Saturday, October 09, 2004
life's little celebrations
When I sat down this evening, I had every intention of ranting and raving against the 90 some minutes of scripted and carefully orchestrated political theater that passes for debate in America. As if that charade is not bad enough. . .
Basically, I think both candidates pulled their punches. There were barbs and jabs that connected on both sides, but no follow through with the big punch to knock the other guy down. I hypothesize that this is at least in part, due to a variation on the Dr. Strangelovish Mutually Assured Destruction theory that the Reaganites subscribed to as one of the reasons for the 'nucular' arms race with the Soviets in the 80's -- "if I attack, he'll counterattack with everything, and then I'll have to counter that with everything and we'll both be destroyed" (or somesuch gibberish).
Pussies and panderers, the lot of them. I kinda like to see them settle the whole "who will lead us" nonsense the way the leaders of our ancestors did: with swords.
But after sitting here a moment or two, I changed my mind.
Not about having the candidates settle the matter with swords. That would still be pretty damn cool, and an Ultimate Reality TV Special, I'm sure. I've changed my mind about the topic of tonight's rant.
I changed my mind, because, as some say, all politics are local.
And you can't get much more local than what happens under your roof.
So please join me, my dear reader, in celebrating (drink!) the remarkable recent accomplishments of The Boy:
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was not allowed to eat. Yes, that's right. He was denied the most basic of life's pleasures: food. Ms. von Munchausen fabricated medical conditions and falsified medical records to deny The Boy's right to eat. He was connected to a machine that pumped formula into his stomach 12 hours a day to meet his nutritional needs.
The Wife and I have always considered that to be one of Ms. von Munchausen's most egregious violations and have been making steady progress while working with The Boy's doctor and therapists to rectify the situation.
I am quite proud to report that for the past two weeks, The Boy has met his nutritional needs the same way you and I do, my dear reader. Well, maybe not the same way. . . he's too young for beer. But, he eats three squares a day, Jack. He's still learning to chew, so a food processor does a lot of that for him, but he eats a healthier more balanced diet than most folks do.
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was not allowed to sit up. Yes, that's right. He was not allowed to sit up. He spent his days lying down, being turned evey few hours from one side to the other. The rationale for this was, according to the fabricated and false medical information created by Ms. von Munchausen, allowing The Boy to sit up would cause him aspirate on his own saliva and subsequently lead to pneumonia. In his records we found three instances where she claimed this happened but have yet to find one piece of medical documentation to support her erroneous claims. As The Boy was allegedly unable to even handle his own saliva without risking his health, consideration of ever drinking liquids was out of the question.
Today, The Boy drank three ounces of juice from a sippy cup without incident. (Yes, a "sippy cup", you know, the kind with the lid and the little spout with holes. Please pardon my toddler parent vocabulary.) He enjoyed it. He wanted more. Tomorrow we'll go for four.
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was plagued by contradicting and alternating episodes of constipation and chronic diarrhea. Ms. von Munchausen, claimed that in part, this was due to The Boy's neurological impairments. She believed that his brain and nervous system lacked the ability to process and communicate the information with his body to regulate and control the involuntary and voluntary functions of his gastro-intestinal tract. Once again, there is no evidence of this. She made it up, ran with it, and then used a litany of laxatives and fiber supplements on The Boy.
Today (and get ready, my dear reader, this is one of those proud parent moments. If I could add a trumpet fanfare right here I would). . .
The Boy pooped in his potty chair! (Once again, please pardon my toddler-speak language, it's just how such things are discussed in my home. Such is now the language of my life).
So, won't you my dear reader, join a very proud father in celebrating (drink!) the recent accomplishments of The Boy!
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Basically, I think both candidates pulled their punches. There were barbs and jabs that connected on both sides, but no follow through with the big punch to knock the other guy down. I hypothesize that this is at least in part, due to a variation on the Dr. Strangelovish Mutually Assured Destruction theory that the Reaganites subscribed to as one of the reasons for the 'nucular' arms race with the Soviets in the 80's -- "if I attack, he'll counterattack with everything, and then I'll have to counter that with everything and we'll both be destroyed" (or somesuch gibberish).
Pussies and panderers, the lot of them. I kinda like to see them settle the whole "who will lead us" nonsense the way the leaders of our ancestors did: with swords.
But after sitting here a moment or two, I changed my mind.
Not about having the candidates settle the matter with swords. That would still be pretty damn cool, and an Ultimate Reality TV Special, I'm sure. I've changed my mind about the topic of tonight's rant.
I changed my mind, because, as some say, all politics are local.
And you can't get much more local than what happens under your roof.
So please join me, my dear reader, in celebrating (drink!) the remarkable recent accomplishments of The Boy:
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was not allowed to eat. Yes, that's right. He was denied the most basic of life's pleasures: food. Ms. von Munchausen fabricated medical conditions and falsified medical records to deny The Boy's right to eat. He was connected to a machine that pumped formula into his stomach 12 hours a day to meet his nutritional needs.
The Wife and I have always considered that to be one of Ms. von Munchausen's most egregious violations and have been making steady progress while working with The Boy's doctor and therapists to rectify the situation.
I am quite proud to report that for the past two weeks, The Boy has met his nutritional needs the same way you and I do, my dear reader. Well, maybe not the same way. . . he's too young for beer. But, he eats three squares a day, Jack. He's still learning to chew, so a food processor does a lot of that for him, but he eats a healthier more balanced diet than most folks do.
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was not allowed to sit up. Yes, that's right. He was not allowed to sit up. He spent his days lying down, being turned evey few hours from one side to the other. The rationale for this was, according to the fabricated and false medical information created by Ms. von Munchausen, allowing The Boy to sit up would cause him aspirate on his own saliva and subsequently lead to pneumonia. In his records we found three instances where she claimed this happened but have yet to find one piece of medical documentation to support her erroneous claims. As The Boy was allegedly unable to even handle his own saliva without risking his health, consideration of ever drinking liquids was out of the question.
Today, The Boy drank three ounces of juice from a sippy cup without incident. (Yes, a "sippy cup", you know, the kind with the lid and the little spout with holes. Please pardon my toddler parent vocabulary.) He enjoyed it. He wanted more. Tomorrow we'll go for four.
Seven months ago, while under the Iron Hand and Dark Heart of Ms. von Munchausen, The Boy was plagued by contradicting and alternating episodes of constipation and chronic diarrhea. Ms. von Munchausen, claimed that in part, this was due to The Boy's neurological impairments. She believed that his brain and nervous system lacked the ability to process and communicate the information with his body to regulate and control the involuntary and voluntary functions of his gastro-intestinal tract. Once again, there is no evidence of this. She made it up, ran with it, and then used a litany of laxatives and fiber supplements on The Boy.
Today (and get ready, my dear reader, this is one of those proud parent moments. If I could add a trumpet fanfare right here I would). . .
The Boy pooped in his potty chair! (Once again, please pardon my toddler-speak language, it's just how such things are discussed in my home. Such is now the language of my life).
So, won't you my dear reader, join a very proud father in celebrating (drink!) the recent accomplishments of The Boy!
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