By Charlotte Stevenson and Lori Sonken
“Somebody has to be willing to participate,” said Lynn when asked why she volunteered for the Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine trial through Wake Research. A full-time graduate student in her 50’s living outside of Durham, North Carolina, she considers herself healthy and wants to be part of the solution.
Somebody has to be willing to participate.
When faced with a decision that comes down to this fact, that someone has to go first, or someone has to be the guinea pig, most of us choose to wait. It must be programmed into our genetics, our…
BeachBody. P90X. Brazilian Butt. Barry’s Bootcamp. Bringing Sally Up and Down. I’ve tried it all over the last decade. But about 10 weeks ago, I stumbled across this unbelievable new program called “Training Every Day with No Break and No Help with Kids in Quarantine.” Catchy title, right? I thought so too.
This program — let’s call it TEDQ — begins at 6 am, even on weekends, and does not end until at least 8 pm. You can’t squeeze this program into your lunch hour or do it every other day. This is no abbreviated, pre-vacation, “I-want-to-fit-into-my-swim-suit” 14-day shred. When…
OK. We cannot claim credit for this title: Apocalypse Cow. It already has a cult following as a craft beer and a zombie-thriller book. But, assuming there is a little room left for associations, we would like to slap this label on a time period in Los Angeles’ history. When was this cow-mageddon, you ask? And why haven’t we heard about this before? To answer those questions, we are going to have to dive deep…literally.
Let me treat you to the conversation I had with my 8-year-old son, Balen, while doing Mad Libs one evening.
Me: “Ok, I need an adjective now.”
Me: “That’s not an adjective.”
Balen: “What’s an adjective?”
Me: “Remember? A descriptive word. Butthole is a noun.
Balen: “Fine. Anus.”
Me: “That’s also a noun. It’s just the medical term for butthole. An adjective describes a noun…tells you what it is like….big, small, red, funny. And, by the way, if you use a potty word for every answer, it won’t be funny when we read it out loud.”
I have a confession to make. We might be breaking social distancing rules. Lately, we’ve had a lot of visitors. For instance, yesterday I spent the whole day with Maui, the Polynesian demigod. Maui emerged from my 4-year-old daughter’s bedroom at about 6 am and announced that he needed some juice. He then explained, over a bowl of Cheerios, that he had lost his infamous hook but instead had a magical speaker that played music. (Interestingly, Maui mostly enjoyed playing the soundtrack from Frozen II.) And Maui didn’t fade away mid-morning as I expected. …
Like many other families in quarantine, we’ve pulled out a lot of board and card games lately to try to stem the ever-present easy tug of screens. One evening we were playing Candyland, and my 4-year-daughter, Lark, pulled the “Plumpy” card when she was about 10 moves away from winning, sending her back to the beginning of the game-board.
“I hate this game!” she raged, throwing the Plumpy card onto the ground.
“Lark, it’s just a game. It’s not a big deal…”
“Yes, it is! I want to win! …
The other day, I had the age-old debate with my kids:
“I hate math! I don’t want to do it. I’m not doing it.”
“You don’t hate math.”
“Yes, I do. It’s dumb.”
“It can be really fun!”
“NO.” And then Balen put his palms over his mouth and made an echoing farting sound that sent him and his 4-year-old sister, Lark, into hysterics.
Keep in mind I’ve now had this argument every day for I can’t keep track of how many days. …
My son Balen decided that the mound of snow still clinging to our backyard needed to go. Of course, that task required a pickaxe, exactly the tool a mother loves to see her 8-year-old swinging madly at the ground.
Amazingly, his control of the axe was relatively stable, so I stood nearby watching. Soon, though, I had the urge to join him. I found a flat-ended metal shovel and started chopping away at the frozen mound.
As ice sprayed up at us and huge chunks of snow satisfying tumbled down the mound, I realized that I had been here before…
Have you ever wondered where all the sparkles come from in the beauty industry? Eye shadow. Lip gloss. Body shimmer. Bronzers. Nail polish. Everything is glittering these days. But what is it, exactly?
It’s mica. Mica is a silicate mineral that is mined out of the ground. In Latin, the verb micare means to glitter. And glitter it does.
Archaeologists have found evidence of mica being used as early as 4000 years ago in India, primarily for medicinal purposes. The Mayans mixed mica into their stucco to make their temples glitter.
Writer, editor, mom, loss mom, and big fan of science. Full Profile on LinkedIn.