A Post That Bounces Around Like Wild Wingbats

A drunk woman came to my door early this morning begging for money. "No, seriously," she stammered, swaying and obviously under the influence of something. "I live down the way and my husband's boss just called me. Three of his fingers were cut off and I just need some cash to get gas and bring him to the emergency room, you know? Can you help me out cuz I don't have nuttin'."

Are you kidding me? I shooed the kids away from the door, told her we were on our way to school and that I'm sorry, no help, no money. WTF? This is the second time I've heard that story in two years.

Last week someone hacked into my checking account and tried to pilfer upwards of $3,000 in wire transfers from me. 'Jokes on them.

I think my hacker robber gleaned my information when I stupidly entered beaucoup identifying facts into a "security investigation" email I received from what I truly believed was PayPal. I handed to them on a silver screen platter.

Yeah, hard lesson. DO NOT enter your precious banking information into even the most official looking PayPal emails if you didn't contact them first. Geez.

In somewhat related matters, I spoke with one of my college roommates, a very close friend, last night. She was forced to sell her Silicon Valley area home and begin renting again. Except their was a strange, fortunate twist to her story. A realtor is buying her house and renting it to her, so she and her husband and four-year-old son won't have to move after all. She said in a defeated moment, hunched over the toilet with rough bout with the flu, she threw her hands up and "gave it up to God."

This is terrible, I know. But in moments of defeat, I weakly give it up to Ben and Jerry. Preferably the deepest, darkest chocolate Ben and Jerry's flavor I can find at the 'hood 7-Eleven.

Now in completely unrelated, happier news, I took my two youngest to a park we'd never tried before and they bounced around like wild wingbats. We had a great time. We laughed, we cried. Well, we didn't cry. We just laughed, and, dang, it feels good to laugh with your children. Those gutteral laughs that bubble up to the surface for no good reason. Just because. Just because you are pretending you're pirates and they've just made you walk the plank (slide). Just because they shot their hot pink flip flops into the sky like fireworks as you pushed them higher, higher, higher on the swing. Just because a strange elderly lady (accidentally) made up like a clown shocking red lipstick and baby blue lined eyeliner is pushing her poodle like a baby in the swing next to your kid. You laugh, just because.

Because you are alive. The sun is shining. Your kids are healthy. You feel fine.

You laugh because you are over crying. Because your children think you are the richest, funniest, coolest person on the planet. You laugh because they are innocent and young and they make you feel young.

You laugh.