Early this morning, I drove my baby - hey, he’s still my baby, so what he’s seven?! - to the airport. They’re going to Cuba for spring break, for surf, for sun, and for some quality bonding time (as if their private Sunday brunches are not enough).<br /><br />Damian is so excited, it makes my heart melt, and daddy is as - if not more - excited than he is. I envy their time together, yet I am so proud of them! I just wish I had my camera with me to have taken a picture of them, as they were walking together through the doors of the airport.<br /><br />See you in a week! And Damian, I promise that I will try my best not to cry :-) I miss you so much already though!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-2430619498581074521?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-70838829035349596472009-03-13T21:25:00.002-04:002009-03-13T21:38:11.807-04:00So it's time for bedtime, and Damian and I are having a conversation as we're going through the bedtime ritual. <br /><br />As I am leaving, Aidan in my arms, I decide to tell Aidan: "We love Damian, don't we?" (We had just finished showering big brother with kisses), then I added: "Everybody loves Damian!"<br />To which Damian replied: "Not everybody!"<br /><br />-"Why do you say that Damian?"<br />-"Well not everyone likes me... like at school"<br />I stay silent... he decides not to respond, so I say<br />-"You are right Damian, not everyone likes everyone, and we are not all liked by everyone"<br />=" I like everyone." I believe him, I truly do. Not a nasty bone in that small body of his, but I continue<br />-"All I ask from you Damian, is that even if you don't like someone, you are still nice to them"<br />-"Mom, you know (name). I invited him to my birthday so I can talk to him" And he smiles - his pure smile<br /><br />I realize that (name), [who ended up not showing up to his birthday party], is the one who doesn't like him. And I love my "big boy baby" a little more - as if that was possible - for the way he decided to deal with it. A maturity one wishes they can sometimes find in grown-ups.<br /><br />I also realized, that my son is earning my respect as much as he deserves my love.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7083882903534959647?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-89486328873545331062008-01-20T20:20:00.000-05:002008-01-20T20:21:20.852-05:00<embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=7293504792794791325&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8948632887354533106?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-44701456230626245962008-01-08T17:06:00.001-05:002008-01-08T17:06:50.277-05:00<embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-2209810219851727458&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4470145623062624596?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-73649771296933067812007-12-12T19:36:00.000-05:002007-12-12T19:42:41.835-05:00It's 4:00 PM, time to drive down the street and wait for Damian and his bus. The bus is late again... Oh well, Aidan is sleeping in his crib, so I have time.<br /><br />Finally, I look in my rearview mirror, and here's the bus. It's too cold outside, I'll just open up the window and make sure he comes down safely.<br /><br />Oh, look at him, my big boy baby! I miss him so much, even though knowing that, in leass than half an hour, he'll actually be getting on my nerves, screaming, running, playing rough with his little brother.<br /><br />Damian goes down, smiling at me. I roll down the window slowly, and instead of opening the door to get into the car, he actually runs to my window, ready to give me a kiss. Then he stops. Dead in his tracks. He gives a sideway look at the bus.<br /><br />Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I can actually read his mind. Today is when it happened. December 12, 2007, my uncle's birthday. Today is the day Damian decides he is too big ti give me a kiss. My heart is breaking. Will it ever go back to how it was? But he's not even six. Why? WHY?<br /><br />- Damian, don't you want to give me a kiss?<br />- Ye-es, he says in the smallest voice<br /><br />The bus is waiting for him to get safely in the car...<br /><br />- Get in the car Damian.<br /><br />He gets in and smiles at me.<br />- Don't you want to give me a kiss? I ask, almost whining.<br />- I do, just....<br />- Just not in front of the bus?<br />Yes, he nods.<br /><br />I get my kiss, and drive home.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7364977129693306781?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-50733441651197869812007-12-07T17:42:00.000-05:002007-12-07T17:46:01.780-05:00Yesterday, Little A decided he likes rice, meat, and okra (courtesy of "teta"). Today, he decided he does not want his rice and peas, but he prefers the chicken on mommy's plate.<br />I love improvements!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5073344165119786981?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-43602362516743524332007-10-22T12:24:00.000-04:002007-10-22T12:31:57.765-04:00American female doctors account of 4 idyllic days in Lebanon 2 days before the war. A personal glimpse in the beauty and wonder of a misunderstood country ...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1QsYYHVO8QQ"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1QsYYHVO8QQ" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4360236251674352433?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-46058719506495286782007-10-21T23:03:00.000-04:002007-10-22T12:24:55.491-04:00<a href="http://www.meez.com/makiki" title=""><img src="http://images.meez.com/user04/08/05/0805_10027363728.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/CIMP/JnB0PTExOTMwMjE5NDUyMzMmcD0xMjYxMSZkPSZuPWJsb2dnZXI=.jpg" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4605871950649528678?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-24413445580487666062007-10-19T10:52:00.000-04:002007-10-19T16:57:42.748-04:00<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WsSuvUveUWo"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WsSuvUveUWo" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br />Get up now<br />Get up now<br />Get up out of bed<br />Wash your face<br />Brush your teeth<br />Comb your sleepy head<br />Here's your clothes<br />And your shoes<br />Hear the words I said<br />Get up now<br />Get up and make your bed<br />Are you hot?<br />Are you cold?<br />Are you wearing that?<br />Where's your books and your lunch and your homework at?<br />Grab your coat and your gloves and your scarf and hat<br />Don't forget you got to feed the cat<br />Eat your breakfast<br />The experts tell us it's the most important meal of all<br />Take your vitamins so you will grow up one day to be big and tall<br />Please remember the orthodontist will be seeing you at three today?<br />Don't forget your piano lesson is this afternoon<br />So you must play<br />Don't shovel<br />Chew slowly<br />But hurry<br />The bus is here<br />Be careful<br />Come back here<br />Did you wash behind your ears?<br />Play outside<br />Don't play rough<br />Would you just play fair?<br />Be polite<br />Make a friend<br />Don't forget to share<br />Work it out<br />Wait your turn<br />Never take a dare<br />Get along<br />Don't make me come down there<br />Clean your room<br />Fold your clothes<br />Put your stuff away<br />Make your bed<br />Do it now<br />Do we have all day?<br />Were you born in a barn?<br />Would you like some hay<br />Can you even hear a word I say?<br />Answer the phone<br />Get Off the phone<br />Don't sit so close<br />Turn it down<br />No texting at the table<br />No more computer time tonight<br />Your iPod's my iPod if you don't listen up<br />Where you going and with whom and what time do you think you're coming home?<br />Saying thank you, please, excuse me<br />Makes you welcome everywhere you roam<br />You'll appreciate my wisdom<br />Someday when you're older and you're grown<br />Can't wait 'til you have a couple little children of your own<br />You'll thank me for the counsel I gave you so willingly<br />But right now<br />I thank you NOT to roll your eyes at me<br />Close your mouth when you chew<br />Would appreciate<br />Take a bite<br />Maybe two<br />Of the stuff you hate<br />Use your fork<br />Do not you burp<br />Or I'll set you straight<br />Eat the food I put upon your plate<br />Get an A, Get the door<br />Don't get smart with me<br />Get a Grip<br />Get in here I'll count to 3<br />Get a job<br />Get a life<br />Get a PhD<br />Get a dose of...<br />I don't care who started it<br />You're grounded until your 36<br />Get your story straight<br />And tell the truth for once for heaven's sake<br />And if all your friends jumped off a cliff<br />Would you jump too?<br />If I've said it once, I've said at least a thousand times before that<br />You're too old to act this way<br />It must be your father's DNA<br />Look at me when I am talking<br />Stand up straight when you walk<br />A place for everything<br />And everything must be in place<br />Stop crying or I'll give you something real to cry about<br />Oh!<br />Brush your teeth<br />Wash your face<br />Get your PJs on<br />Get in bed<br />Get a hug<br />Say a prayer with Mom<br />Don't forget<br />I love you<br />**KISS**<br />And tomorrow we will do this all again because a mom's work never ends<br />You don't need the reason why<br />Because<br />Because<br />Because<br />Because<br />I said so<br />I said so<br />I said so<br />I said so<br />I'm the Mom<br />The mom<br />The mom<br />The mom<br />The mom<br />Ta-da<br /><br />Words by Anita Renfroe Copyright 2007 Bluebonnet Hills Music/BMI<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-2441344558048766606?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-2169919767215592612007-08-30T18:18:00.001-04:002007-08-30T20:32:05.626-04:00Honestly the 29th came and left and we didn't know about it!<br /><br />I woke up this morning as T was getting ready to go to work, and I said<br />-"Happy anniversary" <br /><br />He looked at me in disbelief<br />- "What day is is it today?" I could hear the skeptical note in his voice<br />- "The 29th.<br />- "No!! I'll make it up to you, I promise,"<br />- "Oh don't worry."<br />- "No really, we'll do something on the week-end"<br /><br />And he left to work.<br /><br />I played with Little A a little bit, then turned the tv on. CP24, let's see how the weather is today. Wait a minute, that can't be!! it's the 30th! They must be wrong. Weather Channel, Breakfast Television.... Maybe it's the wrong day altogether in Canada. Let's try the US based channels... Oh well....<br /><br />So I called him.<br />- "Uh, today is actually the 30th"<br />- "Really?"<br />- "Really." <br /><br />We missed it! WE seem to have skipped the 29th altogether. Maybe we slept the day away? (I wish! sleeping for more that a few hours, now THAT would be a great anniversary present) <br /><br />I really thought it was the 29th. I really did. I remember looking at the Calendar in my computer and thinking: Oh, today is the 28th. I'll go buy T something tomorrow morning and give it to him when he gets back from work. I could swear that was yesterday.... Wasn't it? Apparently, that was the day BEFORE yesterday.<br /><br />Oh well.<br /><br />Hopefully we'll remember NEXT year. After all. It is the 10th. TENTH. <br /><br />So I went to Costco today and got him a Nintendo DS with a couple of games. I hope he likes it. I know I do :-) <br /><br />I'll probably end up using it myself instead. <br /><br />Oh well, it <strong>is</strong> OUR anniversary.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-216991976721559261?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-80317193028536087102007-08-17T11:49:00.000-04:002007-08-18T18:53:06.008-04:00<A HREF='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rsd3dAzEVHI/AAAAAAAAARo/aYb17uaGq2E/s1600-h/Damian+-+tooth.jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rsd3dAzEVHI/AAAAAAAAARo/aYb17uaGq2E/s160/Damian+-+tooth.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A>&nbsp; Today. D lost his first tooth. Lost his first tooth!! Where did my baby go? Five and a half years!! It's not THAT long is it? A drop in time, yet, MY BABY LOST HIS FIRST TOOTH!!<br /><br />and then Little A started clapping.<br /><br />What next?<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8031719302853608710?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-41635278152957603672007-07-31T16:42:00.000-04:002007-07-31T16:48:54.584-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_TnMeatglwRg/Rq3ySQnliJI/AAAAAAAAAjI/_Lr0tIrU8OE/s1600-h/peas.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_TnMeatglwRg/Rq3ySQnliJI/AAAAAAAAAjI/_Lr0tIrU8OE/s400/peas.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5092993149138471058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Little A, I am happy to say is now consistently eating his solids. Cereal in the morning, one whole jar for lunch, another for dinner. Of course, with mommy's milk in between, and always, always cheerios.<br /><br />He, at least, is giving peas a chance. He LOVES his peas. Green peas, on the other hand. Nope, na-ah, no way, not a chance. I remember Mr. D being the same :-)<br /><br /><a href=//http://shopapples-n-oranges.blogspot.com/2007/07/peas-please.html>Apples 'n' Oranges</a>, an online store that sells kids and baby clothes, is offering a chance to win the onesie to anyone who writes about it on their personal blog. But even if you're not a blogger, you can still enter if you email the company and "pinky swear" that you'll tell at least one other person about the contest.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4163527815295760367?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-83881488983092456812007-07-28T20:21:00.000-04:002007-07-28T20:22:02.752-04:00<A HREF='http://bp2.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rqvdpg9nfRI/AAAAAAAAAQs/9_mAyj9REB4/s1600-h/Aidan_May1_07(3).jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp2.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rqvdpg9nfRI/AAAAAAAAAQs/9_mAyj9REB4/s320/Aidan_May1_07(3).jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' ></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqA9nfSI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/ddYdQ384txg/s1600-h/Aidan_May1_07(1).jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqA9nfSI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/ddYdQ384txg/s320/Aidan_May1_07(1).jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' ></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqQ9nfTI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/_PzWyazX8Nk/s1600-h/Aidan_May1_07(2).jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqQ9nfTI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/_PzWyazX8Nk/s320/Aidan_May1_07(2).jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' ></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqQ9nfUI/AAAAAAAAARE/ckWyxSXcqZk/s1600-h/Aidan_May1_07(4).jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RqvdqQ9nfUI/AAAAAAAAARE/ckWyxSXcqZk/s320/Aidan_May1_07(4).jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' ></A>&nbsp;<div style='clear:both; text-align:NONE'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8388148898309245681?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-40924814876563021042007-07-25T10:45:00.000-04:002007-07-25T10:49:27.950-04:00I receive weekly updates from BabyCenter.com regarding what to expect regarding Little A's development.<br /><br />A few moments ago, I clicked on the email received, and it read something like that:<br /><br />"One day you'll walk into your baby's room and find him standing up grinning at you. Many 8-month-olds are strong enough to pull up onto their feet and stay there by holding on to you or a piece of furniture. A somewhat comical aspect of this wonderful development is that some babies know how to get up — but not back down again. They will stand and stand as long as they can hold on, and finally either tumble down or begin to cry to be "rescued."<br /><br />And I grinned :-)<br />This morning, at 6:16AM, I walk into Aidan's room, responding to his, well, there's no other to describe it,his wailing, to find him standing up in his crib, holding on to the railing!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4092481487656302104?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-90314136782763887402007-05-17T17:06:00.000-04:002007-05-17T17:10:34.569-04:00Do you know what solid means? It means smelly smelly, oh so smelly diaper poo.<br /><br />Oh how I miss "breastfeeding pooh." If there is any argument for the benefits of breastfeeding, and solely breastfeeding your baby, it's this: no stinky diapers!<br /><br />"Dad, you wanna change your darling boy's diaper?"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-9031413678276388740?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-34760825585261387102007-05-16T13:14:00.001-04:002007-05-16T13:14:51.753-04:00<div><embed src="http://widget-55.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bb&amp;il=1&amp;channel=72057594048259157&amp;site=widget-55.slide.com" style="width:400px;height:300px" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?ad=1&amp;tt=28&amp;sk=0&amp;cy=bb&amp;th=37&amp;id=72057594048259157&amp;map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-55.slide.com/p1/72057594048259157/bb_t028_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?ad=1&amp;tt=28&amp;sk=0&amp;cy=bb&amp;th=37&amp;id=72057594048259157&amp;map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-55.slide.com/p2/72057594048259157/bb_t028_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3476082558526138710?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-30835308312016343772007-05-15T23:26:00.000-04:002007-05-15T23:27:22.272-04:00<table border="0" cellPadding="0" cellSpacing="0"><tr><td><a target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/play/4e7a55784f44497a0a&campaign=blog_playback_link"><img style="border: none" src="http://www.smilebox.com/snap/4e7a55784f44497a0a.jpg" alt="Mother's Day" /></a></td></tr><tr><td><a target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/?campaign=blog_logo"><img style="border: none" src="http://www.smilebox.com/images/blogLogoSmilebox.gif" alt="powered by Smilebox" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><a style="font-size: medium" target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/play/4e7a55784f44497a0a&campaign=blog_playback_link">Click to play</a><span style="font-size: medium" > | </span><a style="font-size: medium" target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/makeYourOwnRedirect.jsp?partner=savvymom&campaign=blog_post_makeyourown">Make your own Smilebox</a></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3083530831201634377?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-30272577834099428402007-05-13T22:26:00.000-04:002007-05-13T22:37:09.443-04:00The magic day is here... well one of many to come. But that day was Little A's 6 months birthday -- halfway through to his first birthday. And today he had his first taste of solid food. We skipped cereal and went straight to carrots - well, strained carrots. And the experience was priceless, and of course, caught on tape.<br /><br />Laura and Shaun came over for a BBQ, and of curse, for the ladies to watch Gray's Anatomy.<br /><br />While the men were barbecuing, Little A sat in his high chair, and he was ready for his first bite...<br /><br /><em>(The video might take some time to load as it is about 5 minutes long)</em><br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=1118206606346772998&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3027257783409942840?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-74427823660354527152007-05-08T22:32:00.000-04:002007-05-08T22:33:01.731-04:00<table border="0" cellPadding="0" cellSpacing="0"><tr><td><a target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/play/4e6a63334d5445340a&campaign=blog_playback_link"><img style="border: none" src="http://www.smilebox.com/snap/4e6a63334d5445340a.jpg" alt="Me & The Boys" /></a></td></tr><tr><td><a target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/?campaign=blog_logo"><img style="border: none" src="http://www.smilebox.com/images/blogLogoSmilebox.gif" alt="powered by Smilebox" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><a style="font-size: medium" target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/play/4e6a63334d5445340a&campaign=blog_playback_link">Click to play</a><span style="font-size: medium" > | </span><a style="font-size: medium" target="_blank" href="http://www.smilebox.com/makeYourOwnRedirect.jsp?partner=savvymom&campaign=blog_post_makeyourown">Make your own Smilebox</a></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7442782366035452715?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-48793202735887388102007-04-21T16:40:00.000-04:002007-04-22T17:49:25.068-04:00<A HREF='http://bp3.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bQlWKBI/AAAAAAAAAP8/CBOVnPz5hM0/s1600-h/DSC04013.JPG'><IMG SRC='http://bp3.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bQlWKBI/AAAAAAAAAP8/CBOVnPz5hM0/s160/DSC04013.JPG' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:right;'></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bglWKCI/AAAAAAAAAQE/GEGFLPIuviI/s1600-h/DSC04014.JPG'><IMG SRC='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bglWKCI/AAAAAAAAAQE/GEGFLPIuviI/s160/DSC04014.JPG' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:right;'></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bglWKDI/AAAAAAAAAQM/AN6ExD2-xMI/s1600-h/DSC04015.JPG'><IMG SRC='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/Rip3bglWKDI/AAAAAAAAAQM/AN6ExD2-xMI/s160/DSC04015.JPG' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:right;'></A>&nbsp;<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=9178678886270449327&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><br /><br /><div style='clear:both; text-align:RIGHT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4879320273588738810?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-73416768076675531062007-04-21T16:24:00.000-04:002007-04-21T16:28:11.099-04:00<A HREF='http://bp3.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RipzXQlWJ_I/AAAAAAAAAPs/6XgwenDISMo/s1600-h/DSC04017.JPG'><IMG SRC='http://bp3.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RipzXQlWJ_I/AAAAAAAAAPs/6XgwenDISMo/s400/DSC04017.JPG' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left;'></A>&nbsp;<br /><A HREF='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RipzXglWKAI/AAAAAAAAAP0/QCHWweHoLzY/s1600-h/DSC04018.JPG'><IMG SRC='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RipzXglWKAI/AAAAAAAAAP0/QCHWweHoLzY/s400/DSC04018.JPG' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left;'></A>&nbsp;<br />Spring is finally here! While Daddy and D left to watch "Meet the Robinsons" Little A and I went for a walk around the block (or two). It felt... wonderful. The sounds of a Leaf Blower are so much better than the snow blower, lol. At least for now. We met other moms and their baby strollers (and ther babies of course), douzens of kids on etheir bikes (come to think of it, mostly girls...) Daddy took D for a bike ride this morning, so he did not miss out on that. A lot of people working outside! Even a couple cleaning up their canoes :-) Barbecues being cleaned, Patio sets being cleaned, a lot of Basket Ball stands outside, and children playing,,, even one lady was sun-tanning :-)<br /><br />Beautiful! Little A thinks we should do it again tomorrow.<br /><br />Aren't his glasses soooo cute!<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7341676807667553106?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-33919101751946374162007-04-18T12:58:00.000-04:002007-04-18T13:01:03.211-04:00<a href="http://www.shanebernier.ca">www.shanebernier.ca</a><br /><br />Send a Happy 8th Birthday card to:<br /><br />Shane Bernier<br />P.O.Box 484<br />Lancaster, ON<br />KOC 1NO<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3391910175194637416?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-58343595824110998252007-04-11T12:38:00.000-04:002007-04-21T16:51:39.807-04:00<strong>Excerpts from a Dog's Diary</strong> <br /><br />8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing! <br />9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing! <br />9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing! <br />10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing! <br />12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing! <br />1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing! <br />3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing! <br />5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing! <br />7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing! <br />8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing! <br />11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing! <br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><strong>Excerpts from a Cat's Diary</strong> <br /><br /><em>Day 983 of my captivity. </em><br /><br />My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.<br /><br />Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!<br /><br />There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.<br /><br />Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.<br /><br />I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5834359582411099825?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-5626636863647415822007-04-10T13:07:00.000-04:002007-04-16T19:16:33.754-04:00Little A is 5 months old today, and my brain cannot figure out if it should think in terms of "Already five months old?" or "Only five months old?"<br /><br />The little weasel wiggled his way into my heart, into our lives, and nestled in it, as if he's always been there. I guess he knew he always belonged.<br /><br />Before he was born, and especially when I knew it was another boy, I thought to myself that he was an unlucky one. I wondered to myself(maybe like many mothers out there) how possible is it that he will get the same love, affection, attention, that inexplicable feeling I have when I look at D. I honestly could not find any place in my heart for more, yes, I admit it, love! I thought, and the key word here is "thought" that my heart was full, to the rim.<br /><br />What I didn't realize that, the reason I thought it was full, was because there was this "love capsule" that was in my heart... and it was sealed. And when A was born, the same Milli-second he came to this world, God unsealed it, and all that love poured out... and it is still flowing.<br /><br />Five months ago, A came into my life, and I knew he's the one I wanted all along. He is the only one who can belong. He is the piece of the puzzle we never knew was missing.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-562663686364741582?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-36522703192924307032007-04-06T12:12:00.000-04:002007-04-06T22:21:13.344-04:00<A HREF='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RhZ064ItLAI/AAAAAAAAAPg/GdZ7yuLB-mk/s1600-h/Salsa+Babies.jpg'><IMG SRC='http://bp0.blogger.com/_IN3iqzyyWTg/RhZ064ItLAI/AAAAAAAAAPg/GdZ7yuLB-mk/s400/Salsa+Babies.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' ></A>&nbsp;<br /><br />Every Thursday, little A and I go to a Salsa Babies class. The video here shows what we do. This is not OUR class, but very similar... same "teacher".<br />(For some reason, sound for this one does not work when you watch it through my blog. You can click on YouTube on the lower right corner to watch with sound)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CAGtm-U4hhc"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CAGtm-U4hhc" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><div style='clear:both; text-align:NONE'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3652270319292430703?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-53987642959858355902007-04-04T09:06:00.000-04:002007-04-05T14:32:10.672-04:00As we are getting ready for our trip to Greece (64 more days to go!!) D is taking swimming lessons. What's the point of being surrounded by beautiful blue beaches if you can't fully enjoy it!<br /><br />The video attached is from his 3rd lesson. In order to really realize how much of an achievement what he is doing is, you need to first understand this: If you were to go swim with him in the "deep end" you usually would have the imprint of his fingers on your neck for at least a week afterwards!!<br /><br />10 more lessons to go!<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-4175012151732290975&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=8038621281243020545&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=855495390171232563&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5398764295985835590?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-87014597671411294392007-03-04T22:16:00.000-05:002007-03-04T22:18:04.955-05:00<embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=8410305164917870377&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8701459767141129439?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-8394598890353914492007-01-19T12:30:00.000-05:002007-01-19T12:31:20.910-05:00My Little Man <br /><br />He wont be little very long,<br />so hold him while you can...<br />In just a year or two or three,<br />He'll be your "Little Man".<br />With blocks to build and bugs to catch<br />And double-dares to try-<br />So much to see and feel and do<br />as days and months fly by...<br />So take the time to treasure<br />these precious baby years<br />As his first tooth...first word... first step<br />Become sweet souvenirs.<br /><br />-Anonymous<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-839459889035391449?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-31563577150839418722007-01-16T12:47:00.000-05:002007-01-16T13:31:01.877-05:00<div><embed src="http://widget-9b.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bb&amp;il=1&amp;channel=72057594047274651&amp;site=widget-9b.slide.com" width="400" height="320" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=12&amp;cy=bb&amp;ad=1&amp;id=72057594047274651&amp;map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-9b.slide.com/p1/72057594047274651/bb_t012_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=12&amp;cy=bb&amp;ad=1&amp;id=72057594047274651&amp;map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-9b.slide.com/p2/72057594047274651/bb_t012_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></div></div><br /><br />And a video will be added...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3156357715083941872?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-92195742809760423572007-01-11T21:27:00.000-05:002007-01-12T12:37:37.581-05:00Okay, if you have volume you'd know for sure...<br /><p><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-5385917197019700535&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><br /><p><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-3523441459671285282&hl=en-CA" flashvars=""> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-9219574280976042357?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-13427497008633952312007-01-10T21:54:00.001-05:002007-01-10T21:54:25.108-05:00<div><embed src="http://widget-89.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bb&amp;il=1&amp;channel=72057594047214985&amp;site=widget-89.slide.com" width="400" height="300" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=21&amp;cy=bb&amp;ad=0&amp;id=72057594047214985&amp;map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-89.slide.com/p1/72057594047214985/bb_t021_v000_a000_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=21&amp;cy=bb&amp;ad=0&amp;id=72057594047214985&amp;map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-89.slide.com/p2/72057594047214985/bb_t021_v000_a000_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-1342749700863395231?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-81630387504587393652007-01-08T20:43:00.000-05:002007-01-08T21:36:09.401-05:00<div><embed src="http://widget-ed.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bl&amp;il=1&amp;channel=72057594047192557&amp;site=widget-ed.slide.com" width="400" height="375" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=0&amp;cy=bl&amp;ad=1&amp;id=72057594047192557&amp;map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-ed.slide.com/p1/72057594047192557/bl_t000_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?tt=0&amp;cy=bl&amp;ad=1&amp;id=72057594047192557&amp;map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-ed.slide.com/p2/72057594047192557/bl_t000_v000_a001_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8163038750458739365?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-81837943589411470722006-11-12T22:33:00.000-05:002006-11-12T22:34:19.263-05:00<div><embed src="http://widget-0d.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-0d.slide.com&channel=72057594046421773&cy=bl&il=1" width="400" height="320" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a style="vertical-align:middle" href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=72057594046421773&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-0d.slide.com/h2/72057594046421773/bl_t017_v000_a000_f00/images/slide3.gif" border="0"/></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=72057594046421773&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank">Get Your Own!</a> | <a href="http://www.slide.com/msview/ticker?cid=72057594046421773&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank">View Slideshow</a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8183794358941147072?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-58483544386467055202006-11-12T20:36:00.000-05:002006-11-12T20:38:54.490-05:00Comments to Follow...<br />Aidan was born Nov 10, 2006 3:49 AM, 3540 g (7 lb 10oz), 51 cm<br /><p><br /><p><br /><div><embed src="http://widget-a2.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-a2.slide.com&channel=144115188076353186&cy=bl&il=1" width="400" height="320" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a style="vertical-align:middle" href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=144115188076353186&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-a2.slide.com/h2/144115188076353186/bl_t017_v000_a000_f00/images/slide3.gif" border="0"/></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=144115188076353186&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank">Get Your Own!</a> | <a href="http://www.slide.com/msview/ticker?cid=144115188076353186&cy=bl&tt=17&at=0" target="_blank">View Slideshow</a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5848354438646705520?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-58994937791824143202006-10-31T22:09:00.000-05:002006-10-31T22:14:10.029-05:00Halloween is a tradition celebrated on the night of October 31, most notably by children dressing in costumes and going door-to-door collecting sweets, fruit, and other treats. It is celebrated in parts of the Western world, most commonly in the United States, Canada, the UK, Ireland, and with increasing popularity in Australia and New Zealand.<br /><br />The term Halloween, and its older spelling Hallowe'en, is shortened from All-hallow-even, as it is the evening before "All Hallows' Day" (also known as "All Saints' Day"). The holiday was a day of religious festivities in various northern European Pagan traditions, until Popes Gregory III and Gregory IV moved the old Christian feast of All Saints Day from May 13 to November 1. In Ireland, the name was All Hallows' Eve (often shortened to Hallow Eve), and though seldom used today, it is still a well-accepted label.<br />(Wikepedia)<br /><br /><br /><div><embed src="http://widget-f0.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-f0.slide.com&channel=72057594046147312&cy=bl&il=1" width="475" height="375" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width:475px;text-align:left;"><a style="vertical-align:middle" href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=72057594046147312&cy=bl&tt=16&at=0" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-f0.slide.com/h2/72057594046147312/bl_t016_v000_a000_f00/images/slide3.gif" border="0"/></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/msnew/ticker?cid=72057594046147312&cy=bl&tt=16&at=0" target="_blank">Get Your Own!</a> | <a href="http://www.slide.com/msview/ticker?cid=72057594046147312&cy=bl&tt=16&at=0" target="_blank">View Slideshow</a></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5899493779182414320?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-79049896503408256892006-10-31T10:02:00.000-05:002006-10-31T10:04:15.106-05:00Mommy's song to Damian, since he was in her tummy<br /><br />You're just too good to be true<br />can't take my eyes off of you<br />you'd be like heaven to touch<br />I wanna hold you so much<br />at long last love has arrived<br />and I thank God I'm alive<br />you're just too good to be true<br />can't take my eyes off of you<br /><br />Pardon the way that I stare<br />there's nothing else to compare<br />the sight of you leaves me weak<br />there are no words left to speak<br />but if you feel like I feel<br />please let me know that it's real<br />you're just too good to be true<br />can't take my eyes off of you<br /><br />chorus:<br />I love you baby and if it's quite alright<br />I need you baby to warm the lonely nights<br />I love you baby, trust in me when I say:ok<br />Oh pretty baby, don't let me down, I pray<br />oh pretty baby, now that I've found you, stay<br />and let me love you, baby, let me love you <br /><br />You're just too good to be true<br />can't take my eyes off of you<br />you'd be like heaven to touch<br />I wanna hold you so much<br />at long last love has arrived<br />and I thank God I'm alive<br />you're just too good to be true<br />can't take my eyes off of you<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7904989650340825689?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-44255741512831132292006-10-27T20:51:00.000-04:002006-10-27T20:57:03.151-04:00<a href="http://www.pascalbeaudenon.com/photos_album2.html">Lebanon</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4425574151283113229?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-14603806589707981672006-10-25T09:46:00.000-04:002006-10-25T15:36:45.720-04:00... where Damian likes to sit and watch me cook...<br /><br />-"Mommy, my back hurts"<br />-"Why, what happened?<br />-"Somebody hit me, like that"<br />-"Who hit you?"<br />-"Oh... no I fell..."<br />-"You fell?"<br />(Pause)<br />-"Damian, why don't you take a few moments, and decide which story you want to tell me first, and then tell me how it happened, okay?"<br />(Pause)<br />-"I was walking like this and then I went like that and I hurt my back...."<br />- "Oh poor baby, I have an idea! How about I eat that part of your back, this way I will take your owie away, and it won't hurt anymore..."<br />- "How about you kiss it better"<br />-"Okay"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-1460380658970798167?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-75064049124645499082006-10-23T19:28:00.000-04:002006-10-24T16:33:56.576-04:00- "Damian, you didn't eat your sandwich!"<br />- "You're not happy?"<br />- "I'm not happy that you didn't eat your sandwich"<br />- "But you're still happy?<br /> Because you love me?"<br />- "Yes, I am happy because I love you."<br /><br />.... (thoughtful pause)<br /><br />-"You're not going to give me anymore hugs and kisses?"<br />-"Of course I will, why do you think that?"<br />-"Because I didn't eat my sandwich"<br />-"Nothing you can do will make me stop giving you hugs and kisses! Because I will always love you. Damian, I love you"<br />-"Love you too"<br /><br /><em>I just love our conversations<br />My Angel Big Boy Baby!</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7506404912464549908?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-51718409106177784652006-10-20T22:12:00.001-04:002006-10-20T22:12:36.662-04:00<a href="http://blaugh.com/2006/10/19/to-bcc-or-not-to-bcc" rel="bookmark"><img class="comic" title="To BCC or Not to BCC" alt="To BCC or Not to BCC" src="http://blaugh.com/cartoons/061019_always_use_bcc.gif" width="447" height="250"/></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-5171840910617778465?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-320108555623120462006-10-17T10:54:00.000-04:002006-10-17T10:55:19.420-04:00It is moments like these that make me thankful that hubby dear is not so technologically inclined :-)<br /><br /><a href="http://blaugh.com/2006/10/04/sharing-the-love-via-flickr/" rel="bookmark"><img class="comic" title="Sharing The Love" alt="Sharing The Love" src="http://blaugh.com/cartoons/061004_sharing_the_birth.gif" width="447" height="250"/></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-32010855562312046?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-9652005351224885802006-10-13T21:13:00.000-04:002006-10-13T21:15:35.111-04:00"When you get an S with a line, and not too many numbers next to it, you get a point".<br /><br />Hmmm... I can see his logic!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-965200535122488580?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-74637690070371623242006-10-13T16:37:00.000-04:002006-10-13T16:45:59.481-04:00I like it when he runs to me and gives me a hug.... for no reason<br /><br />I like it when he puckers his lips and says: Kiss Mommy... for no reason<br /><br />I like it when he chooses me as the one to cuddle with when he's drinking his milk, before he goes to bed<br /><br />I like it when I am "Moe" in his "eeny meeny meiny moe", meaning I get to take him to bed, and shower him with kisses<br /><br />I like it when I go into his room to wake him up in the morning, and he reaches his arm out, without even opening his eyes, and hugs me close as he tries to stay asleep<br /><br />I like it when he opens his sleepy eyes, gives me a lazy smile, and says good morning mommy<br /><br />Or if it's the weekend, when he runs to my room, and just stares at me from my side of the bed, until I open my eyes to look at him, and he reaches his arms up so I can help him into bed<br /><br />I like it when he puts his mouth close to my pregnant tummy and says: Aidan Dominic stop kicking mommy!<br /><br />Or when, this morning, I realized that I forgot my jacket at home when I was dropping him at school...<br />Me: uh-oh<br />Damian: what?<br />Me: I forgot my jacket at home, I thought I had it in the car, but I don't<br />Damian: Oh!<br />Me: Come on Damian, un-buckle yourslef, mommy needs to go!<br />Damian: You're going back home?<br />Me: No Damian, I need to go to work!<br />Damian: But you don't have a jacket!<br /><br /><em>What do I say to that! But, my little angel!</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7463769007037162324?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-65539922668113892982006-10-11T21:16:00.000-04:002006-10-11T21:33:59.900-04:00Mia NOT Culpa :-)... but it doesn't make it any better...<br /><br />Over the weekend, we went out shopping. Damian asked if he can watch Madagascar when he gets home. I told him, sure, if he's a good boy... Well, bribery works! For he was a good boy!<br /><br />We get home and watch "Madagascar." The highlights? When the song: "You've got to move it" came on, and Damian got up and started dancing. How sweet! How cute!!<br /><br />When the movie was done, Damian asked to watch the Penguin one. The Penguin one? What Penguin one? The Christmas Penguin one. I finally figure it out, and we watch it.<br /><br />Aha!! Got it! The "Head" Penguin kept saying: "What the?"<br /><br />What the!! I really do not think that it was appropriate to have that on a children show... but it was... and that's where Damian picked it up from.<br /><br />Oh well, as least now I feel "less" guilty.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-6553992266811389298?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-75493585000112284222006-10-05T22:08:00.000-04:002006-10-05T22:09:24.192-04:00<embed src="http://widget-dc.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-dc.slide.com&channel=72057594044364508&cy=bl" width="426" height="320" name="flashticker" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><img src="http://widget-dc.slide.com/f2/72057594044364508/bl_t014_v000_a000_f00/images/blank.gif" height="0" width="0" style="border: 0;"/><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-7549358500011228422?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-47320726885466724222006-10-03T22:23:00.000-04:002006-10-03T22:45:30.484-04:00<embed src="http://widget-14.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-14.slide.com&channel=72057594044242708&cy=bl" width="475" height="375" name="flashticker" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><img src="http://widget-14.slide.com/f2/72057594044242708/bl_t001_v000_a000_f00/images/blank.gif" height="0" width="0" style="border: 0;"/><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4732072688546672422?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-34000174201720401512006-10-03T21:08:00.000-04:002006-10-03T21:10:40.918-04:00<embed src="http://widget-b1.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-b1.slide.com&channel=72057594044233905&cy=bl" width="426" height="320" name="flashticker" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><img src="http://widget-b1.slide.com/f2/72057594044233905/bl_t011_v000_a000_f00/images/blank.gif" height="0" width="0" style="border: 0;"/><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3400017420172040151?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-33114372555643159572006-10-01T12:35:00.000-04:002006-10-01T12:38:11.578-04:00<embed src="http://widget-3d.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-3d.slide.com&channel=72057594043984957&cy=bl" width="475" height="375" name="flashticker" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><img src="http://widget-3d.slide.com/f2/72057594043984957/bl_t017_v000_a000_f00/images/blank.gif" height="0" width="0" style="border: 0;"/><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-3311437255564315957?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-81209390095392193712006-09-30T11:48:00.000-04:002006-09-30T11:53:41.817-04:00<embed src="http://widget-70.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-70.slide.com&channel=72057594043891824&cy=bl" width="400" height="200" name="flashticker" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><img src="http://widget-70.slide.com/f2/72057594043891824/bl_t000_v000_a000_f00/images/blank.gif" height="0" width="0" style="border: 0;"/><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-8120939009539219371?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-45559216446648041592006-09-22T11:28:00.000-04:002006-09-22T11:41:08.465-04:00Okay, I admit it. Sometimes... alright! often, I am not good at keeping my mouth shut. Or, to be nice to myself, should I say, in holding back, my words that is. I can clearly recall a few times, when I was in the car, and somebody cut me off, or did something else stupid like that, and me saying: "What the?" Exactly that "what the?" just these two words... and of course, Mr. D. is in his car seat in the back. Umph! Couldn't hold it back, could you. And, oh so innocently him asking: "What's wrong mommy?" Oh nothing, Damian, don't worry.<br /><br />Well, late last week, we were at home, and Damian says: "what the?" I must say, it was at an appropriate moment. At the right time (I don't remember what he was doing). So I calmly say: "Damian, that is inappropriate, I don't want you to say "what the" again."<br />And, Damian, oh so innocently replies: "But I didn't say the last word..."<br />What? What!! He knows that there's a last word, and that it's a bad word? How? When? Why? What? ... Who?<br />"Excuse me Damian"<br />"I said I didn't say the last word mommy..." (that innocent tone again!)<br />"It doesn't matter, I don't want you to say "what the", it's inappropriate (as you probably realised by now, we are learning what is appropriate, and what is not)...<br /><br />Now I thought, he meant, I am not saying the last word, which is "h..l"... which is what I stop myself from saying, when I am saying "what the"... and then a colleague at work opened up my eyes to another possibility... what if he meant he is not saying: "What the f...k"<br />What? What!!!<br />Somebody salt me, I'm fainting...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-4555921644664804159?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158278488995753612006-09-14T19:59:00.000-04:002006-09-18T11:57:42.413-04:00Damian, when he knows the camera is on...<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=8465238072659466171&hl=en-CA" quality="best" bgcolor="#ffffff" scale="noScale" salign="TL" FlashVars="playerMode=embedded"> </embed><br /><br />Addendum, on September 18, 2006:<br />Yes, I know, wrong words to the french version!! I know, I know, cousin O already called me <em>just</em> to inform me of that....<br /><br />... and when he thought it was off<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-1270783275440757462&hl=en-CA" quality="best" bgcolor="#ffffff" scale="noScale" salign="TL" FlashVars="playerMode=embedded"> </embed><em></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115827848899575361?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158201724402349712006-09-13T22:36:00.000-04:002006-09-13T22:42:04.430-04:00<table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tr><td colspan="2"><embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-9017017264708213521&amp;hl=en-CA" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"> </embed></td></tr><tr/><tr><td>My soccer star<br /> </td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115820172440234971?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158085496852644582006-09-08T19:00:00.000-04:002006-09-13T12:44:44.386-04:00I waited for that day, I dreaded that day. Who was more nervous? I am pretty sure it was me. Damian had a restful night that Thursday night, the night before the big day. I wonder if I had a full hour of sleep at anytime.<br /><br />Daddy and I drove him to school. I had a knot in my stomach, Damian was excited. We waited with him in the playground, daddy playing with him, and I, standing on the side, watching him.<br /><br />Then we go into class, and his teacher says, Do you want to go play Damian? say bye to Mommy and Daddy. I give him a big hug, and a big kiss, and as Daddy is squeezing him tight I tell Dmian to tell him that he needs to go and play! So Damian pushes Daddy and says: I need to go and play Daddy! Then the teacher took his hand and walked away with him. I don't think he looked back. I did not want him to cry, of course not! Or did I? I did not know whether to feel proud of my big boy... my big boy baby... or to feel upset that he did not shed a tear.<br /><br />But it's not the first time I leave him! It's not the first time I leave him with a "stranger!" He went to day care, we left him with a "nanny!" So, why am I so emotional? I don't know. But I kept thinking, my Baby has grown up.<br /><br />So maybe that's it. This is the "official" proof that my son is no longer a baby. He is, as he often likes to say, a "big boy" now. And I still worry about him. Is the teacher going to be nice to him? Are the kids going to be nice to him? Is he going to make friends? Will he eat all his food? Am I packing enough? Is he hungry?... does he miss me?... Does it always come back to me? Am I being over protective? Or am I just being, a mom?<br /><br /><br />And then I went to pick him at the end of the day... he was not very happy... to leave!<br /><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:194px; font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:83%;"><div style="height:194px;background:url(http://picasaweb.google.com/f/img/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat left;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/mahakiki/DSFirstDayOfSchool"><img src="http://lh5.google.com/mahakiki/RQYWMsndABE/AAAAAAAAAGI/Gsh0vex60Mo/DSFirstDayOfSchool.jpg?imgmax=160&amp;crop=1" width="160" height="160" style="border:none;padding:0px;margin-top:16px;"></a></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/mahakiki/DSFirstDayOfSchool"><div style="color:#4D4D4D;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;">D&#39;s First Day of School</div></a><div style="color:#808080">Sep 8, 2006 - 4 Photos</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115808549685264458?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158166138316402492006-08-25T12:45:00.000-04:002006-09-13T12:48:58.316-04:00He surprised us! He surprised a lot of people. He's a born soccer player. Made daddy really proud, the only parent, I think, who kept scores. Who counted how many goals Damian scored :-) One time? 8 goals in one game. He definitely was the star of the game. Hey, and not only in his parents' eyes. Many of the other parents came to me and said: " You must be proud of him!" Oh yes, I am proud. Another parent said that him and his wife said that one day, they will be watching soccer on tv and say: " We know that boy" :-)<br /><br />Yes, I am a proud mommy.<br /><br />Damian will be playing indoor soccer in the summer. Are you kidding? Of course he will. University scholarship, here I come, lol.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:194px; font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:83%;"><div style="height:194px;background:url(http://picasaweb.google.com/f/img/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat left;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/mahakiki/DSLastDayOfSoccer"><img src="http://lh3.google.com/mahakiki/RQYTE_8iABE/AAAAAAAAAGU/NVCJGtjTSFQ/DSLastDayOfSoccer.jpg?imgmax=160&amp;crop=1" width="160" height="160" style="border:none;padding:0px;margin-top:16px;"></a></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/mahakiki/DSLastDayOfSoccer"><div style="color:#4D4D4D;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;">D&#39;s Last Day of Soccer</div></a><div style="color:#808080">Aug 24, 2006 - 36 Photos</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115816613831640249?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158115712793941652006-07-10T13:30:00.000-04:002006-09-13T12:51:31.336-04:00Well, we gave him a list of names, and Dominic was actually the last on the list... There's Aidan, Brendan, Dylan, Nathan (which I love, but Tamer - not so much) and Dominic. And Damian grabbed on to Dominic and wouldn't let go. Since Dominic is my least favorite name on this list, I tried to sway him away from it...The next day, I asked him: What do you want to name the baby?He couldn't remember the name, and asked me to read the names for him again. So I did, but omitted Dominic. Can't fool Damian, no you can't!!H e's like: no, no, the other name,<br />I'm like: what other name Damian?<br />- The other one, the one on the paper.<br />- Damian, there is no other name!!<br />- Yes there is<br />- No, honey, there isn't<br />- Read the one on the paper<br />- This paper?<br />- Yes, read the name!<br />Okay, I give up: You mean Dominic?<br />- Yes, yes Dominic<br /><br />He kept "forgetting" the name... yet, in a way, "knew" the name.<br />And the same scene would repeat itself day after day after day... until I gave up :-)I guess Dominic it will be!!!<br />Now he remembers with no help.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115811571279394165?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158116113425784392006-07-05T12:00:00.000-04:002006-09-12T23:10:10.383-04:00Yes, we might have a name!!<br /><br />Well, we've settled on about four names, with different combination for first and middle. Maybe, sometime soon, I'll share it with the rest of you. Cousin B might veto the name again... but, as with Damian, wouldn't matter :-p<br />After all, I chose not to name Baby Boy #2 Anthony, even though I love that name!! Damian and Anthony would've worked so well together... oh well...<br /><br />Suggestions are still being accepted. So, friends and family, don't hesitate to suggest... as long as you are willing to accept that your suggestions might NOT be taken into consideration :-)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115811611342578439?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158116257193531122006-06-09T20:30:00.000-04:002006-09-12T23:10:31.043-04:00The other way, the other way!!!<br />That's what you could here most of the time at soccer:<br />"Run the other way!!"<br />As all the children would do is run after the ball, regardless which direction it's going, trying to score a goal at whatever goalie the ball was running towards.<br />Like a school of fish, you'd see them running after the ball, all towards the left, now all towards the right... trying to get a kick, even if it's stealing the ball from a teammate....<br />They were so cute!<br />'Till next week!<br />I wonder when they'll get the rules down pat.... Maybe next year, hopefully.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115811625719353112?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34291115.post-1158116436962509442006-06-06T22:57:00.000-04:002006-09-12T23:10:50.190-04:00He is now almost 5, months old that is... well, he's 4 1/2 months old, the fetus that is, and I am five months pregnant, today... Today I start the fifth.<br /><br />Another boy!! But then, Damian knew it all along, demanded it in a way. No way you can even mention it could be a girl. He wants a brother, he got a brother. But then, more often than not, whatever Damian wants, Damian gets :-) And I hope it will be this way till the rest of his life. My big boy baby :-) At least I can still use the word baby when I talk to him, as long as it is following: "big boy." Damian, my big boy baby.<br /><br />So now, a dilemna. What should we name baby boy #2. We want something as unique as Damian. True, "Damian" is starting to be not so unique now. but we started the trend. And now, with the Omen revived, I am sure more people will realize what a beautiful name "Damian" is, and there will be more of them. One thing I am sure about though, when Damian starts school in September, I am pretty sure there will only be one Damian in his class.<br /><br />And we want the second to have the same. He might be #2 in birth order, but he will definitely still be a #1 in his own right. Including a name, we hope! We spent a lot of time the last couple of days trying to find a name. Zippo yet. No, I don't mean we're naming him Zippo... I mean zero, nilch, nada, nothing yet.<br /><br />We still have five more months of thinking to do, even though I would like to find a name quickly. With Damian it was so easy. But then again, "it was written in the stars!!" Well, in the baby name book I had anyways. Damian: to tame, or tamer... Did you really think that his dad, Tamer, would pass that up. Well, I must admit, I was just as adamant about it as he was. And Damian was born. And his name suits him so well. And no, I do not mean he's a devil of a child. He is definitely an angel. A spoiled angel, but still an angel. My angel :-)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34291115-115811643696250944?l=themikhails.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Menoreply@blogger.com0