Posted: Sat Jul 12, 2008 10:53 am Post subject: PLEASE VIEW!!!!!!New templates!!!!!!!!!!!!!
attention WE HAVE NEW TEMPLATES. iN THE PROFILE SECTION THERE ARE NEW TEMPLATES!!!!!If you do not like the wii template in your edit profile it will come to a section were it says board style. There you can change the template yet everyone can do this.This is possible. Please try it!!!! _________________ Psprockz your Administraor
lol its cool. There are even some pink and purple ones for girls,movie themes,game themes, and a whole lot moore _________________ Psprockz your Administraor
High three started, most essential one year, decided when your destiny one year, high three just started, my confidence special foot, I must with emphasis on, high three do not need to insist, this words are not false, high three need to insist truly, I clench teeth insist the semester, the result have also calculated may, basic can in the class first 5, I thought that so long as insisted again is diligent his semester key not to have the question depending on, high three next semester started, all illuminate my idea to develop, but along with college entrance examination's approaching, many schoolmates was anxious, I insteadIt is not anxious to a spot, I am reading every day also, but I always thought that the book does not enter the brain, was only from crosses at present, like this my minute again has not looked like some schoolmates to be such insane rises, the result was average, the period simulated test were many, tests pounds me also to cry several, but my minute has not changed, every day morning to night,but read does not enter the brain, I attempted to change, but I could not change, such college entrance examination has come,wow gold, before testing, me also to think to retake courses, but this idea has vanished immediately, tested firstSaid again, is not anxious does not have the condition, tests first many schoolmates also to read, but I do not want to look, may say I have not taken the college entrance examination, I also did not have at that time want to be too many, is only thinks in the examination place my with every effort line.
Time is running out for my friend. While we are sitting at lunch she casually mentions she and her husband are thinking of starting a family. "We're taking a survey,"she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know,"she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous holidays..."World of warcraft Power Leveling
But that's not what I mean at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be vulnerable forever.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without thinking: "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is,wow power leveling becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care,wotlk gold,but one day she will be going into an important business meeting, and she will think her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.
I want my friend to know that every decision will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at a restaurant will become a major dilemma. The issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the lavatory. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the added weight of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her own life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. She would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years—not to accomplish her own dreams—but to watch her children accomplish theirs.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a ball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.
My friend's look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then, squeezing my friend's hand, wow gold,I offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this holiest of callings.
My wife called, 'How long will you be with that newspaper? Will you come here and make your darling daughter eat her food?
I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter, Sindu, looked frightened; tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with curd rice. Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age.
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I cleared my throat and picked up the bowl. 'Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this curd rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear'.
Sindu softened a bit and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'Ok, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'
'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal. Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindu, dear, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. Ok?'
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'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child to eat something that she detested. After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand.
'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'A girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!'
'Never in our family!' My mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'
'Sindu, darling, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'
'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.
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'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honor our promises no matter what?'
It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'
'Are you out of your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.
'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'
With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big and beautiful.
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On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!' What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.
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'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'that boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from... leukemia'. She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son!
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Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'
I stood transfixed and then, I wept. 'My little Angel, you are teaching me how selfless real love is!'
The happiest people on this planet are not those who live on their own terms but are those who change their terms for the ones whom they love !!
In a far-away country, somewhere in Russia, there lived a stepmother who had a stepdaughter and also a daughter of her own. Her own daughter was dear to her, and always whatever she did the mother was the first to praise her, to pet her; but there was but little praise for the stepdaughter; although good and kind, she had no other reward than reproach. What on earth could have been done? The wind blows, but stops blowing at times; the wicked woman never knows how to stop her wickedness. One bright cold day the stepmother said to her husband:
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"Now, old man, I want you to take your daughter away from my eyes, away from my ears. You shall not take her to your people into a warm hut. You shall take her into the wide, wide fields to the crackling frost."
The old father grew sad, began even to weep, but nevertheless helped the young girl into the sleigh. He wished to cover her with a sheepskin in order to protect her from the cold; however, he did not do it. He was afraid; his wife was watching them out of the window. And so he went with his lovely daughter into the wide, wide fields; drove her nearly to the woods, left her there alone, and speedily drove away--he was a good man and did not care to see his daughter's death. Following continue.
Alone, quite alone, remained the sweet girl. Broken-hearted and terror-stricken she repeated fervently all the prayers she knew.
Father Frost, the almighty sovereign at that place, clad in furs, with a long, long, white beard and a shining crown on his white head, approached nearer and nearer, looked at this beautiful guest of his and asked:
"Dost you know me?--me, the red-nosed Frost?"
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"Be welcome, Father Frost," answered gently the young girl. "I hope our heavenly Lord sent you for my sinful soul."
"Are you comfortable, sweet child?" again asked the Frost. He was exceedingly pleased with her looks and mild manners.
"Indeed I am," answered the girl, almost out of breath from cold.
And the Frost, cheerful and bright, kept crackling in the branches until the air became icy, but the good-natured girl kept repeating:
"I am very comfortable, dear Father Frost."
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But the Frost, however, knew all about the weakness of human beings; he knew very well that few of them are really good and kind; but he knew no one of them even could struggle too long against the power of Frost, the king of winter. The kindness of the gentle girl charmed old Frost so much that he made the decision to treat her differently from others, and gave her a large heavy trunk filled with many beautiful, beautiful things. He gave her a rich cloak lined with precious furs; he gave her silk quilts--light like feathers and warm as a mother's lap. What a rich girl she became and how many magnificent garments she received! And besides all, old Frost gave her a blue dress ornamented with silver and pearls. This site is on the Crushers：crusher。
When the young girl put it on she became such a beautiful maiden that even the sun smiled at her.
The stepmother was in the kitchen busy baking pancakes for the meal which it is the custom to give to the priests and friends after the usual service for the dead.
"Now, old man," said the wife to the husband, "go down to the wide fields and bring the body of thy daughter; we will bury her."
The old man went off. And the little dog in the corner wagged his tail and said:
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"Bow-wow! bow-wow! the old man's daughter is on her way home, beautiful and happy as never before, and the old woman's daughter is wicked as ever before."
"Keep still, stupid beast!" shouted the stepmother, and struck the little dog. Went to eat, while repeat.
"Here, take this pancake, eat it and say, 'The old woman's daughter will be married soon and the old man's daughter shall be buried soon.'"
The dog ate the pancake and began anew:
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"Bow-wow! bow-wow! the old man's daughter is coming home wealthy and happy as never before, and the old woman's daughter is somewhere around as homely and wicked as ever before."
The old woman was furious at the dog, but in spite of pancakes and whipping, the dog repeated the same words over and over again.
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel‘s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
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What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
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Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, "Hope you feel better Dan."
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s most valuable player.
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His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn‘t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
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By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn‘t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn‘t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
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The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn‘t necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
“Daniel," I said, "if I could have picked, I would have picked you."
That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
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He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
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