Dear Kid,

Whatever you are doing, stop it.

Right now. Stop.

Unless you’re taking an exam, in which case why are you reading this?

Whatever you are doing can wait.

What can’t wait is backing up your computer files.

“What,” I hear you asking, “is making you say this in such strong terms at this particular moment in time?”

The black screen of death is making me say this, that’s what.

As in, there I was, typing happily, working away, enjoying a fine, sunny Sunday afternoon when … nothing. I looked at the screen. It did not look back. I said, “Huh?”

The Puppy looked up from his nap. The computer did not.

So I did the normal thing and pushed the power button.

On came the computer. Mind you, it had reset itself and I lost the last 17 minutes of work, but compared to losing a whole computer, it was ok. I was calm, peace was restored in the world. I went back to work and the Puppy went back to napping.

For 6 and a half minutes.

At which time the screen went dead blank again. Rinse and repeat, I thought. So I pushed the power button.

Nothing happened.

I tried again.

Nothing continued to happen.

So I did all the normal things a person does when a laptop is causing problems. You’d have been so proud of me–I did not freak out. I unplugged and replugged everything. I took out and reinstalled the battery. I did the chicken dance.

Nothing.

“Leave it alone for a bit.” said Dad. “Eat lunch. Then try.”

This did not seem like very good technical advice, but it seemed like excellent mid-day low blood sugar level advice.

And after lunch, magically, nothing continued to happen.

I remained calm, cool, and collected.

The power remained stubbornly off.

Dad tried to turn it on.

The power continued to remain stubbornly off.

“I hate to say this, kiddo,” Dad said to me, “but I think you’re going to need to take a drive.”

Of course, by “take a drive” he meant head to MicroCenter and part with major dollars.

I sighed and followed his advice.

At MicroCenter, I first went to the place where they help you figure things out, but they were busy Having A Seminar, so I headed out to the sales floor where I found a helpful person (and by helpful person I mean a 12 year old who spoke in ones and zeros but seemed able to tolerate me). “Do you know what this is?” I asked him holding out my bag.

“A bag with a computer in it?” he asked tentatively.

“A very expensive paperweight,” I said. I explained the situation. He politely asked to look at the computer. I handed it to him, and right there in broad daylight without surgical gloves or anything, he proceeded to take all of the laptop’s insides out. He then gave me a rundown of what I had, of which I understood not a word. “Huh?” I said going back to my reliable standby.

We looked at computers. I made a selection. All was good.

Except there were some files on the paperweight that I REALLY needed. “What about Carbonite?” you ask. Yeah, well, I’m not sure it’s running quite right. I’ve been meaning to call about that.

So I walked over to the We Can Help You With That Area.

I explained the entire situation to a guy in a Snoopy tie. He sympathized. He took the paperweight. He plugged it in. Nothing. He took out the battery and tried again. Voila! Power.

Well, I thought, if it’s as simple as all that, I can leave and get what I need in the comfort of my own home.

Home I went. I took out the battery. I plugged the machine in. I pressed the power button. Nothing. I tried repeatedly. I started teaching the Puppy new words that he probably shouldn’t repeat in public. Ab. So. Lutely Nothing.

Dad took his life in his hands and suggested I return to MicroCenter. (He was right; I just didn’t want to.)

After several minutes of quality whining, I took my stubborn self and my stubborn laptop and headed back.

Snoopy-tie guy had gone home for the day (sad face) but Other Dude was there. He plugged it in. He pushed the power button. And, lo, there was power. (What IS it with these guys??)

The Summary: My ancient and wobbly computer has been replaced. It is possible to get it to turn on if you place it gently on a table and mutter the correct voodoo. And have some luck. I’ve transferred the Incredibly Important Files to a flash drive. I have a new laptop.

And no humans were hurt in the process.

So go back up your Important Files so you too can remain calm in the face of a Death Defying Crisis.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

The human skeletal system is an amazing thing. You already knew that. And it takes a lot to break one of the bones in your body. You knew that too. Which clearly means that those who break bones must be extraordinary overachievers.

(One could point out that they should stop achieving so much but one is much more polite than that.)

Being the kind of mom that I am (you are so lucky), I am thoughtfully providing you with an advanced study guide regarding bones.

Q: What should you do if you think you’ve broken a bone?

A: Milk the situation for all it’s worth.

Q: What’s the biggest mistake you can make once you have a broken bone?

A: Do not repeat the action that caused you to break it—not even to demonstrate to medical professionals what happened. Because it will hurt.

Q: Which bone is the most painful if broken?

A: The one you just broke (obviously).

Q: How much does a broken bone cost?

A: That depends what you mean. If you are asking how much it costs to have someone break a bone for you, the answer is it happens all the time in movies and crime books, but I’ve never seen an add on Craig’s List for Bone Breaking—20% off.

If you mean how much does it cost to have a broken bone repaired, the short answer is A LOT. This is ‘Murica and we believe in charging for medical attention. The longer answer is it depends on your insurance (see: ‘Murica) and which bone you were clever enough to damage.

Q: How long will it take my broken bone to heal?

A: That depends. If it’s a bone in your foot it might already be your heel in which case you’ll need to be very careful talking to your medical provider. In general, you will be given the freedom to do whatever you want (medically speaking) one week after The Big Event you wanted to look great for.

In summary, try to leave your bones in tact.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I was casting around for a topic for today (there are no unauthorized wild animals living in the house at the moment).

Inspiration was not swimming in the pool I was casting in, or if it was I missed it.

So I started poking around my computer and found a bunch of letters I’d written to you when you were a wee thing and were away at camp.

I read a few of them, and I have to say there is nothing brilliant there (at least in the ones I read). They were mostly ramblings about whatever I was doing (or not) at the time, what the Puppy was doing (or not) at the time, and what we were having (or not) for dinner.

So basically a lot like this blog except without the references to Mrs. Joe Neanderthal.

But the letters made me smile. Not because our dinner menus were all that interesting (most assuredly not) but because I know you enjoyed getting mail at camp. The letters were a little smile I could put in an envelope and send to you, knowing that you’d smile as you read them.

So basically a lot like this blog except without the in-depth reporting and research.

At one point I sent you a series of jokes in the letters. Here’s one that made me grin out loud (I did not write this):

Two young men were out in the woods on a camping trip, when they came upon a great brook, filled with trout. They stayed there all day, enjoying the fishing, which was super.

At the end of the day, knowing that they would be graduating from college soon, they vowed that they would meet, in twenty years, at the same place and renew the experience.

Twenty years later, they met and traveled to a spot near where they had been years before. They walked into the woods and before long came upon a brook. One of the men said to the other, “This is the place!”

The other replied, “No, it’s not!” 

The first man said, “Yes, I do recognize the clover growing on the bank on the other side.”

To which the other man replied, “Silly, you can’t tell a brook by its clover.”

I’m guessing you’re rolling your eyes the same way you did when I sent it to you all those years ago.

Hee-hee.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

After a extending his stay about 24 hours, the bat has checked out of Casa Mia.

It was a bit on the crazy side.

After a few more rounds of “fling open the front door and see if the bat will randomly fly out of the house” served with a side of Curious Puppy, the bat retreated to the second floor. Dad seemed to think this was a good idea. The Puppy and I weren’t convinced.

Then nothing proceeded to happen.

Then everything happened.

The bat reappeared. In our bedroom. This is not exactly where one wants to see a bat (just in case you weren’t sure).

Dad leapt in to action. I am not exaggerating. Leapt. After a Grand Jete across the room, he opened the window, which made a great deal of sense—except for the screen on the window. The bat dived toward the bed. Dad unhooked the screen. The bat zoomed across the room. Dad almost dropped the screen down two flights onto the bushes. The bat ignored the now open window and instead dropped about 1,000 feet directly toward Dad.

Dad ducked.

The bat saw this as an invitation to dance. It was an invitation the bat did not refuse.

Thus began the Pas de Deux of bat and man.

The bat made elegant use of his wings, swooping and diving, appearing and disappearing with grace and beauty.

Dad made inelegant use of the screen, lunging and flailing around in an attempt to guide the bat to the window.

The bat did not perceive the screen as an Agent of Good. And showed this by resolutely avoid all of Dad’s efforts to herd him.

“He’s getting tired!” When Dad said that, I was pretty sure he was projecting his own condition. When he repeated it, I was sure.

Eventually, the bat settled on the screen (the third time) and Dad guided it out the window.

I have not yet found evidence of bat guano.

Which I’m hoping is a good thing.

(Except that the bat was here a pretty long time…)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

There is a bat in the house. More specifically, there is a bat in our house.

Even more specifically, there is a bat somewhere in our house, but we don’t know where.

He or she has been flying around and then disappearing as soon as we manage to fling the door open. Dad’s doing his imitation of a tarmac worker at the airport (you know, the guys with the lighted flashlight things who guide the planes to the gate).

The bat does not understand the signals.

We don’t know how the bat got into the house or exactly how long he or she has been here.

We checked, and the bat did not make an advanced reservation. I typically do not keep a stock of insects in the house, so a breakfast buffet for the bat is out of the question. I’m pretty sure that will not make the bat happy.

Says Dad, “Who needs a bat house outside when we have a bat in the house?” I’m pretty sure that didn’t make the bat any happier.

I think I shall name the bat Vlad. Or Trixy. It would help if I knew how the bat identified.

The big problem with the bat is that every time we see the Black Shadow of Silence , we jump up and open the front door. This is the universal signal to the Puppy to go On Alert and see who is invading. The compound tragedy is that A) he’s exhausted and would really rather be sleeping than popping up every fifteen minutes and B) there is nothing for him to do when faced with an empty threshold. It’s tough being him.

Stay tuned for batty updates.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Happy April! I hope you survived April 1^st without too many Fools or too much snow. (What is it with Mother Nature this year? Spring should not include snow imho.)

April 2^nd is National Reconciliation Day.

Puppy: What does National Reconciliation Day mean?
Me: Do you know what National means?
Puppy: I’m a puppy, not a linguist.
Me: Fair enough. It means the whole country gets to celebrate.
Puppy: Everyone?
Me: If they choose to.
Puppy: Celebrate means treats, right?
Me: I guess it might.
Puppy: What about the rest?
Me: Reconciliation means to patch up a friendship or relationship.
Puppy: Patch up?
Me: Fix.
Puppy: Huh? I don’t understand. Why would you need to fix a friendship?
Me: Sometimes people say or do something that is hurtful to someone they care about.
Puppy: WHAT? You mean they bite?
Me: No, but sometimes words can hurt.
Puppy: Like when you tell me not to do something?
Me: Sort of like that.
Puppy: But then you tell me you love me.
Me: I do love you.
Puppy: I think I know what the problem is.
Me: You do?
Puppy: Some people don’t sniff other people enough. Then they get confused.
Me: You might be right.
Puppy: When do we celebrate with the treats?

Love, Mom

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Dear Kid,

Did you hear about this thing called March Madness which celebrates basketball and takes over the airwaves as only things like the Olympics (and March Madness) can?

Just in case you haven’t been paying attention, I—the local expert on basketball and all things madness—am here to help.

First you have to know about brackets. Brackets are a game designed to separate you from your money and make even the ardent statisticians lose their collective minds. You don’t have to know too much about brackets because yours was busted a long time ago (as was everyone else’s).

Once you’ve figured out that—like the points on Who’s Line Is It Anyway?—brackets don’t matter, you can move on to the important parts of the game—the commercials. Just kidding. Commercials in bball are the standard, boring commercials we always get. Feel free to hit the restroom or get dinner during the commercials. You won’t miss anything.

The next thing you need to know is that if you want to win during March Madness you need a nun on your side. If you don’t have a nun, you’d better play really, really well.

Finally, there are the rules. The rules exist so that the commentators have something to talk about if play slows down. Here are some of the weirder ones.

Players only have 10 seconds (from the time they get the ball) to take a free throw. Delays (and by “delay” I mean taking longer than 10 seconds) means a penalty—which in this case means forfeiting the right to take the shot.

If a player breaks the backboard or bends the rim of the basket during play, the player is charged with a technical foul. The only exception to this is if they cause the damage during warm-ups (even half time warm-ups) in which case only the maintenance crew have to worry about it.

And my fave weird rule: it is possible for a player to foul out and remain in a game. (It’s pretty certain that if this happens the coach is busy having a cardiac event and the commentators are having a field day.) If a player gets his 6^th personal foul and all the substitutes have already been disqualified, the player has to stay in the game because the rules say that the team must always have five players on the court. The player will get a personal and team foul. Unlikely to happen, but true.

Happy Madness.

Love, Mom