Poop. People, why does my life always come back to poop? Bird poop, people poop, gold-plated poop pendants, you people wasted no time in writing to tell me how lucky poop is supposed to be. Poop. People, as I look around my house, trust me when I say if poop were lucky, we wouldn't be having this problem.
That said, you know our first Luck Quest mission is going to be riding the train to New York and making asses of ourselves trying to get those surly city pigeons to crap on us. I'm skeptical that it will work (if bird poop was lucky, why does my minivan have WASH ME keyed into the door?) but I'm tickled pink just at the thought. And that's what this whole Quest is about: Throwing skepticism to the wind and making asses of ourselves. It's what this family was based on, and it's time we got back to our roots. Enough of this pity party this blog has become.
And speaking of which...
I used to know this guy. I never once punched him in the jaw no matter how much I wanted to. He was a full-time world traveler, working odd jobs from country to country, amassing experiences that many people would sell their babies just to have. He liked to call himself homeless, which was literally true, the man had no permanent home, but he meant it seriously. He meant his life, and the life of the 3.5 million people homeless in the US alone, were essentially the same, the fact he was saying this in a pub in Eastern Europe not withstanding. He and I used to argue about this loudly and often, and like I said, I never once punched him in the face, but I wanted to.
Which leads me to this: My family and I are lucky. Incredibly so. Yes, Kathryn broke her arm and, yes, it has resisted multiple efforts to straighten back out, but she has a doctor with great skill working in a modern hospital trying to fix it, and the whole thing is getting paid by an insurance company. There are countless places where children with broken limbs are not so lucky.
The events we've had here, with seizures and limbs and a rabid carpenter ant (I didn't even write about the ant, but you wouldn't have believed it anyway) and before that teeth and toes and basements and basements and basements are only perceived as bad luck because I have the luxury to sit here at my laptop and declare them so. If we were truly living an unlucky life, I sure as hell couldn't be blogging about it.
Many of you, in comments and emails, have asked for our address to send us gifts, charms, and ponies. We are truly honored by this, but entirely undeserving. Instead, may I suggest you make a donation to Doctors Without Borders, a group dedicated to spreading the kind of luck we do have to children and families that lack it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find birds to crap on my daughter. Just hope you're not on our train coming home. We plan on being real lucky.
I have a favor to ask. As we try to climb down off the mountain of hell which has grown around us (last night, our good friend Mr. Big Seizure returned after a month-long absence, and he met Mr. Broken and Twice-Reset Arm, and they did not get along very well at all), I am asking for your help.
Kathryn and I are going on a quest: A quest for luck. And we are collecting ideas about what people say brings it. Rabbit feet, four-leaf clovers, crickets--you name it, we want to know about it. The more obscure the better. Even if it's local to your area, tell us about it. Be as detailed as you can.
Luck can, of course, be as you define it. It doesn't even matter if you don't believe in it. Hell, I don't believe in it, but if nothing else, our quest will make us feel like we're doing something. We really need to do something.
Please email your ideas to lookydaddy (at) gmail (dot) com. Put "Luck" in the subject line.