To be honest I was going to skip posting today because I was busy taking care of Tabitha’s dog, working on the Comedy for a Cure auction and other errands. I decided to go for a walk at 5:30 pm instead of writing a post because I have really been enjoying how beautiful it is at that time of night. I walked last night at the same time and it was majestic. I thought walking was better for me than posting because I have been feeling down this week.
Walking down my cul de sac while listening to my audiobook, I headed down the path leading to Mesa Verde drive when I heard people approaching. I stopped and moved to the side to let them pass through the narrow walkway while greeting my neighbor Lisa and her son. Lisa was walking a dog I didn’t recognize and her son was walking his dog, Felix. As they passed me I suddenly felt a stabbing pain in my calf. I was shocked and realized the dog Lisa was walking had bitten me. I was stunned and I pulled up my pant leg to reveal this:
Lisa was so upset she repeatedly apologized and asked how she could help. I said I was fine and took off thinking I was going to walk 45 minutes. As I took a few steps I realized that wasn’t going to happen. I was limping and my leg was throbbing. UGH! I did the smart thing and went home to wash it and put Neosporin on it. When I got home I laid down on the couch and Trinty was my nurse, applying the ointment and bandage, as Lou taught her. Lou is the professional Neosporin guy, it is his solution to almost any bodily injury.
Within minutes Rick, Lisa’s husband was knocking on our door with this big bouquet of flowers and more apologies. He offered to pay for a doctor visit, a night away, anything that would help. It wasn’t their dog, nor was it Lisa’s fault, so I thanked him and told him not to worry.
Did the dog bit mean I was supposed to be blogging instead of walking? I don’t think so, but suddenly I needed to post, so here I am.
I was originally going to share about Trinity and her volunteering at the soup kitchen this week and since I’ve already started writing, I’ll share that story too.
Trinity needs 80 community service hours to graduate which are due at the end of March. Supposedly she finished all her high school hours as a Sophmore because she agreed to be the assistant coach for the freshman volleyball team. Those hours along with her yearly help with the TSC picnic she should have had over 100 hours. For the past year, I have been asking her why her transcript shows she only has completed 49 hours. She went and asked last year and they said it was all good but because they changed to an app system, not everything was updated. Well, last week was the meeting for senior parents and Trinity’s hours were still not complete. This time when she went in to ask the office they told her being a manager for a school athletics team wasn’t considered community service and she still needed 31 more hours.
Let’s just say, I was pissed and having a hard time not freaking out on her. I had asked her for the last year to deal with this issue and now with only 6 weeks left she needed to complete 31 hours. Trinity’s response was this:
Trinity: “Mom, there is no reason to get upset. There is nothing I can do about this situation except do the hours. I have all of ski week off and they need help at the soup kitchen. It will be fine.”
Me: “Well, I’m still mad. This shouldn’t have happened. You asked a year ago and they said those hours counted. Now it is down to the wire.”
Trinity: “I know, but that person was wrong and I have the time to do them. It’s fine, there is no reason to get upset. Mom!”
As she was talking me off the wall I was thinking: “Wow this kid is great. Look how calm she is and not upset. She is acting like the parent and I’m acting like the child.”
So Tuesday morning she left for her first day at the soup kitchen and really liked it. She was fascinated by the jobs she was given. Clean the white mold off the strawberries, cut around bread that had mold, slice frozen pie crusts into stripes to be used in soup. She didn’t understand that you could eat food that was partially rotting. The second day she came home frustrated and in tears because when she was leaving she saw a few special needs adults waiting in line for lunch. She went on a tirade about how dangerous it was for them to be there alone with the crack heads she saw standing behind them. Why wasn’t someone taking care of them, why were they there alone?
“It’s not right mom! You know how sweet and trusting they can be, what if someone takes advantage of them? They need a safe place just for them! Why doesn’t anyone care,” She cried.
I explained that maybe their day program went to the soup kitchen for lunch or maybe they were home alone during the day and liked the independence of walking to get their lunch?
“Talk to the people who work their tomorrow and find out the story. I guess there was a reason your hours didn’t count? Sounds like you are learning a lot at the soup kitchen,” I said.
“I am and I like it.”
My baby is almost all grown up and I am so proud of her!
Have a wonderful Friday!
Live, love and laugh, like it’s your last…
xoxo tiffani
