For weeks, a wonderful guy in Ireland has been helping this Grandma with WordPress questions/problems. He is instant and constant and cheery and seems to LOVE helping. Makes life so nice.
He never made me feel dumb and never asked for a thing except a chance to help a bit more, if needed.
I checked out his site (shared with a brother) called Happy Guide, which is all about helping folks be happy.
Anyone would be happy to claim two such sons.
I haven’t read the whole thing, but I have read one page: “How to Overcome ME/CFS” and I was shocked and amazed.
It was so Biblical, and therefore, useful for me, I can only be glad–happy–to find it.
. . . I left my children, one of whom was a teen (in the back seat) another, a baby (strapped into an infant car seat in the front) in the car while I stepped into a store to confirm an order.
Just for a moment.
The engine was off and in the parking gear. The town was population 100 or so, all friends and neighbors. The street was seldom trafficked.
This was a safe practice 30 years ago.
The baby was in that “twos” stage, when (we all know) it takes expert managing to control their little adventures. He was ready for adventure that morning.
We did not know he’d been studying how to extricate himself from his car seat.
He did.
The teenage child was in the midst of inexpertly admonishing him (from the back seat, remember) to get back into his seat, when the baby grabbed the gear stick and—in direct defiance of the manufacturer’s promises about parking safety specs—pulled it out of gear.
The car began to roll backward.
A grocery sacking attendant happened by at that moment.
And panicked.
And yanked open the door on which the baby was leaning for support.
The baby fell out.
The car continued rolling.
The sacker guy grabbed him, about one second before the wheel could crush him, tossed him back into the car, jumped in, stomped on the brakes, and put the car back in gear, averting further disaster.
He then proceeded into the store where he chewed me out, half explaining and half blaming me, in his total anxiety/trauma/relief-reaction to his recent activities with my children.
I, wondering what he was talking about, left my business in the store to check on my children. All was seemingly fine. They were somewhat upset, but the baby had learned the lesson and was totally compliant about being in the seat, into which his older sib had succeeded in returning him.
Outside of anger that the car could be taken out of gear, when the engine was off and the keys in my purse, contrary to new safety regulations, with which the manufacturer made loud claims to have been in compliance, I really felt only relief and thankfulness for how things turned out.
Once Baby was all bathed and dressed for bed, a secret and almost sacred ritual would begin.
First he would shyly ease his way into the dim-lit nursery and stand a bit away from the rocker where Baby rested in my arms. Then he would ask if Baby had bathed and if Baby’s feet were all clean.
Once assured, he then would ask if he might kiss Baby’s feet.
It always awed me, the tenderness this one had for Baby and for Baby’s feet.
And those were the nights that I learned all the baby expert books in the world that predict jealousy in the displaced sibling meant nothing to me.
What would your sitter do if a police officer forced entry without a warrant?
Officer Buccilli demanded to enter the home of Tim and LuAnn Batts, going so far as to stick his foot in the door and shove an 23-year-old sibling aside, threatening to arrest him and saying, “I don’t need no stinking warrant!”
When Joe stepped inside to call his policeman brother on his cell phone, Lt. Buccilli followed him. “Please don’t come in,” said Joe. “I am making a private call. You do not have permission to come in.”
. . . the father said to his servants,”Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fatted calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found. So they began to celebrate. –Luke 15:22-24
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