I do not think the government should provide daycare for working parents. Parents should be prepares to have children, and should have the money to care for them, especially if both parents are working. If necessary, the parents should work at different times so there is always one parents to care for the children. Because they are adults, parents should be responsible. If two working parents cannot pay for daycare that means they need financial help. There is no excuse for not being able to find someone to watch children. There are nannies, babysitters, day cares, and even family that could watch them. The only excuse that is acceptable is the amount of money needed to pay for this care, which leads back to the parents needing financial help. Parents can find places and people to care for their children, the only thing needed is the motivation.

And i'm so sorry I posted this a day late. I'll try my hardest to remember next time.

My best friend c:

My Mistakes

     How do we learn? What happens if we do not listen? What makes us human? Mistakes are how we learn, the result of not paying attention, and what keep us human. Without mistakes to correct people, people would never learn the whole of the problem. I value everything morally and logically I do wrong.

     If one knows me on a personal level, one would find it peculiar that I value mistakes. I loathe making mistakes more than anything else. My face burns with shame, my eyes cast downward, and my heart sinks. Along with making mistakes goes asking for help to fix what is incorrect. Seeking assistance, to me, is almost as bad as creating the problem in the first place. To prevent the intervention of others, I try to learn what I am doing front and back before I try to solve it. I know how important mistakes are, and I know they are unavoidable because they are necessary to learn.

     Mistakes are what make me human, even though I detest being incorrect. I know nothing pushes me more than the fear of being wrong. Mistakes push me to learn, and to be better. If I didn't have mistakes in my life, I would feel unfulfilled. I would never feel accomplished  at fixing anything, and my success would feel empty and meaningless. Without all my mess-ups, shame, mistakes, fails, incorrect answers, and wrongs I wouldn't be the person I am today. I need mistakes in my life, and I appreciate that they exist. 

Cedar Point

     Over the summer, I went to Cedar Point multiple times with my family. Our group of riders consists of my father, my sister, Abby, my brother, Daniel, and I.
     I always ride with Abby, and Daniel always rides with my dad. Somehow when we were in line for the Magnum we messed up, and instead of riding together my dad and Daniel rode in the train before us. Abby and I were about to pull into the station after we rode the coaster when a worker walked over and told everyone on our train that someone had thrown up in the train before us. We had to wait for them to clean it up. When we finally got off, sunburned and slightly grumpy, we figured out the teenager behind my dad had thrown up. Not only did he throw up, but he threw up on my dad and my brother. Needless to say, nobody wanted to sit by them the rest of the day.
     When I got my picture taken for my season pass, it was the workers first day. She was just beginning to learn the ropes, so I took the opportunity. When so took my picture I stuck my tongue out as much as I could. Now when the workers scan my pass they always smile when they see my picture.
     Another day, every time my parents were walking too slow for me, I ran ahead and began to do the running man. I continued to do that the entire day, and even noticed some younger children trying to imitate me.
     The last day we went, we were all in line for the Top Thrill Dragster. Abby leaned over to me and said she thought the boy behind us in the blue shirt was cute. After we rode the Dragster, we were standing near the gate. Blue Shirt was standing 10 feet in front of me, so naturally I had to say something. Abby grabbed me and held her hand over my mouth, muffling my screams. The poor boy looked over to see me with my arms outstretched towards him, screaming through Abby's hands.
     Cedar Point is one of my favorite places to go. I get to walk around and see new faces, as well as ride coasters. This summer was one of the best.

Little Squid.

Australia! Not even close, buddy. My name takes the masculine spelling. There are six letters and two syllables. My name never had any underlying meaning to it. It is exactly what it is, just a name. My mother seemed to have an affinity to the sound an ‘S’ makes, like the hiss of boiling water when spilled.

          When my dad first held me, he said, “You’re going to be so bad.” He knew from the beginning I would be an instigator. In a way, it is more fitting to me that I was given the male spelling of my name because I grew up to be a tomboy. I was always roughhousing with my brothers and sisters, and being rambunctious to the point that nearly everyday I would be sent to my room for misbehaving. I was a raging tornado twisting through the house. My mother always told me my name had to sound perfectly when she screamed it, which is why my name is Sidney Carol and not Sidney Nancy. Nancy didn’t have the right vowels that could be drawn out loudly enough.

Sometimes I can be quite the extrovert, and my name is enough of a conversation starter to be a foothold. The same thing is said whenever introducing myself “like the city, but with an ‘I’ not a ‘Y’”, but the conversation always steers to where it will.

I never did consider my name very special. I still don’t, but I’m content it fits me, even if everyone spells it wrong. 

Second post because i can.