It takes eight positives to counter one negative.
So, the cat decided I wasn't allowed to sleep in past seven this morning, so I got up and did my online routine of reading my web comics and checking Digg. There had been a story this past Wednesday about a five year old boy in Iraq who had been doused with gasoline and set on fire by insurgents. He lived, but had horrible scarring, etc. Well, lo and behold, I find a story about how the diggers, and online community as a whole, managed to generate enough interest in the story that several aid groups offered to fly he and his family to America for surgery and care. I was really happy. It was an uplifting story amongst the hundreds of downer stories that flood in from all over the world on a daily basis.
My sister always knows when I wake up early. I sit down at my computer and my task bar starts flashing to let me know that she is IMing me. She insists I will go into labor soon because she can't sleep, and that it will be no sooner than Monday, otherwise she'd be able to come down. I attempt to figure out how her sleeping habits have anything to do with my due date (sympathy pains she says) and send her the story about the little boy. It makes her happy too. She then proceeds to tell me about my brother-in-law's experience in Iraq.
It is certainly not uncommon for the significant others to send care packages to their loved ones in the military, and my sister was no different. We would send candy and toys out there (the first time we found out how nervous the post office would be if you forgot to take the batteries out of the toys) because apparently the servicemen would get bored and have nothing better to do than have silly string fights. The toys and candy would come in, and soldiers would pass them along through the gate to the Iraqi children who would expected such gifts to come their way. My brother-in-law and the others loved it!
Then came the message to my sister: don't send anymore candy. Apparently Americans handing out candy to children through the bars of the gates was too much of a temptation for insurgents with mortar shells.
My sister always knows when I wake up early. I sit down at my computer and my task bar starts flashing to let me know that she is IMing me. She insists I will go into labor soon because she can't sleep, and that it will be no sooner than Monday, otherwise she'd be able to come down. I attempt to figure out how her sleeping habits have anything to do with my due date (sympathy pains she says) and send her the story about the little boy. It makes her happy too. She then proceeds to tell me about my brother-in-law's experience in Iraq.
It is certainly not uncommon for the significant others to send care packages to their loved ones in the military, and my sister was no different. We would send candy and toys out there (the first time we found out how nervous the post office would be if you forgot to take the batteries out of the toys) because apparently the servicemen would get bored and have nothing better to do than have silly string fights. The toys and candy would come in, and soldiers would pass them along through the gate to the Iraqi children who would expected such gifts to come their way. My brother-in-law and the others loved it!
Then came the message to my sister: don't send anymore candy. Apparently Americans handing out candy to children through the bars of the gates was too much of a temptation for insurgents with mortar shells.