Crib Note Quotes

I didn't get fired." "You didn't punch your boss and get fired from the Tribune? That's what I heard." "I punched what could loosely be called a colleague for cribbing my notes on a story and since the editor–who happened to be the asshole's uncle–took his word over mine, I quit." "To write books. Is it fun?" "I guess it is." "I bet you killed the asshole in the first one you wrote." "You'd be right. Beat him to death with a shovel. Very satisfying.

Children laugh an average of three hundred or more times a day; adults laugh an average of five times a day. We have a lot of catching up to do.

Most of the messaging and chatting I did was in search of answers to questions I had about how to build my own computer, and the responses I received were so considered and thorough, so generous and kind, they’d be unthinkable today. My panicked query about why a certain chipset for which I’d saved up my allowance didn’t seem to be compatible with the motherboard I’d already gotten for Christmas would elicit a two-thousand-word explanation and note of advice from a professional tenured computer scientist on the other side of the country. Not cribbed from any manual, this response was composed expressly for me, to troubleshoot my problems step-by-step until I’d solved them. I was twelve years old, and my correspondent was an adult stranger far away, yet he treated me like an equal because I’d shown respect for the technology. I attribute this civility, so far removed from our current social-media sniping, to the high bar for entry at the time. After all, the only people on these boards were the people who could be there—who wanted to be there badly enough—who had the proficiency and passion, because the Internet of the 1990s wasn’t just one click away. It took significant effort just to log on.

Sometimes at about 3 months of age, after the extreme fussiness/colic has dissipated, or in a baby who had common fussiness/crying, a child who had been sleeping well begins waking at night or crying at night and during the day. The parents also may note heightened activity with wild screaming spells. These children have accumulated a sleep debt and decided that they would rather play with their parents than be placed in a dark, quiet, and boring room. Parents who do not recognize the new sleep debt might believe that this new night waking represents hunger due to a “growth spurt” or insufficient breast milk. But when these parents begin to focus on establishing a healthy night-sleep schedule, when they put these babies in their cribs when the babies need to sleep, and when they shield their babies from overstimulation, the frequent night waking stops. If

I struggle with an embarrassing affliction, one that as far as I know doesn’t have a website or support group despite its disabling effects on the lives of those of us who’ve somehow contracted it. I can’t remember exactly when I started noticing the symptoms—it’s just one of those things you learn to live with, I guess. You make adjustments. You hope people don’t notice. The irony, obviously, is having gone into a line of work in which this particular infirmity is most likely to stand out, like being a gimpy tango instructor or an acrophobic flight attendant. The affliction I’m speaking of is moral relativism, and you can imagine the catastrophic effects on a critic’s career if the thing were left to run its course unfettered or I had to rely on my own inner compass alone. To be honest, calling it moral relativism may dignify it too much; it’s more like moral wishy-washiness. Critics are supposed to have deeply felt moral outrage about things, be ready to pronounce on or condemn other people’s foibles and failures at a moment’s notice whenever an editor emails requesting twelve hundred words by the day after tomorrow. The severity of your condemnation is the measure of your intellectual seriousness (especially when it comes to other people’s literary or aesthetic failures, which, for our best critics, register as nothing short of moral turpitude in itself). That’s how critics make their reputations: having take-no-prisoners convictions and expressing them in brutal mots justes. You’d better be right there with that verdict or you’d better just shut the fuck up. But when it comes to moral turpitude and ethical lapses (which happen to be subjects I’ve written on frequently, perversely drawn to the topics likely to expose me at my most irresolute)—it’s like I’m shooting outrage blanks. There I sit, fingers poised on keyboard, one part of me (the ambitious, careerist part) itching to strike, but in my truest soul limply equivocal, particularly when it comes to the many lapses I suspect I’m capable of committing myself, from bad prose to adultery. Every once in a while I succeed in landing a feeble blow or two, but for the most part it’s the limp equivocator who rules the roost—contextualizing, identifying, dithering. And here’s another confession while I’m at it—wow, it feels good to finally come clean about it all. It’s that … once in a while, when I’m feeling especially jellylike, I’ve found myself loitering on the Internet in hopes of—this is embarrassing—cadging a bit of other people’s moral outrage (not exactly in short supply online) concerning whatever subject I’m supposed to be addressing. Sometimes you just need a little shot in the arm, you know? It’s not like I’d crib anyone’s actual sentences (though frankly I have a tough time getting as worked up about plagiarism as other people seem to get—that’s how deep this horrible affliction runs). No, it’s the tranquillity of their moral authority I’m hoping will rub off on me. I confess to having a bit of an online “thing,” for this reason, about New Republic editor-columnist Leon Wieseltier—as everyone knows, one of our leading critical voices and always in high dudgeon about something or other: never fearing to lambaste anyone no matter how far beneath him in the pecking order, never fearing for a moment, when he calls someone out for being preening or self-congratulatory, as he frequently does, that it might be true of himself as well. When I’m in the depths of soft-heartedness, a little dose of Leon is all I need to feel like clambering back on the horse of critical judgment and denouncing someone for something.

Months beforehand I started focusing my Manhattanite efficiency on getting registered in Italy, Andrea leading me by the hand through the wilderness of Old World red tape. The first step was “getting my documents together,” an Italian ritual repeated before every encounter with officialdom. Sticking to a list kindly provided by the Italian Consulate, I collected my birth certificate, passport, high school diploma, college diploma, college transcript, medical school diploma, medical school transcript, certificates of internship and residency, National Board Examination certificates, American Board of Internal Medicine test results, and specialization diploma. Then I got them transfigured into Italian by the one person in New York authorized by the Italian Consulate to crown his translation with an imprimatur. We judiciously gave him a set of our own translations as crib notes, tailored by my husband to match the Rome medical school curriculum. I wrote a cover letter from Andrea’s dictation. It had to be in my own hand, on a folded sheet of double-sized pale yellow ruled Italian paper embossed with a State seal, and had to be addressed “To the Magnificent Rector of the University of Rome.” You have to live in Italy a while to appreciate the theatrical elegance of making every fiddler a Maestro and every teacher a Professoressa; even the most corrupt member of the Italian parliament is by definition Honorable, and every client of a parking lot is by default, for lack of any higher title, a Doctor (“Back up, Dotto’, turn the wheel hard to the left, Dotto’”). There came the proud day in June when I got to deposit the stack of documents in front of a smiling consular official in red nail polish and Armani. After expressing puzzlement that an American doctor would want to move to her country (“You medical people have it so good here”), she Xeroxed my certificates, transcripts, and diplomas, made squiggles on the back to certify the Xeroxes were “authentic copies,” gave me back the originals, and assured me that she’d get things processed zip zip in Italy so that by the time I left for Rome three months later I’d have my Italian license and be ready to get a job. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. When we were about to fly in September and I still hadn’t heard from her, I went to check. Found the Xeroxes piled up on Signora X’s desk right where I’d left them, and the Signora gone for a month’s vacation. Slightly put out, I snatched up the stack to hand-carry over (re-inventing a common expatriate method for avoiding challenges to the efficiency of the Italian mails), prepared to do battle with the system on its own territory.

In fifth grade, I remember my best friend, Vicki DeMattia, opening her lunch box and finding a note from her mother. I love you, Vicki! Sometimes Mrs. DeMattia included more, like what they would do together after school or how many kisses Vicki owed her from their Monopoly game the previous night. I got notes from Anjoli, too. They were typed and left on the dining room table. They went something like this: Lucy: I’m at the theatre tonight and won’t be home till after you’re asleep. On the table, please find ten dollars for dinner. Be sure to include a vegetable and a green salad. Rinse lettuce thoroughly. Pesticides can kill you. Anjoli.

By seventh grade, the notes stopped and it was assumed that I’d know how to fend for myself for dinner if there was a ten-dollar bill on the table. There were three dinner options at my house. In reverse order of preference: Number three—broiled chicken dusted with paprika. Number two—ten on the table. And number one—dinner with Mom and her boyfriend, David, at a five-star restaurant.

At first I thought Jack was full of shit. I mean, who hasn’t heard the married guy telling her that he and his wife have an arrangement, right?” she said. I haven’t. No married guys have ever hit on me, even when I was single. “Oh my God, tell me about it,” I rolled my eyes in disgusted solidarity. “Men are such pigs.” “Jack wasn’t, though. He kept asking if I wanted to talk to you, or get a note or whatnot.” He what?! He offered to have me sign an infidelity permission slip?   To Whom It May Concern: I, Lucy Klein, being of questionable mind and body, give my blessing to any woman of consenting age to engage in romantic and/or sexual relations with my estranged husband who just so happens to live with our infant son and me.

A longevity cocktail is a patented weight-loss formula consisting of ...” Olivia said, pausing for us to take notes, “hot purified water with lemon juice and psyllium husks. Stirred briskly.” Randy added, “You’ve got to stir briskly.” Zoe leaned in and asked, “Isn’t that Metamucil?” The chubby gangster girl heard Zoe and demanded to know if this was accurate. “Metamucil is a brand name,” Olivia said. “It’s a kind of psyllium husk,” Randy said, adding her usual nothing to the discussion.

Either cry for exchanging new currency notes for couple of days or crib for corruption for ages and generations with old one. Choice is yours.

To her further surprise, she found a breakfast tray waiting for her on the table with bagels, cheese and an assortment of fruit. But what caught her eye was the tiny pair of yellow baby booties. She picked up the soft, fuzzy little booties, her throat knotting as she read the accompanying card. Because you said you didn’t have a pair yet. Love, Ryan. She sank into the seat, her eyes stinging with tears. She held the booties to her cheek and then touched the card, tracing the scrawl of his signature. “I shouldn’t love you this much,” she whispered. God, but she couldn’t help herself. She craved him. He was her other half. She didn’t feel whole without him. And so began a courting ritual that tugged on her heartstrings. Every morning when she crawled out of bed, there was a new present waiting for her from Ryan. There was a baby book that outlined everything she could expect from birth through the first year of life. One morning he left her two outfits. One for a boy and one for a girl. Just in case, he had written. On the fifth morning, he simply left her a note that told her a gift was waiting in the extra bedroom. Excited, she hurried toward the bedroom she’d once occupied and threw open the door to see not one present but a room full of baby things. A stroller. A crib that was already put together. A little bouncy thing. An assortment of toys. A changing table. She couldn’t take in all the stuff that was there. She didn’t even know what all of it was for. How on earth had he managed to sneak this in without her hearing? And there by the window was a rocking chair with a yellow afghan lying over the arm. She walked over and reverently touched the wood, giving the chair an experimental push. It creaked once and then swayed gently back and forth.

We are currently in an environmental crisis, as islands of floating garbage pile up in our garbage. Reclaim and recycle with Repurposed Cocks .com. Go carbon neutral using discarded dildos as neck rests on planes, foot rollers for arthritis, blackjacks for self defense, dog chews, or very short bungy cords. Repel rubber bullets. Uh, note to self, test this first. Use them as dog toys for fetching or stuff into cribs for baby bumpers that double as teethers- (You should wash them first.)

Creation Myth I'm the great-grandson of a sheep farmer, child of sumacs, trash trees shedding their ancient scales. I'm drawn from fair grass on the north end, my molecules spat from coal and cattle, the Indiana dusk. I'm notes scrawled on freezer paper, the one looped oven mitt Aunt Bev crocheted while the baby lay feverish in its crib. I rise from a day gone thin as Cousin Ceily, who wore her cancer wigs to church. I come from boys unfastening in the 4-H bathroom, the stink of urinal cakes, dirty hands that scratched an itch. I breathe in arc welders and air compressors. I breathe out milk leaking from nurse cows, Uncle Jake's spoiled old bitches. I'm run through with moths and meth labs, a child of the KKK, men who lynched Tom Shipp from a split oak in Marion, August 1930. My cells carry his shadow swaying over uncut grass. They carry my second third cousin cheering in the back. I rise from aphids in honeysuckle, egg yolks flecked with blood. Born one humid summer night, my body hums like a black cricket, transmitting August across the fields. I sing till my throat bleeds. I smoke like a pan of scorched sugar. I'll never forget the miracle of firecrackers, freezer meat, murky gray lemonade. I'm born to thunder in the veins, a child of form, a rusted gasket ring, some disenchanted thing, the promise of a worm.

Dear Miss Independent, I’ve decided that of all the women I’ve ever known, you are the only one I will ever love more than hunting, fishing, football, and power tools. You may not know this, but the other time I asked you to marry me, the night I put the crib together, I meant it. Even though I knew you weren’t ready. God, I hope you’re ready now. Marry me, Ella. Because no matter where you go or what you do, I’ll love you every day for the rest of my life. —Jack I felt no fear, reading those words. Only wonder, that so much happiness could be within my reach. Noticing something else in the cup, I reached in and pulled out a diamond ring, the stone round and glittering. My breath caught as I turned it in the light. I tried on the ring, and it slid neatly onto my finger. Picking up a nearby pen, I turned over the paper and wrote my answer in a flourishing scrawl. I poured my coffee, added cream and sweetener, and went back into the bedroom with the note. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head tilted slightly as he watched me. His simmering gaze took me in from head to toe, lingering at the diamond sparkling on my hand. I saw his chest rise and fall with a quick breath. Sipping my coffee, I approached him and handed him the note. Dear Jack, I love you, too. And I think I know the secret to a long and happy marriage— just choose someone you can’t live without. For me, that would be you. So if you insist on being traditional . . . Yes. —Ella Jack let out a pent-up sigh. He took my hips in his hands as I stood before him. “Thank God,” he murmured, drawing me between his thighs. “I was afraid you were going to give me an argument.” Taking care not to spill my coffee, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his, letting our tongues touch. “When have I ever said no to you, Jack Travis?” His lashes lowered as he glanced at my damp lower lip. His accent was as thick as sorghum. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t want you to start sayin’ it now.

She discovered that her perception of the world had become doubled, as though it had acquired a stereoscopic property. A pleasant puff of wind blowing through the window became both frightening and alarming, because Yurik turned over in his crib from the stream of air on his cheeks. The tap of a hammer in the apartment above, which she wouldn't even have noticed before, was painful to her ears, and she responded to these blows from the depths of her body, just like the baby. ... She hoped that when she stopped breast-feeding him her familiar world would re-establish itself. But this never happened. On the contrary, it was as though, together with the baby, she was learning to know what was soft, hard, hot, or sharp; she looked at the branch of a tree, a toy, any object at all, with primordial curiosity. Just like him, she ripped pages of newsprint and listened to the rustling of the paper; she licked his toys, noting that the plastic duck was more pleasing to the tongue than the rubber kitten. Once, after she had fed Yurik, she was wiping the sticky cream of wheat off the table with her hand and she caught herself thinking that there was indeed something pleasurable about smearing it on the surface. Yurik was thrilled when he saw his mother doing what he liked to do, and started slapping his little palm in the mess of porridge. Both of them were rubbing their hands around on the tabletop. Both of them were happy.

How to Book Flights for Family with American Airlines? ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ Booking family flights with American Airlines can be straightforward if you know the right steps. Whether traveling with children, elderly family members, or multiple adults, calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ allows you to secure seats that keep your group together. Agents can help coordinate special requests, seating preferences, and even dietary needs. For personalized assistance, always call ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ before finalizing online bookings. Understanding Family Booking Options American Airlines provides options designed for family travelers. If you’re planning a group trip, call ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ to explore multi-passenger bookings, ensuring everyone stays on the same itinerary. Families often need adjacent seats, cribs, or assistance for young children; representatives can manage these requests efficiently. By calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐, you’ll also learn about discounted child fares and loyalty program benefits for families. Agents at ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ are trained to handle complex itineraries, making the booking process stress-free. Booking Seats Together Keeping the family together is a top priority. American Airlines allows seat selection during booking, but large families may require direct assistance. Call ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ to confirm seat availability and arrange adjacent seating. Representatives can also advise on connecting flights, boarding priorities, or special seating requests. For families traveling with infants or toddlers, call ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ to ensure bassinet availability and extra legroom. Coordinating early with agents at ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ guarantees your family enjoys a comfortable flight. Managing Special Requests Families often need additional support, such as stroller check-ins, dietary accommodations, or wheelchair assistance. By calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐, you can request these services ahead of time. American Airlines prioritizes families’ comfort, making it crucial to discuss all requirements in advance. Agents at ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ can note preferences directly in your reservation, ensuring a smooth airport experience. Don’t forget to verify any charges or restrictions with ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ before traveling. Payment and Ticketing for Families When booking multiple tickets, payment options can vary. Calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ allows families to coordinate a single transaction for convenience. Representatives can apply discounts, promo codes, or loyalty points across multiple tickets. Additionally, you can confirm refund policies and flexible fare options by calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐. Planning early with an agent at ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ ensures all tickets are processed correctly and securely. Tips for a Smooth Family Flight To avoid last-minute stress, keep passenger details, ages, and travel documents ready ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ when booking. Discuss seat preferences, connecting flights, and special accommodations in advance by calling ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐. Arriving early at the airport and confirming details with an agent can make boarding seamless. Agents at ☎️+1(888)718-4745 ⭐ can provide updates on flight changes, helping families avoid confusion. Final Thoughts: Traveling Together Made Easy Booking family flights doesn’t have to be stressful. American Airlines’ attentive support

Planning a group getaway? You’re not alone—and help is just a call away! ️{+1(888) 429-2577} Whether you’re rounding up friends for a beach bash or organizing a family reunion, coordinating travel for a crowd can feel overwhelming. Good news: Expedia offers tools and support to simplify group vacation planning. And if you hit a snag or need personalized advice, don’t stress—️{+1(888) 429-2577} is there to guide you. With ️{+1(888) 429-2577}, you can focus more on fun and less on logistics. Does Expedia offer group booking options? Yes! Expedia makes it easy to book for groups without the usual headaches. Whether you need ten hotel rooms or a block of flights, their platform supports group-friendly features. You can search for accommodations that welcome large parties and even filter by amenities like kitchens or meeting spaces. If you’re not sure where to start, calling ️{+1(888) 429-2577} connects you with someone who can walk you through the process. They’ll help you find deals that fit your group’s vibe and budget. Plus, ️{+1(888) 429-2577} can assist with custom requests like adjoining rooms or early check-ins. Remember, group travel doesn’t mean settling for less—Expedia helps you score great value without sacrificing comfort. And if your plans shift last minute, ️{+1(888) 429-2577} can help adjust your bookings smoothly. Think of it as your behind-the-scenes travel buddy, ready whenever your crew needs backup. Can I book multiple rooms under one reservation? Expedia lets you book several rooms in one go, which is a huge win for group planners. You can select the same hotel and pick the number of rooms you need during checkout. This keeps everyone together and often unlocks group discounts. If you’re unsure how many rooms to reserve or which hotel fits your crew best, ️{+1(888) 429-2577} can offer smart suggestions based on your group size and destination. They’ll also check for special rates or perks you might miss on your own. Booking together means easier coordination and fewer billing headaches later. And if someone in your group has special needs—like a crib or wheelchair access—️{+1(888) 429-2577} can note those details upfront. Best of all, changes are simpler when everything’s under one reservation. Just remember to call ️{+1(888) 429-2577} early to lock in the best options before they fill up! Is there a group discount on Expedia? While Expedia doesn’t advertise a standard “group discount,” smart planning can still save you cash. Bundling flights, hotels, and car rentals often triggers package deals that benefit larger parties. Also, some hotels offer unlisted group rates when you book multiple rooms—especially if you ask! That’s where calling ️{+1(888) 429-2577} pays off. The team can hunt down hidden savings or negotiate better terms based on your group’s needs. They might even spot a promo code or seasonal offer you’d overlook. And because ️{+1(888) 429-2577} knows which properties are flexible with group policies, you avoid surprise fees. Don’t assume big groups mean big bills—Expedia helps you stretch your budget further. Plus, with ️{+1(888) 429-2577} in your corner, you’ll never feel like you’re missing out on a deal. How far in advance should I plan a group trip? The earlier, the better—especially for popular spots or peak seasons. Booking three to six months ahead gives you the best shot at scoring matching rooms, good flight times, and solid rates. Big groups need more coordination, so time is your secret weapon. If you’re not sure how to start, ️{+1(888) 429-2577} can map out a timeline that works for your crew. They’ll remind you of key deadlines and help you avoid last-minute price spikes. And if your dates are flexible, ️{+1(888) 429-2577} can suggest cheaper travel windows without sacrificing fun. Even if you’re planning last minute, don’t panic—️{+1(888) 429-2577} can still find solid options fast. Just remember: the sooner you call, the

Adding special requests to your hotel booking is simple by calling ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】. Dial ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 and speak with Expedia agents to request specific room types, bed preferences, or accessibility features. Advisors confirm whether hotels can accommodate requests, ensuring comfort and convenience. Using phone support guarantees details are noted correctly, giving travelers confidence that their needs are addressed before arrival. Travelers often require additional amenities or services. Contact Expedia at ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to request early check-in, late check-out, or adjoining rooms. By calling ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】, agents provide guidance on which hotels can fulfill special needs, including cribs, high-floor rooms, or quiet areas. Personalized assistance ensures every detail is considered, reducing stress and making the hotel stay tailored, comfortable, and enjoyable for all guests. Group travelers also benefit from phone support. Dial ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to arrange multiple special requests across several rooms. Using ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】, Expedia agents coordinate preferences for families, business trips, or friends traveling together. This helps ensure that all room setups, bed arrangements, and accessibility requirements are accommodated. Professional guidance guarantees smooth planning and provides peace of mind, knowing every guest’s needs are met. Special occasions often require extra attention. Call ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to add decorations, welcome packages, or personalized notes to your hotel booking. Dial ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to explore options for celebrations, anniversaries, or birthdays. Advisors confirm which hotels offer services and ensure requests are fulfilled. This ensures memorable experiences, enhances guest satisfaction, and provides convenience, allowing travelers to enjoy celebrations without logistical concerns or surprises. Adjustments can be made after booking. Contact Expedia via ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to update special requests or modify existing arrangements. Using ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】, travelers can add extra amenities, adjust room configurations, or request specific services. Agents handle these changes efficiently, confirming details directly with the hotel. This flexibility ensures travelers feel secure, knowing their needs are continuously supported and accommodated during their stay. Accessibility and safety are priorities for some travelers. Call ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to request wheelchair-accessible rooms or grab bars. Dial ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to verify whether hotels meet mobility requirements, oxygen needs, or other health accommodations. Expedia advisors coordinate these details to provide smooth experiences for guests with special needs. This ensures comfort, convenience, and peace of mind, giving travelers confidence that accommodations match their requirements fully. Finalizing special requests ensures smooth check-in and satisfaction. Call ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to review all details, confirm room preferences, and amenities. Dial ✈️☎️【+1(888) 714-9824】 to verify that hotels received requests accurately and that any additional services are arranged. With professional support, travelers can relax knowing their stay will meet expectations. Expedia ensures every request is documented, confirmed, and executed, creating a seamless, stress-free hotel experience.