Bad parenting... you can't take it back.

I have a friend with two little kids. One is 2.5, the other is 5.5. I lived with this family for 2 years. I'm sort of the third parent in with these kids. The elder is in that rambunctious 5 y/o stage, and he runs around and yells, and hits, and throws things, and doesn't listen - all things you can expect from that age. I'm usually extremely patient with children and animals, but this kid and I have a running disconnect regarding guns, violence, and not listening... he doesn't listen, to anyone, his parents allow him to watch war movies (think, band of brothers as a bedtime story), and he hits people - me, his dad, his brother, his mother, his friends. I don't like guns, and I believe that, while violence can be then answer, the resort to it creates other questions. I don't like not listening because, unlike his parents, I don't warn unless the risk is clear and significant - he can hurt himself to learn, but he can't be allowed to permanently screw himself over.

Today I lost my patience with this kid for the first time ever. He had been hitting me periodically all day, each time being told not to hit. I was filling a bottle with water at the refrigerator, and he ran up and hit me on the arms. I dropped the full bottle, and yelled something to the effect of "[insert name here] you stupid...!" I caught myself, then yelled at him for hitting, then started to clean things up. I immediately felt bad. He felt bad, at least after his parents yelled at him, and he apologized. I told him that sorry doesn't help all the time, and he needs to be careful because he is big enough to do damage now. So he apologized and I apologized.

I still feel bad. Don't lose your patience with kids. You can't take it back.

Slaaaammmed

Ever had so much work to do you actually had to figure out which things you could fix not getting done on time so you could put them to the back of the list? I'm there.

Somewhere along the line I became my firm's "appellate guy," which means not only am I getting tasked with all the brief writing, I am now getting tagged to do oral argument, I am asked to do the research to set a hearing/trial issue up for appeal, and I am asked to do trial briefs and memos. This on top of the cases I'm actually working on. I just got handed a case that goes to oral argument in a few months, and the person who wrote our brief sort of missed the point of the case. When an appellate court grants an oral argument or considers an appeal that isn't as a matter of right, it's because the court wants to make some law. In this case, I think I've figured out what law they want to make. The problem is, it's not a point made in our brief. D'OH!! This means oral argument is going to be a lot like playing dodgeball with cannonballs against ogres.

What I do nowadays involves a lot of independent medical examinations and record reviews. To do this we have to go through all the records and make a summary (yay paralegals) which I rarely have to do (yay paralegals), but I have to go through. Then I have to write a long cover letter to the doctor that points out basic medical background and history, which means I have to read through bajillions of medical records. Eventually the Dr. has to look at the records and/or the patient, usually both with us, and that's when the fun starts.


This is why I'm up ass-early on a saturday. I've been working for hours. This sort of sucks, but is also sort of fun.

Still the Galactichero

Neither "galactic" nor "hero" is species specific. In fact, "galactic" sort of implies inclusiveness - all things in the galaxy. Otherwise, it would be a pretty elitist life I would have to lead.

As a rule, I don't kill things that don't immediately threaten me or others. I take spiders and beetles outside. I teach 5 year olds that most creatures want the same things he wants: to eat, and sleep, and have a place to poop, and be safe, and have fun (it's hard to explain reproduction to a 5 y/o without getting a felony conviction around here). I personally believe that understanding one's place in that whole play is the secret to enlightenment. Not just being able to enunciate it, but "understanding it," on an innate, preconscious level, where it's not a concern, because you know your place in things, and you get to eat, and sleep, and have a place to poop, and be safe, and have fun without contrivance.

I once again had a houseguest.
I was doing my blog-thing and he ran by. I set up my livetraps, but he was in my bathroom, so I tracked him down. We had an energetic game of catch. I won. I snapped few pictures, and brought him to a big field about 4 miles up the road.

The best part of not killing things is releasing them. He sort of sat there thinking... "THIS is not what I expected." Then he took stock of where he was, took a few steps, and took off. He gets a nice new place to live, and I get one more piece of the puzzle to explain my place in things.

Eat, sleep, and poop away, all.

315

4 reps, then 3 reps. Approaching my all-time max. I think I'll stay here until I'm consistently starting on 6 reps. My weak-ass biceps are the limiter now...

I'm about to pick a fight with PCG over Sgt. retrovirus. Not happy about it, but I won't be happy with the post std transfer break-up call either. It has to be done. I imagine we won't be talking again for a very long time...

Breakfast at my parents' house...

So... went to my parents house. This morning my mom made whole-grain pancakes with soy milk (if you're ever constipated, I got a suggestion...). One meal, three people, four languages. I kid you not. We had English, we had French, we had Hebrew, we had, at one point, my dad singing Italian opera. Pancakes = opera? I kid you not. My family is abnormal.

It's been a rough week for me. I'd have to fill in on recent events for this to make total sense, but the short part is that PCG informed me at one point that she got back together with the boyfriend she dumped because he failed to mention he had what we'll call a "loathsome social disease" in the common-law sense until AFTER they'd had sex several times. Am I missing something here? How does one cure THAT omission? Anyway, she's happy... which is an unmentionably rare event. I'm ambivalent. I behaved myself and avoided pointing out that he STILL HAS A FUCKING STD that he FAILED TO MENTION!!! She's talking about moving in with the guy (that's a loooong fucking move) and having kids and crap. I counseled she might want to slow down a bit. I question my own impartiality.

AT, who I may never have mentioned, called me. She just likes to whine a lot. I don't mind much, but it's usually simple crap that I would either overlook or resolve in 25 seconds and move on. She'll call me every day for a week, and then suddenly nothing for a month. It's a good thing I like her, or I'd lambast her.

Putting in another floor. Never do home-improvement when you're angry... There's one board that was misshapen, and I didn't notice it until I got two rows past. There's a damn gap. Not huge, but it's about 6 inches long and 1/8 inch wide. Pisses me off. Eh. Adds character (?).

Where is everybody? Nic hates me, which is alternately saddening, infuriating, and frustrating (she ignores my comments on her new blog, which is really immature). I'm single-handedly the reason she enabled comment moderation... Caro isn't around, PB is AWOL, tirelaw prefers to pick on me in person, his wife is a lurker, and the rest of my pals just evaporated. May be time to go surfing blogger again.

Somebody entertain me already.

305... again

So, for my meathead post of the week... or month... whatever:

Benched 305 again today. 2 sets. 6 on the first with a spot on the last, 5 on the second with a push on 4 and spot on 5. Then I growl a lot. Coming back has been slow, particularly with the hard landing several months ago.

I'm behind. My former lifting partner is at 355, down from 395. Those are biiiiig numbers...

I'm up to running 3.5 miles at 7 mph. That's pretty good for me, actually.

Losing weight though. This is not good. Need to fix my diet.

This just in...

If you eat a hard boiled egg without eating the yolk, it's sort of like taking a prenatal chicken's lunchmoney...

On a morbid note, it's sort of like killing a kid, and taking all of his projected lunch money for the rest of his life.

This thought made me laugh like a lunatic at the salad bar in a supermarket today.

You needed to know.