Dear Kid,

Just in case you didn’t get enough info about bronze yesterday (don’t see how that could be possible, but one never knows), I consulted My Friend the Internet and found out a bit more.

The best way to get bronze is to buy it, but if you find yourself in The Wilderness with nothing but some copper and tin, you can make it yourself. If you have the skill, time, heat, and various implements. The recipe is generally 12% tin to 88% copper, but other alloys are often added to make the bronze harder, machinable (yes, that’s a word), and bronzier (that isn’t but should be).

Bronze is used for all sorts of things like statues, third place medals, Age (as in the Bronze Age if you’re too sleepy to figure that one out), and 8^th anniversary gifts (no clue why, but the Etiquette Police say so therefore it must be true).

Bronze has also been used for armor (probably not the finest, but one makes due with what one has), coinage (probably not the most valuable, but one pays dues with what one has), mirrors (whether it’s the finest often depends on who’s reflecting), and bells (because one really can’t sing “Ding, dong the witch is dead” when all one has is a plastic bucket).

Bronze is often used for guitar and piano strings (not at the same time).

Bronze is non-magnetic, but many people are attracted to it anyway.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Turns out that copper and tin make bronze.

You probably knew that, but I didn’t.

There are many documented histories of bronze, but the least commonly known may be the most accurate.

One day, Mrs. Joe Neanderthal was the Parent Representative (and by “representative” I mean enforcer) at the local high school rock throwing competition. Her job was to make sure the rocks were aimed away from other parents (participants had signed a waiver and this was before concussions were invented so no one worried about them) and hand out the prizes.

By the time the meet was over, there were three competitors still standing. Mrs. J. N. dutifully handed out first place (mammoth tusk award), second place (mammoth fur award), but when it came to third place she just couldn’t bring herself to give her own offspring the mammoth dung award and so she invented bronze.

Actually, it was still mammoth dung, but bronze sounded better.

This is the true and accurate reason that third place finishers in the Olympics get bronze medals rather than dung medals.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I’ve been getting a lot of emails from my Fitbit.

Fitbit: Your Charge HR battery level is low. Charge your battery as soon as possible. To charge: 

1. Plug the power cable into a USB port. 
2. Plug the other end of the power cable into the back of your Charge HR. A progress bar should appear on the screen. 
3. A full charge can take between 1-2 hours depending on the remaining battery level.

Fitbit: Your weekly progress report from Fitbit! Great job! You’re close to meeting your step goals! Just a little more and you’ll be there!

Fitbit: You spent 45 minutes on the Elliptical today! Congrats!

Fitbit: Your Charge HR battery level is low. Charge your battery as soon as possible. 

Fitbit: Your weekly progress report from Fitbit! You went to the gym four days this week. Fantastic!

Fitbit: You’re doing an excellent job sleeping. You’re hitting your goals!

Fitbit: Your weekly progress report from Fitbit! You walked a lot this week, but not as much as last week.

Fitbit: Seriously, Your Charge HR battery is really low. PLUG IT IN!

Fitbit: You’re starting to slack off a little. What’s going on?

Fitbit:  It’s great that you decided to go to the gym today! Next time you go, let’s do more than sit in the sauna!

Fitbit:  Sleeping is great, but it’s generally better if you work out at the gym.

Fitbit: PLUG. ME. IN!

Fitbit: I have no idea what you did yesterday, because you keep forgetting to charge me. But based on recent experience, I’m guessing I didn’t miss much…

Fitbit: Your weekly progress report from Fitbit! Are you really a slug or are you just too lazy to actually charge your Fitbit?

Fitbit: I know you like wearing me because I’m purple, but I can be much more than a fashion accessory. Let’s go walk somewhere!

Fitbit: Just so we’re clear, getting up from the couch to get ice cream is not considered a workout.

Fitbit: And no, typing is not an aerobic activity. Ever.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Part I

As you probably have heard by now, The Rodent (aka Punxsutawney Phil) saw his shadow and – according to the Laws of Physics and Popular Culture – thereby determined winter will never end.

If one believes in the predictive power of groundhogs (as one should), don’t put away your mittens.

Part II

You may also have heard that Our Beloved Fiona the Hippo predicted that the Eagles would win the Super Bowl.

1Q: Eagles 9; Patriots 3

2Q: Eagles 22: Patriots 12

No one predicted the crazy straddle tackle.

No one predicted all the missed kicks. Or that given all the missed kicks we’d have a rookie FG record set.

No one predicted QBs as receivers.

Everyone predicted halftime. But perhaps not quite that many set changes.

3Q: Eagles 29; Patriots 26. Wait, what?

Yep. Stay tuned.

Final:

THE EAGLES WON!!!

Eagles 41; Patriots 33.

Fiona is RIGHT!

No one predicted that we’d have so many combined points. Or so many combined offensive yards (1,152 yards – the most in any post season game ever). Or so few punts. Or that the game would come down to the last play.

Fabulous Super Bowl.

Everyone predicted that Dad would coach and ref from the couch. And talk during the commercials.

I (correctly) predicted the commercials would win.

Part III

The Puppy has accurately predicted meal time for…well, every day of his life. No surprise there.

Happy Predictions!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

The sound of a woodpecker hard at work is (imo) a delightful sound, confirming that little bugs are becoming lunch for a hungry bird. (Unless, the birds are pounding into the house siding rather than a tree in which case it’s a terrifying sound, right up there with the sound of dollars running out of my bank account.) Either way, it’s a lot of woodpecker headbanging.

Have you ever thought about why they don’t get headaches?

Seriously, you’d think there would be tiny little avian pharmacies all over with the amount they bang their heads. Up to 20 times per second to be precise.

And while they don’t have big brains (the term “bird brain” comes to mind), there are very few documented cases of woodpecker concussions.

It was that thinking that led to the creation of the Q collar, the concussion prevention collar that is being tested, vetted, and otherwise used to try to reduce concussions during sporting events.

The idea is not to reduce the size of the players’ brains, but rather to help secure the athletes’ brains in place. It turns out that woodpeckers’ brains are held in place with muscles and bones (and an extra eyelid). Basically a bird brain seat belt/helmet.

A couple of high schools in the Cincinnati area have been testing the Q collar. Researchers are specifically focusing on football and girls’ soccer (not that we know anyone who got a concussion while playing either of those). The collar somehow increases the amount of blood around the brain to help hold those brain cells in place. The researchers are seeing fantastic results which is wonderful news.

The moral of the story is seat belts are important in the car and inside your head.

One other important fact: a woodpecker will only make straight strikes to a tree. No side-to-side movements helps prevent head trauma.

The next step for the researchers (obviously) is to figure out how to get athletes to always get hit straight on.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I learned (sort of) how to play Mah Jong (Mandarin for Jewish women chatting and playing with tiles). Turns out Mah Jong has nothing to do with the solitaire matching game one finds on computers and everything to do with complicated rules.

I did not master the hands. (Apparently, you’re not supposed to say things like “Oooh, I really like the dragons!”)

I did figure out the names of the tiles. None are named George.

My lesson did not include scoring (although I was told that people generally play for money).

Love, Mom