Life in progress


TV memories – #SoCS & #JusJoJan Jot #19

Let me start by saying I rarely watch TV anymore. I remember the first black and white we had–probably not my parents’ first one, but the first one I remember. It was a floor model, on four legs, and there was a circular plastic hard film through which you could see what station the TV was on. I couldn’t leave it alone. It was just so much fun to poke, until I broke it and my mum got mad at me.

We got our first colour TV in the 70s. It was amazeballs. You couldn’t tear me away from it.

But one of the things most etched into my mind from back then was cuddling up to my dad on the chesterfield while we watched either “Bewitched” or “M*A*S*H.” We both loved “M*A*S*H”–never missed an episode. All I can really remember about “Bewitched” as it relates to my dad is saying “Soool Saks!” every time we saw the screenwriter’s name in the credits. No idea why we did it. I’ve never been able to forget good ol’ Sol Saks. Even though I had no idea what he looked like until I Googled him five minutes ago.

I cuddled up with my dad on the couch right up until the week he died. Ah, but we laughed a lot. That’s the most important memory of all.

This post is part of Just Jot it January and Stream of Consciousness Saturday! If you’d like to take part or read the posts by the other participants, click the following link:

SoCS badge by Pamela, at


One-Liner Wednesday – Laugh a little

Laughter does for the soul what chocolate does for the taste buds.


Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below.

As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday, if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.

The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:

1. Make it one sentence.

2. Make it either funny or inspirational.

Have fun!


The Trust of a Child

I read once, when my kids were very young, that a baby who laughs when it is startled is a baby who trusts his or her mother. It’s something that I found followed through to their toddler years and beyond. I joked with my kids that I was going to do horrible things with them; cook them and eat them for dinner for instance. They’d laugh, knowing I would never do such a thing, because they trusted me.

There was one instance that I will never forget and I try not to regret for the simple reason that it taught me something.

I was leaving the pool where Alex was, at the time, doing physiotherapy. He wasn’t walking yet at the time, so he must have been less than five years old. I carried him out of the building, loaded with purse, swimming clothes and Alex all in my arms. I remember it was cold. I put him down on the curb in front of the car but to the side where I could see him, so I could wrestle my car keys out of my coat pocket. Had a car come, I was prepared to stand in front of it to prevent him being hurt. I proceeded open the doors and put the bags in. Then I waved goodbye to him and pretended to get into the car, expecting him to laugh. He knew I would never leave him there by myself. But instead of laughing, he smiled at me and waved back.

Whether he didn’t understand the joke or not, the vision of that tiny little boy sitting bundled against the cold, waving goodbye to me with a trusting smile on his beautiful, innocent face, still brings a tear to my eye.

Our children live in the world we construct for them. Whether they are healthy or sick, they can learn to be happy from us as parents because they trust what they see – the example we set. Alex spent the first eight months of his life in the hospital. All he has ever known, from birth, is pain. To this day he wakes up almost every morning with reflux, trying to vomit past an operation he had at six months of age called a fundoplication – basically, a knot was tied in his esophagus to prevent anything coming up. And yet he is the happiest child I’ve ever met. Other people observe this and ask me if he’s ever unhappy. It’s all he’s ever known. He sees me deal with his morning time retching with ease and he is reassured that it’s normal.

One day I know he will find out that it’s not. Will he stop trusting me at that point? I have no idea. It’s for sure that I’ll have the task of assuring him that even if it’s not something everyone experiences, it’s just the way he is, and that’s okay.

The point I’m trying to make I suppose, is that our children are our sponges. They take from us what we show them, and whatever that is, they trust it, because from the very beginning, we are all they know. I hope, for my own part, to preserve that for as long as their personal experiences away from me will allow. And that they will continue to laugh all their lives.