-noun
a species at risk of extinction because of human activity and/or changes in climate.
We have an endangered species in our home. It shows it’s face every once in a blue moon. Thus referred to as an endangered species. Good Lord am I smart! I saw our endangered species this very afternoon and just happened to have camera in hand.
It’s called sibling love and it is very rare indeed!
Sydney lost yanked out a tooth at school the other day. It is probably one of her last.
She still believes in the tooth fairy. Or so I thought.
Just before bed she came to me and announced that she was not going to put the tooth under her pillow. No. Not this time. She had labeled this one a keeper. “Fine” I say. “I’m sure if you change your mind in a couple of days the tooth fairy will be happy to make a U-turn.”
“Are you sure the tooth fairy is real mom? Tell me the truth. I reeeaalllyyy want to know. The boys at school keep saying the tooth fairy is your dad but there is no way “she” could be my dad. He is sooo loud I would have heard him. So tell me. Is the tooth fairy real? I really want to know.”
I stared into her eyes for a long moment both sad that we have reached this point in her life and trying to decide whether she really wants me to tell her. She was eager and happy. Begging, at this point, for me to tell her the truth.
“No.” I say.
“She’s not real? So it’s been dad all along?” she asks.
"Ah….probably not your father. Of this I am certain.” I explain.
“Then who?” she asks and I think, is it really that inconceivable that I could be the tooth fairy. “Me!” was all I could say.
(with a snort and a laugh) “You? You are the tooth fairy?”
“Yes.” I say.
Her shoulders slumped, her eyes dropped with disappointment and suddenly the smile was long gone. I misjudged this moment. She was not ready for the truth. Or was she just disappointed that it was me rather than her dad?
“Are you suuuuure?”
“Yes.” I say.
“So you are the tooth fairy?” she asks incredulously. “You put on a fairy outfit with wings, sneak into my room while I’m asleep, take my tooth and put money under my pillow?” She was serious now.
“Errr….umm…ya, something like that.” I say
With renewed excitement she asks to see my costume and announces that she is going to search the whole house for it and when she finds it she is going to bring it to school to show her friends as “proof” that the tooth fairy is not real!!
“Sure.” I say. “You do that. I’ve packed my wings away reeeallly good; in a secret place. Let me know when you find them. Oh, and make sure you give them back. Your brother will be losing teeth soon.”
And with that the tooth fairy met her demise.
RIP tooth fairy. RIP.
A couple of weeks ago I was in a car accident. A man, in a rush to buy snacks at Wal-Mart, hit me head on in the Petco parking lot. I was alone in the car that day. I walked away with only a bruise on my arm. I was lucky.
The insurance agent contacted me with a list of repair shops; most of which were associated with dealerships or major auto body chains. One, he explained, family owned and operated in Bloomington for a very long time. Paul’s. Having had my fill of car dealerships and major chains lately, I decided to try my luck with the little guy.
Two weeks and $6,000 worth of repaired damage later, I picked up my car, shook Mr. Paul’s hand and thanked him for his hard work.
Today I received a letter from Mr. Paul.
“Melanie
When a customer arrives at our facility it is usually the direct result of a misfortunate or unlucky event. Sadly, we’ve seen a lot of bad things happen to good people.
With that said, I’d like not only to thank you for allowing us to repair your damaged vehicle but attempt to turn your luck around.
Enclosed please find a few scratch off lottery tickets. If you’re not a gambler, please pass these on to a friend or family member that is. Otherwise, grab a coin, my friend, and scratch away.”
And so it seems I really was lucky.
Sometimes, no matter how close your seats are to the in-zone,
no matter how many players utter their pregame prayers,
no matter how many fans spend their entire paychecks on wacky team apparel,
and no matter how many high-fives are slapped between perfect strangers in the crowd
sometimes, it’s just not enough for them to pull out a win.
At 11:15 this morning, my girl will enter the realm of double digits. She will turn 10. 10! How did that happen? How is it possible that I am the mother of a 10 year old?
Two days ago I stood at the bakery counter thumbing through the design book trying to pick a suitable design for her cake. I was specifically told NO Hannah Montana or anything of the like. And I was fine with that. But then I came across the Disney Princess designs and it made me realize what will be no more. Gone for good are the days of pink sequined dress-up dresses, cheep plastic shoes and feather boas. And gone are the days of princess birthday parties.
And all of this leaves me looking forward to (or shaking in my boots at) what’s to come.
My sister.
There is 11 years between us. We don’t look alike or dress alike but our love for animals is one of our common bonds.
My sister has dedicated her life to helping animals. Early on she worked at a “no kill” shelter and most recently as a Vet Tech at a small veterinary office in her hometown. She is notorious for scooping up strays off the streets no matter where she is.
Over the years she has brought home the sick, the depressed or the helpless newborns without a chance and nursed them all back to health. She does not think twice about what she does, rather views it as her mission. Animals are her passion and I love that about her.
So Saturday morning as I road my bike down Dameron Road and heard the unmistakable cry of a kitten over the barks of three crazy guard dogs, I thought of my sister. It is because of her that I turned my bike around. And when I saw the tiny, frail kitten hunkered down in the tall grass on the edge of the cow pasture, it is because of her that I scooped the kitten up and took her home.
She was skinny, weak and somewhat stiff; obviously cold from being out all night by herself. The fur from the top of her head, down her back to the beginning of her tail was flattened, stiff and crunchy with what looked like chewed pieces of hay. Had she been licked by one of the Angus cows? I wasn’t sure.
All the way home I could hear my sister’s voice. “Just take her to the shelter. They will spay her and put her up for adoption.” And so this was my plan.
Ya. Except I forgot about them.
An hour after I returned home I found myself in the car with the entire family on our way to the vet. His assessment is that she is 5 weeks old, weighs just about a pound, dehydrated, slightly anemic from her flea infestation, has a serious roundworm infection, Coccidia and, most disturbing of all, the pads of her paws are burned and peeling. This would explain the limp and funky walk.
But she is sweet and oh so friendly. Smart, she uses the litter box already, and now that she has had 24 hours of food, antibiotics and dewormer, she is spunky, feisty and kitten crazy. Her name is Lily Tigress (because the kids could not agree on a name) and is now a permanent member of our family
I am my sister’s sister with one huge difference. She has the ability to give up her strays. I, apparently, do not.
The first day of Kindergarten. A momentous occasion. It’s funny how the majority of us spend the first five years of our children’s lives longing for this very day only to be sad or mystified that the time has gone by so fast.
I have been ready for Andrew to start Kindergarten for awhile now and although we all know he is ready, he has needed some convincing of that. The new, the different, the anticipation of the unknown. These are not his friends. That coupled with mood swings that change with the speed of passing cars can make for meltdowns of epic proportions.
I feel like I have prepared him as much as I could and so I sat on pins and needles this morning waiting to see which mood came thumping down the stairs. To my surprise he was happy as a clam. A happy clam with some very specific ideas on how his first day would start.
He wanted pancakes for breakfast. Pancakes that he would make all by himself because, after all, he is in Kindergarten now and that’s just what Kindergarteners do. He’s certain of it!
He picked out his clothes and dressed himself. Nothing new or out of the ordinary here, with the exception of the long sleeve shirt he chose on this hot and humid mid-August day.
This is what Kindergartener’s wear to school. He is certain of this too. I headed upstairs to pick out a new shirt for him but then had to ask myself; if a long sleeve shirt will get him out the door without Sydney and I carrying him by his limbs, do I really care if I have to treat him for minor heat stroke when we get home? No. Not really.
And as we headed out to begin our walk to school, and he tore out of the garage on his 4-wheeler
I argued that Kindergartener’s usually ride their bicycles or scooters to school. Perhaps he should choose a different mode of transportation. He told me that this Kindergartener is riding his 4-wheeler to school because that’s what he wants to do. So I had to ask myself; if riding the 4-wheeler to school will help him walk through the school doors without causing a scene, do I really care that it may not be sitting out there when I go back to pick him up? No. Not really.
At school we rounded the corner of the blacktop where all the grade school kids are lined up waiting for the doors to open. I retied my running shoes (just in case I needed to make a mad dash out of there) and held my breath as he walked over and got in line.
They walked into the building single file, the door closed behind them and he never looked back. The relief was overwhelming.
And so when the morning came to an end and he appeared in the doorway with this smile on his face,
I realized then that the pancake mess all over the kitchen, the long sleeve shirt on a hot and humid day, and the 4-wheeler that looked very out of place in the bike rack
were independent victories that helped make his transition into Kindergarten that much easier.
