Kids are cool. If you don't have any, you should go get some. Buy them. Steal them. Just get some. They are awesome tax deductions.
We have two. A boy and a girl. 6 and 4. We'll have more once we win the lottery. Becoming a father is the coolest thing I have ever done. Kids enhance anything you could ever experience.
Impromptu dance parties.
You wear Mickey Mouse ears with your name on the back for 5 days in a row. They ruin your clothes and they insist that you kiss them when they are covered in food or worse. You do it, because that's what you do.
Nobody goes to bed till the special blanket comes out of the dryer. There is no way around this-so remember to push the start button on the dryer or be prepared to stay up for another 45 minutes.
They eat the same 3 meals and still continue to grow.
If you have a pet, you are not a parent. To try to compare is idiotic. If you disagree, then explain to me who watches the dog when you are at work. I thought so. Kids make great excuses for when you don't want to hang out with certain people. They get sick when you want to hang out with others.
Kids are brutally honest, yet often lie when they fear the consequences. They are amazed to find out that you already knew a song or a joke that they just learned. They are disappointed to hear that you didn't have an iPad when you were 6.
They fart. Only in public places and they share this event with everyone in the room. They wear stickers like badges of honor and don't understand why they don't survive the wash.
Cardboard boxes are cars, boats, space shuttles and all modes of transportation in between. All you need is a marker. Wardrobe changes are more frequent than an awards show and are more creative than Lady Gaga could ever imagine.
Tears of sadness and laughter can occur at the same exact moment.
They screw up the words to songs, but their version makes those songs better. They enjoy the stuff you enjoy because they see how much you love those things. You'll spend more time untangling their fishing line than you will baiting their hook. Good luck ever casting your own line.
Be honestly interested in what they love. Encourage them in their interests and never make them feel embarrassed by their passions. No matter how silly they might be. Kids will give you more than you will ever be able to provide for them.
Learning to whistle is like winning the Super Bowl.
Children bring a lot into perspective. They keep you from taking yourself too seriously. They make you believe in yourself. They prevent you from settling or failure. More motivating than any pep talk or self help book.
You can accomplish many things in life. You can win all kinds of trophies that collect dust on the mantle. You can crush goals, raise the bar and make millions. It doesn't mean anything and is fruitless if you screw your kids up in the process
And remember...."Poop" is the funniest word in the world.
Michael Cogdill is many things to us here on the Hawk and Tom Show. He is, of course, the news Anchor at WYFF with 29 Emmys and the National Edward R. Murrow for a broad range of achievement, from live reporting to long-form storytelling. He is an acclaimed author and he is a friend of the Hawk and Tom Show...
After reading his recent blog, I was moved to share it with you... no matter whether you had a good father, or a troubled father, I think his story will make you think about your relationship with your father from a different perspective.
It is just a click away and will only take a couple of minutes to read...
I have gotten so many requests for a copy of this... here ya go!
Watch out!! You nearly broadsided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right?' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
'I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack all of his life. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. But the years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, and then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him relax.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted inviting him. It seemed nothing was good enough for him. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. We set up weekly counseling appointments and at the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.
Finally, I sat down and called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the clinic’s receptionists exclaimed, 'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, the worker led me to the kennels. There were long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. As I neared the last cage a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they looked at me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
'He's a strange one. He showed up here on his own right out in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him, that was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going to kill him?'
'Ma'am,' he said gently, “We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.'
'I'll take him,' I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.
'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples...
'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the dog wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad reached out and shook hands with the dog.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looked like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'
'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article.
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter . . . his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You do not get a second time.
Me either. I just assumed they still used Chinamen to do all the hard work like I learned in history class, but turns out the trains lay their own track now. This is a pretty cool video...
My brother sent this, it is a video of a guy driving a small boat through about 300 alligators in a feeding frenzy so he can go fishing!!!!! Southerners (he is from Georgia, but the video is in Florida) are crazy when it comes to fishing! You couldn't pay me enough money to have been in that boat!!!
I have an iPad and I think it is pretty neat. If nothing else, it is a large iPod touch with a REALLY GOOD battery and I can play music all the way to Florida when I drive down to see my parents and still have lots of battery left. It also has great features with the large screen and photos look great on it, and maps are awesome and if Google ever releases a GPS app for the iPad, it will beat any other GPS out there hands down.
But there are some things missing that should be there. In fact, that is the iPad's dirty little secret. Steve Jobs will tell you that the iPad will run most of the 100,000+ apps already available for the iPhone and Ipod Touch, but what he doesn't tell you is that they look like crap. An app needs to be programmed for the iPad's screen resolution to look good, and what's the point of running an app that looks like nintendo (the original one) graphics on your new hi-tech device?
Facebook seems to have been caught totally unprepared by the iPad, so you have to use the iPhone app which looks like junk. That's just one of the many missing apps for the iPad. I'm an app junkie, and I check the app store on a regular basis. The truth is, there aren't a lot of new apps hitting the store right now. It is a slow curve as the apps start to come to the iPad. That is the dirty little secret. In a year, the iPad will probably have a rich, mature app store with most everything you can imagine and want but right now it is slim pickens.
And one of the things that I thought would be REALLY COOL for me, as a radio announcer, would be an app that would let me edit wav or mp3 files (think Adoble Audition or something along those lines) and that I could bring into the studio and play from my iPad. I haven't seen anything like it yet.
One other dirty secret, apps cost too much on the iPad. Not sure why an app that is $0.99 for the iPhone is $2.99 on the iPad (and many games go as high as $9.99, when you can get the same game for $2.99-$4.99 for iPhone) but apparently developers think that since it has a better screen we should pay more for the app, even when in many cases it is identical to the iPhone version except for the graphics.
Don't get me wrong, I love my iPad, but there are a few little hassles that you should know about before you plunk down your $500+ for one.
We talked about the C-Prime bracelets on the show the other day. Hawk had seen Harry Connick Jr. talking about them at a concert and was curious about how they worked. After doing some research, I found that fitnews.com is reporting that they are being promoted in South Carolina by former University of South Carolina running back Rob DeBoer who was implicated in the Burnlounge pyramid scam that was shut down by the Federal Trade Commission.
Now there is this magic bracelet that somehow improves your balance, ability to stretch, strength and more. We had a distributor in the studio to demonstrate it and I was not convinced. Of four tests, I could only find one that seemed to make any difference at all, and in some cases I was able to perform the test better without the bracelet. So, how does it work? I know many of you have been convinced by the tests that distributors of the C-Prime bracelet (or irenew / power balance) give and seem to really make a difference.
I did some research and I have come to believe it is good old-fashioned placebo effect. This video with a blind test on the Power Balance Bracelet (which used the exact same tests and the C-Prime bracelet now uses) probably shows it better than anything I could say. Basically, they did the tests that the distributors do and they worked exactly as they were supposed to work. But when they put the bracelets / cards in the person's pocket and neither the tester or the person being tested knew who had the actual product, they failed every time. By doing that, they took away any mental bias on the part of the person testing, and the person being tested.
In short, save your $100.00 for something that actually works...
Well, we finally got around to taking the kids to the Greenville Children's Museum. I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised. I wasn't really sure what to expect, but the kids loved it and even us adults had a good time. Here are some pictures of our trip!
They loved the water exhibit where the could play in the pool with all the toys!
Quinn may end up working the pit crew for a NASCAR driver one day!
The farm was a big hit!
And so was the Bi-Lo grocery store!
And at the end of the day, the whole family had a great time!