On the occasion of their 25th Anniversary, our intrepid reporter sat down with Husband and Wife to discuss how they overcame the odds and made it through 25 years together....
Reporter: 25 years! That's amazing. Tell me, how did you make it so far?
Husband: It's going to sound simplistic, but really it comes down to...
Wife: (Interrupting) Mutual respect.
Husband: I was going to say love.
Wife: (Nodding) Yes, mutual respect.
Reporter: So which is it? Love or respect?
Wife: Which is what?
Husband: He's asking if we made it so far because we love each other or because we respect each other?
Wife: What do you mean 'so far'? Are you planning on going somewhere?
Husband: No dear. I'm just repeating what the reporter was asking us.
Wife: This guy? What does he know about marriage. He looks like he's 24 years old. You should have seen me at 24. I was skinny. I was beautiful.
Husband: I did see you at 24. That's when we got married.
Wife: I was 22 when we got married.
Husband: No sweetie. You were 24. 24 plus 25 equals...
Wife: I know. I used to be a math teacher dear. Started when we got married. I was 22, beautiful and skinny. Before the kids.
Reporter: Tell me about the kids. How have they contributed to the long and happy marriage?
Husband: Each is a gem. As we've raised them our love for each other has deepened. There isn't a moment with them that I would give back.
Wife: You don't remember the diapers, do you? Oh wait. You never touched the diapers.
Husband: Actually I did. You always conveniently forget that.
Wife: Oh. And you killed the spiders too. Right?
Husband: I never said that.
Wife: (Muttering) Such a weenie.
Husband: How did we get onto this? The reporter was asking about the kids and you turned it into an attack on my arachnophobia.
Wife: A rack of what?
Reporter: The kids. Tell me about them.
Wife: They don't clean their rooms.
Husband: They've moved out. What does it matter if they clean their room? How is that our problem anymore?
Wife: Just the thought of the stuff growing under their beds. Dust rabbits. Mold. Spiders.
Husband: Again with the spiders! And it's dust bunnies.
Wife: You've seen them?
Husband: No. I'm saying, it's 'dust bunnies' not 'dust rabbits'.
Wife: What difference does that make? It's six-and-a-half of one, half-dozen of another. You know. A bird on the arm.
Husband: I did diapers.
Wife: And I'm 36, skinny and beautiful.
Husband: You are to me.
Wife: Aha! You're saying I'm old and fat.
Husband: Next question?
Reporter: I thought one of your kids still lives at home. She's 5 isn't she?
Wife: She's a saint. Finally, one of them who listens to me.
Husband: Yes. Our little one is amazing. I've got pictures and stories. One time...
Wife: He doesn't want to hear about the baby. He wants to talk about us.
Husband: She's not a baby.
Wife: They're all babies. They'll understand when they're grown up.
Husband: Two of them are grown up. They're 19 and 21 for God's sake.
Wife: I agree. They're just babies. I should call them. I haven't heard from either one in days.
Husband: You just hung up with them before the interview started.
Wife: Yes, but they were going out and they haven't called yet to let me know they got there okay.
Husband: You smother them.
Wife: The grass is always greener over the bridge.
Husband: On the other side.
Wife: Whatever. That's water under the bush.
Reporter: Ahem. What attribute do you think each one of you has brought into the marriage that has been most critical in making it work so well?
Wife: He's good at doing what I want.
Husband: She's loving, open, hard-working, beautiful, loyal, ...
Wife: (Interrupting) Beautiful? You still think I'm beautiful?
Husband: Of course.
Wife: I wish I could wear his glasses. When we first got married maybe. But look at me now.
Husband: Still beautiful.
Wife: See? Good at doing what I want.
Reporter: You said your wife is loving. Do tell.
Husband: She loves everybody. Everybody loves her. She can walk into a room full of strangers and walk out 20 minutes later with a room full of friends. It's unbelievable.
Wife: It's because I talk to people. I engage with them. I ask them questions.
Reporter: What kinds of questions?
Wife: Like, "That's a great hat."
Husband: That's not a question.
Wife: No, I mean the hat the reporter is wearing. It's great.
Reporter: Thanks. My wife bought it for me last week.
Wife: Oh. I didn't think you were married. You don't wear a ring.
Reporter: That's only because it's getting cleaned.
Wife: Wow. I like people who keep their things clean.
Reporter: That's nice to hear. Thank you.
Wife: You're welcome...Tom, is it?
Reporter: Yes, Tom. Nobody ever uses my first name. You're sweet.
Husband: Excuse me. We were talking?
Reporter: Right, right...
Reporter: And you said that your husband does what you want. That's it? That's the key attribute in a long marriage?
Wife: And he stays out of my way. And he still thinks I'm beautiful...
Husband: That's because you are.
Wife: Stop interrupting me. He's also kind of funny.
Husband: Kind of funny? I'm hilarious.
Wife: And he's confident. I've learned that from him. Or at least I think I have.
Reporter: Last question. If you were giving advice to a newlywed couple about how to ensure they stay married for 25 years, what would that advice be?
Husband: Marry your best friend.
Wife: What kind of stupid advice is that? Marry the love of your life.
Husband: Play together.
Wife: Work together. Clean together. Struggle.
Husband: Have lots of children.
Wife: Why haven't they called?
Husband: Get old and fat together.
Wife: You're saying I'm old and fat.
Husband: And listen to each other.
Wife: Yes. Respect. That's what I'm saying.
Reporter: If you don't mind me saying. You seem to be very different people. You seem to disagree on everything. I can't believe your marriage has worked so well.
Husband: That's because we agree on one thing.
Wife: Yes. One thing.
Reporter: And that is?
Husband and Wife together: Putting the other person first.
Wife: It's like it says in the bible. Do unto others as you would do to yourself.
Husband: That sounds dirty.
Wife: It's from the bible for God's sake. You make everything dirty. Like the girls' rooms.
Husband: And the dust rabbits under their bed?
Wife: You think they have some? Ew. I can't believe I raised them.
Husband: We raised them.
Wife: I sure know I didn't. With all that goobledyguck under their bed.
Husband: Gobbledygook. And that means gibberish, not dirt.
Wife: Whatever. You say tomato and I say potato...
Husband: First base.
Wife: You're so dirty.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Friday, June 20, 2014
How to Negotiate Like a 5-Year Old
(#17 in the Series: Living Life Like a 5-Year Old)
Nobody negotiates like 5-year old children. Tap into their secrets, and you too can dominate at home, at work, and in a wide variety of public places. It's simple really. Just remember the word
N-E-G-O-T-I-A-T-E
Before You Begin
Before entering into the negotiation size up your opponent and get a sense of the surroundings.
Noise
Make lots of it. Incoherent, nonsensical, ear-shattering, nerve-grating noises work the best. Your goal is to subdue your opponent through sheer volume. Keep it up, wear them down - it's psychological warfare in its most primal form and it works to undermine your opponent's size advantage. Noise alone will secure you a quick victory in public and/or when surrounded by onlookers.
Emotion
Let the emotions fly, the faster the better. Anger, sadness, frustration, fear, hurt, ... Don't hold back. Quick emotional flip-flops will unbalance your opponent who is trying as hard as possible to stay calm. If you can't undermine their calmness through your emotions, play on theirs: "I don't like you very much!"; "You are so mean"; "You promised!"; and so on.
Guilt
Your opponent may try to make you feel guilty for behaving as you are or for not backing down. Ignore these feeble tactics. If your opponent is much older than you they have a lifetime of pent-up guilt you can manipulate to your advantage: "Why don't you ever give me anything"; "You're the worst parent ever"; "You're making me sad"; "Grandma lets me stay up as late as I want". (That last one is really a probe - see if your opponent has deep-seated guilt issues associated with his or her relationship with his or her parents. If you see a twitch or a wince, go for the jugular).
Obstinance
The Free Dictionary defines obstinance as: "Resolute adherence to your own ideas or desires." Stubbornness. Mulishness. Pigheadedness. Dig in your heels as deep as you can and don't move at all. Some negotiators believe you should find middle ground and work towards that. Nope. That's for grownups. You can get everything you want on your terms if you don't budge.
Tears
Your one differentiated advantage over your opponent is tears. You can make them happen at will. Your opponent cannot. Tears generate guilt, they demonstrate emotion, they come with noise. Your opponent is not going to cry, so you must! When you must stop the tears in order to hear whether or not your opponent has capitulated yet, make sure to snivel. Sniveling is like kryptonite to your opponent; it will make your opponent deeply regretful ("What am I doing? Look what I've done to this child. Time for a hug...") BOOM! Victory.
Irrationality
Throughout the showdown, it is extremely important that you maintain total and complete irrationality. Past agreements don't matter. Earlier promises and earlier arrangements are irrelevant. There is no such thing as precedent. Every negotiation exists in a vacuum and nothing else matters except what's going on in the moment. You can be rational later, or not, but now is not the time for that kind of weakness.
And...
Threatened Estrangement
It is not always necessary to get to this stage in the negotiation, but it is very effective if you need to snatch victory from impending defeat. Your opponent can't threaten to run away. Your opponent can't tell you they won't love you anymore. Your opponent is legally bound to protect and nourish you for years to come. You, on the other hand, are not bound by any of these things, so fire away.
(Stay tuned for the next installment in LLLA5YO: #18 How to Shop Like a 5-Year Old )
Nobody negotiates like 5-year old children. Tap into their secrets, and you too can dominate at home, at work, and in a wide variety of public places. It's simple really. Just remember the word
N-E-G-O-T-I-A-T-E
- Noise
- Emotion
- Guilt
- Obstinance
- Tears
- Irrationality
- And
- Threatened
- Estrangement
Before You Begin
Before entering into the negotiation size up your opponent and get a sense of the surroundings.
- Your opponent is probably much older than you. He or she may be in a good mood or a bad mood, tired or full of vigor, playful or deadly serious. Ignore all this. If the opponent is your parent, you're already halfway to a victory. If the opponent is a teacher, you know better than to try.
- The surroundings will be your battleground and it's important to understand how to take advantage of the terrain. Public places lend themselves to quick and decisive victory. Negotiations in private places occupied by a guest and/or grandparent are successful almost before they start. One-on-one showdowns at home can be tricky, but are almost always winnable.
Noise
Make lots of it. Incoherent, nonsensical, ear-shattering, nerve-grating noises work the best. Your goal is to subdue your opponent through sheer volume. Keep it up, wear them down - it's psychological warfare in its most primal form and it works to undermine your opponent's size advantage. Noise alone will secure you a quick victory in public and/or when surrounded by onlookers.
Emotion
Let the emotions fly, the faster the better. Anger, sadness, frustration, fear, hurt, ... Don't hold back. Quick emotional flip-flops will unbalance your opponent who is trying as hard as possible to stay calm. If you can't undermine their calmness through your emotions, play on theirs: "I don't like you very much!"; "You are so mean"; "You promised!"; and so on.
Guilt
Your opponent may try to make you feel guilty for behaving as you are or for not backing down. Ignore these feeble tactics. If your opponent is much older than you they have a lifetime of pent-up guilt you can manipulate to your advantage: "Why don't you ever give me anything"; "You're the worst parent ever"; "You're making me sad"; "Grandma lets me stay up as late as I want". (That last one is really a probe - see if your opponent has deep-seated guilt issues associated with his or her relationship with his or her parents. If you see a twitch or a wince, go for the jugular).
Obstinance
The Free Dictionary defines obstinance as: "Resolute adherence to your own ideas or desires." Stubbornness. Mulishness. Pigheadedness. Dig in your heels as deep as you can and don't move at all. Some negotiators believe you should find middle ground and work towards that. Nope. That's for grownups. You can get everything you want on your terms if you don't budge.
Tears
Your one differentiated advantage over your opponent is tears. You can make them happen at will. Your opponent cannot. Tears generate guilt, they demonstrate emotion, they come with noise. Your opponent is not going to cry, so you must! When you must stop the tears in order to hear whether or not your opponent has capitulated yet, make sure to snivel. Sniveling is like kryptonite to your opponent; it will make your opponent deeply regretful ("What am I doing? Look what I've done to this child. Time for a hug...") BOOM! Victory.
Irrationality
Throughout the showdown, it is extremely important that you maintain total and complete irrationality. Past agreements don't matter. Earlier promises and earlier arrangements are irrelevant. There is no such thing as precedent. Every negotiation exists in a vacuum and nothing else matters except what's going on in the moment. You can be rational later, or not, but now is not the time for that kind of weakness.
And...
Threatened Estrangement
It is not always necessary to get to this stage in the negotiation, but it is very effective if you need to snatch victory from impending defeat. Your opponent can't threaten to run away. Your opponent can't tell you they won't love you anymore. Your opponent is legally bound to protect and nourish you for years to come. You, on the other hand, are not bound by any of these things, so fire away.
(Stay tuned for the next installment in LLLA5YO: #18 How to Shop Like a 5-Year Old )
Thursday, June 5, 2014
A Picnic! Oh Joy.
Partook in a picnic yesterday with two daughters and a wife (all mine).
Close your eyes for a minute and think about going on a picnic. Nice, right? Sunny sky, warm breeze, wispy clouds slowly drifting overhead against a deep blue backdrop, plaid blanket spread out on a green manicured lawn, a wicker basket with one side carelessly tossed open to reveal a red and white inner lining, some carefully wrapped food, maybe some champagne and two glasses. A lovely family with smiling faces, wind tousled hair, faces flush with the joy of togetherness and outdoors-iness.
Ah, the family picnic.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH (that's the sound of the needle on a record player being ripped across an LP which had, until that moment, been playing easy listening jazzy picnic music).
Now here's the reality:
Close your eyes for a minute and think about going on a picnic. Nice, right? Sunny sky, warm breeze, wispy clouds slowly drifting overhead against a deep blue backdrop, plaid blanket spread out on a green manicured lawn, a wicker basket with one side carelessly tossed open to reveal a red and white inner lining, some carefully wrapped food, maybe some champagne and two glasses. A lovely family with smiling faces, wind tousled hair, faces flush with the joy of togetherness and outdoors-iness.
Ah, the family picnic.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH (that's the sound of the needle on a record player being ripped across an LP which had, until that moment, been playing easy listening jazzy picnic music).
Now here's the reality:
- Damp ground with bald spots. No way I'm putting my nice clean blanket on that. Let's sit at a picnic table instead.
- Bird shit on the picnic table. Yum.
- Is that the only drink you brought? Where's the mustard? You forgot the bocconcini that was in the fridge that we wanted to get rid of. And the prosciutto. Did you bring any fruit?
- Don't put your sandwich down on the table Micaela. Not clean. NOT clean.
- Oh look at that cute dog that's visiting our table. Aw, he's got a saliva infused rubber ball in his mouth, and he's gently waving it around near our food. How cute! He wants to play with us.
- Wait, there's another dog... a German shepherd! And this one likes to bark ferociously and strain at his leash to kill us. Aw.
- Now the gale force gentle breeze keeps blowing the plastic wrap away from the table. Don't worry, though, because we don't litter and Daddy will keep getting up and running across the park to catch up with it. Why secure the plastic somehow when Daddy's young and can run forever?
- Oh dear, the bugs have found us now! How could that be? Surely they should know better than to be attracted to the food we've left uncovered on the filthy table because the plastic wrap keeps blowing about. But again, don't worry. Daddy loves bugs. He's walking away from the table with his sandwich because he's trying to draw them away from the rest of us...not because he's fleeing.
- I know! Let's play Frisbee. Sure, the 5-year old has never thrown one before. But let's stand way far apart and pretend she'll be able to throw it to us. Oh, the 21-year old likes to throw the Frisbee too. And vertically! Let's also pretend she'll be able to throw it to us and keep dashing about trying to chase it in the many random directions she flings it. One more thought: Let's get Mom - all wrapped up in the picnic blanket to keep warm - into the game as well. Sure, she can't catch with her hands under the blanket, but what could be more fun than throwing things at her?
- Time to do something else. How about a nice walk in the surrounding Hundred Acre Woods? Bye Mommy. We'll see you when we get back to the car. We're not afraid of a few mosquitoes like you are.
- Isn't this nice. Just Daddy and two of his daughters. Walking in the woods. With swarms and swarms of mosquitoes. And poison ivy. "Leaves of three, let them be!" Whee!
- Time to go now. See if you can keep up with Daddy as he flees to the car waving the Frisbee madly in all directions to keep the swarms at bay. Wow, he can run fast. Why is there blood on the Frisbee?
- All together again. Enjoying our fine picnic dessert. So cool and refreshing. No bugs. No dogs. What could be better than this? Thank you Yogurty's!
Monday, May 19, 2014
The Cautious Princess - A Parable
Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a young princess. Princess Milaeca was a cute little thing, who loved to play, to run, to dance, to sing, and to talk. Her older Princess sisters loved her dearly, as did the King and Queen, her parents. They loved her so much, in fact, that they never wanted to see her get hurt. Whenever she would approach danger of any kind, big or small, they would overreact in order to protect her.
As she grew into childhood, she herself became very fearful of getting hurt, because those around her had always taken such care in attending to her safety.
When she played with other children, she would stand and watch when they did the fun, but potentially dangerous, things that children do. On a trampoline, her feet would barely leave the ground before she had had enough. She feared swings. She wouldn't jump into the fun foam pits that would be set up for children's play during the Kingdom's many festivals. She would always hold hands with a grown-up, and never stray off more than a few metres when they went to the local market.
The people around her began to think of her as cautious, but always acted with her as if she were very, very brave when she would go on a swing and let them push her (just a bit), or stand on a trampoline and carefully lift one leg at a time in a pantomime of jumping, or step gingerly into a foam pit with a look of great accomplishment. So despite being very, very cautious, Princess Milaeca never thought of herself thus.
In fact, in those times when she pushed herself to overcome her fears and get onto the trampoline, the swing, or the edge overlooking the ball pit, she thought of herself as the bravest Princess ever.
And only her father, the King, who was equally cautious as a child understood this. And sure, the King had to live with the memories of having scorn heaped on him by his sisters and his parents and his wicked brothers-in-law (one of whom tried to get him to jump into the pool once for 7 weeks and gave him wedgies), but he nevertheless became a great and accomplished King. (And it never bothered the King that even his mother, his dear, dear mother, the former Queen, who loved him dearly, once called him a 'chicken' to his face. Nor did he remember the incident or refer to it ever again. Even though he sometimes wondered how she could do that to him. How could you? I WAS YOUR SON. YOUR SON...)
Um.
So Princess Milaeca was always safe, always happy, and never ever got hurt. The end.
As she grew into childhood, she herself became very fearful of getting hurt, because those around her had always taken such care in attending to her safety.
When she played with other children, she would stand and watch when they did the fun, but potentially dangerous, things that children do. On a trampoline, her feet would barely leave the ground before she had had enough. She feared swings. She wouldn't jump into the fun foam pits that would be set up for children's play during the Kingdom's many festivals. She would always hold hands with a grown-up, and never stray off more than a few metres when they went to the local market.
The people around her began to think of her as cautious, but always acted with her as if she were very, very brave when she would go on a swing and let them push her (just a bit), or stand on a trampoline and carefully lift one leg at a time in a pantomime of jumping, or step gingerly into a foam pit with a look of great accomplishment. So despite being very, very cautious, Princess Milaeca never thought of herself thus.
In fact, in those times when she pushed herself to overcome her fears and get onto the trampoline, the swing, or the edge overlooking the ball pit, she thought of herself as the bravest Princess ever.
And only her father, the King, who was equally cautious as a child understood this. And sure, the King had to live with the memories of having scorn heaped on him by his sisters and his parents and his wicked brothers-in-law (one of whom tried to get him to jump into the pool once for 7 weeks and gave him wedgies), but he nevertheless became a great and accomplished King. (And it never bothered the King that even his mother, his dear, dear mother, the former Queen, who loved him dearly, once called him a 'chicken' to his face. Nor did he remember the incident or refer to it ever again. Even though he sometimes wondered how she could do that to him. How could you? I WAS YOUR SON. YOUR SON...)
Um.
So Princess Milaeca was always safe, always happy, and never ever got hurt. The end.
Friday, May 9, 2014
Learn About 11 Interesting Poetry Forms
In David's continuing quest to enlighten and educate his readership, he today provides information and examples that illustrate eleven fun poetry forms. Information about the poetry forms is from shadowpoetry.com.
To illustrate the forms, I use the same common and simple verse as an example for each, so that the instructions are as accessible and clear as possible.
For Gene, who made the machine, it was a blow
And Joe who made it go, felt some woe
Resulting from Art's part in what came to pass:
The machine's choking end from poison gas.
The Balled of Gene's Machine
Refrain:
Oh Gene, he worked so long
To build his brave machine
And Joe, he made it go
And brought a smile to Gene.
(I)
One day into their town,
Came Art, a steamy lad.
Unbeknownst to Gene and Joe,
His arrival boded bad.
(II)
A machine's but wires and cogs
And assorted other parts.
It will last for years and years,
Lest exposed to young men's farts.
(III)
The story's widely known
How Art wrecked Gene's machine.
But what's never been made plain
Is how he also wrecked his jeans.
Machine
Young Gene made it
Joe set it in motion
Art passed gas to blow it apart
That stinks
Here lies Genes' machine.
Without brain, nor lung, nor heart.
Yet brought to life by Joe,
And destroyed by passing Art.
Soul of nuts and bolts
Made to go by Gene and Joe
Blown apart by Art
Gene designed a machine from some parts
His friend Joe was the guy who pushed 'start'
Art, a sometimes third pal
Wasn't feeling so well
And blew Gene's work apart with his farts.
A guy named Eugene
Built himself a machine.
His friend Joe joined the scene,
To hit the 'start' on its screen.
It roared to life nice and clean,
With a glowing proud sheen.
Art, also there, but unseen,
With distress in his spleen,
Caused by one extra bean,
In his Southwest cuisine,
Made a fart most obscene,
That best fit a latrine.
One can't intervene,
Once parts start to careen,
Here, there, and between,
Like a child on caffeine.
So soon naught stood where there'd been
The device so pristine.
(So said the news magazine)
Young Gene made a really nice machine
Friend Joe spent time to make it go
Art flatulated with zest
Thus rendering Gene's work
Out of commission
Until such time
Gene can fix
It all
Up.
Art
Is farting
Thus blowing machines
Blowing thus,
Farting is
Art
Glowing
Flowing
Knowing
Blowing
Gene devises glowing, flowing part.
Art breaks without knowing, blowing fart.
To illustrate the forms, I use the same common and simple verse as an example for each, so that the instructions are as accessible and clear as possible.
Acrostic Poem
(where the first letter of each line spells a word)For Gene, who made the machine, it was a blow
And Joe who made it go, felt some woe
Resulting from Art's part in what came to pass:
The machine's choking end from poison gas.
Ballad
(a short narrative poem with stanzas of two or four lines and usually a refrain)The Balled of Gene's Machine
Refrain:
Oh Gene, he worked so long
To build his brave machine
And Joe, he made it go
And brought a smile to Gene.
(I)
One day into their town,
Came Art, a steamy lad.
Unbeknownst to Gene and Joe,
His arrival boded bad.
(II)
A machine's but wires and cogs
And assorted other parts.
It will last for years and years,
Lest exposed to young men's farts.
(III)
The story's widely known
How Art wrecked Gene's machine.
But what's never been made plain
Is how he also wrecked his jeans.
Cinquain
(a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines)Machine
Young Gene made it
Joe set it in motion
Art passed gas to blow it apart
That stinks
Epitaph
(a brief poem inscribed on a tombstone praising a deceased person, usually with rhyming lines)Here lies Genes' machine.
Without brain, nor lung, nor heart.
Yet brought to life by Joe,
And destroyed by passing Art.
Haiku
(a Japanese verse consisting of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables)Soul of nuts and bolts
Made to go by Gene and Joe
Blown apart by Art
Lanturne
(a five-line verse shaped like a Japanese lantern with a syllabic pattern of 1-2-3-4-1)
Gene's
machine.
Joe pushed go.
Art's fart made it
stop.
Limerick
(a rhymed humorous or nonsense poem of five lines and a set rhyme scheme and syllable structure)Gene designed a machine from some parts
His friend Joe was the guy who pushed 'start'
Art, a sometimes third pal
Wasn't feeling so well
And blew Gene's work apart with his farts.
Monorhyme
(a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme)A guy named Eugene
Built himself a machine.
His friend Joe joined the scene,
To hit the 'start' on its screen.
It roared to life nice and clean,
With a glowing proud sheen.
Art, also there, but unseen,
With distress in his spleen,
Caused by one extra bean,
In his Southwest cuisine,
Made a fart most obscene,
That best fit a latrine.
One can't intervene,
Once parts start to careen,
Here, there, and between,
Like a child on caffeine.
So soon naught stood where there'd been
The device so pristine.
(So said the news magazine)
Nonet
(has nine lines. The first line has 9 syllables, the second line 8 syllables, the third line 7 syllables, etc...)Young Gene made a really nice machine
Friend Joe spent time to make it go
Art flatulated with zest
Thus rendering Gene's work
Out of commission
Until such time
Gene can fix
It all
Up.
Palindrome Poetry
(a poem that reads the same forward or backward)Art
Is farting
Thus blowing machines
Blowing thus,
Farting is
Art
Tyburn
(a 6 line poem consisting of 2, 2, 2, 2, 9, 9 syllables. The first 4 lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. The last 2 lines rhyme and incorporate the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th lines as the 5th through 8th syllables)Flowing
Knowing
Blowing
Gene devises glowing, flowing part.
Art breaks without knowing, blowing fart.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
If Soft Parenting is a Crime, I am Guilty Guilty Guilty
I'll be the first to admit that all three of my daughters have suffered needlessly and silently as a result of
soft parenting.
My wife and I are soft parents. There. I said it. I'll leave it to my better-half to confirm or deny.
My older daughters, now off in University, bear the scars of having been raised by softies. Sure, they're intelligent, confident, hard-working (when they feel like it), kind, fun-loving, generous and all-around good people (not to mention beautiful, but that might be less about the parenting and more about the parentage). But they're also
Once, when my eldest was little, she wanted eggs. She felt like eggs. We had no eggs in the house. Her eyes started to water. She really wanted eggs. I went out and bought eggs from the grocery store. End of story. The hurricane raging outside, as it turns out, did not kill me. The thought of my little daughter, who really really wanted eggs and was close to tears, nearly did.
My second daughter probably got pampered too, although I can't remember any specifics. (Like grains of sand on the beach, who can recall but one of them?)
And I'm fairly sure my five-year old is feeling the effects of soft parenting as well. I don't really have the will (or the space) to list all the examples, so I'll instead share a few symptoms:
Point is, I'm a soft parent. I know it. They know it. The two or three people who read my blog now know it too.
But lest you leave here today thinking that I'm completely spineless I will tell you that there are three times when I am not a soft parent:
soft parenting.
My wife and I are soft parents. There. I said it. I'll leave it to my better-half to confirm or deny.
My older daughters, now off in University, bear the scars of having been raised by softies. Sure, they're intelligent, confident, hard-working (when they feel like it), kind, fun-loving, generous and all-around good people (not to mention beautiful, but that might be less about the parenting and more about the parentage). But they're also
- a tiny bit - and I do mean just a tiny bit - sensitive, in absolutely the sweetest way possible;
- a smidge competitive (not the kind that makes you compete hard; the kind that makes you dislike not winning even when you didn't compete hard);
- a wee bit fond of being pampered (at least around their parents).
Once, when my eldest was little, she wanted eggs. She felt like eggs. We had no eggs in the house. Her eyes started to water. She really wanted eggs. I went out and bought eggs from the grocery store. End of story. The hurricane raging outside, as it turns out, did not kill me. The thought of my little daughter, who really really wanted eggs and was close to tears, nearly did.
My second daughter probably got pampered too, although I can't remember any specifics. (Like grains of sand on the beach, who can recall but one of them?)
And I'm fairly sure my five-year old is feeling the effects of soft parenting as well. I don't really have the will (or the space) to list all the examples, so I'll instead share a few symptoms:
- We play ALL the time (thanks to whomever told her that her work is play) and when I don't want to play anymore she explains to me that that's not really an option;
- When she has to go to bed, she's genuinely puzzled and troubled by the fact that I get to stay up later than she does;
- When we do the 1-2-3 thing, while it works, she'd be hard-pressed to explain why;
- When we give her a time limit on something, she's okay with it as long as we don't set a timer (timers follow-through, her parents not so much);
- When she's at the dinner table and needs something, rather than getting up to fetch it herself, she simply makes her needs known and expects me to go get it for her (no wait...that's her older sisters I'm thinking of...but how could I have attributed something they used to do so long ago to Micaela......no wait...)
Point is, I'm a soft parent. I know it. They know it. The two or three people who read my blog now know it too.
But lest you leave here today thinking that I'm completely spineless I will tell you that there are three times when I am not a soft parent:
- At bed time. That's when Daddy gets stubborn. That's when tears don't work. That's when bargains cannot be struck. Don't bother fighting Daddy at bedtime.
- When something matters to me. Very, very occasionally, something matters and I dig in my heels. I get angry. I get stubborn. Those are the times when all of the women I live with know to just back away. It doesn't happen often - because it usually involves the Leafs and the playoffs - but when it does...
- When there's a spider that can't be ignored. Daddy won't do that for you. Don't even ask.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
She Couldn't Resist: A Parable about Will Power
She had no will power whatsoever. She knew it. Her family and friends knew it. Even casual acquaintances like the merchant in the corner store and the tellers at the bank knew it.
She couldn't resist any sort of temptation, she couldn't impose any sort of discipline on herself or her life, and she couldn't stick to any promises she made to improve herself in any way. She had always been that way. In every other respect, she was a wonderful person.
As she grew into adulthood, she understood and basically accepted this weakness in herself. Sure, she'd always be a bit unhealthy because she had so little self-control when it came to food and because she couldn't stick to any kind of fitness regime beyond a day or two. Sure, it would be great to be that person who would just say no to the bad things in life and yes to the good. But she figured she'd be less happy that way if it meant depriving herself of things she loved, and so she made light of it when talking with close friends, stopped trying to change, and went on with her indulgences.
One day, Mr. Wright came into her life (Tony Wright, a very reputable lawyer in town).
While she might have believed that "love at first sight" was a fiction before the moment she saw him, she would forever after know that it was very real. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel the same way about her.
They dated. They married. And their love for each other grew as they spent their first year together.
One of the things she loved most about him was that he didn't try to change her; in his eyes, she was perfect "as is". She wished (truly wished) that she could be better than she was if only for him, but she didn't have to be, so she wasn't.
On their first anniversary he gave her an ornate box that clearly wasn't new. It was about the size of the box that had contained her engagement ring almost two years ago by then, but this box was locked. He also handed her an envelope containing a card and a key (presumably, the key to the box). The card said:
(He also gave her some flowers, a nice dinner out, and a new sweater.)
He couldn't have done anything worse to her. The box was constantly on her mind. It gnawed at her. Its presence on her dresser was a constant torment. The key that she put into the top dresser drawer became an obsession. Staring at the box at night, she could almost imagine it throbbing in concert with her heartbeat; pounding as she agonized over its presence. What could be in the box? What's this secret that could significantly impact our lives? Is this a trick? Is he testing me? Is there something really bad in there that I need to know about? Did he love someone else before me? Is it a bullet and he's telling me he once killed someone? Could it be something valuable that he stole? HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?????
She held out for as long as she could...until the next morning when they both left for work.
Circling back to the house after pretending to head off to the office, she went straight to their bedroom, grabbed the box off the dresser, pulled the key from the drawer, and unlocked the box. Before opening the lid, she tried one last time to stop herself, but by this time her hands were no longer within her control...
Inside the box she found a red jelly bean.
Now she had a real dilemma on her hands (along with some red dye). She needed to know the significance of the jelly bean. It didn't make any sense. How could a jelly bean have an impact on their life together as the anniversary card suggested? What did it mean?
But she of course couldn't ask him. She had betrayed his trust. He knew she was weak, he never expected her to change that in herself, but he had asked such a small thing of her and she had failed him. Clearly, she couldn't ask him about the jelly bean. She was stuck in a worse position now than she had been before opening the damn box.
Somehow, she found the strength to keep her questions to herself. She mustered every ounce of self-control and kept silent. For hours. For days. For weeks. For months. For years...
All that time, her mind cooked up explanations for the jelly bean. Most were absurd. None made sense. But she suffered such internal turmoil that it began to change her feelings about her husband. She wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She began to resent him. Not knowing was having a greater impact on their life together than any possible secret related to the jelly bean could have. But still she kept silent.
The worst times for her were when he thanked her for the trust she placed in him by not opening the box. At those times, her will to keep secret what she had done held, but only barely.
In their twelfth year of marriage, he got very sick. It looked like he was going to die. She decided that before that happened, she needed to know about the jelly bean. Just as she started to ask him, though, he beat her to the punch: "All these years, you've held my trust. You've kept my box locked. You've fulfilled my belief in you. You've demonstrated greater self-control than any other person could have by not even asking me about it. And now, the time has come for you to learn my secret: Well before we met, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare disease that my doctor said could lie dormant for years before one day threatening my life. That day has now arrived. In the box lies a little red pill that I spent a small fortune to get my hands on. I need it now to save my life. I knew you would be by my side when this time came. I knew you would keep it safe. Please get it for me now."
She was confused: "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why hide that from me? Your illness wouldn't have changed how I feel about you. Why take the risk that when you needed the pill we'd be able to have this conversation and I'd be able to get you the pill your life depends upon? I don't get it."
He answered: "Simply put, I didn't want you worrying about me for years and years and treating me as frail in all that time. It's also true that I have always believed in you and I wanted to show you that you have an inner strength far beyond what you think. I bet my love and my life that you'd be able to resist the temptation to open the box. And now, not only will you save my life by giving me the pill, but you will also discover that you are a far better person for having passed this test of self-control."
"I opened the box the morning after you gave it to me," she admitted with dawning dread.
He paused, then smiling he said: "Oh well. I suspected you might have. But I married you knowing and loving who you are, and knowing and loving both your strengths and your weaknesses. I suppose that hearing that you opened the box - in a way - makes me love you all the more for having kept silent all these years to preserve my faith in you. Now please get the pill."
With resignation in her voice, she said what would turn out to be her final words to him: "Yeah... but I bet you didn't guess I'd eat the little red jelly bean I found in the box. It just looked so yummy."
His final, defeated words back to her were: "No. That is indeed a most unpleasant surprise."
He took his last breath moments later.
Months later she got an envelope from his Executor. In the envelope, there was a letter that had been written and sealed at the time of their first anniversary. It said:
She couldn't resist any sort of temptation, she couldn't impose any sort of discipline on herself or her life, and she couldn't stick to any promises she made to improve herself in any way. She had always been that way. In every other respect, she was a wonderful person.
As she grew into adulthood, she understood and basically accepted this weakness in herself. Sure, she'd always be a bit unhealthy because she had so little self-control when it came to food and because she couldn't stick to any kind of fitness regime beyond a day or two. Sure, it would be great to be that person who would just say no to the bad things in life and yes to the good. But she figured she'd be less happy that way if it meant depriving herself of things she loved, and so she made light of it when talking with close friends, stopped trying to change, and went on with her indulgences.
One day, Mr. Wright came into her life (Tony Wright, a very reputable lawyer in town).
While she might have believed that "love at first sight" was a fiction before the moment she saw him, she would forever after know that it was very real. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel the same way about her.
They dated. They married. And their love for each other grew as they spent their first year together.
One of the things she loved most about him was that he didn't try to change her; in his eyes, she was perfect "as is". She wished (truly wished) that she could be better than she was if only for him, but she didn't have to be, so she wasn't.
On their first anniversary he gave her an ornate box that clearly wasn't new. It was about the size of the box that had contained her engagement ring almost two years ago by then, but this box was locked. He also handed her an envelope containing a card and a key (presumably, the key to the box). The card said:
Now that we've been married for a full year, I feel that it's time to entrust you with an important secret of mine: one that could have a significant impact on our life together. I'm not telling you the secret now, but a time may come when I have to. For now, I ask you to hold on to this box and keep it safe. The secret lies within it. It is locked away and within your power to discover, but I ask you not to open the box until the time comes when I ask you to. Trust me enough to hold onto my secret without knowing what it is. My gift is trust and love and I ask for the same in return. You know I love you as you are. You know I have never asked you to be anyone other than who you are. I know how hard it is for you to resist temptation. For me, I ask you to resist this one.
(He also gave her some flowers, a nice dinner out, and a new sweater.)
He couldn't have done anything worse to her. The box was constantly on her mind. It gnawed at her. Its presence on her dresser was a constant torment. The key that she put into the top dresser drawer became an obsession. Staring at the box at night, she could almost imagine it throbbing in concert with her heartbeat; pounding as she agonized over its presence. What could be in the box? What's this secret that could significantly impact our lives? Is this a trick? Is he testing me? Is there something really bad in there that I need to know about? Did he love someone else before me? Is it a bullet and he's telling me he once killed someone? Could it be something valuable that he stole? HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?????
She held out for as long as she could...until the next morning when they both left for work.
Circling back to the house after pretending to head off to the office, she went straight to their bedroom, grabbed the box off the dresser, pulled the key from the drawer, and unlocked the box. Before opening the lid, she tried one last time to stop herself, but by this time her hands were no longer within her control...
Inside the box she found a red jelly bean.
Now she had a real dilemma on her hands (along with some red dye). She needed to know the significance of the jelly bean. It didn't make any sense. How could a jelly bean have an impact on their life together as the anniversary card suggested? What did it mean?
But she of course couldn't ask him. She had betrayed his trust. He knew she was weak, he never expected her to change that in herself, but he had asked such a small thing of her and she had failed him. Clearly, she couldn't ask him about the jelly bean. She was stuck in a worse position now than she had been before opening the damn box.
Somehow, she found the strength to keep her questions to herself. She mustered every ounce of self-control and kept silent. For hours. For days. For weeks. For months. For years...
All that time, her mind cooked up explanations for the jelly bean. Most were absurd. None made sense. But she suffered such internal turmoil that it began to change her feelings about her husband. She wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She began to resent him. Not knowing was having a greater impact on their life together than any possible secret related to the jelly bean could have. But still she kept silent.
The worst times for her were when he thanked her for the trust she placed in him by not opening the box. At those times, her will to keep secret what she had done held, but only barely.
In their twelfth year of marriage, he got very sick. It looked like he was going to die. She decided that before that happened, she needed to know about the jelly bean. Just as she started to ask him, though, he beat her to the punch: "All these years, you've held my trust. You've kept my box locked. You've fulfilled my belief in you. You've demonstrated greater self-control than any other person could have by not even asking me about it. And now, the time has come for you to learn my secret: Well before we met, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare disease that my doctor said could lie dormant for years before one day threatening my life. That day has now arrived. In the box lies a little red pill that I spent a small fortune to get my hands on. I need it now to save my life. I knew you would be by my side when this time came. I knew you would keep it safe. Please get it for me now."
She was confused: "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why hide that from me? Your illness wouldn't have changed how I feel about you. Why take the risk that when you needed the pill we'd be able to have this conversation and I'd be able to get you the pill your life depends upon? I don't get it."
He answered: "Simply put, I didn't want you worrying about me for years and years and treating me as frail in all that time. It's also true that I have always believed in you and I wanted to show you that you have an inner strength far beyond what you think. I bet my love and my life that you'd be able to resist the temptation to open the box. And now, not only will you save my life by giving me the pill, but you will also discover that you are a far better person for having passed this test of self-control."
"I opened the box the morning after you gave it to me," she admitted with dawning dread.
He paused, then smiling he said: "Oh well. I suspected you might have. But I married you knowing and loving who you are, and knowing and loving both your strengths and your weaknesses. I suppose that hearing that you opened the box - in a way - makes me love you all the more for having kept silent all these years to preserve my faith in you. Now please get the pill."
With resignation in her voice, she said what would turn out to be her final words to him: "Yeah... but I bet you didn't guess I'd eat the little red jelly bean I found in the box. It just looked so yummy."
His final, defeated words back to her were: "No. That is indeed a most unpleasant surprise."
He took his last breath moments later.
Epilogue
Months later she got an envelope from his Executor. In the envelope, there was a letter that had been written and sealed at the time of their first anniversary. It said:
If you're getting this letter, it means I died of my disease and you couldn't save me. Furthermore, it probably means that you couldn't resist the temptation to not only open the box, but also to eat the little red pill it contained. That's a shame. You probably feel terrible. I forgive you. I hope this has taught you a little bit about self-control. I hope the guilt you feel is enough to make you realize that you must exercise greater will-power from...She stopped reading the letter before she could finish it. Her shows were coming on and she needed a snack. She opened the bag of jelly beans she had picked up for the office party the next day. She sobbed quietly as she polished off the bag.
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