Of 104 catastrophic injuries sustained by female high school and college athletes from 1982 to 2005 — head and spinal trauma that occasionally led to death — more than half resulted from cheerleading, according to the National Center for Catastrophic Sports Injury Research. All sports combined did not surpass cheerleading.
From a report in today’s New York Times
[Doesn’t “more than half” make “All sports combined did not surpass cheerleading” redundant?]
The NewMexiKen family tradition is that on the first birthday, the birthday cake is put within easy reach of the celebrant, who can dig in. Indeed, he or she is encouraged to dig in — and all are disappointed if he or she hesitates.
Word is that Reid was not totally into it, but he seems to have done OK.
As usual, click for larger version.
I don’t know what’s in those birthday packages but I hope one of them has jammies. It seems that Reid, celebrating his first birthday, is wearing pajamas his oldest brother wore about five years ago. Click either photo for a slightly larger version.
Cute jammies nonetheless.
Update: Lest I be misunderstood, Grandpa was teasing. I love these particular jammies and had to search to find the photo of Mack I remembered with him in them. I’m hoping to get photos of middle brother Aidan in them, too. And cousin Alex.
… of Reidie, the youngest of The Sweeties. He’s one year old today.
Old lady when boy gives up his seat: What a nice boy! Thank you!
Boy #1: Well, my mom raised me well. It was the belt — she only had to use it once, and then I just knew, you know?
Chick: Ohhh, yeah, for me it was a wooden spoon.
Boy #2: Oranges. She used to throw oranges at my face.
–2/3 train
Doesn’t anyone use a switch anymore?
Child: Mommy Mommy [Pointing at track worker] Look, that man is going to kill himself.
Mom: No, honey, he is just fixing the tracks so we don’t crash with another train.
Child: So that means he is saving our lives by risking his. What a dumbass.
–7 train
If you click and enlarge this photo you will see 6-year-old Mack’s snowball about to hit a very unsuspecting 3-year-old Aidan. Photo taken in northern Virginia Sunday.
The word “scrotum” does not often appear in polite conversation. Or children’s literature, for that matter.
Yet there it is on the first page of “The Higher Power of Lucky,” by Susan Patron, this year’s winner of the Newbery Medal, the most prestigious award in children’s literature. The book’s heroine, a scrappy 10-year-old orphan named Lucky Trimble, hears the word through a hole in a wall when another character says he saw a rattlesnake bite his dog, Roy, on the scrotum.
“Scrotum sounded to Lucky like something green that comes up when you have the flu and cough too much,” the book continues. “It sounded medical and secret, but also important.”
The inclusion of the word has shocked some school librarians, who have pledged to ban the book from elementary schools, and re-opened the debate over what constitutes acceptable content in children’s books. …
“Look, my hand turned old in the water!”
Three-year-old Aidan, looking down in horror as he stepped out of the bathtub.
Don’t worry Aidan, it’ll happen soon enough.
Much effort, none of it mine, has gone into preparing for this moment. She’s bought and read them countless books about sibling rivalry; taken them to endless sibling prep classes at the hospital; rented many sibling-themed videos narrated by respected authorities—Dora the Explorer for Dixie, Arthur for Quinn; watched with them, every Sunday night, their own old baby videos; and even bought presents to give to them from the baby when they visit him in the hospital. Before this propaganda blitz, our children may or may not have suspected that they were victims of a robbery, but afterward they were certain of it. Hardly a day has passed in months without melodramatic suffering. One afternoon I collected Dixie from her pre-school—to take one of approximately 6,000 examples—and learned that she’d moped around the playground until a teacher finally asked her what was troubling her. “When the baby comes, my parents won’t love me as much,” she’d said. Asked where she’d got that idea from, she said, “My big sister told me.”
From the second installment of a series by Michael Lewis on the birth of his third child, first son.
First published two years ago today:
No, not the pizza. The kind of dominoes you play. NewMexiKen got out a set of dominoes for the grandkids to play with while they were here. First thing we knew, 12 of the 28 tiles were missing.
They’re still missing, and keep in mind the entire house has been torn apart and reassembled to accomodate the installation of new carpet.
Where are the dominoes?
I’m just hoping none of the grandkids saw Maria Full of Grace.
The parents of a middle-class child diagnosed as ‘dyslexic’ have been contacted by educational psychologists who have discovered that the underperforming pupil was actually just stupid as well.
Seven year old Henry Bradley from Gloucester had been doing less well than many of his classmates for some time. ‘We couldn’t understand it…’ said his mother; ‘Henry comes from a supportive home where he is encouraged with his homework and has a private tutor for his maths. Eventually we had him privately assessed, and it was a great relief to us when the experts told us that Henry was dyslexic. Suddenly it all made sense.’
However, suspecting there may more complex reasons for Henry’s underachievement, the educational psychologist booked the child in for further tests and eventually made her unprecedented discovery. ‘He’s just dim,’ said Dr Janice Trenter. ‘Someone has to be.’
Except in Lake Wobegon, where all the children are above average.
Freakonomics co-author Stephen Dubner wonders.
How did this happen? How has such a sweeping, complex, controversial issue become such a pressing concern — not overnight, certainly, but very rapidly as of late?
One theory came to mind the other day when I was looking over a list of the most profitable worldwide movie releases of 2006. No. 1 on the list was Ice Age 2: The Meltdown, an animated — and apocalyptic — kids’ movie, which took in just over $1 billion at the box office. And as you can see here, the animated kids’ movie Happy Feet has also been huge, with over $350 million worldwide, and counting. While Happy Feet isn’t quite about global warming, it is about mankind’s disastrous overreach into nature. (In order to appreciate the reach of these kids’ movies, consider that Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth, a global warming jeremiad, has done $42 million worldwide, a huge figure for a documentary but a drop in the bucket compared to the animated blockbusters.)
We all know how influential kids can be. Newspaper editors and TV producers and even politicians have kids, and when those kids start obsessing about something, it’s amazing how fast the parents do, too. Just look at anti-smoking education in the U.S. My kids are so thoroughly indoctrinated against smoking that if they see someone in an old movie smoking a cigarette, they look at me, horrified, as if they’ve just seen someone slit a puppy’s throat. Similarly, I wonder if children may have been the ones who were scared straight about global warming — and have gone nipping at their parents’ heels.
Of course, then, it wouldn’t be children sounding the alarm but producers of animated films sounding it. Whatever, just so someone is.
Jill, official older daughter of NewMexiKen, reports on yesterday’s Colts-Patriots game. I should add that six-year-old Mack has been sick (temp of 104° Saturday):
Thanks to all who offered support and cheers for Mack’s Colts yesterday. He did watch the whole game, despite the fact that it almost killed him. I do not think I have ever seen a human being so wracked by so many emotions in so short a time. It was actually frightening.
When the Patriots scored in the third quarter to go ahead 28-21, it was like Mack simply could not take it anymore. He melted into a pool of despair and tears, exclaiming that it was all over. I kept saying, “Mack, there is so much time left!” He’d sob, “No! (gasp) In the FIRST (sob) quarter there is a lot of (gasp) time left. Now it is (sob sob) too laaaaate!”
When the game ended he didn’t really cheer. He was truly overcome. It was kind of hilarious and kind of scary. Then he immediately started weeping, saying “The Bears are better. They are going to lose in the Super Bowl to the Bearrrrrrrrrrrrs!” Ah, genetics is a strange and powerful force.
Self-confidence is such an important part of being a world-class athlete that I truly believe Peyton Manning would never have recovered if New England had gone on to win once they lead 21-3. It’s a fine testimony to Manning’s leadership that the Colts came from behind three four times to win the game.
Besides, Sunday night was about Manning over everyone else. A lightning rod over the years for sports radio hosts, football experts, talking heads and snarky columnists like myself, Manning seemed profoundly snakebitten after last year’s Steelers loss and utterly incapable of carrying his team when it mattered. He had become the A-Rod or C-Webb of his sport, a mortal lock to melt down in every big game. Hell, any football fan has probably attempted an off-the-cuff imitation of the Manning Face at some point. Even last week against the Ravens, Manning was throwing the ball up for grabs and dancing in the pocket like a contestant on “You’re the One That I Want.” His body language never seemed right, not even during the first half last night, after the Pats scored on a fumble recovery by their left guard and CBS showed a great replay of Manning reacting like a little kid who just had his Big Wheel taken away. Nothing about the guy inspired real confidence. He needed a borderline miracle to turn things around.
. . .Unlike the famous QBs from the ’80s and ’90s (Marino, Elway, Montana, Favre) or even Brady right now, Manning never gives you that feeling that he stepped right off the set of a sports movie to save the day. He’s exceedingly human, dorky and endearing, the kind of guy who might have a giant pimple pulsating on his forehead during a big game. Even as Brady was trying to save the game in the last minute, Manning remained sitting on his own bench, his head bowed, staring at the ground and terrified to look up. Almost like he was sitting in a hospital waiting room awaiting the results of a blood test. He certainly didn’t seem like your typical football hero.
Did you send Cat a card? Click the thumbnail for a larger version and maybe you’ll see your postcard among the many she’s received.
Thanks NewMexiKen readers. And thanks Cat’s Mom, Tanya for the photo.
Boldin began calling the child care center about 4:05 p.m. to tell them she was running late. She said she called five times but never got an answer.
What Boldin saw when she arrived at the center at 4:30 p.m. is high on the list of a mother’s worst nightmares.
“Everything was dark and locked, and I said, Oh my God, where is my child? she said. “I was panicking, calling everyone I knew who could have picked him up.”
Boldin ran to a nursery window, where she saw her son’s blanket in a crib and his diaper bag in a cabinet.
Still thinking Collin wasn’t inside, Boldin found a security guard to let her in so she could get her baby’s things.
As she was picking up the diaper bag, the guard lifted the blanket off the bed and discovered the baby underneath.
“He looked like he had been crying,” Boldin said of her son. “I was so relieved, but at the same time I was so upset that they had left him there.”
By the time Boldin had her baby in her arms, it was 5 p.m. Boldin said a sign-out sheet showed that the last day care worker left at 4:15 p.m.
Hey, it’s “Day Care,” not “Happy Hour Care.”
Consumer Reports magazine today retracted an article on infant car seats, published two weeks ago, that said most of them had failed side-impact crash tests.
The tests were supposed to simulate an impact at 38 miles per hour, but actually simulated more than 70 m.p.h., according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, which was so startled by the article that it tried to duplicate the magazine’s results at a government laboratory last weekend. The agency does not have a standard for side impacts but said that at 38 m.p.h., the seats all appeared to do well.
The magazine said it had decided to retract the article after receiving data from the highway traffic agency.
Announcer: Reidie Sweetie you’ve just won your battle with respiratory syncytial virus. What are you going to do?
Reid: I’m going to Walt Disney World.
Little, not-quite 10-month-old Reid, the youngest of The Sweeties, had a nasty case of respiratory syncytial virus this week and had to be hospitalized for a couple days. He should be going home today. The virus hits the littlest ones the hardest — he also has pneumonia and a major ear infection. His brother Aidan has RSV, too, and pneumonia and the ear infection, but he didn’t need to be hospitalized.
Both boys and their older brother Mack are expected to be well in time for a planned trip to Disney World next week.
Grandpa, meanwhile, is planning a trip to Margaritaville. I hate January.
An interesting post from our very own Natalie on books, bookstores, closed-minded people and such at her blog, Petroglyph Paradox. Natalie titles her posting How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, but it’s more interesting that that.
Disgruntled mom #1: I told you kids to behave! I’m going to tell your father about this! No treats for you today, no treats! [To Disgruntled mom #2] They never listen to me.
Disgruntled mom #2: So, have you decided whether you’re going to go back to work instead of your husband?
Disgruntled mom #1, as one child shakes salt onto tables and licks it off: Well, we’ve talked about it. The problem is, I just don’t think my kids would get the same kind of attention and care.
–McDonald’s, Lincoln Center
Cat’s mom reports:
As of this week, we have heard from all 50 states, including 33 governors and 4 senators and the mail continues to come in a little at a time. I have lost track of total postcards but think we are well over 125. When I get some free time, I will send a final tally. It changes daily.
Thank you to you and your friends and family who generously took the time to send Cat a postcard. As you know, I am a working mom and I sometimes feel guilty that I am not there for Cat and Tate 24/7. This project probably meant far more to me than to Cat because I looked at each card that arrived as a Valentine to Cat to let her know that her mom loves her, even when we are apart during the day. Cat feels like the queen of her class and enjoys mail call. I go to sleep each night feeling a little goofy and less guilty. Lord only knows what I will come up with for Tate.
A good friend of mine is going to help Cat and I assemble a scrapbook of all of the cards and then we will bring it back to school for the unit on the U.S. Clearly, the children will see that there are kind people all over.
NewMexiKen is of the opinion that Cat’s mom has very little to feel guilty about.
Well, except for the fact that she hasn’t sent a photo of Cat with her postcard collection.
Update: Cat wants a Disney princess birthday party, but when her mother asked what kind of birthday party she, the mother, should have, Cat replied: “That’s easy mom, you will have a Super Woman party because you are always Super Mommy to the rescue.” So much for the guilt. Photo forthcoming.
Christmas Eve, not-quite-two-year-old Jordan took a fall at an extended family gathering. He lost his balance as he left his mother’s lap and hit his head. Jordan started to cry and then his mother saw blood and she started to cry.
But help was on the way.
The child’s grandfather was there. He’s a pediatrician.
But doctor grandpa (realizing it wasn’t serious) deferred to the mother’s cousin, an on-duty fire fighter (the fire engine was outside). “We’ll let the first responder look at it. If he needs me, he’ll let me know.”
Everyone relaxed, Jordan had his wound cleaned and ice applied.
And God blessed them, every one.
Three-year-old Aidan coming out of the bathroom: I went pee-pee on the floor.
Aidan’s mother: Did you clean it up?
Aidan: Yep, with my socks.
Grandpa likes to tell The Sweeties® childhood stories using their names for the lead characters. For example last night The Three Pigs were Reid, Mack and Aidan. Since I was telling the story to Aidan he got the brick house.
Grandpa: So the wolf huffed and puffed and huffed and puffed but he couldn’t blow the brick house down. Do you know what happened next Aidan?
Three-year-old Aidan: I turned into the Black Power Ranger and killed the wolf.
Little girls still ask for a Barbie at Christmas, but girls now ask for Barbie at age four (like Kiley in the letter to Santa seen here) or even younger. “Barbie was originally intended for nine- to twelve-year-olds; today, girls widely perceive it as a toy for three- to six-year-olds. The association of Barbie with preschool girls sometimes leads slightly older girls to repudiate the doll with sadistic élan.”
(Quotation from Little Hotties.)
Click letter for larger version.