"It's normal for part of the population not to know who their biological father is ... Therefore one can't demand every child's right to know its biological parents."

This is normal? Not to know your heritage? Not to know your family's history? It's these stories that keep civilization alive. Our roots. Who are ancestors were. The lives they led. The talents they passed on. It's what keeps us connected to the past and gives us hope for the future.

Civilization is not recreated from scratch every day. It uses the lessons from history. It's the sense of pride I get reading the story of my Highland ancestor and the hardships he faced coming to this country in the 1600's. It's knowing that I come from hearty stock that helps me to keep going when things are tough. I can call on the strength and perseverance of my ancestors. It's an invisible connection, an invisible strength.

That's what these children will never have. And it leaves an important gap. Just how effectively could Mr. Schou run his company if he had no idea of its history?

"Oh, didn't you read your policy? You should have read your policy."

How about "you should have been able to understand your policy." I swear, insurance companies should be required to supply interpreters.

Ok, I love my pets, but employers offering pet benefits? A little over the top.

They are not your kids. You are not required to send them to school. You are not required to get them a babysitter if they are under a certain age. You do not have to take them to the doctor for required shots so they can go to school.

They are not going to grow up and discover a cure for AIDS. They will not become the next president. They will not be be growing up to lead society in any number of years.

They are a living thing, and deserve the respect that all living things do. But they don't deserve company benefits any more than your potted geranium does.

Having an interfaith organization as one of my clients, this rings familiar.

While reading thru my favorite blogs, I noticed that Melly is having some trouble with the diet. Here's one someone sent me a long time ago that I think her little guy can help her with:

DAY ONE:

Breakfast

One scrambled egg, one piece of toast with grape jelly. Eat 2 bites of egg, using your fingers; dump the rest on the floor. Take 1 bite of toast, then smear the jelly over your face and clothes.

Lunch

Four crayons (any color), a handful of potato chips, and a glass of milk (3 sips only, then spill the rest).

Dinner

A dry stick, two pennies and a nickel.

Bedtime Snack

Toast piece of bread and toss it on the kitchen floor.

DAY TWO:

Breakfast

Pick up stale toast from kitchen floor and eat it. Drink half bottle of vanilla extract or one vial of vegetable dye.

Lunch

Half a tube of "Pulsating Pink" lipstick and a handful of dog chow (any flavor).
One ice cube, if desired.

Afternoon Snack

Lick an all-day sucker until sticky, take outside, drop in dirt. Retrieve and continue slurping until it is clean again. Then bring inside and drop on the rug.

Dinner

A rock or an uncooked bean, which should be thrust up your left nostril. Pour iced tea over mashed potatoes; eat with a spoon.

DAY THREE:

Breakfast

Two pancakes with plenty of syrup, eat with fingers, rub in hair. Glass of milk: drink half, stuff pancakes in glass. After breakfast, pick up yesterday's sucker from rug, lick off fuzz, and put it on the cushion of your best chair.

Lunch

Three matches, peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Spit several bites onto the floor. Pour glass of milk on table and slurp up.

Dinner

Dish of ice cream, handful of potato chips.

FINAL DAY:

Breakfast

A quarter-tube of toothpaste (any flavor), bit of soap, an olive. Pour a glass of milk over bowl of cornflakes, add a half-cup of sugar. Once cereal is soggy, drink milk and feed cereal to dog.

Lunch

Eat crumbs off kitchen floor and dining room carpet. Find that sucker and finish eating it.

Dinner

A glass of spaghetti and chocolate milk. Leave meatball on plate. Stick of mascara for dessert.

WTF?

We're already overrun with them in areas where we've taken over their territory for our swanky homes. Now we're cloning them so we can hunt them down and slaughter them?

Top of the food chain, maybe. The "brain chain" is obviously a different story.

He thought that if you were admitted to the hospital as a patient, things like smoking would be off limits until you got better or finished your treatment.

Duh.

"It's going to change my whole life, because the expense (was) not factored into my retirement"

Boo hoo.

How about "factoring in" that you knew this child existed all along. How about "factoring in" that you COULD have set up a bank account for her that eventually could have been making enough interest to cover part of the obligation. How about "factoring in" that the responsiblity to support that child was as much YOUR responsiblity as it was her mother's responsibility. How about "factoring in" that her mother may not even HAVE a retirement account because she's been carrying your burden all these years. How about "factoring in" that YOU could have gone to court to take care of your responsiblity instead of trying to avoid it.

Your life was changed the day you whipped it out, buddy. It just took this long to finally make you come to terms with that.

Not to mention the fact that hiding an accuser's relevent past promotes the notion that only the chaste need apply and does little to change the attitudes that women have a right to engage in activities purely for pleasure.

It also does little to make women responsible for their actions. While we should be as free as men to walk down the street to our car after dark, we must also realize that going to a man's hotel room, especially under the influence of alcohol, may be sending a message ripe for misinterpretation. That the man be the only one responsible for the outcome is just wrong, and does little to promote personal responsibility.

It also will never make a clear distinction between consent and attack if women are still being portrayed as innocent, non-s--ual, people-pleasing beings. As long as women are afraid to say a resounding "yes" without fear of being negatively labeled, we will never be able to voice a definitive "NO."

“What someone reads doesn’t necessarily say anything about what they might do—there’s no link between interest and intent. "

Good lord. What kind of a profile would they do if they listed all the books I've checked out of the library in the past year? Certainly not one I'd consider accurate enough.

Happiness has a monetary value.

Ok. So let's assume you're a single mom raising your kids with little or no help from anyone. How do you factor that into the "how much additional salary people demand to assume additional risk" formula? Are we talking risk of the job, or risk of losing the job? Does "willingness to spend" include ability to spend? I might shell out $1,000.00 for an alarm if I had $1,000.00 to spend on an alarm rather than have pay the electric bill that would enable it to work.

How do you factor "lost happiness?" Do you includes statistics on the average divorce rate and realistically evaluate the number of times long-married couples are intimate when determining loss of consortium? If so, I'd think damages would be a lot lower.

Not one of us is guaranteed happiness. Not one of us is guaranteed that our world will stay a place that will give us joy every day for the rest of our lives.

The only thing we are sure of is that if jury awards for continue to rise to include "hedonic damages" good doctors will leave the profession when they can no longer afford malpractice coverage. Parents will no longer have to be diligent when watching their children since so many things that inattention allows to happen will be somebody else's fault. People will no longer be required to develop a little common sense.

Great. A world full of selfish, lazy, demanding, helpless idiots.

Yes, there are some situations where compensation for medical expenses is not enough. But let's stop going overboard. Sometimes you just have to play the hand you're dealt.

One for the history buffs.

It's not just an American phenomenon.

Whew. I'll admit, my parents are a big help. I get my car inspected for a Christmas present, heating oil for my birthday. Although not the most fun when it comes to opening presents, these gifts take a load off my mind. And as a single mom receiving little to no help from the dad, I'm grateful.

But I also do not take advantage of the situation. It really frosts me to see people taking from their parents for necessities like insurance and rent, then feeling entitled to go off on a vacation to the Caribbean. Who want the Bank of Mom and Dad to finance the groceries so they can have a little money to kick back at the bar with their friends. Who could actually make it on their own if they gave up the cable tv, unlimited calling plan cell phone, fashionably over-priced clothes. You don't need a gym membership. Clean your parent's house. There's your exercise.

Yes, the economy sucks. Being a single parent is hard, both emotionally and financially. There are things neither my parents nor I can control, like the costs of housing, insurance, and basic necessities. But there's a difference between necessities and luxuries.

Some "kids" need to learn that.

So now comes the debate on Bushy's success, now that Libya has "backed down." But have they?

I can tell you as the mother of a teenager, the strong-arm tactic may win the battle, but doesn't do much to win you the war. Bullying never generates respect. Bullying feeds fear. Bullying feeds revenge. And right now, I'd be a lot more concerned about someone who is willing to blow themselves up just to take you down than I would be about someone pressing the button on a nuclear device.

You may have gotten control of their WMD's, Georgie, but might not it be a hollow victory?

They are designing a car for affluent, independent women.

And brain dead?

Gull wing doors? Obviously these women don't have to load a kid into the car. Oh, that's right - the nanny does it.

Don't want to be bothered by maintenance? Yeah, that's for the affluent. I jump at the chance to spend 10 times the actual cost for a simple friggin' oil change. And I'm sure there are more than a few mechanics salivating at the thought that a car will now contact them to say ok, here's another opportunity gouge this idiot chick behind the wheel for repairs she doesn't really need.

An electronic emergency brake? If I got an emergency, buddy, I want something I can grab and hang on to. I'm not gonna be looking for a friggin' button somewhere.

No gas cap. A perfect hiding place for little Johnny's Tonka truck.

I can get behind the easy to clean and easy to park. Just make me a car that I can depend on. That reminds me when to change the oil, when to get gas, when my tires need to be checked. Where I can actually see to put the damn dipstick back in.

Make it heat up fast in the winter. Make windows I can open for fresh air without blowing my hair into my eyes. Easy to get roadside assistance from someone I can trust when it's late at night and I'm stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Something I can load the groceries in and not break the eggs at the first traffic light. Go crazy at the garden center and not have to go crazy vacuuming out the back.

Forget making room for my damn ponytail. Give me a car that gets me where I want to go, stylin' and easy maintenance.

Yeah, that.

I came up with Intrinsic Warrior. Hmm.

Pet peeve of the day...

Websites with writing prompts that contain incorrect spellings.

Sheesh.

1. When you were in elementary school, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A teacher. Almost got there, too. Now I'm glad I switched majors. Don't think I'd have much fun dressing for work in full battle gear.

2. How old were you when you stopped growing?

Well, I haven't stopped growing yet. Upwards, certainly, but sideways is a constant battle. And mentally, well, I hope that never stops.

3. What do you think are the three most significant events to occur so far in your life? Have you ever written about them?

Going off to college is number one. Seeing the "Me" in the dorm room mirror, without the glasses. So vastly different from the Me that grew up in a small town and went to high school feeling oh so much less that those popular girls. Seeing for the first time that I actually was so much more attractive that most of them. I think back now what a waste those years were - the only thing that had held me back was me.

The birth of my child. The battles with cancer.

I have only started writing about them. Going down deep and writing out the pain is hard, but cathartic.

4. What weird food combination do you really like?

Don't do much in the way of food combos. There's the chocolate milk and soda thing, but I don't consider it weird. No. It is not. Come on. Have you tried it?

5. In our Tuesday chat with Steve Simpson (Macfisto), author of our current Absolute Blank article, we discussed the differences between writing longhand and writing on the computer. Do you write your first drafts longhand or on the computer? Why?

I alternate. Just can't write fast enough longhand, but I am addicted to the feel of a good pen on quality paper. Wish I had that Catholic school penmanship, tho.


Questions from Toasted Cheese

They say what's missing is a real-world incentive to convince companies to move beyond arguing that software can never be perfect. We don't need it to be perfect, they say, we need it to be safe.


Ah, yes. Another round of lawsuits. But really, in what other industry is it so acceptable to put out a sloppy and incomplete products with no repercussions?

Many years ago I sat in a bland, sterile hospital room while various chemicals coursed thru my veins on their mission to destroy any and all cells in a propagating frenzy to take over the nice, clean, helpful cells in my body. Old magazines and TV re-runs were the only comfort. Nurses and an occasional doctor provided minor distractions.

And there was that smell. Sometime prior to my appointment the room was always cleaned with some kind of faux lemon cleanser, leaving a lingering odor. Sickeningly sweet, not quite the true odor of lemon drops or made-from-scratch lemon meringue pie.

Sights, sounds, and smells stay with most chemo patients long after treatments have stopped, bringing back memories of the haunting taste and queasy feelings the drugs gift you with. I once heard a story about a patient who ran into her doctor on the street many years after her treatments had stopped - and promptly threw up. Such is the power of memories.

It's been a dozen years since I was on the front line of that battle between the good and bad cells. Most of the smell-based memories are long gone, but occasionally I'll get a whiff of a faint, fake, lemony aroma and give an involuntary cringe. And I'm again thankful for that kind soul who warned me not to eat, wear, or use any of my favorite things for comfort during the cell-wars, or they would no longer offer the comfort desparately needed at that time.

I can now enjoy a home-made lemon meringue pie but still can't stand the smell of cheap lemon-scented cleansers. My doctor unfortunately succumbed to the ravages on his heart from his own cell-wars, so those memories, although bitter-sweet, only bring feelings of immense gratitude.

Bless you, Dr. Sig. You saved my life.

Thanks for not using anything chocolate.