Conversations with my daughter

Cast of characters:

Boo = My daughter, age 6
Bubba = My son, age 3
Me = Hapless parent

At the kitchen table, paints and paper everywhere, Boo painting with a brush and Bubba using a brush and his fingers.

Me: Wow, Bubba, that's a neat picture!
Boo: (leaning over, glancing at her brother's picture, and in a bored voice) It looks like abstract expressionism to me.
Me: Uh....OK.

In the car, driving to dance class. Boo is eating a piece of bread.

Boo: Mom, I don't want any more of my bread.
Me: That's OK, honey. We'll throw it on the ground for the birds when we get out of the car.
Boo: Mom, if I feed the birds, will they respect me?
Me: Will they what? Respect you?
Boo: Uh-huh. They better give me some mad respect.

Near bedtime.

Boo: Mom, can I have a sister?
Me: (Spluttering) Uh...Boo, you know we're not having any more babies. You and Bubba are it. Besides, you have a hard enough time sharing with your brother, don't you think?
Boo: But Mom, if I had a sister, then I could train her to do my bidding. You know? Bidding. That's when they have to do what you tell them to.
Me: Yeah, I know that. That doesn't sound like much fun for a kid, though.
Boo: But it has fringe benefits. Like, if she wanted to dress all in fringe, I have to give her a bunch for doing my bidding.

My kid. Sheesh.

The burning question

I am making dinner for my kids and I must know the answer to this burning question:

Am I the only person in the world that cannot properly open a box of macaroni and cheese? I know they have this wonderful perforated semi-circle just perfect for my thumb to fit into, but I can't ever get my thumb to actually penetrate the box. On the off-chance it makes a dent, it then begins ripping in various directions and the box ends up looking like I opened it with an automatic weapon.Am I a freak of nature?

Please tell me there's someone out there like me.

They walk for life

I just finished working with our local Relay for Life, and what an experience that was. A neighbor recruited me for our local team - he's a 9 year survivor and a terrific human being.

I could relate this whole experience blow-by-blow, but nothing will be able to capture it adequately. Think about all the people you know who've been touched by cancer. Not just the cancer patients and survivors (and non-survivors), but their families and friends as well. You probably can't fit them all on one hand, or two, or a simple sheet of notebook paper, can you?

We had a luminaria ceremony at 10pm on Friday night, and just walking around the path and looking at the bags was enough to choke you up. Lots of names, some pictures, they all kind of blended together after awhile, until you saw one that hit home.

Many of our luminarias had the name of a local young man who'd lost his battle with leukemia at the age of 22. You'd see his name again and again...Zack Saint....Zack Saint...In Memory of Zack Saint....and then the one that brought it home for me: "In Memory of Zack Saint" and underneath, in a loose scrawl: "My best friend."

My best friend. All of those people represented on those bags were somebody's best friend. Or son. Or daughter. Brother. Sister. Mom. Dad. They were all part of somebody's world, and they all left that world too soon because of some form of cancer. As I walked around I saw bags decorated with butterflies, childish drawings, crosses - one bag had 5 names listed, all with the same family name. One bag showed a wedding picture of a bride and groom, with the woman's name beneath and a heartfelt, handwritten message: "I miss you every single day."

Then there were the survivors. "Forty two years cancer free!" Shouted the Grandmother, pumping her fist in the air. The crowd cheered. She was followed by the 31 year old mother of three, who was just told that her thyroid cancer has re-occurred and she has four months to live. Her voice stayed steady as she asked us to pray for her family, and remember her next year when we most likely walk without her.

I was taking a lap late in the evening, and ahead of me was a twenty-something girl on crutches. She stopped at the top of an incline (we were walking around our elementary school) and someone asked if she was OK. She replied that she always had to take a breather before heading down the hill, as going down a hill on crutches is much harder than going up. The passerby asked her how she hurt her foot and she replied: "It's bone cancer. I'm in chemo right now, but I didn't want to miss this. They're hoping they can save my foot."

I kept walking. I had considered sitting down for awhile, since I was tired and had been there a good many hours manning our fundraiser booth. TIRED. I was tired of walking and giving of myself and wanted a break. Who gives the girl on the crutches a break? And who do I think I am even considering my aching feet in the scope of that?

So we walked and we laughed and we held each other and we cried and when all was said and done, our local relay raised over $100,000 for every Zack Saint, every woman remembered through a wedding picture, every young girl on crutches, and all the others along with their families and friends.

I feel good, but I told my friend that next year, I'm making one big luminaria, and I'm putting it right in the middle of all the others, and it will simply say:

WHY

Here comes the sun

I was getting my daughter ready for bed last night, and she always wants a story, then a song, and then I turn on her lullaby music. Her lullaby music was a gift from a neighbor upon her birth - it's the "Baby Beatles" CD and it's wonderful. All instrumental Beatles music, in lullaby format. I could listen to it for hours.

Anyway, the first song on the CD is "Here Comes The Sun", and a few days ago I told her that I knew the words. She asked me to sing it, and now that has become our new goodnight song. So last night I'm holding her close and stroking her hair and softly singing "Here comes the sun and I say...it's all right" and she says "Mom, what do you mean when you sing "It's all right?"

So I say "Well, you know how when you're having a bad day and you're feeling kind of sad how it feels like a rainy, cloudy day inside you? And when everything starts going good again and you're feeling better, it's like sunshine inside you and you think to yourself that everything's all right now."

She looks pensive and says "Like when you're very sad and have a very bad day?"

I say "Just like that. You just have to remember that the sun will always come out and everything will be all right again."

She looks down at her fingers, tightly clasped.

"Like if you're really sad and feel like a cloud is inside you 'cause you broke the towel holder in the downstairs bathroom, but your Mom says it's OK so it's like sunshine when she says that and everything is all right again?"

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and try to stay parental as I got to the bottom of the towel holder incident. It was easily fixed, and she got a strong reprimand for not confessing it immediately. Still, it was an adorable moment. I still can't stop chuckling over it.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to Mr. Hug - one terrific Dad and an equally terrific human being. I love you, honey - especially when you don't succumb to the urge to skin and eat your young.

Land of the links

Just a collection of things that I found terribly fascinating. You might think they're total drek, but hey, it's my blog and I'm in control here. Total control. I rule my blog with an iron fist! Muah ha ha ha!!!

Can you tell I have kids home for summer vacation and it's making me slightly nuts? Can you? Really? Can you?????

Ahem.

Here are the links. Sorry for carrying on like that.

Read about the blue people of Kentucky.

Watch Paul Potts, a non-descript, mobile phone salesman from the UK take the stage on "Britain's Got Talent" and share his dream of singing opera.

Milk hitting coffee. Trust me, it's cool.

Care for a refreshing cucumber soda? I'm torn on this one. I really like cucumbers, but fizzy and sweet? Hmmm. I'd be willing to try it.

I'd love to post more, but Sorry, gotta go.

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"As long as the world is turning and spinning, we're gonna be dizzy and we're gonna make mistakes."

~Mel Brooks

Angels among us

Meet Kaziah Hancock. For those of you with dial-up that can't see the video, let me tell you what Kaziah does. She paints portraits, and very good portraits at that. She makes pretty good money with her art, and has won numerous accolades for her work. That's not all I'm here to tell you about, though.

For a few years now, Kaziah has been working on numerous labors of love. She paints portraits of fallen soldiers, and sends the framed oil painting to their families - free of charge. Portraits like these:



Kaziah says it's not about politics, it's about letting their families know they'll be remembered, and that we mourn them. Currently, Kaziah and her team of six artists are working at a $3500 a month DEFICIT, as oil paint, canvas, frames and shipping are not cheap. What she provides the families of these soldiers, however, is priceless:

My son ran into our home with this huge package,
yelling — “It’s from Kaziah, I think it’s Adam’s portrait!” Well, we opened it with care — to break down in tears. Yes, Kaziah, you captured Jeff’s brother, Adam, as though we had unwrapped Adam from your box. Tears flowed with smiles. It was far beyond any expectation, far beyond such a noble, honorable act of a woman named “Kaziah.” ...Thank you so much for all you have done for the loved ones a soldier left behind.

If you'd like to donate to Project Compassion, you can do so here:

Project Compassion Soldier Fund
P.O. Box 153
Manti, UT 84642

The world needs more people like Kaziah. And this only goes to prove that love comes in all forms, but it always comes from the heart.

Hug Nation

I saw Hug Nation in the news today, and I just wanted to give them a big shout out. Yes, I sell "Hugs" for people to use when you can't be there to hug in person, but in person is always better. Always.

It seems to me that there's not a lot wrong with the world that some good hugging wouldn't cure. And pudding. Hugging and pudding - they practically go hand in hand. You can't talk about or experience either without feeling good. Maybe I'll run for President on the "Hugs and Pudding" ticket.

Whadda ya think? Tee shirts? Should I get "More hugs and pudding!" tee shirts made up? I'd wear one.

Check out Hug Nation, and the "Huggable Campaign". They've got the right idea.