mommy charlene

With the exception of the two years we lived on the near north side of Chicago, we have never locked our doors. We've never been robbed either, so I really don't know what that feels like. What I am glad about is that you were not home and injured in any way. Heartwood, whatever happens with you and your brother, and I hope it's all good, just be who you are. I think anned has some good ideas for burglers! Add a taser inside that diaper set to go off every thirty seconds or so! (I'm bad! I admit it!) Remember, you can replace things, but you can't replace people. Love to all. Ta ta for now.

Fun observation Baby June. As for the other two comments I think it's more we need to adjust the dosage of his meds! Where do you come up with this stuff! (he put a similar message on our answering machine about no one being home with a surfer dude imitation). If he gets his life back, and stops posting things like this, won't you miss the random insanity? I will!

A young doctor was hired to work in an office with a Doctor who had served the community there for nearly 40 years. Work was long hours, but worth the effort, and the young doctor soon became an accepted and loved part of the commnity. The only real problem he had was with the head nurse, who saw him as a threat to her hero, the doctor that worked so long in her office. The older doctor tried to explain that he was training a replacement and she wasn't to worry. Yet every mistake the young man made was pointed out with malicious glee. Soon the young doctor became quite frustrated with the constant fault-finding and ctiriticism for the head nurse and those who followed her lead. He went just down the road a few blocks and started a new medical office. In time the old doctor resigned his position. He and the young doctor never stopped seeing one another, because they were such good friends. Neither of them could understand the venomous reactions of the head nurse and those who followed her. Once the older doctor retired the community began to grow. Soon there were three medical facilities for the community to choose from. One of them hired the old head nurse to run its staff. She spent countless hours writing stories for the editorials to discredit the young doctor's practice, and was infuriated when her efforts went unrewarded. Her office soon closed, joining forces with none other than that of the young doctor. Then one day news broke of the old doctor experiencing a terrible stroke. At the community hospital he had already put the young doctor down as his physician. The head nurse came to visit only to discover that the young doctor had his old friend stabilized and on the way to recovery. Using the latest techniques and equipment the doctor not only recovered, but lived several more years able to move about freely. When the old doctor died she was in the front row at the funeral home. The program said that the doctor's son would be speaking. She knew the doctor had a son. His wive left him very early, taking his son with her, because of the constant calls and long hours her husband put in. Never meeting the son she was anxious to do so. Her eyes narrowed as the young doctor stepped to the podium. "My father was a great doctor." He began. As the story unfolded the head nurse realized that the young doctor was none other than her hero's son. She left the funeral home furious. Why hadn't they told her? Didn't they trust her? Outside the funeral home a woman waited by a limousine. The head nursed stopped and looked at her. She knew the woman. It was her younger sister whom she'd driven out of her home shortly after their mother died. Neither had spoken to the other in all that time. The young doctor came and hugged the woman at the limousine, and called her "mother." Her fury increased. She had served the doctor faithfully for years and he never once told her he'd married her sister, or that her son was the young doctor. Determined to destroy the young doctor she stepped up her pernicious writings to the editorial of the local paper. Her sister died with cancer, and she gloated. Then, as if in answer to her prayers, the doctor was killed savigin the life of a young child who had fallen in the river. She knew he'd be given a hero's burial, but all she cared about was that he was finally gone. Her daughter called shortly after she heard the news. It was her great-grandaughter the good doctor gave his life to save. Shocked she held the phone to her ear. Her daughter hadn't talked to her in over forty years! Her daughter said nothing else, simply hung up the phone. For a long time the old head nurse sat by her phone. In just a few short months everything she lived to hate was taken away and she felt at a terrible loss. Though she tried to destroy the young doctor he was popular, loved, and now a hero. The bleakness of a life without somone to attack with hatred and malice was more than she could bear. She was alone. Just before she died she wrote a letter to her minister. He'd fallen under her pen many times in the past, and opened the letter with some trepidation. The letter was short and simple. "Hate and malice are a disease that eat a little of your soul every time you wield them. I have wielded them so often that my soul was lost long ago. Now, there is only darkness, and lonliness. No one will be with me when I die, and no one will care. This I accept as my due." Sighing with regret the elderly pastor put on his coat and hat, and using his cane as usual, he limped to her house. She was already dead. Like the poison in her thoughts, she had used poison to kill herself. With a sad shake of his head he used her phone to call the coroner. There would always be those, he knew, for whom malice and hatred would be a way of life. As he left the house a little toddler ran to him. Hooking his cane on his belt he lifted her up and hugged her tightly. This innocent and sweet child was what life was all about. She'd recently nearly drowned and now hugged everyone. When her mother caught up to her, and took her from her pastor's arms, she looked once at the house but said nothing. There was nothing to talk about. Instead they walked along the walkway talking about the little girl and her miraculous recovery, gift for love, and joy. That was worth talking about

I just realized, after opening this box, that saying anything would be a waste of time.

thanks for all the suggestions! i tried the dreft this morning so we'll see how that goes. we buy most of our stuff from adulotclothdiaper.biz kid1. they do indeed have a care section. thanks everybody.

most interesting reading! for those of you are are wondering, turtlepins has never been accused of or committed any acts that would fall under the heading "pedophile". I've known him for 39 years, and been married to him for 33. I think I qualify as an expert witness. That done, let's move on. I have a teacher who is incontinent. None of the kids know, but I know. Today I expelled a boy (first grade!) who showed other kids 250 dollars he'd stollen from his parents and told them all he was going to buy a gun this weekend and bring it to school and shoot them all. The Sheriff's took him away in handcuffs. He's so little, but I didn't feel a bit sorry that he's out of my school. Innocence (like the sweet innocence of my turtlepins, and the teacher I work with and love) and criminal passion both come in all shapes, sizes, and fetishes. I don't know much about the dominence/sub thing . . . yet. I do know that it can be fun for both, or sadistic. I'm no expert, but again I'm sure it involves the individual souls of individual people. Some souls are filled with light, while others dwell in the darkest of places. I am however, interested in how quick all of us (including myself here) are to think the worst and speak words that drip malace. (guilty as charged!) Some of you have been very good about asking for clarification and avoiding judgement. Thank you for the example and the reminder. My hope is that these words have been clearly presented and leave no room for misunderstanding. Bless you all. Ta ta for now.

I've found that a mild dishwashing soak helps get the pee smell out of my ab's plastic pants. Sometimes I think I don't get all the soap out though, because he gets a rash around his waist occasionally. How do you treat plastic pants and prevent the smell?

Now be good, both of you, or it's TIME OUT! *giggles*

Frankly, to say that many of the descriptions you gave made me feel extremely uneasy, would be an understatement, and they've left me with a very nasty taste in my mouth. Dolly

i always loved diapering my babies. i didn't know how much until my husband stepped into the adult baby fetish. i don't wear diapers myself, but i do know several women who do, and some younger women. they are out there stu. i'm sorry you transgenders took a hit. mean! hold hands, follow the lines, stay together!

I don't wear diapers, but I have the same problem with my system. If I'm away from home for a few days the moment I step in the door I have to go. Even at work I don't use the toilet much. My husband doesn't seem to have the same problem. Every time I check him he's soaked! Irony