Just For Giggles

Here's my personal answer to all the You Tube videos that show adorable babies laughing.  How moments like this seem so long ago and yet just a thread's width away at the same time I'll never know.  Dia is 5 years old now (and still laughs hysterically at Tim).  Once upon a time, this was her.

Hopefully you'll get a laugh to brighten your day!

It's Not All Bad

THE CHECK:

It was one of those blindingly sunny January days in Indiana.  After months and months of gray skies and gray ground and gray moods, this day streamed in sunglasses-bright.  I would have praised God and the heavens above upon waking to blue skies except I'd lived in Indiana most of my life at that point.  Bright sun in January only means one thing:  sub-zero temperatures.

But it was payday and as my bank was only a couple blocks away from my office downtown, I somewhat merrily bundled myself in twelve layers and made the trek on my lunch hour.  To expede efficiency, and to minimize the removal of too many layers, I'd endorsed the check before I left the office.

I arrived at my Credit Union, dug in my pocket and ... dug in my pocket and ... dug in my pocket and ... off come the gloves and the twelve layers.  No check.  I had to have dropped it along the way.  Barely wrapping myself up against the frigid temperatures, I dashed back out to the street in a mad and somewhat desperate attempt to find my endorsed check.  I retraced my steps over and over for close to the full lunch hour.  Frozen and furious with myself I returned to work with the hopes that accounting could put a stop payment on my check, issue me a new one (perhaps with the stop payment amount deducted from my pay) and that all could be accomplished within 24 hours or so before my bank account went negative.

As I stepped off the elevator, stripping off the ridiculous layers of clothing for what seemed like the twelfth time that day, Becky, our receptionist, said there was a call for me while I was gone.  Someone had found my check!

Back on go the layers and, this time with much more pep in my step, off I go tearing down to the building that housed my hero.  She had found the check, saw it was endorsed, looked up the number for the law firm that was listed on it, and asked for me.  Further, she was kind enough to speak with Becky rather than just leave a message - which absolutely ensured I would get the check returned to me quickly.  I must have thanked her three thousand times and offered to pay her a reward, but of course she wouldn't accept it.

THE DOG:

We adopted Logan as a 3 year old.  He was quite pedigreed - a former show dog that was disqualified from competition due to a tiny speck of black in his big brown eye.  Once his former owners learned he'd never earn his keep, they couldn't bear his bad behavior (which was fairly significant) and looked for a new, loving home for him.  I was the lucky winner.

We brought him into our first home in California, which was a rented somewhat awful, somewhat awesome place.  It could have used a bit more upkeep, definitely needed updating and there were minor things that were broken all over.  Logan found one of those things: the back gate latch.  In an incredibly quiet mode for a basset hound, Logan had followed a scent to that gate, jimmied it open and went walkabout.  In all of about 10 minutes.  I was just about to check on him when the phone rang.

"Hello?  Are you Logan's owner?" came completely out of the blue over the phone line.  Stunned (as I didn't even know he was gone yet) I answered "Yes?"

The woman explained that she was driving down Orchard Village (a pretty major road), had seen him sniffing around on the side of the street and worried that, as low to the ground as he is, he'd get hit.  So she'd stopped, coaxed him into her car, drove him to safety, checked his collar, and called the number on the tag.  After we provided her with the address, she even drove him home.  This detour had made her run late for her original destination and thus she barely even heard my earnest thanks as she pulled back down our driveway.

THE DOG, AGAIN:

For the greater part of a year, work was being done to the units in our complex.  The contractors kept using my outside water tap for their water needs.  I'm not sure why they picked mine over anyone else, but I got the fun of floating the bill for their many refills of both drinking water and their construction use.  Finally I asked the foreman to stop using our water and, of course, he apologized profusely and promised they never would use it again.

The next day, while I was at work, the kids let Logan out on the front patio.  When they didn't feel up to taking him for a walk, he could at least go out on this little patch of tile and lay in the sun or take care of his business in the tiny garden area.  Now, Logan is a very large basset.  He was 65 pounds at the time and not overweight in the least.  So picture this - 65 pounds of a very, very long dog on a patio that's maybe 60 square feet.

The contractors (who weren't using my water any more) came onto my patio to use my water and this time left the gate open.  They later claimed they didn't see Logan there.

Logan, per usual, just followed his nose.  Some scent took him out the patio gate and then out our complex's gate (which was left open to accommodate the comings and goings of the contractors).  The scent further took him down to McBean Parkway which is one of the most major thoroughfares in Valencia.

Of course, we didn't know all this right away.  Cheyanne called me in a panic when she'd gone to let him back in and found him missing and the gate open.  Scared to bits, she asked for my instructions.  I sent one child off to look for Logan and instructed the other to stay at home by the phone.  The phone was the winner.

A man called.  He was with Logan.  He'd said he watched the woman in the car in front of him clip his back end and send him flying onto the grassy embankment to the right of the road.  The woman had kept going.  This man stopped.  Logan was hurt badly and needed medical attention on an emergency level.  The man said he knew our vet, who was listed on Logan's tags, and would drive Logan there.  He did and he saved his life.

I never got to thank him.  I placed ads up all over.  I placed an ad online.  It was a long shot that he'd have seen either, but I had to try.  I felt he should know what a hero he is.

THE POINT:

I have more stories like this.  I don't have time to write them right now, but I'll put them in the list for future blog posts.  I'm willing to bet that everyone has stories like this.  So when the world's news gets you down, or when someone crushes your own world, or even when someone just cuts you off in traffic (potentially sneering at you while doing so) - don't go cynical.  People are inherently good.  Just remember your heroes - the little ones that return checks, or dogs, or act as your ambulance.  Dwell there and you'll know it's not all bad.

Unpopular Logic

I sometimes feel like I'm all alone in my thinking.  I might just be too sensitive or maybe too serious, though both of those characteristics I cringe at the idea of owning.  Over the years, I have tried to create a version of myself that is silly, irreverent at times and masked with bravado.  I would love to bury my overly serious and sensitive side, but I feel like it raises its ugly head more and more often these days.

For instance?  Charlie Sheen.  See, most people would now be chuckling to themselves… he’s kind of all the worst of a New Orleans Mardi Gras, isn’t he?  Prostitutes, drunken revelry, drunken regrets, invoking the gods, thinking you’re a god… all while riding on top of an overly decorated float surrounded by an entourage of fans who only love you for the goodies you throw their way.  Now while I can certainly see why folks are laughing at him, I cannot be content to do the same.  All I can think about are his kids.  It physically frightens me and I feel incredibly sad for them.  These are real children that didn’t ask for this ‘privileged’ life.  Shoot, the last time I heard of a child requesting their own birth was … um… yeah…

See?  I do this ALL the time.  The television shows and the reality programs that other people seem to not only watch, but enjoy, send me to a level of despair that is nearly intolerable.  I saw a moment of “Wife Swap” back in the day and all I could think was that it was this awful televised version of child abuse.  The kids get a new mom for a week and they are expected to obey her crazy set of new rules?  I’m sorry, what?  Now, I clearly realize that the parents in these cases are twisted to begin with since they would even consider participating in a show like this, but then we just add to these innocent children’s pain.  Here’s a whole new train wreck for you to endure.  Woo hoo.

Off the television (and usually at the grocery store), I watch parents sneering at their children and, between clenched jaws, spewing “Stop.that.right.now.” This is typically followed by my personal favorite “Do you want a spanking?”  I want so badly to go up to these parents and ask them when exactly it was that they stopped loving their kids.  Now I don’t think for a moment that they did stop loving their kids, but if they could just see – through the child’s eyes – how much it looks like they did maybe they’d be a little more respectful.  I mean, could you imagine living in a world where whenever your boss got slightly irritated, he angrily spat at you through his teeth and asked you ridiculous, condescending questions?  If you do live in that world, you should quit that job.  Now. 

On the television, it plays out live and we just watch it.  Or we don’t think about it.  We just watch the drama and ignore the very real reality.  Charlie Sheen has, what, 4 kids?  Each one of them not only gets to experience their personal hell live and in person, but they get it on instant replay to boot. 

I'm speaking from the viewpoint of a daughter of a relatively nice alcoholic.  He never hit me, he didn't have delusions of grandeur, and the pain endured from his alcoholism was mostly from his absence - his retreat into self-medication and sleep.  Still, he didn’t spare me the errant comments.  He didn’t spare me the clenched teeth.  He didn’t spare me the look of absolute hatred and resentment when his gaze fixed on my face.  And he didn’t spare me the memory of them all that I can’t erase no matter how hard I try.  Yet I was lucky, in a way, because my father was a non-celeb.  He didn't go outside much and I didn't have friends over very often.  I only told the friends I trusted about my dad's condition.  Even with that sometimes I'd get it thrown back in my face in a hurtful way, but for the most part I endured my sorrow privately and in the relative safety of a close circle.

I don’t doubt for a minute that's why my heart bleeds for these kids.  I don’t doubt for a minute that’s why every day I take this job of mom so very seriously.  Sure, I’ve slipped.  I’m not perfect either, but I hurry to apologize, to point out that that was a huge mistake on my part, to assure them they weren't to blame for my poor behavior and to never, ever do that again (and really don't).  I believe this is what seems to be lacking with both celebrity and private parents – the self awareness of the influence, the TREMENDOUS influence that we have.

If you can look back on your childhood without recalling a single errant comment that broke your heart; without recalling a time when one of the people that was supposed to love you most in this world, seemed to love you least; then God bless your parents and we need more of them.   If not?  Unfortunately, that makes you kind of normal and maybe you can take a second and consider how damaging those moments really were.  Maybe take another second and consider that no child deserves that damage.  Not Charlie's and not our own.

And while, on the whole, I’m definitely opposed to evangelizing, here I feel maybe more people should come over to my side.  On a personal level, let’s watch our tongues, our affect and our tempers a little more and on a more global scale let's not support televised child abuse, or neglect the kids that are the collateral damage when their parents implode.  I realize we can’t sign a petition to take away Sheen’s kids, for instance, but we can just turn the damn thing OFF.  If we don’t watch, the networks won’t play it – and they certainly won’t make more.  If we don't watch, then maybe the kids can suffer their parents privately - sharing the problems they're enduring with trusted friends rather than the whole judgmental world. 

Sigh… but I think I’m alone here in my unpopular logic.