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Zoe’s Story About Bad Guys

Once upon a time there was a bad guy. The bad guy went into a house one day. The house had a baby right in the room next to the doorway. The bad guy could get in the baby’s room because the door was open. The bad guy took the baby and then went the bad guy went to sleep the baby quietly crawled back home. The end.

What Bad Guys Are Like

Grown-up bad guys are like this. They have black and blue clothes on. They have gray shoes. They have black hats. They also have light blue wings. They really like babies so they take them a lot, but just in made up stories. Kid bad guys can fly beside your car and they can also fly in your windows because their wings are shorter. Kid bad guys are naked but with wings.

How to Deal with the Bad Guys

Get your car washed but only when no kid is inside. Bad guys don’t like touching wet things. Even when your car dries, the bad guys will still think it’s wet because it looks clean, so they’ll stay away.

When I picked Zoe up tonight and we were getting in the car, I accidentally pressed the panic button on my car keys. It was loud, but brief. I quickly turned it off. Zoe said “Whew! It’s good that you turned that off. Someone might have thought you were getting attacked by aliens. They might have come out of their houses to rescue you.” I asked what if the aliens were friendly and not scary. She said “they might look scary even if they’re really friendly.” I asked how we could tell if they were scary or friendly, or how we could make friends with them. “Just ask them if they want a hug or a handshake,” she said.

Today I interviewed someone who is an executive coach, worked with the Navy, has a PhD in clinical psychology, is a part-time actor, and sings the National Anthem at public events. He also lives a block away from where a horrible crime was committed involving two people I know.

I counseled one of my clients, who wondered why all her consultants are not more like me.

I wrote what was supposed to be my last newsletter for PBS Teachers because of budget cuts. Boo. But then they said the wanted one more. Yay.

I posted some cool job opportunities on the Black Philanthropic Alliance blog.

I am never, ever bored.


Here’s your college essay application, even if you’re long past applying to college.

Do you believe in the idea that “there are no accidents,” also known as “things happen for a reason?”

Why or why not?

Do you think such a belief requires faith in God?


Take all the time you need to answer. But please post your thoughts.

Thank you.

On the way to camp the other day Zoe said “do you wish you could go to mommy camp?” I asked her what kind of activities there are at mommy camp. She said “you work on the computer and you clean.” I asked if there was anything else. She said no. “What do we do for fun?” I asked.  “You play with your kids!”

Sounds more like real life to me.

For the past month or so since we’ve been aggressively treating Zoe with laxatives, per the recommendation of our urologist and GI doc, we’ve seen noticeable progress. And exasperating setbacks. She will go three or four days with no accidents. Hallelujah! Then she’ll have an accident because she didn’t want to interrupt the teacher to say she had to use the bathroom, or she sees another camper going into the bathroom in her class and doesn’t realize she can go to another bathroom elsewhere in the building. Or, she doesn’t feel like going to the bathroom. This is rare, but it still happens. Or, what’s happened most often most recently and is driving me berserk, is that because she has had so much success listening to her body and her improving bladder and colon health have enabled her to clearly get the signal that she needs to pee, she has decided she’s all better so she no longer needs to listen to her vibrating alarm watch or reminders from her parents, teachers, or counselors.

I get it. I understand why she would think that now that she can listen to her body, she doesn’t need to listen to anything else. But although her body is doing better, it is still not a reliable source of information all the time.

We have had so many talks about this. I fear that if we have another talk, she will completely stop listening.

Tomorrow she has the first of three schedule appointments with a physical therapist for pelvic floor rehabilitation. She will also begin taking medication for overactive bladder that her urologist believes will put a stop to the accidents. A possible side effect of the drug is constipation, which would of course counteract its benefit for Zoe, so if that happens we can’t use it. But it may not happen.

Yesterday we went to the pool so she could show off her newly learned swimming skills to her dad, and we could enjoy the hot afternoon in the cooler water. And there was a cookout at the pool. When we arrived, she went the bathroom since she knows that’s the rule. It was break so she played in the baby pool for 15 minutes. Then they blew the whistle and she jumped in the big pool with her dad. Then they blew the whistle again because Zoe pooped. They had to clear the pool, clean it, and close it for an hour. I grabbed Zoe and ran to the bathroom to clean her off. We rushed to the car and sped home. Zoe was hysterical because she hated to miss swimming and the party. I was mortified because we had caused the pool to empty and interrupted the afternoon plans of dozens of families. I was so angry at Zoe, although it probably wasn’t her fault. I let Randy take care of her so I didn’t unleash my emotions at her. It’s likely that too much laxative was causing the loose poop. We’ve reduced her dosage. Every day last week when we went to the pool, she got out on her own initiative to use the bathroom. I didn’t have to remind her, and she didn’t have any accidents there. So yesterday was a surprise, but an unfortunate and upsetting one.

Our urologist says this happens at this pool all the time. And last week at our pool some poor little kid threw up in the pool, and the same thing happened. Life is messy. And frustrating and embarrassing. Here’s hoping things get better this week.

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