Read This, Your Belly Will Thank You

Of all the tales/lies/arguments/threats parents tell their children to get them to do something, very few seem to work. Some go right over their heads or, worse yet, backfire. Take for example, the battle of getting a toddler out the door in a timely manner.

After threatening to leave without him if he doesn’t put his shoes on this instant, the kid could simply state, “Okay, see you later.” And of course, as much as you want to, you can’t leave a toddler unattended for too long before he does some irreversible damage. If it hasn’t happened yet, it will.

Rarely does your point get across, or your goal met. More often, the intended purpose of the tale/lie/argument/threat is misunderstood. If you sense a story coming, you’re right.

In an attempt to get our daughter to eat healthy, Husband and I have taken to describing what her stomach is saying when she eats certain foods. If a piece of broccoli happens to make it into her mouth and down her throat, Husband and I will rejoice and make a comment such as, “Do you know what your stomach is saying right now?” (Daughter shakes head.) “It’s saying, ‘Oh, thank you! This is going to let you run fast and ride your bike!’

Daughter looks at us wide-eyed, not sure how to respond.

We keep going, because, hey, what do we have to lose? Let’s drive the point home.

“Your belly is so excited to share this food with the rest of your body. You should take another bite and make your tummy happy.”

We’ve done this on a number of occasions. Every time she eats a protein that isn’t a card deck-sized piece of cheese, we explain to her that her tummy is appreciative. Ecstatic even.

Three tiny bites of a hamburger in conjunction with sixteen French fries: “Your belly is saying ‘Mmm, thank you for this burger!’”

TM6
Husband and Daughter filling their tummies.

One lame slice of turkey hidden in the middle of a grilled cheese: “Yay!’ says your tummy. It’s going to use that to make your muscles stronger.”

This seemed to work (kind of) until we rewarded her one day with dessert and she said, “My belly thanks me for this cookie.”

Turns out Daughter’s stomach doesn’t discriminate food groups. We’ve kept up the charade, though. Somewhere along the line, Husband’s stomach and my stomach started relaying messages, too.

“I just ate these Brussel sprouts and my belly is excited!”

Yes, these words actually left my mouth in a serious manner. Yes, I was sober.

Anyway, this method started to break down when Daughter’s stomach started telling her non-food-related information. After going on an excursion with my father-in-law, he asks why Daughter mentioned her belly didn’t want her to ride her bike anymore.

Sometimes her belly doesn’t want her to go to school, or it lets her know she can play outside a little longer even though it’s getting dark. And wouldn’t you know, Daughter’s belly doesn’t think she needs to take a bath. Ever.

This isn’t our first parenting failure and it won’t be our last. And until Daughter tells me her stomach wants her to rob a bank, I’m not going to dwell on it. Instead, I’m going to crack a beer. My belly will thank me.

The Tall Order of Breakfast

Here’s how it goes. The instructions from my four-year-old on how to prepare her breakfast.

Mommy: Do you want cereal, oatmeal, or an English muffin?

Daughter: English muffin.

Sounds simple enough. But no, no it’s not. Daughter tells me she wants it in threes. Threes?

Mommy: What? Like, cut into threes?

Daughter: Yes, and I want cream and peanut butter.

Cream. That’s short for cream cheese. Somehow in her crazy realm of developing language, the name was shortened. It’s the opposite of our Saturday ritual: pancake waffles. They’re really just waffles. Why the word pancake was added, I’m not sure.

Mommy: Okay, so half peanut butter, half cream, and cut into threes.

Daughter nods. I pull out the toaster and insert the muffin. I use the bagel setting, because I’m fancy like that. The bread just toasts better. Try it at home. You’ll see.

Daughter: Mommy. I said I wanted an English muffin.

Forgive me for not having the intuition to sense you wanted this particular breakfast on this particular day so I could rush downstairs first thing this morning to start preparing it. I would have set my alarm three minutes before the time I thought you’d get up, even though you wake up anytime between 6 and 7 am each day. My bad.

Mommy: Did you hear the toaster pop?

*Pop*

Mommy: There it is!

Daughter: In a star. Peanut butter, cream, peanut butter, cream.

This is my fault. Once, after I cut her muffin into fours like a reasonable person, I positioned the sections on her plate so that the unoccupied middle of the plate looked like a star. It was kind of pretty, actually.

Now I have to do this. Every. Single. Time.

Mommy: Okay. Half peanut butter, half cream, cut into threes and in a star. Got it.

My masterpiece is finished and placed in front of my daughter on the table. Thankfully, she eats it and she eats it in silence.

Now it’s time to make everyone’s lunches.

breakfast
Boom. Queen of Breakfast.

Wild

In honor of Saint Patrick’s Day tomorrow, I thought I’d revisit the time I went to Ireland. Like 80% of my international travel, I went to Ireland while studying abroad in London. I remember the trip clearly, because I was moved to tears, which hasn’t happened anywhere else I’ve been.

Allow me to elaborate.

Who: Me, two of my three roommates, and a bus full of tourists

What: A “Wild Wicklow” bus tour

Where: County Wicklow, Ireland

When: Valentine’s Day weekend, 2003

Why: Erin go Bragh

My roommates and I were only in Dublin for the weekend, so a condensed, somewhat far-reaching sightseeing tour was a must. Like many college students, we arrived at our hostel unprepared. For example, we were unaware of the BYOT (bring your own towel) policy and ended up using clothes to dry ourselves after we showered.

Anyway, we found a flyer/pamphlet in the hostel lobby (outfitted as most hostels are with these sorts of things) for a Wild Wicklow tour. It looked promising, so we showed up the next morning good to go.

Mind you, it was mid-February and probably 1⁰C. Overcast. Kind of damp, and just overall dreary. The tour took us through the center of Dublin, by the James Joyce Tower, and to Avoca Handweavers where we bought some authentic soda bread. Then off to the Sally Gap (aka the location of Braveheart) to marvel at all the lakes and mountains.

We ate lunch at a traditional Irish pub where I was impelled to order tea (even though I rarely drank it at the time) before stopping at Glendalough. Glendalough is a 6th Century monastery, which means it’s a super peaceful place, not to mention utterly beautiful. It was still freezing though, and very cloudy, so it was hard not to keep eyeing the warm bus while checking out the scenery.

After climbing back into the bus, the tour led us through the countryside. Our guide, a dead ringer for Jack Nicholson, finally stopped talking and put on Enya. This is when the caffeine from my afternoon beverage hit me. I may not have blinked for thirty minutes as I sat staring out the windows at sheep and hills and flowers.

To add to the splendor, the sun peaked through the clouds for the first time that day. Not booming, glaring sunshine, but bright rays of sun, casting shadows and creating depth everywhere it touched. I could almost feel the warmth through the glass.

I darted my eyes around the bus. Heads were slumped, including those of my friends. Everyone else was missing this incredible affair. I looked back outside. Enya and I had a moment since there was no one else to share it with.

I began to cry.

The world was too beautiful not to. At the risk of sounding totally cheesy, it felt like my soul was being hugged. Isn’t that a nice image? I was alive, my heart was racing (from caffeine, yes, but still), and I was in love. In love with everything. Life wasn’t just happening in front of me; I was involved and connected in a way I never allowed myself to be before.

The fact I was the only one awake witnessing this (minus the driver, obvi), made it singular. I was experiencing something unprecedented and remarkable, but transient.

By the time we arrived at our next destination, the clouds had taken over, turning everything flat again. The landscape was still breathtaking, but gone were the aspects of magic and transcendence. People shifted in their seats as the bus stopped, everyone but me none the wiser.

Here, we were all given a complimentary shot of Jameson before heading back to Dublin. The whiskey counteracted my tea and I shared in the wooziness for the last stretch of the trip. Needless to say though, I will never forget those wonderful moments, or that very sincere yet undefinable feeling of awe.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, Everybody! I will leave you with some words from Enya.

Who can say when the roads meet

That love might be in your heart?

-Enya, Only Time

Have You Taken These Parenting Shortcuts?

Time is limited. Sanity, even more so. That’s why I don’t feel guilty having taken these (hopefully common) parenting shortcuts.

  1. Skipped the shower.

    I love a good shower as much as the next guy…once I’m in the shower. I could stand under a hot stream of water for tens of minutes before beginning an actual cleansing routine. Sometimes I just don’t make it into the shower.

    There are nights when bathing isn’t even on my radar. To be fair, I have an office job and average about 2,000 steps on the days I work. There’s also the season to take into consideration. On a winter night when I haven’t moved all day, I’ll gladly forego a shower in favor of some other form of “me” time.

  2. Not changed a diaper.

    diaper
    source: http://www.whattoexpect.com

    Here’s the scenario: I’ve finally gotten both kids ready for preschool/daycare. We’re heading for the door. This is the time my son decides to take a dump. I can smell it. When I do a quick check though, it’s a tiny little thing, a poop nugget, if you will. Instead of removing shoes, pants, and diaper, I pick up the poop with my fingers and walk it to the toilet.

    In the back of my mind, this is okay, because even if the diaper is a little soiled, daycare changes diapers at regular intervals (barring any noticeable BMs). By 9:00 my baby’s bum will be outfitted in a clean, new nappy. Hey, it’s built into the tuition.

  3. Re-gifted a present.

    I do feel slightly guilty about this one. Usually, I become a bit giddy when I find a really good gift for someone. There’s a creativity component to gift-giving that brings me joy. Re-gifting is just too good an opportunity sometimes.

    When my son was born, my daughter received just as many gifts as he, if not more. I appreciated the sentiment, and these gifts made my daughter happy during a time of uncertainty for her. But we only need so many puzzles and activity books. We even have a few duplicate toys.

    Shelf space is limited. My capacity to pick up sh*t all the time is decreasing. Occasionally, I’ll leave a gift in its packaging and bring it to the random-kid-from-preschool’s birthday party my daughter has been invited to. Why not make someone else happy and me less stressed about having so much stuff around?

  4. Employed child labor.

    ma-cleanlabor
    Ah, the real reason we procreate. Just kidding. It is amazing, however, when you can get your little one(s) to do something for you when you, yourself, just don’t feel up to it.

    I was pleasantly surprised to find out both my children like to clean. More so my daughter, but my son has a ball moving a Swiffer back and forth over the same square foot bit of floor. Don’t worry, he’ll get there. Or else (just kidding again).

    So, when I skeptically ask, “Do you feel like cleaning the coffee table?” and my daughter enthusiastically responds, “Yes!” I seize the opportunity. Husband and I also have no problem having our daughter grab us cans from the beer fridge. It was a proud moment for Husband when he requested a Heady Topper and she brought one right to him. #parentinggoals

  5. Cut short/improvised/or otherwise botched story time.

    peter-rabbit-2
    Some stories just suck. They suck even more when it’s the eighth night in a row you’re reading them. It used to be easier to skip pages or even lines, but now my daughter picks up on even the slightest variation to the story.

    “No, all it needed was SOME frosting,” she’ll point out when Husband or I have left out a word. Tough crowd.

    Other stories are odd, or too long. I make variations, or leave out entire sections. I try to still make sense, but depending on my daughter’s level of wakefulness, sometimes I don’t need to.

Parenting is a tough and often thankless job. The road to developing happy, well-adjusted children is a long one. Sometimes a little shortcut can go a long way.

Fort

I just finished Room by Emma Donoghue, which is narrated by a five-year-old boy beginning on his fifth birthday. The premise is grim, but I’m not here to write a book review.

It got me thinking about how my daughter, who turns four tomorrow, perceives the world. Further, we’re snowed in today and, while we’re not confined to a single room, available activities are somewhat limited.

Here goes. A (half) day in the life of Madison:

Mom put the railing back up, because Dad said I fell out of bed the other night. This means I have to climb all the way to the end to get out. I make a big boom when I land on the floor.

Dad’s awake on his small computer, but I can come up on bed and watch a Sofia. Blankie first, then I use my muscles to climb. It’s the episode when Clover is freezed in ice. That would be cold. No thank you.

I try Rice Krispies for the first time for breakfast, because we’re making treats to bring to school tomorrow. It’s my birthday. I’m going to be four. Then I’ll turn five next week and then I’ll go to Kindergarten. Everyone is going to sing.

I don’t like the Rice Krispies, but I like listening to them. “Snap, Crackle, Pop,” says Dad. I want Cheerios with milk and tell Dad I want an adult spoon.

fortThe box for my new car seat is my new fort. I ask Mom to help me inside, but then I do it all by myself. Time to put stuff in. “Look, mama,” I say. She looks in and tells me I have quite the set up. “Do you want to tape the flap up so it doesn’t keep falling down?” she asks. I nod. I like using tape.

Time to get dressed. Mom and Dad say I can’t do anything else until I brush my teeth and put clothes on. I put on the shirt Mom wanted me to wear the other day, but I didn’t. When I show her, she smiles and tells me I look great. I also put on my fuzzy pink pants. Vermont Gramma gave them to me.

We’re going to make cookies and Rice Krispies treats. Mom hands me the sugar and I put it on the counter. Then she hands me the flour. It’s heavy, but not too heavy for me. We also need butter. I like peeling the wrapper off. I get to pour everything in and turn on the machine. “Two clicks,” says Mom. I watch everything swirl around.

I make all the balls and put them on pans. My fingers are gooey. I ask if I can wash the dishes, but Momma says no, just fill the bowl with water. Aidan keeps trying to climb up the stool. When I move in front of him, Mom tells me to be nice. I don’t know I wasn’t being nice.

Mom’s going for a run on the machine. I play in fort right next to her. I show her my letters I just drawed. “Pretend I’m not here,” she says. “Pretend I went outside for a run.” I tell her I don’t want to pretend she’s not here. She smiles. “Those letters are perfect, honey!”

I put more in my purse. It’s heavy. There’re the shaky things, Barbie, three cars, my jump rope from Cape Gramma, and some markers. Then I put everything that’s on the floor in fort.

I jump on the trampoline. “I’m running like you,” I tell Momma.

“You’re so fast.”

I am fast.

For lunch it’s peanut butter sandwich. I make it into a Christmas tree. “Here’s the stump,” I say to Dad. “If you eat all of your sandwich, you can have some raspberries,” he says. Raspberries are yummy, but I don’t want my sandwich anymore. Mom says she’s going to eat the crust so there’s no wasting.

Now I get to watch a new movie because Dad says it’s a special day. Beauty and the Beast. Santa bringed it for Christmas. I’m going to watch from my fort. “Don’t you think you should watch it on the couch in case you want to nap?” Dad asks.

Napping’s for Aidans. I’m going to be four.

Diary of a Tired Mommy

Each morning my watch/phone tells me I made my “sleep goal.” This means I got eight hours of sleep. Theoretically I should feel rested, but that’s not the case. Ever.

“So what’s the deal, Kim?” you might ask. withings-crop

Open the app and scroll down a bit and there’s the answer. Eight hours of actual sleep are spread across ten hours in bed. Two hours are sucked up by wakefulness. The culprit? A reliant one-year-old whom Husband and I have failed to sleep train. Sleep training: insert cringe emoji.

Now we’re desperately trying to remedy a very ugly situation. It involves a barely-used crib, a twin mattress outfitted with a railing (for Baby), an air mattress (for Mommy), and an unsettling suspicion nothing’s going to change anytime soon.

Here’s a typical night.

7:00: Baby is placed in crib awake, but drowsy.

7:00-8:00: A multitude of shenanigans leading up to Daughter’s bedtime.

8:00-9:00: FREEDOM

9:00: Mommy decides to call it quits regardless of the number of items on To Do list.

9:30: Comfy cozy in bed; mind beginning to blur; small sense of hope tonight will be “the night.”

9:35: Baby wakes and begins screaming (note the distinction between crying and screaming).

9:45: After half-assed (one-tenth-assed, even) attempt to calm Baby without removing from crib, bring Baby onto twin mattress where he will sleep for remainder of night.

10:00: Fall sleep.

12:00: Baby head-butts Mommy and starts to whimper. Begin frantic head-rubbing and shushing. Once Baby has drifted off again, very carefully climb off bed and onto air mattress. Blankets are cold. Curse myself and this situation.

Not-too-long-after: Baby realizes I am gone and makes a big stink. Jump from air mattress to bed. Fall asleep.

Sometime later: Wake up to pee. Return to air mattress. Blankets are cold. Curse myself and this situation.

Still the middle of the night: Baby rolls over/has bad dream/somehow senses lack of Mommy’s body heat. Starts to cry. Climb back into bed.

4:00-ish: Wake up because who the heck knows. Move to air mattress. Sheets are cold.

6:00-ish: Baby wakes up. Instead of crying, Baby crawls off bed and crawls onto air mattress and nestles into Mommy. Mommy thinks this is the cutest thing in the world. Falls back asleep.

7:00: Mommy has overslept and has to help get two kids ready for pre-school by 7:30. Curse myself and this situation.

sleep2

For someone who adores a good night sleep, this is not ideal. Clearly, my body/mind has adjusted, although occasionally I’ll experience a lack of judgment. This Monday, for example, I spent $60 on loose-leaf tea. Yes, you read that right. I also zone out at times much more frequently than I used to. Don’t worry, I always snap back.

There’s a saying “a goal without a plan is just a wish.” Well, I’d like to say my goal is to sleep through the night, but I’m no fool. Instead, how about bringing the number of times I wake up from ten down to, say, two? And I plan on accomplishing this before Baby becomes Pre-Teen. No one likes to share a bed with their mom past nine, right?

 

 

Condoms for Sale

I admit it; I still get embarrassed buying condoms. Is there anything more awkward to purchase? Probably. But I can’t think of what. I’d rather buy laxatives. Something about placing this very personal item in front of a cashier turns me into a teenager again.

In fact, I’ve employed the same approach since I first had a use for them (*wink wink*). Buy other things, too and no one will notice. I remember my first condom purchase. I bought a small box of condoms and a huge box of Mike and Ikes. Well played, nineteen-year-old Kim.

SONY DSC
source: http://littlebitsof.com

 

I got smarter over time, adding more and more items to my cart before paying. The last time I bought them, the total came to about $70. I went to CVS only needing birth control and I walked out with greeting cards, mascara, a seltzer, Band-Aids, Children’s Motrin, markers, and a pack of condoms.

As I stood in line, I studied the scenarios. There were two cashiers, a sixty-something-year-old woman and a teenage boy. My preference, which should go without saying, was the woman, but of course, her current customer had a cart full of stuff and a hand full of coupons. (Who uses a cart at CVS? Seriously.) The customer in front of the teenager was being handed his receipt. Dammit.

Maybe I imagined it, but the boy seemed to examine everything I was buying before placing it into a plastic bag. He didn’t open the Birthday cards, but he checked out which flavor seltzer I favored and the pattern on the Band-Aids (Toy Story, obvi). The box of condoms was strategically placed underneath my greeting cards (so other shoppers wouldn’t see them in my basket), making it one of the last items to be rang up.

I swear I saw him smirk. My face heated and I stared at the card swiping machine, willing it to process faster. It seemed to move slower than usual as it prompted me to answer a gazillion questions. Yes, the total is correct. Yes, charge everything to one card. No, I do not want cash back. Yes, I want to die right now.

I had my son in a stroller so clearly family planning is important to me. And I long since passed the age (and marital status) where being sexually active is appropriate (although I’m still buying Toy Story Band Aids). Plus, at this stage in my life, I just shouldn’t care. Maybe I do, because buying condoms can prompt so many questions: Who is this woman sleeping with? Is she cheating on her husband? How quickly is she going to go through this box? Was that baby a mistake? Is she buying these for someone else?

There’s something scandalous about it. When you buy laxatives, the simple logical conclusion is that someone doesn’t have enough fiber in her diet. Cut back on the cheese, Woman.

Maybe I’m just a prude. Either way, next time I’m going to see if Amazon sells condoms and save myself the embarrassment.

Crazy Mom Thoughts

Today ends my three-week stint as a single parent. Granted it hasn’t been a full three weeks and I did get some breaks over the weekends, but man, what a ride. God bless anyone who is an actual single parent!

Never mind the absence of another set of hands to help out. What was more exhausting was not having a constant support system. Gone was the person to share the misery that is a toddler meltdown, or a sick baby. There was no one to accept my eye-rolls and respond with a gesture of understanding. How lonely to be with two children all day and not have someone say, “You did a good job” at the end of it!

crazy-chartThe experience was not without several low points, some moments where I thought I would go insane. In fact, here are some crazy thoughts that crossed my mind at some point during this challenge (and I do mean challenge).

1. How did I raise such a jerk?

This sounds harsh, but kids can be a-holes. My daughter knows how to be polite, saying please and thank you, and whatnot, but she has yet to demonstrate any real empathy. She says hurtful things like, “I don’t love you anymore,” and raises her voice as she pouts. Over the course of these three weeks she has kicked me, walked away from me, and been blatantly mean to her brother. I know all this is normal for a toddler, but sometimes I wondered if she’ll always be a jerk.

2. Can I sneak this chocolate in without getting caught? 

Husband and I try to teach our children good eating habits. We emphasize sweets should be enjoyed only occasionally and in moderation.

What happens when I’ve had a rough day and want to shove four cookies into my mouth? I shouldn’t have to hide my binges from my children. I’m an adult, I can eat what I want. chocolate-2-0

But, we must lead by example. Hence the need to strategically time my indulgences. And I did indulge. It was necessary. There’s a reason people eat their feelings: it helps, at least temporarily.

While sleeping with both kids in the bed:

3. If only my left arm wasn’t here, I could really get comfortable.

You know you’re exhausted when you’d give up a limb for a good night sleep.

4. As long as I’m in the shower nothing bad can happen.  

Scenario: both kids are in their beds. Last night Baby woke up just as Toddler was drifting off and I decided to forego the shower to get into bed and end this god-forsaken day. Tonight, I need to clean myself.

At first I figured I’d do a quick rinse. Once I was in the tub though, and the water drowned out all outside noise, I just stood there. Surely I’d be able to hear someone if he/she woke up. Right? I took a long shower and braced myself when I finally turned off the water. Thankfully, the house was silent.

5. Will this ever end? 

It’s tough when you’re in the middle of something to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I remember being in a dark place after my son was born. I was beyond tired, constantly milk-stained, and trying to manage my daughter’s new reality of no longer being a single child. Now my son’s first birthday is fast approaching.

Everything is temporary. This goes for the good as well as the bad. While it isn’t crazy to feel overwhelmed at times, I realize it is crazy to wish time away. I did have some wonderful moments with my children while their father was traveling, but I am beyond thankful he is back home.

maddie-crazy2-0

Pass me some chocolate. I deserve it.

 

Top Reasons “Terminator 2” Is the Best Movie of All Time

When I first watched this movie back in high school, it was because my dad bought it at Blockbuster when the store was running a “Three for $10” type of deal. In case you need a refresher, Blockbuster was a brick and mortar outfit that required a membership for people to rent VHS tapes and Nintendo games for three days at a time. They also had movies for purchase when the films weren’t popular enough anymore to keep a ton of copies in inventory.

Anyway, my dad came back with Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Total Recall, and a bunch of other randoms. I didn’t see the first Terminator movie until I was dating my husband and he was explaining why Sarah Connor is so freaked out when she first sees Arnold Schwarzenegger at the looney bin.

Point is, I didn’t feel the need to watch the original, because the sequel stood so well on its own. Here are the other reasons why I think T2 (look how well it abbreviates!) is (one of) the best movie of all time.

1. It Crosses Genres

The movie has an R rating for violence, but it’s low key. In one sense or another, it could be considered action, drama, comedy, sci-fi, or even thriller. Something for everybody!

I personally had a crush on Eddie Furlong for many years. Why not add Romance to the mix, since I probably still giggle like a pre-teen when he acts all suave in the face of authority.

2. The Story Is a Paradox

Kyle Reese, the man sent back in time to protect the mother-to-be of John Connor, the Leader of the human resistance, is the one to impregnate her with her son, John. How would John have been born if Future John didn’t send Kyle back in time? *mind blown*

3. It Hasn’t Aged

This movie came out in 1991. It’s surprisingly watchable by today’s technology and CGI standards. You can’t really say that about the first one, which was released only 7 years prior. In fact, there are a lot of crappy action movies from the nineteen-whatevers that would make you cringe if you watched today. Not the case here.

4. It’s About Cyborgs

I repeat: cyborgs. Not only is the word undeniably badass, but the concept is also. A quick Wikipedia search explains a cyborg quite well as an organism that has “restored function or enhanced abilities due to the integration of some artificial component or technology that relies on some sort of feedback.”

Pretty neat that the Terminator’s CPU is a neural-net processor, a learning computer, and that he gets the crap kicked out of him but keeps ongoing. You also can’t argue that Robert Patrick plays an extremely convincing T-1000. That scene where he shakes his finger – creepy AF.

5. The Quotes

I won’t go overboard since you can IMDB this sh*t (I’ll make it easy for you: Clicky), but here are a few gems:

t2
Image courtesy of IMDB.com

-Terminator: I know now why you cry, but it is something that I can never do.

-John Connor: Is it dead?

   Terminator: Terminated.

-John Connor: Jesus, you were gonna kill that guy.

   Terminator: Of course; I’m a Terminator.

-Terminator: Come with me if you want to live.

-Sarah Connor: The unknown future rolls toward us. I face it, for the first time, with a sense of hope. Because if a machine, a Terminator, can learn the value of human life, maybe we can too.

So, if you are out of things to do this weekend, or for some reason flipping through those DVD collections you never reference anymore, pop in T2 and relive the glory. You’re welcome.