<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473</id><updated>2011-10-06T05:00:10.035-07:00</updated><category term='Parenthood'/><title type='text'>Parenthood</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>17</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-8099308073557764306</id><published>2011-01-07T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T09:50:12.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>baby sitting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TSdSPyOTOwI/AAAAAAAAAkA/XGq9wbfV0r8/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 222px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 145px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559502696145435394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TSdSPyOTOwI/AAAAAAAAAkA/XGq9wbfV0r8/s320/images.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;One day my dragon was out and I was put in charge of my junior, my little baby boy. He was already about 3 years old and was playing the "little tea set" belonging to my daughter. It was just a "little tea set" with a few little tea cups and a little teapot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My evening was quite the usual, engrossing myself looking at the giant flat tv for the evening and the world news. I was surprised by my little son, who suddenly appeared by my side offering me a cup of tea - which was just water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few cups of tea and a lot of praises for such yummy tea, my wife came home. I made her wait in the living room to watch him bring me a cup of tea. I just wanted to show her that my son understood who is the man of the house and also because this is just the cutest thing. She waited and sure enough, my little boy came down the hall with a cup of tea for me. She watched me drink it up and then she says..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did it ever occur to you that the only place he can reach to get water is the toilet?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-8099308073557764306?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/8099308073557764306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=8099308073557764306' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/8099308073557764306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/8099308073557764306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2011/01/baby-sitting.html' title='baby sitting'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TSdSPyOTOwI/AAAAAAAAAkA/XGq9wbfV0r8/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-67913786217980394</id><published>2010-08-12T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T02:04:12.048-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saint cinnamon rolls</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TGQf89Ep9mI/AAAAAAAAAhs/7qP2RR4Vmi4/s1600/saint-cinnamon-jakarta.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504559776600290914" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TGQf89Ep9mI/AAAAAAAAAhs/7qP2RR4Vmi4/s320/saint-cinnamon-jakarta.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Kids love Cinnamon rolls, particularly those from Saint Cinnamon. They're not only good, but good for you. If you want to die soon. Each one contains 900 grams of fat, the same as a Big Mac and a hot dog or two pork chops and a mashed potato with a healthy pat of butter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I loved to eat a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs and hashbrowns and then polish it off with a cinnamon roll. There should be a warning on the package "Do not eat if you have a heart condition or if you want to avoid one." Also, there should be another warning at the side "open at your own risk". Perhaps, another warning "If you have a blood circulation problems, don't even open the cellophane wrapper".. and another sticker on top of the buns "Make sure you are insured" No human can eat one of these a week and live. But if you do survive, this load of fat and calories can easily be burned off by drinking a gallon of grapefruit juice and climbing mount Everest with the Anvil of the Gods strapped to your back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So kids, if you can read this - pass me your Cinnamon rolls..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-67913786217980394?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/67913786217980394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=67913786217980394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/67913786217980394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/67913786217980394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2010/08/saint-cinnamon-rolls.html' title='Saint cinnamon rolls'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TGQf89Ep9mI/AAAAAAAAAhs/7qP2RR4Vmi4/s72-c/saint-cinnamon-jakarta.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-9059086944848609299</id><published>2009-04-26T00:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T10:10:43.340-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Private moments - part III</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfQZwamxDJI/AAAAAAAAAeI/qP7WYES5yZc/s1600-h/school-bus.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 218px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328912578652474514" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfQZwamxDJI/AAAAAAAAAeI/qP7WYES5yZc/s320/school-bus.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I am ready to go.. a bus was waiting for the girls at the school. As usual, I am still waiting for the girls. I &lt;em&gt;always &lt;/em&gt;wait for women. Things hasn't change much since my childhood days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"5 more minutes doggy boy..." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Twenty minutes later&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;, we are finally on the way to the school to board the bus. I have driven to the school probably a few hundred times and yet somehow whenever I am in the car with dragon, the power struggle for navigating starts immediately.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"I think you should take the Pantai expressway.." she says&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"No, I am going to the Federal highway, it's early"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It's a no win situation. If there's any trouble on the Federal highway, she'll say "I told you to take the expressway.." If I picked the expressway, which I don't want to do, and it's jammed up, she'll say, "You should have stuck with your instincts."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Like most decisions in life, this is one best not to argue and rethink again. I just have to decide, stick with it and move on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So I take the expressway, and it's jammed. Now I am mad at myself, she's mad, my daughter's mad and the car grows unusually quiet&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;We finally reached the school and I pull into the parking lot. My daughter sees her girlfriend and ran over to talk. Dragon stays in the car with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"I am going to spend the whole weekend with thirty little girls and their moms," she moans.. "What was I thinking?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"You mean you'd rather stay with me?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"No. I just wonder what was I thinking.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Our daughter wanted to do this. You like to do things with her together. I am jealous. I wish I could go.." I lied...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Okay, you go. " She looked at me in the eyes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Ah... I love to but, you know, I have already made plans."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Oh, really, what plans?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Oh, nothing much. First I'll take care of all the items in your list. Very important. I'll probably work on the roof and the backdoor a little. Then maybe, I'll look for some Korean ladies, get a massage - a real massage - and invite the pretty 25 year old twins next door for a sunset hot tub.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Well, have fun," dragon says, unfazed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Okay, so maybe I won't get the massage," I say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"But you will play music really loud, because I don't let you when I am home. And watch movies until 4 in the morning, sleep all day and eat horrible food."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;She knows me so well. Maybe I can just leave the uneaten casserole in the refridgerator and she'll understand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Have fun. I love you." she says, and give me a long, soulful kiss clearly designed to make me forget the twins next door. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;With that, we get out, unload the bags and join the other kids and their parents. I am not sure i would want to be the driver on the bus. I can see it now: Thirty women going - "Left. Left! No... right..turn right... No, take the highway.. Brake..."..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Even more worrying, I would be distracted, specifically by Lucy Wong's butt. Nice. Lucy Wong's daughter is in the same class with my daughter. I used to see her at the gym at times - along with some of the other moms and dads. She looks great in her makeup. Maybe I &lt;em&gt;would&lt;/em&gt; want to be the driver.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I give the girls a big hug and kiss and watch them climb aboard. I also peek around dragon to catch another glimpse of Lucy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-9059086944848609299?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/9059086944848609299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=9059086944848609299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/9059086944848609299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/9059086944848609299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2009/04/private-moments-iii.html' title='Private moments - part III'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfQZwamxDJI/AAAAAAAAAeI/qP7WYES5yZc/s72-c/school-bus.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-6101339760154722518</id><published>2009-04-24T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T10:00:32.810-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Parenthood'/><title type='text'>Private moments - part II</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfKiBtRroGI/AAAAAAAAAeA/ZcWGbdF6N_0/s1600-h/RoadTrip_v2.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 190px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328499459350044770" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfKiBtRroGI/AAAAAAAAAeA/ZcWGbdF6N_0/s320/RoadTrip_v2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; While dragon was trying to save wolfie the dog from my menu of &lt;em&gt;edible dog food&lt;/em&gt;, and keep amending my list of &lt;em&gt;what to do's... &lt;/em&gt;I have been trying very hard to put other things in order. I thought it was easy for me to be alone for a couple of days while both of them dissappeared into the camping trip. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Out of nowhere, my daughter announces that she doesn't want to go camping. Great! that really bums me out. I've been looking forward to being alone for the weekend. Dragon's also bummed because now that means a little argument. And as I expected, the girls begin snapping at each other. I would like to step in and try to stop it but that would be wrong, because they will find a way to blame me for everything. This goes on until Dragon looks at me and says, "I've got such a headache.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"OK, I'll go talk to her.." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I look at my daughter and whisper softly.. "Sweetie, 50 bucks if you go.." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;That takes care of the problem. Dragon went back to the &lt;em&gt;'to do' &lt;/em&gt;list again.. "Oh, and go see baby at mom's place before you go to sleep."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"We have a baby? Wait, we do have a baby. I've seen him. His name is.. baby.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Congratulations! You do live here. By the way, I left a chicken breast and thigh in the fridge for you..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"That's sweet. But you know I'm not attracted to chicken.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"... and the casserole. You just put the rice in that sauce, and add the peppers to it. Then you take off the chicken skin, cut the chicken into pieces.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I am lost&lt;/em&gt;....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"... and put it in a frying pan, turn on the stove..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dragon plans meals for me. It's her way of being nice, but it ain't going to happen. I don't have the heart to tell her that I've already planned my favorite meal; a bologna sandwich. And none of that low fat, plasticine, leather looking garbage is ever going into my plate. But that's what I am going to feed Wolfie ..tsk...tsk... save me the money from buying the dog food in the first place.. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-6101339760154722518?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/6101339760154722518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=6101339760154722518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/6101339760154722518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/6101339760154722518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2009/04/private-moments-ii.html' title='Private moments - part II'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfKiBtRroGI/AAAAAAAAAeA/ZcWGbdF6N_0/s72-c/RoadTrip_v2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-883011814809439130</id><published>2009-04-18T23:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T10:06:23.163-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Private moments - part I</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TSdVfAUpcsI/AAAAAAAAAkM/4YBQ2hBzwOQ/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SerPZoVIPBI/AAAAAAAAAd4/jd_xn7vM2Xc/s1600-h/refrigerator_art.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 231px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 168px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326297548548750354" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SerPZoVIPBI/AAAAAAAAAd4/jd_xn7vM2Xc/s320/refrigerator_art.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My daughter is going for a camp in the weekend with her classmates and dragon is going to accompany her like all her friend's mum. It is a wecoming news because I have always wanted to be alone for a few days.. just by myself..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;That morning, before I get to send them to school, dragon rushed to the kitchen and blocked my view with a sheet of paper she thrust in front of my face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"What's that?" I ask.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"It's the list of things I need you to do while we're gone."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;One part of me resents this because it takes me away from the things I thought I was going to do. The other part of me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;.. resents it also.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Don't forget to call the plumber," she says. "He is free in the weekend. Don't try to fix the toilet yourself again like the mess you did last time. Anyway, I have hid your toolbox so don't bother. And remember to pick up the clothes from the dry cleaner." She means &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; clothes from the dry cleaner; my fancy t-shirts are all machine washable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Feed the dog"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"You have to tell me this?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"I know how much you hate the smell, but both of you live together.. wolfie never complained about your smell..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"That's because that animal can't talk.." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I have been wondering if my dog will graze the grass like an old goat and there's plenty of grass in the garden for a buffet anytime...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"And do you remember about the medication?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Okay, tell me again.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Wolfie eats 3 times a day. Half of the can in the morning, quarter of the can in the afternoon with just kibbble, no water. And a quarter can at night. And make sure he gets outside."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"He has been eating that lot? No wonder I get less chunk of meat for my dinner nowadays.. now what about the medicine?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Make sure he takes the pills. Two pills at the first feeding, two pills at the second feeding and put that gel on at the evening feeding.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Okay, I've got it. Two cans of dog food in the morning.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"Can't you hear me? Half a can in the morning!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"I was just having a little fun.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I don't know why she worries. The dog will get feed, even if I don't do it exactly as she would have. Wolfie may get his gel in the morning and with all the pills at one go, and I'll get him some cat food cause it is cheaper. I promise he'll at least be alive when the girls get home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-883011814809439130?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/883011814809439130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=883011814809439130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/883011814809439130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/883011814809439130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2009/04/private-moments.html' title='Private moments - part I'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SerPZoVIPBI/AAAAAAAAAd4/jd_xn7vM2Xc/s72-c/refrigerator_art.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-3625516156259151374</id><published>2009-03-25T10:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T10:54:59.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/ScpuelYt6LI/AAAAAAAAAdg/fOrHuQQQ_40/s1600-h/godzilla_jpg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317183781775206578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 217px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/ScpuelYt6LI/AAAAAAAAAdg/fOrHuQQQ_40/s320/godzilla_jpg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I would rather eat up all the dog biscuits for life than wake up difficult people. I understand it because as a kid I would love to drop off my pet dog from mount everest every time I heard him barking in the morning. My dragon is impossible. It is only safe to wake her from a distance, like Portugal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I always try to rouse my daughter with an exciting thought so that she just pops up and ready to go. I usually kiss her and say something like, "I dreamed about being trapped in the hotel room, locked from the outside and there's a lot of zombies around ..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;She'll screamed... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Actually, I don't say that, but I do try to get her brain active. "Hey, I dreamed about your mommy kidnapped by the ultraman.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;She'll say," Didn't you try to save mommy?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then I know I've got her.. "Well, but ultraman will not let me take mom back.. anyway, daddy can save a lot of money if mom is not around.. mom eats like godzilla"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And she'll say, "But you got to save mommy.. you are the godzilla... mommy is princess Barbie"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now, I am standing in her doorway without a shirt on, teasing, "Yeah right, well, I am going to work now and I'll give ultraman a phone call later..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"You can't go to work like this"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Why not? I am late"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"You can't go to work like that because people can see your belly"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We both laugh and she's up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-3625516156259151374?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/3625516156259151374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=3625516156259151374' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/3625516156259151374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/3625516156259151374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2009/03/of-dreams.html' title='Of dreams'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/ScpuelYt6LI/AAAAAAAAAdg/fOrHuQQQ_40/s72-c/godzilla_jpg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-450585275376126256</id><published>2009-03-08T08:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T07:27:29.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. pets</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SbPpK9zI_OI/AAAAAAAAAcg/IkjBYaQNdKg/s1600-h/lawrence_shih_tzu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310844760196971746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SbPpK9zI_OI/AAAAAAAAAcg/IkjBYaQNdKg/s320/lawrence_shih_tzu.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dragon keeps a pet dog at her parent's house. Its a little Shi Tzu doggy whom they called Wolfie. Doesn't look like a wolf at all to me. Dragon sometimes called it Alaz, and me her doggy boy. Wolfie has no guts, and once it almost had a stroke when I jumped on him from behind. I honestly feel sorry for doing that..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;"How about a treat?" I asked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Wofie wags his tail excitedly and runs towards the back kitchen door, where we keep his dog bones. Wolfie loves those dog bone biscuits that come in six different colours and favours. I like them too, particularly the yellow ones. I know this because once when my daughter was there, we were fooling around and I told her I could eat a dog bone biscuit. She didn't believe me, so I bit off a hunk, chewed and swallowed. Her eyes lit up, she grinned, then flipped out and started crying. So I did the only thing I could do: I licked the tears from her face, nuzzled up against her and everything was fine.. except that now she thinks wolfie is her half brother. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-450585275376126256?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/450585275376126256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=450585275376126256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/450585275376126256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/450585275376126256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2009/03/parenthood-pets.html' title='Parenthood.. pets'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SbPpK9zI_OI/AAAAAAAAAcg/IkjBYaQNdKg/s72-c/lawrence_shih_tzu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-6196686404242246614</id><published>2008-10-10T02:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T02:42:45.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. oh what to call those parts</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SO8otFgCoAI/AAAAAAAAAUA/bw74TfYC7cg/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255464045200449538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SO8otFgCoAI/AAAAAAAAAUA/bw74TfYC7cg/s320/images.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Vagina" is a funny word. Almost as funny as 'penis'. But I always stumble over it - I mean the word. Va-gi-na. Women don't even use the word. I know one woman uses "Bushie", referring to George Bush. "Puss" is more personable, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I say this all in the most respectful way, you understand. Since I have a daughter, I have to teach her what to call it, and it can't be "down there" - the name I cleverly created - all her life. One reason I think we get so screwed up is not calling things by the right name.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So here we go: A man has a 'penis'. A woman has a 'boom-ba'. Okay, I'll be honest, she's got a 'goo goo'. I don't know why this is so difficult. My daughter already calls it a 'gong-go'. But she calls everything in that area a 'gong-go'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Please tell me this will pass.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My daughter also has major questions about why I can pee standing up. She automatically assumes it's a better deal. I didn't say anything, but who knows what she hears at the school. So I said, "No, you are lucky. You get to sit." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;She goes, "When I grow up I'll be able to pee standing up"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I'll say to her quietly "Yes, that'd be interesting, I am sure mummy will teach you when the time comes"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I feel bad for women in general. They have to go through such a to-do list when they go to the bathroom. And they can't write their names in the snow without a lot of acrobatics.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-6196686404242246614?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/6196686404242246614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=6196686404242246614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/6196686404242246614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/6196686404242246614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2008/10/parenthood-oh-what-to-call-those-parts.html' title='Parenthood.. oh what to call those parts'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SO8otFgCoAI/AAAAAAAAAUA/bw74TfYC7cg/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-1735087941631378849</id><published>2008-09-12T00:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T07:14:27.469-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of a busy day shopping</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SMogvnBmleI/AAAAAAAAATI/t-OHwnswMr8/s1600-h/hairdo2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245040718328010210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SMogvnBmleI/AAAAAAAAATI/t-OHwnswMr8/s320/hairdo2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I took my daughter to the mall the other day for the weekend shopping. We decided to grab a bite at the food court. She noticed that I was watching a teenager sitting next to her. The teenager had spiked hair in all different colours; green, red, orange and blue. He was having some fries with his legs on the table...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I kept staring at him. The teenager would look and find me staring every time. When he had enough, he came over to me and sarcastically asked, "What's the matter mister, never done anything wild in your life? Do you have a problem with my hair?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Knowing me, my daughter quickly swallowed her food so that she would not choke on my response, knowing I would have a good one. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And in classic style I replied: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"I got drunk once and had sex with a peacock. I was just wondering if you were my son"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-1735087941631378849?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/1735087941631378849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=1735087941631378849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/1735087941631378849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/1735087941631378849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2008/09/of-busy-day-shopping.html' title='Of a busy day shopping'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SMogvnBmleI/AAAAAAAAATI/t-OHwnswMr8/s72-c/hairdo2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-268392258416952511</id><published>2008-06-23T07:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T21:14:54.468-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Boogers.. boogers..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SF-76se-InI/AAAAAAAAAPo/xqaLJ-znQ04/s1600-h/philisopher.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215093510566191730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SF-76se-InI/AAAAAAAAAPo/xqaLJ-znQ04/s320/philisopher.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When you are raising kids, it's valuable to have listened to your mum when you were young. I hope my mom listened to my grandparents, too. Passing childrearing wisdom from generation to generation becomes very important. For instance, "Who ate up the whole chicken?" I can, but eventually I realise it's energy misdirected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my attitude was bad, as a kid, my mom used to say, "I can't wait until you have your own kid." Yeah, right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It'll be all different when I have my own kids," I'd say. I was an idiot. Parents wait for that day. And they love to rub it in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, how many times have I said, "Who didn't flush the toilet?" when I know exactly who didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who put the boogers on the wall? Who's wiping the boogers all over the wall!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During one new year eve, my daughter went through this phase where she'd pick her nose and wipe it anywhere. My wife, like a real smart parent, said "You know, you can eat those things!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least dragon wasn't wiping stuff on the wall. But I'd heard my daughter said, "That's a huge booger mummy, and it got a nose hair sticking on it.."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-268392258416952511?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/268392258416952511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=268392258416952511' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/268392258416952511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/268392258416952511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2008/06/parenthoods-boogers-boogers.html' title='Boogers.. boogers..'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SF-76se-InI/AAAAAAAAAPo/xqaLJ-znQ04/s72-c/philisopher.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-5087117431326356436</id><published>2007-12-23T03:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:31:04.450-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. life with a baby boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25pIoPJjEI/AAAAAAAAAHk/tZu_1faGKUg/s1600-h/DSC02540.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R7AahTvkJxI/AAAAAAAAAMI/j5a1igpkyLU/s1600-h/DSC02688.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 250px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 186px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165657932131739410" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R7AahTvkJxI/AAAAAAAAAMI/j5a1igpkyLU/s320/DSC02688.JPG" width="221" height="160" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The time before dragon got pregnant was great, I thought she was so fine. Our daughter is already 6 years old and now I spent more time with dragon together. Then the news of the baby came. Considering how much fun we were having, i think that was God's way of saying, "Enough already!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Many people were right about one thing, baby does distrupt your schedules. Dragon and I had perfected our routine: work, movies, travel, computer games, reading, gifts to each other. It wasn't a bad way to live, except when she expected me to wear the chaps to bed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Baby's birth broadened our lives by making us focus on another human being. In other words, the baby demanded lots of time and energy. What I really mean to say is that we signed a lifelong contract with no escape clause. At the time I believed that forsaking my own needs in the service of another was transforming. Now I think I was so sleep-deprived that I couldn't have been thinking clearly and signed the lifelong contract under extreme duress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The whole fatherhood experience has turned me into a different guy. Once, when an inconsolable infant cried nonstop in a plane, I would say to the stewardess "Look, haven't you people heard of cloroform?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;But being a father has brought me smack into the family of man. I am far more less judgemental. Now, if my son cried on the plane and if I get annoying looks from the passengers; my first thoughts are, "Maybe some chewing gum will help your ears.. maybe if I held you people up for a couple of minutes would fix your hearing problem.. maybe you should try to hear from your backside.."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Having a baby made me both fiercely protective and softened me to life. The kid opened me up to hope. Kids are about hope. Kids are about the future. They're about our future. They are about having someone around we can guilt into taking care of us when our minds make appointments our bodies can't keep. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like the guy I am now better than the guy I used to be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-5087117431326356436?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/5087117431326356436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=5087117431326356436' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/5087117431326356436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/5087117431326356436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthood-life-with-baby-boy.html' title='Parenthood.. life with a baby boy'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R7AahTvkJxI/AAAAAAAAAMI/j5a1igpkyLU/s72-c/DSC02688.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-3600703483028715332</id><published>2007-12-23T03:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:28:26.611-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. raising a boy..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/Ry1xO2kqqMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gbBjRHJ_HhQ/s1600-h/hair1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25CJYPJi-I/AAAAAAAAAG0/mcxOnSc8HtQ/s1600-h/hair1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147124153023302626" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25CJYPJi-I/AAAAAAAAAG0/mcxOnSc8HtQ/s320/hair1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Having a kid has made me do things I never imagined I would. I nurture other people's kids. I can be talking to an adult and wiping snot off his kid's mouth. I'm grabbing boogers out of some kid's nose and wiping them underneath the table or on the couch. Hey - either I do it, or he will. Dragon and I are now pondering, whether raising a boy would be any different from raising a girl. Do girls get into trouble? Generally, they don't.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Girls are more likely to be doing useless things like studying or going to after college function to develop their social skills! Skills that don't prepare them for important things, like toilet-papering houses. Now, where's that going to get them? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;They like reading romance novels under bedcovers at night.&lt;br /&gt;Reading?&lt;br /&gt;But reading what? Nancy Drew meets J.K Rowling?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Boys, well.. they always get into trouble. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. I have been a kid before so I knew. Boys learn early that we can't get a girl without a car and/or prison record. A good grade point average in your class or memorised parts in Shakespear can't compete with riding a motorcycle. When the girl's parents said, "I don't like that Alaz, he drives that bike." you knew you were in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And I am not talking about serious heisting here. Just kid stuff, like as boys sometimes we borrowed our parent's car without asking. Now, I didn't do this, of course, to the best of their knowledge. But between you and me, I did take their car around the Subang Jaya neighbourhood once and my heart beat so fast and so hard that I thought it would burst out of my chest. Suddenly that's all I could think about. I started freaking out. If it came through my chest, I 'd probably look down and try to stuff it back in or something. And while I was looking down, some neighbour lady walking her doggy poodle would, at that very moment decide to cross the street, and when I'd look up - "Oh, my God" - with the manuevering skill of Michael Schumacher the junior, I'd swerve out of her way just in time and plow right into lawns, front gates and small gardens before I hit 2 rubbish bins and back on the road. I sped home and spent the rest of the day recovering.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What goes around comes around. I have 2 kids growing up now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Here's the big difference between boys and girls at the age when everyone is looking for action - from my point of view. Take 2 cars, put 4 girls in one car and 4 guys in the other and you send them both out to get a six pack of beer and tell them to be back at midnight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The girls will probably back by eleven o'clock. One beer is half empty and warm, with lipstick on the rim. The car is cleaner that when you left it, it smells like a mix of Chanel and gossip. Everyone's chatting happily and planning how to get together soon for dinner.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The guys - if they ever come back - one is missing, there's a little blood and no one's talking. The beer's gone, a second six pack is also empty, some liquor bottles are hidden in the backseat. There are butt prints all over the windows, a tire is flat. One fender's all dented and a big piece of animal parts is strapped on the hood, probably belongs to a cat or a cow that they hit on the way back..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Two different worlds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-3600703483028715332?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/3600703483028715332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=3600703483028715332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/3600703483028715332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/3600703483028715332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthood-raising-boy.html' title='Parenthood.. raising a boy..'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25CJYPJi-I/AAAAAAAAAG0/mcxOnSc8HtQ/s72-c/hair1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-2884127475588484881</id><published>2007-12-23T03:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:26:26.963-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. 1+1 = more than I can handle</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147126373521394674" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25EKoPJi_I/AAAAAAAAAG8/raWDow5AM9w/s320/baby.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It was a natural birth. Dragon didn't want her drugs until after our baby was born. I told her, "This is not the gladiator movie. If it starts to hurt, take the epidural!" Dragon was breathing very heavily, she could have cussed out the nurses when the pain got intense, but it wouldn't have meant as much to her as cursing someone who would take it personally.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It was a good thing I was around. Dragon was breathing all the wrong and the baby started coming out before anything was ready. I had to remind her to hold on. Before my kid was born, I used to think very differently about being in the delivery room. Like there is absolutely no reason to be around. You're there for support, but you're really just a pain in the ass. You coo and whisper supportively, trying to help your wife concentrate on her breathing. It never works. If it was me delivering the kid, I'd want to hear a manly song.. like the one I could sing along with Michael Jackson.. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Beat it... beat it.. just beat it..." I could breath to the drum cadence and move my butt profusely on the bed - and say 'hello' to my newborn in no time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Men also say stupid things in the delivery room. Men are such lamebrains. She's lying there and we're going "God, honey, that's gotta hurt," or "Will I be able to use that area again?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;But the attitude changed the minute I saw the baby coming out into our world. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Seeing the process first hand just reinforced my belief that men are far more jealous about women's ability to bear a child that we'll admit. We can't do what women can, so they have the ultimate power. We act like they don't. We did not treat them well because we can't have kids. We demean them - not because they'll accept it, but just to keep them in their place. If women understood the power they have, I don't know what we'd do. Maybe they do know. Nah, I can't even consider that. Too scary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I can't even fathom having to really deliver a child. I watched that child come out. The pride swelled up in me. Also the anger, and the competition. What I witnessed was something that hurt my woman and I couldn't stop it. And something that made her happy in a way that I've never been able to make her happy. This doesn't mean her screams didn't make me think, "Boy.. I'm glad I'm a guy!" Our baby boy finally arrived yesterday. Yes, a baby boy. I discovered later that dragon and the gynae were in on this and just trying to get back at me for the crack about the baby girl. I had to kill them both.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My next blog will be about single parenting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-2884127475588484881?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/2884127475588484881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=2884127475588484881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/2884127475588484881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/2884127475588484881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthood-11-more-than-i-can-handle.html' title='Parenthood.. 1+1 = more than I can handle'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25EKoPJi_I/AAAAAAAAAG8/raWDow5AM9w/s72-c/baby.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-7539556671688038925</id><published>2007-12-23T03:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:21:43.744-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. oops, another baby is on the way</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TRIy1ILmGNI/AAAAAAAAAj0/4bB96r3WBHY/s1600/imagesCA3CJUVC.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TRIx7y3prRI/AAAAAAAAAjs/EGZgyjAtbHA/s1600/imagesCA3CJUVC.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25E24PJjAI/AAAAAAAAAHE/tPn057jlHTg/s1600-h/13.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 210px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 207px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147127133730606082" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25E24PJjAI/AAAAAAAAAHE/tPn057jlHTg/s320/13.jpg" width="205" height="206" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It's 8:00 a.m, The daylight filters through the blinds into my bedroom, throwing lines of sun and shadow on my face. They remind me of the shock years ago, when dragon told me she was pregnant. Life is so unfair... before I could barely enjoyed the very little freedom I have left, she gave me another shock - that a new baby is on the way. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;An odd thing about fatherhood is the change in camaraderie with other male parents, especially when your new baby is going to come to this world. You bond.. and the bond is rife with genuine tenderness, vulnerability and a little sadness. I don't know why. It just is - maybe because a kid finally connects a man to something he loves unconditionally that, unlike his car, which can actually love him in return. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dragon has a hard time carrying her big belly around the house, puffing up smokes everywhere. The woman is angry, tired, tied down and hell, she can't do anything about it. I can't even fathom having to carry something that size in my belly. Finally to shut her up when her ankles swell to the size of holiday cheese logs, I had to strap one of those pillows in my belly and walk around for a while to entertain her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dragon tries to make me understand the pain and the stress women had to go through during pregnancy. She needed practices to make sure the breathing exercise are correct and nothing should go wrong. She wanted to play the gynae doctor and I have to be her - the pregnant wife on the hospital bed. She'll asked me to spread my legs wide open, to feel the contraction and labour pain.. and I have to scream like how she screamed in the delivery room..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"C'mon doggyboy... push!" she'll quipped&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Ahhh...Uhh...ehhh.....mmm....."&lt;br /&gt;"Push... ok... " "Push!"&lt;br /&gt;"Ahhhhh......(like this?)&lt;br /&gt;"I... I.. can see the baby's head.. quick.. push.."&lt;br /&gt;"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!..."(ha..ha..like really..)&lt;br /&gt;"PUSH!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" (whyd' she have to pinch my butt?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;She'll only allow me to stop screaming after I passed out..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The last time we played this game - she was carrying our first child. She laughed so hard until her waterbag burst and ended up in the emergency ward. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The whole episode made me realised that as men, we are like bees; we are created to hover around the uterus and trying to reproduce ourselves. We can't get pregnant. Women does. But when men come out of women, they spend the rest of their lives trying to get back in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;We went back to the same bald headed chipmunk face - gynae whom we consulted years ago. He gave the usual greetings...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Hello.. what gives me the pleasure? 'accident' again?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Hey doc, you know - that's not funny......"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Of course, dragon is thrilled with every visit that we made to the gynae. Dragon loves to see the baby on the ultrasound, especially when he scanned and showed her the tiny heartbeart... but I am interested only in one thing..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"So doc, umm.. is this going to be a boy?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Looks like a girl..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"............................"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"................................"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Are you absolutely sure? are you 100% sure?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"If you want 100% sure, I can take the baby out to show you first and then put the baby back inside.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;... Can they do that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-7539556671688038925?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/7539556671688038925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=7539556671688038925' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/7539556671688038925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/7539556671688038925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthood-oops-another-baby-is-on-way.html' title='Parenthood.. oops, another baby is on the way'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25E24PJjAI/AAAAAAAAAHE/tPn057jlHTg/s72-c/13.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-187972347022152873</id><published>2007-12-23T02:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:13:04.308-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. what an expensive job</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TRIxH0SeDqI/AAAAAAAAAjk/da0MBFxTlqo/s1600/imagesCA3CJUVC.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Before somebody calls me "daddy", I didn't think having a kid would be such a big deal. I always thought that babies are nice, play with them and put them in the closet until the next time we want to play. Then my daughter arrived in all pink and smiles at you with her cute face, and everything changes..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When I sit back on a warm night, caressed by the soft breeze, sipping a glass of wine and I see her playing in the front yard, I stop for a moment and think, "There's a lot of pain coming."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;As she grows up she's going to hurt me, without even wanting to. She already hurts me and doesn't know how much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Love hurts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;However, without her our lives would be incomplete. The minute I carried her over the threshold 6 years ago, our house finally became a home. Actually, I carried my dragon, who carried my daughter, who looked so beautiful and innocent that I almost dropped them both, as well as dragon's luggage from the hospital which, having no free hands, I had to hold in my teeth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25HH4PJjBI/AAAAAAAAAHM/_7iXbiX42Bs/s1600-h/d1.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147129624811637778" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25HH4PJjBI/AAAAAAAAAHM/_7iXbiX42Bs/s320/d1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Now my little girl has her own room, full of her own stuff. Dragon and I have separate closets but I swear I never actually gone inside. i might not make it out. Once, when she asked me to find a particular purse, I had to call my mum in law to come over and help me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When I opened my daughter's closet, I got a shock, her closet looks just like...my dragon's closet, only the clothes are smaller and neatly arranged in smaller cloth hangers. There's no mistaken whose daughter she is. Like her mother, she also has lots of shoes. Some have never been worn. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Suddenly, I feel like someone's staring at me. Her room has dolls all over and there are so many - you hardly notice them. Most of the dolls are pretty cool but there is one collection she calls 'fragile dolls'. Their little, all-too human eyes looks at me as though I am an intruder. They've hemmed me in. I feel a bit faint and wait... I could've swear to God one doll in the middle was not there before. From the corner of my eye, I saw them looking at me. They'd better not be moving and switching places when I'm not looking, or else I'm going to have to check into a hotel room for the weekend. What's that sound.. now there's something scratching at the door. It better not be any of her doll's friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-187972347022152873?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/187972347022152873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=187972347022152873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/187972347022152873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/187972347022152873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/before-somebody-calls-me-daddy-i-didnt.html' title='Parenthood.. what an expensive job'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25HH4PJjBI/AAAAAAAAAHM/_7iXbiX42Bs/s72-c/d1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-8718234448363416915</id><published>2007-12-22T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:08:51.613-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. watching a girl grow up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R250AYPJjII/AAAAAAAAAII/oqb8X5dwDeI/s1600-h/header_bg.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25zX4PJjHI/AAAAAAAAAIA/N16EQe3RXbk/s1600-h/camera%2Bshy.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 223px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 158px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147178278201166962" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25zX4PJjHI/AAAAAAAAAIA/N16EQe3RXbk/s320/camera%2Bshy.jpg" width="247" height="176" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; I'll admit it. When we did the ultrasound before my daughter was born and the doctor said, "it's a little girl," I went "Ohhhh..." I actually made that sound. Like I'd opened the wrong gift. There was a moment of calmness and everybody looked at me before the doctor said, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"What was that all about?" and D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;ragon said, "What's Ohhh ' for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Oh...ahemm...I was clearing my throat.." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I quickly turned to Dragon and said "Oh, look! a girl! a friend for you! Look at that!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I was dissappointed then. Now, of course, I feel guilty in front of God. This girl is so much pleasure to me and she's so incredible. When my daughter and I are alone, she'll hug my leg and say, "I just love you so much, Daddy!" There's nothing like this in the world. When I told her it's weekend, and she gets this great look on her face and she goes "We have so much to do, Dad!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;There are some rules, however.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Swearing too much around the house is not permitted when there's a young child about. I've said stuff and then realised my daughter was listening. Even in general conversation, you got to be careful. You make a decision about and for the child and you forget they can hear you. They're not stupid. And then when you least expected it, they then become little myna birds and repeat what you said.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Recently, she went to the toilet and I overheard her scream..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"Oh shit. why this shit has to be so hard... shit shit oww..." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Holy shit!. that's exactly what I said yesterday when I did my business downstairs...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My daughter likes me to chase her - definitely a girl thing that stays with them until the day they finally allow some lucky guy to catch them. I'm teaching her early, though, to run real fast. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I drag her into my world whenever I can. She likes to go for rides with me. She loves going fast. She thinks my Gen2 is a Ferrari. That's probably not a bad thing. If I'm real lucky, it will probably save me some money when she wants a Ferrari for her sixteenth birthday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-8718234448363416915?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/8718234448363416915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=8718234448363416915' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/8718234448363416915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/8718234448363416915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthoodwatching-girl-grow-up.html' title='Parenthood.. watching a girl grow up'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25zX4PJjHI/AAAAAAAAAIA/N16EQe3RXbk/s72-c/camera%2Bshy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1878798539396148473.post-899836921937551614</id><published>2007-12-22T13:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T09:04:36.504-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood.. what an experience</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/TRIvaDevvAI/AAAAAAAAAjU/bW2u-HzdTZs/s1600/imagesCA3CJUVC.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; DISPLAY: block; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147130058603334690" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25HhIPJjCI/AAAAAAAAAHU/lac5vwcec70/s320/549977914l.jpg" width="323" height="244" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Have a kid and everything changes. I used to to hear those words over and over again but still I couldn't anticipated the consequences. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I would like to share them. And since this is my blog and not yours, you'll just have to put up with my going on about this for a while. Or else, I'm taking my bottles and diapers and going home, to put myself down for a nap. See...have kid and right away you start acting like one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dragon and I never tried to get pregnant. It just kind of happened. We were in fact, already booked a trip with my old mates to Pangkor and hoo boy, doesn't everybody had a cold sweat back then.. this was because we were anticipating some of my old mates to get married first and enjoy our freedom for at least a few more years. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Not only we were not married, but I haven't even met with dragon's family... the 'ancient' dragons... ones that breath fire first before it speaks.. and her mom was an expert at spitting fireballs...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We both knew we wanted kids, as a concept but both dragon and myself were still scared and maybe a bit selfish. I thought "What would I do with a kid? What would a kid do with me?" And then, one night, within a moment, my whole perspective changed. I visited my colleague and her dad was in town. We were sitting in her sofa, laughing about something and suddenly I noticed her dad looking at her with what can only be described as a sparkling gaze of pride, love and eternal friendship. (words cannot describe this really.) And all at once he asked for a kiss and a hug. I said, "I'll hug you but a kiss is out of the question." I learned later that he was speaking to her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This ineffable moment between them made me rethink about parenthood. Dragon and I knew - that having a child would change our lives, change sex, change everything. But after all these years and looking back at the time, I think it's the best thing that ever happenned to us. We wouldn't want to change anything even if we are able to go back in time. Dragon kind of suspected that she was pregnant. My reaction to the news that dragon was pregnant was screaming. Loud sustained screaming...probably because my mind was so blank at the time..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dragon said "Aren't you supposed to call for help? Screaming won't help much"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"No no, that's an excited scream." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Actually, the whole process was kind of fun. I've never had such a MANLY feelings, both for her as well as about myself. Dragon has never looked more radiant. There's something about how lovely pregnant woman are that makes you fall in love even with pregnant strangers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Of course, we were scared to death. Dragon said "Now, what do we do?" We were worried. I called my buddy to cancel the trip beforehand and to think about what to do... next...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Err.. sorry, I can't come with you guys to Pangkor today"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Why, is everything alright?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"No, she is expecting a baby and I am going to be a dad.."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"What? Does her parents know?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Actually I haven't even meet her parents"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"What?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Well, I am going to meet her parents and I will say Hi..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Shit, does your in laws have to come to your full moon first?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her parents gave their blessings of course. I met them two months later on the 1st day of Chinese new year. I met them again for second time on Chap Goh Mei and proposed the marriage. They almost fainted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;How much being a parent would change my life didn't occur to me until I was heaving up my dinner the day my daughter was born. I ate my dinner at the hospital, then had to stop in the parking lot and throw up: once because of the baby, twice because of the food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1878798539396148473-899836921937551614?l=alazgohlc2.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/feeds/899836921937551614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1878798539396148473&amp;postID=899836921937551614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/899836921937551614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1878798539396148473/posts/default/899836921937551614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alazgohlc2.blogspot.com/2007/12/parenthoodwhat-experience.html' title='Parenthood.. what an experience'/><author><name>Naughty Boy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/SfVsBq-kU7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/a8RgzHn_fJ8/S220/ALaz.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B3-PYLAFcvk/R25HhIPJjCI/AAAAAAAAAHU/lac5vwcec70/s72-c/549977914l.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
