dirt don't hurt

By Karrie McAllister Trust me, I’m a candy eater. I’m the one who picks through my children’s Easter baskets and says “oh, these candies look a little funny, I’d better taste them all just in case.” The candy, coupled with the Spring flowers and chance to finally wear flip flops again makes me a big fan of April. (I’m purposely overlooking the fact that sometimes here in Ohio we’re trading our sandals for snowboots.) But a little time on the Internet and you’ll find that there are plenty of reasons to celebrate the month of April. It seems that, over the years, people have somehow concocted obscure holidays that I didn’t even know about, giving us an excuse to party every day of the year. A quick visit to www.holidayinsights.com and I’ve got an extremely packed schedule this month. There are just too many holidays to celebrate. The 14th of April is Look Up At The Sky Day. I’m hoping it’s a nice day. I might just stand out there for a long time and feel a little poetic. Thankfull...

By Karrie McAllister I guess technically it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even really avoiding the truth. It was just a simple statement that, while true, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But it was all for the good of my family. Today, my five-year old daughter had a tonsillectomy. And trying not to scare the living daylights out of her, I told her all about what her hospital visit would be. I told her that she would be treated like a real princess, because when she walked in they would dress her in a gown and give her jewelry—namely, a bracelet. OK, so a rear-flapping cotton gown is hardly ball worthy, and a hospital ID bracelet is hardly jewelry, but you can see where I was going with this. I also mentioned that while she got to lie in a bed and be treated like royalty, I had to sit in a chair next to her dad for five whole hours. Needless to say it worked. The night before the operation she was actually dancing around singing “I get to have my tonsils out!” and taunting her brother...

By Karrie McAllister Being raised in the suburbs, I never really saw dancing cows. I had seen plenty of cows just standing around and doing what cows are famous for doing, but no dancing. It wasn’t until I was driving from my first job through eastern Ohio farmland that I saw them. They were running and jumping and chasing each other, and I swear I saw one of them doing a bit of a hula. Thinking that I had witnessed some natural miracle, I asked a farming co-worker if cows could really jump. I was all ready to drive back with a film crew when he spoiled it for me. “Nah, what you saw is normal. They’re just happy it’s Spring. Spring fever, that’s all.” Once I got over feeling stupid for not knowing cows could actually jump, I tucked that memory away in the corners of my mind, and I pull it out again every Spring. Because no matter how old or young we are, come that first warm day in northeast Ohio, we’re all are out there dancing around like a bunch of cows. After being cooped up i...