the flower bed

But.

But what? What's the point of adding a "but" to anything we have to say?

"I'm sorry, but..."

No. Stop right there. You're sorry. That's it. Adding a "but" is just making excuses, which is simply a way of not accepting responsibility. "I'm sorry" is all you need to say.


"I love you, but..."

Again... shut up right now. What's with the "but" here? Nothing good can come after this "but". You know it, I know it, so if you truly feel you need to add something, maybe you shouldn't be saying the first part at all.


"You did great, but..."

Oh man. Leave it alone. Sure, maybe you might have done it a little differently, and maybe your way would have been better, but why point that out?

Apologies and compliments don't need qualifications. They're just fine on their own.

If you sense you're about to add a "but", stop talking.
The other person will surely appreciate it.

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In January, after too many months of temping, I saw an ad for an office in Vancouver. Normally I skip over those ones because of the distance, but this one caught my eye because it mentioned they were an office of women in their 30s and 40s who valued their home life as well as their work life. I made some changes to my cover letter - stressing that while I was fairly new to the profession, I was within their age range - and e-mailed my resume. That evening I got a call from the dentist, and over the course of the hour-long interview, I learned that she had recently fired her entire staff and was looking to start fresh. Normally that's a big red flag, but I had enjoyed my conversation with her, and she seemed very nice. She stressed that she wasn't worried about my relative lack of experience, because she was looking for someone with great communication skills.

A few days later I went in for a working interview, and was pleased to see it was a modern office with great patients and an excellent dentist. She had recently gone digital, so it was a challenge for me to learn a whole new system, not just charting but taking x-rays as well. She hired me for a p/t position, then called a few days later and asked if I could work full time, as she'd let the other CDA go (yes, another red flag!) I said yes, and went to Safeway to pick up a book of fare-savers for the bus.

One of the main draws for some of the patients is the "hostess" - a cute little maltese/shih tzu who greets the patients and cuddles up on their laps during the procedures. Many people find this very relaxing, and most hope she spends at least part of the time with them... which she does. She loved me though. If I was standing, she'd sit between my feet. When I was sitting, she'd stand on the patient's lap, put first one paw then the other on the arm of my chair, eventually climbing up behind me with a paw on each shoulder and her head resting on my back.

In addition to the great opportunity to learn a lot, one of the things I liked best about my boss was the feedback. She gave me excellent constructive criticism - she's a true teacher - as well as some wonderful compliments, both her own as well as those she passed on from some of the patients. She hired me for my personality, because, in her words, anyone can be "tweaked" in their skills. I enjoyed chatting with the patients, putting them at ease, and I loved the banter between her and I - it made the days go by so much more quickly.

The one thing I didn't like about the job - the commute. I took the bus in in the mornings, which wasn't bad. I liked the 10 minute walk from the bus stop to the office... but I hated the ride home. A few times I stood on the other side of the road, watching my bus pull out early, leaving me stranded for up to half an hour. A few times I didn't get home till close to 8:00. So it was with sadness and reluctance that I gave my notice. My last day, she hugged me and said "I lucked out when you answered my ad". And included with my last cheque was a thank you card that read, "Any office will be fortunate to have you on their team. Best wishes".

I'm going to miss it there.

But... Yesterday I started a new job. This one is in Richmond. One whole wall is windows with a great view of the North Shore Mountains. The office is bright and open, the dentist and the receptionist are really nice, and the pace isn't hectic.

I think I'm really going to like it there.

I had coffee with a wonderful gentleman I've known for years but met for the first time today.

We've been chatting and arguing and laughing for about 4 years now, and I've long admired him for his positive outlook. He has the most interesting life experiences... I don't know why he doesn't talk about them more, as any one of his stories is far more interesting than the boring tripe he past... I mean.... posts. He's generous with his support and praise, and kind with his criticisms.... in other words, he's the ideal friend that everyone should have at least one of.

The hour we had flew by, and I'm looking forward to the promised beer and burger sometime in the future.

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I always wanted a diary when I was a girl. I had visions of filling the pages with my innermost thoughts and feelings, and then rereading the words later in life and being in awe of the insights that were sure to be within. The reality, of course, is that days and then weeks and months would go by between entries, and even that was mostly the day to day minutiae of childhood.

Still - a lot of what we know of history comes from personal writings - diaries and letters between friends and allies. I doubt people would learn much from reading my little journal... perhaps a little more from my blogs and writings such as this, but still it's mostly just whatever thought pops into my head. Some of it is interesting, and some is just me working through my thoughts. I enjoy it though - for the most part, I find it helpful, and I'm usually cheered when I read back through previous entries.

One thing I've been thinking a lot about lately is friendship, and how it affects our various relationships. There are a lot of different kinds of friends, of course. There are your lifelong friends... those people who knew you way back when, that grew up with you, and share your history. They're the ones who understand and will reminisce about things that others simply can't.

Then there are the friends that share the now. They might work with you or have kids the same age as yours. Maybe they're neighbours. They will listen to your stories and share their own, and maybe they will shift into the lifer category too... with any luck.

Finally, there's the last kind of friend, and for me, my least favourite. They're the ones who will gleefully point out all your faults... for your own good, of course. They won't want to listen to any explanation from you, nor are they interested letting you know they've noticed your good traits. They pride themselves on their brutal honesty... not aware that they're in truth honestly brutal.

I treasure my gold friends, even though we don't always get a chance to see each other. I'm deeply appreciative of my silver friends - I hope I brighten their days as much as they brighten mine. The others.... more often than not they make me cry.

I thought I killed my dog yesterday.

It's Thanksgiving weekend, so I headed up to Squamish to have dinner at my sister's. I stopped in North Van to pick up my niece and her baby - they'd arrived from Alberta the night before, and were staying at her in-law's. It was nice having company for the drive, especially since we don't get a chance to see each other much anymore.

When we arrived at Mum's, Randi ran into the house to get rid of some of the Venti Iced Tea Lemonade she'd been drinking, so I took the baby out of his car seat and with him in one arm and my puppy in the other I walked toward the back gate. Just as I was reaching for the latch, Willy jumped out of my arms and landed with a sickening *splat* right on his side. He didn't move. I quickly sat Kaden on the driveway and carefully picked the dog up, worrying at the same time that I shouldn't, but not wanting the last thing he knew in this life to be cold wet pavement.

Randi picked Kaden up and we went into the house, where we checked the dog out. He held his head out at an awkward angle, and didn't move. Eventually we noticed he rolled his eyes a little, so I put my hand on his chest and was relieved to feel a heartbeat and breathing. I put him on the floor to see if he could move, and I don't know if I was relieved that he could or even more scared to see him drag himself in a circle, much like the hamster we used to have.

I think he must have winded himself, because about a half hour later, he was back to normal, but even a day later I can still hear the sound of him landing on the ground.


Dinner that night was great. My sister hosted this year, and everyone was there except my oldest brother's family and my kids. It's getting harder to gather everyone together at one time, so it's nice to have as many as we did. The food was great, the company even better.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, whether your dinner was last night, tonight or tomorrow. If you're alone, make yourself a special dinner anyway, and count your blessings to remind yourself of all the gifts you have in your life.

Well, I've been in my new place a few months now and I no longer have to make a point of not turning onto my old road - one of the pitfalls of moving only a few blocks. We've met many of the neighbours while out and about, walking the dog, getting the mail... even hanging out on the back patio. My daughter and the neighbour kids are equally comfortable at our place or theirs and we've even arranged a ride share to and from football practices.

They say neighbourhoods are not what they used to be, that people don't know the people who live around them beyond waving as they drive by. Part of the fault lies with the transience of people today. We no longer live in the same house and work at the same job for years at a time... we're always looking for bigger and better. Added to this is the design of the modern home, with the automatic garage doors. We drive in, close the doors behind us and walk into the house without even a friendly "hi" to the man next door watering his lawn.

I was fortunate to grow up in a very stable environment. My parents still live in the house we moved into when I was 3, and I lived in my last place for 20 years. We knew all our neighbours because most of them had been there for years too... many are still there.

My new place won't be quite the same. Many people are starting out or downsizing. Others are in the same situation I am... single parent with a couple of kids. I know some will move on and the face of the neighbourhood will be constantly changing, but for now, I'm enjoying getting to know those around me better. Some I know only to smile and say hello to, others I think will become friends.

Shortly after we got back from our holidays and really settled in here, one neighbour brought over a plate of freshly baked cookies and muffins... they were still warm. They drive my son to football on the days I can't and they knock on our door so we can all walk to school together. I hung up my "Welcome" sign between our doors and they water my plants before I get a chance to.

She's from Nicaragua, and her family was hit by Hurricane Felix. She baked up a storm (lame pun intended) and held a bake sale to raise money for them. The support was overwhelming. My daughter got on the phone and called her friends so they could come by and buy some cookies and banana bread, and most people gave generous tips. They were stunned when they counted the money and realized they had close to 2 grand.

This is what a neighbourhood should be... where people become friends who look out for each other. I've lived in 3 such neighbourhoods - I feel blessed.

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I love driving in my car. I love long trips and I love the short jaunts. I like to be alone and I like when the car is full to capacity.

But what I love best is when I'm with one or both of my kids.

Driving, especially at night, offers a unique opportunity to discuss things that might otherwise make someone uncomfortable. Because there's no eye contact, the prickly subjects like sex and relationships can be brought up with little to no embarrassment. Anything and everything is a subject to be talked about.

The other night was such a time. We'd been in Squamish for the 50th Anniversary of the Loggers' Sports, and while we were there, we went to a family barbecue with lots of people from the extended family we don't always have a chance to see. Having just returned from our holiday visiting yet more family in Norway, we're pretty much up to date with who's doing what in the family... at least one side of it.

Returning home, my kids asked about marriages. They've started noticing that some are different from others, and they wondered why. We talked about the pros and cons of staying together for the kids, and what happens when those marriages eventually break apart... and why do the kids seem so surprised when they saw it coming from years ahead?

Of course we ended up discussing my own relationship with their Dad... they didn't exactly ask, but I knew where they were headed. I talked to them about the decision and gave them the basics of how we came to the final decision... and how it affects them, both in the short term as well as the long.

Making matters a bit stickier - or easier, depending - is the fact that their Dad is seeing someone. Not the first, but this one seems more serious than the others, and she has a son the same age as they are. They really like her and she seems to like them. The kids all get along too, which is a bonus. We talked about that too - how when you first start dating, it's all about you and what you want. Once you have kids though, things change, and there are other people and things to consider... like do your kids like this new person? Do they like your kids? If they don't, are their reasons valid or are they still clinging to the hope that their parents will get back together?

Turning at the lights into town, they said they thought I should look for a boyfriend... my daughter even requested that I look for someone with a daughter.

Maybe I should.
But I'm not ready to give up my dreams.

Not yet.

Why do we have to wait for special moments to say nice things or tell people we care about them?
- Randy K. Milholland

When I was in Norway visiting family, I'd get asked everywhere we went how everyone was doing. The first few times, I gave the stock answer that people usually expect... "everyone's fine". After a bit, it occurred to me that it's different... people were asking not out of politeness but because they wanted an update, so I ran the various branches of the family through my head, making sure that they knew about Auntie Vi's death (yes) and Mum's broken elbow (no). I told them that Susie's MS was worse and that Paul was a Grampa now. I gave them happy news and sad news, and got updates on all of them as well, to tell everyone once I returned home.

Why do we rattle off a distracted "fine" when asked, and why do we not really listen when others answer? Do we really want to know? Are we really interested? If not, which seems the case, why do we even bother to ask in the first place?

Maybe it's because of my recent holiday and maybe I'm still in a relaxed and reflective mood, but I've been thinking a lot lately about the people and things that are most important to me. Too often we rush through our daily lives, thinking we'll take time "later" to do something special for ourselves or someone we care about. But when is this "later" we're all waiting for?

Things are happening, and changes are occurring. Some I'm ready for, others... not so much. My son's voice is changing and he's growing up right before my eyes. He's a good 2" taller than me... but he's still my little boy in so many ways. My daughter is so out-going and cheery, that I don't always "see" when she's upset and hurting over something, either real or imagined. I'm trying to pay more attention though, because I know how fleeting these moments are, and that it won't be much longer before both of them won't "need" me... at least, they won't think so.

My son broke a saucer and my daughter spilled a drink, and both of them waited for me to get mad at them. It made me think... really, it's no big deal, so why is the first reaction so often one of anger? Why is it so much easier to get angry with people and let them know we're upset than it is to smile and hand out random unexpected compliments?

I've resolved (again) to tell people what I think of them... the good stuff, I mean. I have a wonderful family and great friends, but I don't tell them often enough, and I plan to change that.


Of course, I'd also like to hear someone tell me I'm special too, but I can only control my own feelings and reactions.

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Now that I'm home from holidays, I can get back on a schedule and start to settle into my new home. First stop was a local exotic plant wholesaler to find some interesting and different greenery to brighten up add a touch of interest to my rooms. There was so much to choose from, but several favourites were quickly eliminated when the helpful owner told me some of them prefer a humid environment with no drafts... quite the opposite to me.

The kitchen is the heart of my home, both literally and figuratively. There's no window over my sink, instead I have a ledge that overlooks the dining area and then through the French doors to the back patio. In an effort to bring the outside in, I've put a series of cacti/succulents in various pots along the ledge. There's my Thanksgiving cactus, already sprouting tons of new growth and my aloe vera which will soon need to be re-potted. New to my collection, there's a pipe organ - which looks like it should be in an aquarium under water and several other similar plants. Some are potted individually, others are grouped in terra cotta pots.

My en suite is huge, and has a large "shelf" beside the tub. I bought a pretty rubber tree that looks like a bonsai with lots of branches going every which way. A ponytail palm and a spider lily are grouped in the entryway, and the piece de resistance is a type of cactus similar to a Christmas cactus only bigger. The flowers are huge, and I chose a yellow one because it sounded pretty.

I'm looking forward to nurturing them and I can't wait till they flower.

It's starting to feel more like home, although I still find myself turning on the turn signal a block early when I'm coming back from Safeway.

Over the next few days, we need to go shopping to get a dining table, bar stools, living room furniture and a new bedroom set for each of the kids.

I think my Visa will wear out before it expires.

Until recently I've been "just a mom". I stayed home with my kids to raise them and I loved almost every minute of it. All the magic I'd forgotten from my own childhood came alive again watching my kids make discoveries of the world around them. We'd go for walks along the beach, stopping at the park for a swing and a play on the way home. Coffee with the other moms was usually at my house since I was the only one with a yard, and there were days where people would arrive after breakfast and others would still be there for an impromptu bar-b-q dinner. It was fun, and far more rewarding than any "career" I'd ever imagined I might want.

The only downside was the attitude other people have about the stay-at-home mom. I'd go to business dinners with my husband, and when asked what I "do", I'd smile watching the other person struggle trying to think what they could possibly say that I might be able to discuss with them. The irony, of course, is that I read 2 newspapers front to back every morning, so I probably knew more about what was going on in the world than they all did.

Most people assume that all a stay-at-home parent can talk about is their kids, but have any of them listened to their own coversations? The main topic of discussion at all those dinners was.... work. Did they really think ANY of the significant others were interested? Are their own lives as narrow as they assumed mine was?

I'm working now, and I love my job, but I miss being home for my kids. I miss driving on the field trips and I miss volunteering in the school library. My days and hours allow me to be home shortly after they get home, and quite often one or both of them will meet me at the office so we can go to Starbuck's together.

The following story is one I first read years ago - I even used the "job title" in my profile here for a while. I recently found it again (thanks 1), and wanted to share it.

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a......?"

"Of course I have a job," snapped the woman. "I'm a Mom."

"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised,
efficient and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out.

"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, [what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) and already have four credits(all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mom."

[align=center:c1738e015e]Motherhood!
What a glorious career!

Especially when there's a title on the door.[/align:c1738e015e]

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"?

I think so!!!

I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants".

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Last weekend we celebrated my parents' Golden Anniversary with an open house for family and friends. People came from the Island and the interior, the Kooteneys and Alberta to honour a long and happy marriage. The oldest was 90 year old Uncle Bob, the youngest was 7 week old cousin Aiden. The day couldn't have been better - the sun was shining and it was warm enough to sit outside and chat while watching the kids toss the football around with the even littler kids. Generations flowed from one to the other, making it impossible to see where one ended and the next began.

We had old photo albums, wedding albums and a copy of their Marriage Certificate. Some people mingled, other people parked themselves in a comfy chair and let people come to them... and come they did.

It was a wonderful celebration, but a little bittersweet for me, as the occasion also brought my soon-to-be ex home to clear out the rest of his stuff and discuss the particulars of our divorce. So while we celebrated a lasting love we also were closing the book on our own.

My life is beginning anew, but I mourn the passing of the old one.

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
- Henri Bergson

I've heard that two of the most stressful things are divorce and moving. Add a new job, major travel plans and massive debt and I think I've got 5 of the top 6 going on right now.

I started a new job/career in March, then bought a townhouse shortly after. Four days after we move in, we head to Europe for the World Gymnaestrada in Austria. We're taking an extra two weeks to visit family in Norway, and when we return, I have 2 weeks vacation before I go back to work. I'll miss the pay cheques, but the time off will be good to really get settled in our new home. I plan to buy a lot of new furnishings, and the kids are happily planning what they want in their new rooms. My daughter is thrilled that she'll have a walk-in closet, my son is angling for a TV of his own, and I'm looking forward to my new en-suite, which is easily as big as my current bedroom.

Before we move though, we have to clear out 20 years of accumulated "stuff" in our house. There's far too much house and yard for me to take care of, and it's time to move on, anyway. Life doesn't remain still, it constantly changes, and you either adapt or you're left behind wondering what happened. I've done my time wondering what I'm going to do with my life - now it's time to act on all the decisions I made and see where they take me.

I hope I like it there.

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[align=center:846c27bfce]

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.[/align:846c27bfce]

I look forward to the day when I'm old and can say what I want when I want.

When I was a little girl, I was quiet and did what I was told. I was happiest curled up on a chair with a good book and a bowl of fruit at my side. I was my step-grandfather's favourite because I was quiet, but also because I genuinely loved him, ornery ol' cuss that he was. I didn't stick up for myself much because I was shy and didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I envied my older brother and younger sister for their ability to open their mouths and let the words fall out, consequences be damned. The few times I made a conscious effort to assert myself I ended up feeling guilty because someone felt hurt.

Around grade 8 or 9, I started to change. I spoke up more often, and was surprised at how much I could get away with.... so long as I didn't do it too often. (there are advantages to being a good girl ) I'm still somewhat reserved in certain situations, but very outspoken in others. I believe this is why I was voted class leader in the course I recently took - when something needed to be said, my classmates looked to me to say it, because all the instructors were my age (or younger), so I wasn't intimidated by them.

Which brings me up to the present. Since my grandparents died between 75 and 82, I'm officially middle-aged. The little girl I was still lives inside me, but the old lady I hope to be is clawing her way closer to the surface. I try to be polite and mindful of people's feelings but sometimes enough is enough, and I need to speak up. I'll happily accept the consequences, because I'd rather go down in flames than quietly smolder away till there's nothing left of me but ashes.

Applying for a passport - what a lovely way to spend my day off.

I arrived at the Surrey passport office at noon to find a line outside the building. After ensuring this was indeed the correct line, I took my place at the end to wait. Every 15 minutes or so everyone would take a few steps forward, only to stop and wait some more. After a little over an hour, I reached the door, and shortly afterwards the commissionaire escorted the next group of 10 into the building and onto the elevator which took us to the 9th floor and into yet another (shorter) line.

Glancing up, I spotted a bright pink sign that said if I wanted to pick up my passport (in 2 weeks), I would need to have proof of travel - an airline ticket. huh. The whole reason I went there today is because I need the passport ASAP, since they need my passport number to book my flight ticket. This would be problem #1 for me today.

Finally it was my turn - I took out my documents, handed them to the lady..... only to have my kids' applications handed back to me since they weren't completely in order. Problem #2. One section had to be filled in by their Dad, and he only mailed me that page, which didn't match the page I had filled in (one was d-loaded from the 'net, the other was from the post office) So now I have to d-load the other page myself, fill it in, and have my guarantor sign it - again - and then take it back in next week. At least I don't have to stand in the big line outside again, since she gave me an orange piece of paper that allows me to go directly upstairs.

Deciding that since I was there anyway I might as well complete the process for my own passport, I took a seat and waited for my number to be called. Finally I see A169 flash on the board, so I hurry over to the last window, #17. While she's checking my ID and writing things down, I showed her my daughter's photo to see if it's acceptable - she's got a small smile, but since her teeth aren't showing, I was told it was probably okay. It isn't. So in addition to filling out the forms *again*, I have to have her picture taken again. Problem #3.

*sigh*

As I was leaving, I saw my cousin in the line - too bad we didn't time it better so we could have had a visit.

The whole process took me 2½ hours - fortunately I didn't have a parking ticket. According to what I heard, those who arrived earlier, like at 9am, took over 4 hours, so I would recommend planning to arrive around noon.

Next week, I get to go back and do this all again..... except for the waiting outside part. Then my passports will arrive in about a month.

Too bad I need them today.

Way back in English 11, we each had to memorize and recite a monologue from Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice". Most chose Portia's "The Quality of Mercy" speech, but I liked Shylock:

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.

My main reason for choosing this one was so I couldn't be compared to anyone else, but the more I recited it, the more I felt drawn to it. I know there are several undercurrents in the speech - relations between Christians and Jews weren't the best at that time - but as a teenager it made me think about how under the skin, we're more alike than we realize. Children are ego-centric, and most of us outgrow that. Some, however, never do, or they choose to return to that blissful time in childhood where everything revolved around their needs and of course their actions had no effect on anyone around them.

Strength is an illusion.
We all bleed when we're pricked, whether you can see it or not.

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