I went into parenting unsure about everything; I didn’t even know if I’d like having a kid! Especially since before I had my kid, I hated kids. Obviously, I mostly hated Other People’s Kids, and always assumed that when I had one of my own I’d be okay with him. But I couldn’t really know, not until I met the guy.
As luck would have it, whether by biology or nature or something L. Ron Hubbard wrote about, I do like my kid. I mean, obviously I love my kids, but I like them too. Which is huge. But that circumstance hasn’t changed my opinion on other kids. If anything, it’s made it worse, since now they are being compared to the Platonic Ideal of Offspring that are my sons. And they don’t measure up.
Also, now that I’m a dad and I know a lot more parents than I used to, I hate them even more than I hate their kids.
For one thing, they let their kids rule their lives, which… is actually somewhat understandable. Because as much as being a parent can suck sometimes, there’s never any doubt that your kids are the best thing that’s ever happened to you, even when they’re acting like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. And your priorities shift to accommodate that fact.
Unfortunately, some parents take their slavish devotion to their kids too far. Mom and Buried and I were wary of that, so before she got pregnant, we made a deal that we wouldn’t become like those friends we’d seen fade from our lives once they had their kids. We decided we would do our best to continue to live our lives the same way we always had, even with a baby in tow. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been doable. Of course, for most of our run, we had only one kid, so I might be talking out of my ass. (I can now confirm, after five years with two kids, I kind of was.)
Which is the other thing I hate about so many parents. I am talking out of my ass, and I know this. Because no one knows what they are doing. Except, if you were to believe them, those hateful parents I like to refer to as “Other Parents.” Other Parents are those parents that act like they’ve cracked the secret child-rearing code. Like they are experts.
Sorry, but with all due respect to Dr. Spock and Dr. Phil and etc.: there is no such thing as a parenting expert.
A.P.P. = Anti-parenting Parenting
I believe everyone needs to know that. So I started Dad and Buried as a place where I could chronicle my journey into fatherhood while attempting to maintain my pre-fatherhood identity, and it has since evolved into the Anti-Parenting – and Anti-ParentΒ – Parenting blog, for two reasons:
1) Parenting is a drag, even when you love your kid. Hell, that may be even worse than having a kid you don’t give a shit about. At least then, whatever happens, happens. No parenting required! But with a kid you love, you are responsible for his well-being and his education and his development into something-other-than-a-total-asshole. And that is hard, grueling work that requires a healthy amount of ridicule or it will drive you insane.
2) Other Parents are the worst. They never tire of judgment. They judge you, they judge your spouse, they judge your kids; only they know the secret to perfect parenting. Well, on Dad and Buried (and in Soviet Russia!), I judge them. WITH PREJUDICE. And a healthy amount of swearing.
Be warned: this blog is not a manual, or a guide, or a rule book. Hopefully, at its best, it’s a life raft.
It’s a place where I can bitch about my life as a dad, about my annoying sons, and about all those Other Parents who act like they know better than everyone else.
Because they don’t know shit. Neither do you. And neither do I!
But that’s what makes this blog different from other parenting blogs: I don’t pretend to.
I’ll give myself an 8. I’m not a peerfct parent by all means. There is always room for improvement.My husband and I try to instill our beliefs into our children, and we are raising them in similar ways as our own parents raised us, however, not completely. What worked for them may not be working for us, so there are some changes here and there.
When it comes to appraising the efforts of a parent, it is always done by the child. You can’t be the one to rate yourselves. You have to wait till your child grows up and is able to answer it himself. Caring for your child unconditionally while instilling strong ethical and moral values, if the best a parent can do. The rest time will tell.
Although I can can honestly tell you that In this world of greed, if you are able to bring your child up to be caring and respectful of everyone. You have done a wonderful service to society.
I love your blog. I am a mommy to a one year old and I love the that you are being real. Parenthood is NOT a walk in the park and most parents I’ve been meeting act like they have it down pat.
Here’s to being real my friend!
Simply brilliant!! Laughed my arse off reading this!! Outstanding work mate
For someone who knows all the cons of parenting, why did you even have a child? As much as you claim to “like” and “love” him, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than us that you “enjoy” being a parent. This blog alone screams “I’m miserable and trapped in a sexless marriage with an offspring”. Have a good life, lol. People like you make me extremely thankful I can’t procreate since I’m a lesbian lol late nights and hot girls for me, old hag and child who treats you like an ATM for you π
While you might think your judgement is valid about the author. You are forgetting that your response here also tell people about you. Your cool attitude and judgmental attitude only reflects a resentment about the life you expected to live as a child.
Additionally since this is a blog about parent and child, I implore you to think what kind of a parent would you become if you ever did? Would you make the same mistakes your parents made? and would your child also at some point dish out unresolved feelings at someone else for an attempt to express?
Laughing: I’m extremely thankful you can’t procreat, too. lol
I enjoy your outlook on parenting… I’ve often found myself wondering how people become “parenting experts” since every child is different. Thanks for the laugh!
The last thing this world needs is more humans. Unless you are certain and have known forever that you want kids, then my advice is DONT!!!! It’s hell. It’s boring. It’s disappointing, annoying, stressful, depressing, and hideously expensive. If someone said I’m going to bring my disabled gran round for you to care for 24-7, so you’re gonna need to get lots of supplies and special equipment, convert your house, and cancel all plans for the next 20 years, you’d probably decline their kind offer. Trouble is we all fantasise about the great FANTASY kids we’re gonna have, and how we’re going to love them so much we won’t resent all the sacrifices we are going to have to make.
Don’t slice your precious life up and lay it on the sacrificial altar of parenthood! There’s no need. Enjoy and wallow in your freedom x
You seem to be talking out of some experience and possible in my opinion quite little of it. Sure the initial year of rearing a child if like excruciatingly tiring and indeed the world doesn’t need more humans.
But I’m certain you haven’t seen your child make you proud by doing something you taught him.
I’m a believer that people should only have children if they truly believe they can take care of them. Taking care is a very deep concept. Your simple action of having a child will affect others in society. Your child could be a miracle live-saver for our community or a disaster, many worse a wasted resource. You as a parent are the instructor, guide and nurturer. Can you live up to it?
No task in the world is easy and if it is, you’re probably doing it wrong. Raising a child is similar. There will be tough times and there will be a short and sweet times as well. Make a rational decision and think about the child, before having one. Not his pretty eyes or small hands. They will grow. Look at the people around you. If you think you can raise another just like that well, then probably don’t. Can you do better?
Most of all, Naive as hell, is the apt name chosen by this responder, for it certaily reflects his/her own understanding. Parenthood is a unconditional job. You shouldn’t be expecting returns for your sacrifices. You should be honest to admit that you took those decisions as an adult. The child is not to be blamed. Though I would like to mention, sometimes, what you get in return is far more than you could have expected.
I stumbled upon your blog. I basically feel like you are actually me, or I am actually you. Whatever. You have personified so many feelings that I have had while venturing into parenting and have helped me realize what I have been experiencing, without actually knowing it. Until now.
The most difficult thing about parenting: the lack of recovery time. Wow. Yes.
Parenting is a drag, especially if you care about your kid. Wow. Yes.
I’ll continue reading and also checking your zombie posts too.
Thanks.
Ah man you stole my idea! I was going to create a blog and bitch about parenting too.
list my post somewhere between here email and twitter long story short raised three kids. Girl comes home prego leaves lser baby 1 mo. she’s prego with twins better dad she leaves him. her boy friend now a thug who lives with mommy. when is it ok to say hey hoe stop and think..grandma is not 8 arm godess. watching 1st. down with it. watching three darn near impossible
Patti, what you are doing it commendable. It takes a lot of courage and I would like you to know that. Also I want you to know that these trying times should be looked at as an opportunity. You can significantly change the lives of these children. The childhood they will get will be unlike many others and often great individual arise from trying times.
Build your personality and instill your courage in them.
Help them learn to cooperate, value teamwork and manage conflicts. They will certainly grow up to be wonderful people who will be able to help our society grow from these difficult times.
I know you you must already be doing a lot and I hate to ask more of you but in my experiences I have noticed that when things get really difficult and we have done all that we can, sometimes the universe helps us out. So It is with this faith that I ask you, to give each child some individual guidance as well to develop each ones innate abilities. Talk to them and try to give a few minutes to each one, separate from the others.
Train them as a group to respect each others individual time.
I wish you all the best in your life. And give me regards to the kids too!
I like your humour and honesty! Thanks for sharing bits and bobs of your life,
I needed to read this. I am not going insane on my own, we’re all going down together ! π
I love your writing. What the critics don’t understand is that you write the truth, from an emotional place. The fact that you give-form to things which are present in everyone, but simply under their radars, does not mean that you are a worser person, than they are! Your critics are vain enough to believe it does! I find your style super-refreshing, and hilarious. Thank you!
I am amazed at the stupidity of those who bitch about your site. How in the hell would they think that only ONE blogger in the world has the right to blog about parenting? I read a TON of blogs but I love to laugh. Dad and Buried makes me laugh. The Bloggess makes me laugh, Jeff and Jill makes me laugh. If I’m laughing I don’t care what I’m reading about. And, kids ARE fucking annoying. IF you’re a parent and your kids do not annoy you, please pass whatever drug you’re doing to the rest of us and then, FUCK OFF because YOU. ARE. NOT. FUNNY.
Dad, you just keep doing your thing!
I am a 74 yr old great-grandmother. I appreciate your feelings, candor, humor. I am forwarding this column to my grandsons. May they find something useful, hopeful, just “Oh, my God, I am not crazy or a bad parent. There are others that feel the same way as I sometimes do.” Bless you and your family. Carry on with your words. They do help.
just want to subscribe!
Hello, how can I subscribe? Thank you. Sounds interesting and funny!
Hi – there should be a subscription box in the right sidebar!
I love your blog and you are awesome .I thought I was the only one. Like how horrible a parent I must be to not be a devoted slave to my child. I just figure eventually they ARE going to grow up and become their own person, if I become a slabe to them what becomes of me once they are grown up? But sometimes I’d think this was just an excuse I was telling myself to make me feel better about not loving my kid as much s they appear to ……. Which I love my kids more than life itself but I dont act like I’ve never seen a human child before thats so annoying …. Just nice to know I’m not alone on that lol.
Great job! Check out this site when you get sick of the everyone having their feelings hurt.
http://www.hurtmyfeelingspolice.com
Thanks
This blog was a LIFE SAVER; here I am, feeling totally alone in the world (well not really, got my wife and baby daughter) from having to work triple shift in LIFE to keep my precious little shit (that’s my nickname for my wee one) alive and relatively trauma free till they’re out of the damn house. Love your insights and unfiltered feelings about the reality of this parenting business. Agree 1,000,000% about those parents that always smile and ravish without having a shred of complaint regarding their kids and upbringing, fucking liars. =D
I just found this blog today andI love it! I have one wonderful daughter who just turned 18. 18 years old, not months! lol. For me, I look forward to thoroughly reading this blog as a kind of PTSD therapy for having been a parent for almost 20 years, And only now just finding out that sometimes other peopleβs kids say I hate you to their parents also. Thank you dad and Buried.com, itβs never too late to laugh.
Your post on your kids falling off beds on ScaryMommy just saved the rest of my vacation…Iβm eternally grateful. Will have a Guinness in your honor tonight.
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ΠΠ½Π»Π°ΠΉΠ½-ΠΈΠ³ΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠ°Ρ ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΉΠ½Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠΏΡΠ»ΡΡΠ½Ρ. Π§ΠΈΡΠ»ΠΎ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ² Π½Π΅ΡΠΊΠ»ΠΎΠ½Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ. ΠΡΠ½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΅ΠΊΡΡ Π΄Π°ΡΡ Π·Π°Ρ Π²Π°ΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΠΈ ΡΡΠΈΠΌ ΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ»ΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ³ΡΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ² Π³Π»ΠΎΠ±Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ. ΠΠΈΠ±Π΅ΡΡΠΏΠΎΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π²ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π² Π³ΠΈΠ³Π°Π½ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΊ. ΠΠ½Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΎΡΡ ΠΈΠ½Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ³ΡΠΎΠΌΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΌΠΌΡ Π² ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ Π±ΠΈΠ·Π½Π΅Ρ.
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ΠΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΏΡΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅ Π³Π»Π°Π²Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π΄Π°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΈΠ·ΡΡΠ°ΠΉΡΠ΅ ΠΌΠ½Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΊΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΠ².
ΠΡΠ±Π»ΠΈΠΊΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΎ Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΡ ΠΊΠΎΠ»Π»Π΅ΠΊΡΠΈΡΡ Π±ΡΠ΅Π½Π΄ΠΎΠ².
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ΠΡΠΊΡΠΎΠΉΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»Ρ ΠΎΠ± ΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΊΡΡΡΡΡΠ΅.
ΠΡΠ΄ΡΡΠ΅ Π² ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π΄Π΅ ΡΠΈΡΠ°Ρ Π½Π°Ρ ΡΠ°ΠΉΡ.
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Π’Π΅Π½Π΅Π²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π΅Ρ β ΡΡΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΊΡΡΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ½Π»Π°ΠΉΠ½-ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²Π°, Π΄ΠΎΡΡΡΠΏ ΠΊ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΡΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π· Π·Π°ΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π±ΡΠ°ΡΠ·Π΅ΡΡ, Π½Π°ΠΏΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Ρ, Tor.
Π Π΄Π°ΡΠΊΠ½Π΅ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π»Π΅Π³Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅, Π° ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ²ΠΎΠ·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΌΡ, ΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ±ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ²ΠΈΡΡ ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡΠ°Π΄ΠΊΠΈ.
ΠΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΠ· ΠΊΡΡΠΏΠ½Π΅ΠΉΡΠΈΡ ΠΏΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΌ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΠ»ΡΠΊ Π‘ΠΏΡΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π»Π°ΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΠΈΠ·Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ°Π·Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΠ², Π² ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ.
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ΠΡΠΈ ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡΠ°Π΄ΠΊΠΈ Π½Π΅ΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΊΠΎ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π· ΠΊΡΠΈΠΏΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π»ΡΡΡ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π°Π½ΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΡΠ΄Π΅Π»ΠΎΠΊ.
ΠΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΊΠΎ, Π²Π»Π°ΡΡΠΈ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΎΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΊΡΡΠΏΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π°ΡΠΊΠ½Π΅Ρ-ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡΠ°Π΄ΠΊΠΈ, Ρ ΠΎΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΈΡ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΎΡΠ³ΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΡΠΊΠΈ.
Π‘Π΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΡ Π² Π ΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ»Π΅ΠΌΡΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΠΌ ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π±Π΅Π·ΠΎΠΏΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΠ².
ΠΡΠΎΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ° ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠΎΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ Π½ΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΠΌ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»Π°ΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ Π³Π°ΡΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅Ρ Π·Π°ΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π»ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°.
ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ·Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΡ
Π’Π°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π°Π»ΠΈΡΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΎΠ² ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ Π΄Π΅Π»ΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Ρ Π·Π°ΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΠΊΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅ΠΈΠΌΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π° Π½Π° ΡΡΠ½ΠΊΠ΅.
ΠΡΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΎΠ², Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½Ρ ΡΡΠΈΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΈΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΈ Π±Π°ΡΡΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈ Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΈ Π±ΠΈΠ·Π½Π΅ΡΠ°.
ΠΠΎΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ, ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΎΠ² Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ΄Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΡΡΠ²Π°, ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΡΠ½ΡΠΌ ΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡΡΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΡΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈΠ²ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ° ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΠ°Π½ΠΈΠΈ Π² Π ΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΈ.
ΠΡΠΎΡ ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π² Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π΅ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ»Π΅ΠΌΡΠΌ ΡΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π»Π΅Π³Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΠΈΠ·Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΠ².
Π‘ΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ° ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π³Π°ΡΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΠΎΠΎΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠΌ ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ ΡΠ΅Ρ Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΡΠ΅Π³Π»Π°ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°ΠΌ ΠΈ ΠΎΡΠΈΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌ ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ, Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΡ ΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄Ρ, Π³Π°ΡΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅Ρ Π·Π°ΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΎΡ Π½Π΅ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΠ².
Π΄ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΡ
Π’Π°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π°Π»ΠΈΡΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΎΠ² ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Ρ ΠΊΡΡΠΏΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΠΉΠ»Π΅ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Ρ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ½ΠΊΠ΅.
ΠΡΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΡΠΎΠ², Π½Π΅ ΠΈΡΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΡΠΈΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΈΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΡΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΎΠ².
ΠΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ, ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π΄ΠΎΠΊΡΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ΄Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΡΡΠ²Π°, Π½ΠΎ ΠΈ Π²Π°ΠΆΠ½ΡΠΌ ΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΎΡΠΎΠΌ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ°Π·Π²ΠΈΡΠΈΡ Π±ΠΈΠ·Π½Π΅ΡΠ° Π² Π ΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΈ.
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ΠΠ° Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»Π΅ Π²Π°ΠΌ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΠ»Π°ΠΆΠ΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠΌ Π²ΡΠ±ΠΎΡΠΎΠΌ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΠ².
Π‘Π»ΠΎΡΡ ΠΎΠ±Π»Π°Π΄Π°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ Π³ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ Π·Π°Ρ Π²Π°ΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΌ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΠΌ.
ΠΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΡΠΉ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ Π°Π²ΡΠΎΠΌΠ°Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ Π±ΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π²Π΅ΡΠΎΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ±Π΅Π΄Ρ.
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ΠΠ³ΡΠ° Π² ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ Π°Π²ΡΠΎΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π½Π°Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½Π° ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠ², ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ².
ΠΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅ΡΠ΅ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠ°ΡΡ Π±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ»Π°ΡΠ½ΠΎ, Π° Π·Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠΈ ΠΊ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠ΅ Π½Π° ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π΅Π½ΡΠ³ΠΈ.
ΠΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠΉΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ»Ρ ΠΈ ΠΎΠΊΡΠ½ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡ Π² Π·Π°Ρ Π²Π°ΡΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ ΠΌΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΠ².
ΠΠ΄Π΅ΡΡ Π²Π°ΠΌ ΠΎΡΠΊΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠ°Π½Ρ ΠΈΡΠΏΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠΈΡΠΎΠΊΠΈΠΌ Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΠ².
ΠΡΠΈ ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΡ ΡΠ»Π°Π²ΡΡΡΡ ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ Π³ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΌ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΠΌ.
ΠΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΡΠΉ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΉ Π°Π²ΡΠΎΠΌΠ°Ρ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ Π±ΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π²Π΅ΡΠΎΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ±Π΅Π΄Ρ.
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ΠΠ³ΡΠ° Π² ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Ρ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ² Π²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π½Π΅ΠΉ.
ΠΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π΄Π΅ΠΌΠΎ-ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌΠΎΠΌ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅ ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π½Π°ΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠ°ΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π΅Π½ΡΠ³ΠΈ.
ΠΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²ΠΎΡ ΡΠ΄Π°ΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅ ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎΡ ΡΡΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΌΠΈΡΠ° ΡΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΠ².
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