RMers with kids

[VinylGuy]

How do you bring up death to a four year old?

My grandmother died peacefully last night in hospice care at my mom's house. My son visited her a few times on her death bed the last few weeks, but of course he didn't understand that she wasn't "just resting."

Tough day. I don't think he will fully grasp whatever we tell him, but I think it's important not to tell stories or sugarcoat.

Im sorry

[wease]

you're onto them.

they lure you in with the cherry jobs, otherwise they wouldn't have anyone to do the shit jobs.

Exactly. It’s the very same situation that made me stop volunteering for anything. I don’t mind the shit jobs if it’s what I specifically volunteer for. But when I go in signed up and expecting to do one thing, then get relegated to another that no one who signed up later than me wants to do, then count me out of playing those fucking games. Keep your fiefdom. I’ll just stay in my domain.

[bart]

maybe you guys are fucking up your assigned tasks so they’ve relegated you to the menial stuff

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[B]

maybe you guys are fucking up your assigned tasks so they’ve relegated you to the menial stuff

I can pour hot chocolate into a mug better than just about any mother fucker in the place.

[bart]

maybe you guys are fucking up your assigned tasks so they’ve relegated you to the menial stuff

I can pour hot chocolate into a mug better than just about any mother fucker in the place.

tiny marshmallows?

[B]

maybe you guys are fucking up your assigned tasks so they’ve relegated you to the menial stuff

I can pour hot chocolate into a mug better than just about any mother fucker in the place.

tiny marshmallows?

Whipped cream and crushed candy canes. What are you? 4?

[bart]

maybe you guys are fucking up your assigned tasks so they’ve relegated you to the menial stuff

I can pour hot chocolate into a mug better than just about any mother fucker in the place.

tiny marshmallows?

Whipped cream and crushed candy canes. What are you? 4?

Well I personally prefer whiskey or baileys but then again I’m not in elementary school

[spike]

Does anyone have worse takes than bart lately?

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[doug rr]

Does anyone have worse takes than bart lately?

Epilogue's advocating dunking Cinnabon in Hormel chili in another thread

sounds good..no bean chili I hope

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

https://americansongwriter.com/finally- ... ock-bands/

I feel seen.

[dad]

Does anyone have worse takes than bart lately?

Epilogue's advocating dunking Cinnabon in Hormel chili in another thread

is there a divorced dad thread now?

[bart]

Does anyone have worse takes than bart lately?

you were mortally offended by the child/beef thing huh

[Ello Sailor]

Spike can't even cook rice. Go easy on him.

[bart]

I meant chud in that post but typed it in a chic fil a drive thru line

[B]

Fuck, do all 11 year old girls cry this much, or do I just have a lemon?

[Bammer]

Another dad from my kids school posted a big thing about how little kids shouldn’t be wearing smart watches. For various reasons, calorie counting being one of them.

Anyway, I literally saw his kid at the park (with the nanny) yesterday … wearing an apple watch.

[Bammer]

Fuck, do all 11 year old girls cry this much, or do I just have a lemon?

Look to the parenting