Archives For November 30, 1999

Ice Bucket Challenge

August 15, 2014

I don’t care if this ice bucket challenge to raise awareness for ALS (better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease) is getting out of control. I think it’s great. It’s for a wonderful cause and I can’t imagine being the person who comes up with an idea that goes viral like this one.

There have been more than 1 million unique videos posted on Facebook related to this challenge. The movement has raised more than $5.5 million for the ALS Association since July 29, compared to $32,000 in the same period last year (as reported by TIME).

I accepted this challenged and I passed it on to my friends and my son, Austin, who went on to challenge his siblings.

My boys, Owen and Austin, posted their videos on their respective Instagram accounts. Imagining how to link that up to this WordPress blog gives me a headache so you’ll have to search it out yourself.

I did record Jaycee’s myself (in the wrong direction). Enjoy both my video and hers below.

 

Written by Heidi Woodard

Robin Williams c/o chicagoreader.com

Robin Williams c/o chicagoreader.com

The revelation of Robin Williams’ passing spread like wild fire through news and entertainment sites tonight. I imagine years from now people will remember where they were and what they were doing when they learned of the actor/comedian’s untimely death.

I was walking back to my van with my oldest after finishing up Back to School night at a new school and all I could think of was: I must show my kids his work. They’ve never seen an actor like him and I’m positive no one will compare to him in their lifetimes.

Dead Poets Society. Goodwill Hunting. Jumanji. Patch Adams. The list of classics goes on and on. I don’t have to dig deep into my mind to recall the imprint he singlehandedly left on my psyche. Those movie memories were as essential to my upbringing as my own real life experiences.

This one is truly irreplaceable. And I only laid witness to his public talents…I cannot imagine the demons that such an extraordinary actor possessed behind closed doors. He battled with alcohol, drugs, and loneliness yet still managed to make us smile and feel better about ourselves. As did Chris Farley. As did Michael Jackson. As did Amy Winehouse.

Each time a wildly popular celebrity shares their condolences via the Twitterverse or a rather insignificant blogger feels compelled to share their feelings much like I am doing now, I think about Williams’ friends, family, and fans having to reabsorb the shock of reality punching them in the gut time and time again. It’s hard to regain one’s breath while trying to defend against rapid fire punches from every angle.

Yet I feel compelled to tell every reader who stumbles upon this post that it’s ok to feel really sad and lost in response to losing a man we never really knew.

It’s ok to admit that there are days when you feel like you’re treading water in pitch blackness with no life jacket while ocean waves crash all around your head.

It’s ok to feel helpless as you watch someone you love transform into someone you can’t even recognize…to wonder if your days with them are numbered and beyond your control.

It’s ok to acknowledge that you are not perfect and, that despite all of your best efforts, you will never be enough.

It’s ok to not be able to force yourself to fall asleep, to turn off your brain, to numb yourself enough to forget and move on.

I’m here to tell you that I don’t even have to know you to know this: It’s NOT ok to give up.

Yes, this is selfish advice. I don’t have to have a degree in Psychology to know that I believe the world is a better place with you, in spite of all your self-perceived shortcomings and failures, in it.

I’ve written this before, but it’s worth sharing again:

Never do I diminish another person’s feelings nor judge a person who wrongly believes there is nothing left in them to give. If you are reading this and suffer a sense of despair, I beg you to consider those in your life who you impact every day. Do not discredit their need to have YOU in their lives.

If you think you need help, I’m asking you to contact the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

Robin Williams offered himself up for our enjoyment and we collectively loved every minute of it. He then allegedly gave up on fighting a life that tormented him, resulting in our despair and disbelief.

Honor him and those who love you by saving yourself before it’s too late. Honor him by throwing someone else a life jacket who’s been treading water for far too long.

Written by Heidi Woodard

I am telling you now, dear boy, that junior high is fantastic and awful and amazing and embarrassing all rolled into two years.

I realize you’ll be a teenager soon so you already have all the answers, but please entertain me and read this from beginning to end.

Seeing as I don’t share the same anatomy as you, I won’t pretend to know how you are feeling as you transition from an old boy into a young man. But I do know how it feels to be a hormone-crazed girl and my best advice to you when dealing with such a species is: Be nice. Be respectful. Beware.

 

Your mom KNOWS about junior high girls. See that guy on the right? That guy had the hair of Vanilla Ice. Need I say more? See that girl on the left? It took me 45 minutes to tight-roll those jean shorts just right, Aqua Net that hair up, and locate my whitest Keds to blow him away. That guy and I spoke maybe 12 words to each other all year long, yet I assumed he was a lyrical poet. Junior high girls are crazy. TRUST ME ON THIS.

Your mom KNOWS about junior high girls. See that guy on the right? That guy had the hair of Vanilla Ice. Need I say more? See that girl on the left? It took me 45 minutes to tight-roll those jean shorts just right, Aqua Net that hair up, and locate my whitest Keds to blow him away. That guy and I spoke maybe 12 words to each other all year long, yet I assumed he was a lyrical poet. We were going to take 1990-1991 by storm. In a nutshell, junior high girls are crazy. TRUST ME ON THIS.

 

Over the past three months, there are a handful of girls who, much like me when I was their age, spent their summer days leading up to seventh grade obsessing over how they’ll look, who they’ll hang out with, and how they’ll manage to act casual yet intriguing in front of boys much like you.

The same girl you remember playing kickball with last May will show up in a week smelling nicer, looking older, laughing louder, and talking uncontrollably about crap you couldn’t care less about.

You are bound to feel confused and slightly annoyed by this behavior. Realize she may be second-guessing every decision she makes…so…

Be nice.

She will playfully punch you in the arm and tell you that you’re stupid while batting her eyelashes (which are longer than you remember) and you’re going to wonder, “What in the hell is she doing with her eyes? I don’t even know where I’m supposed to look.”

They’ll be crop tops, mini skirts, and little left to the imagination.

Whatever you do, don’t look down. Keep looking at girls in their eyes. In other words…always…

Be respectful.

You will have feelings that are fueled by these alien females as well as constant razzing from your male peers. Do not engage in questionable behavior or hang out with the less-than-desirable crowd because you think it makes you seem cooler. I know I am slightly biased as your mom, but I can tell you with 100 percent certainty: You are cool enough as is.

Remember what is important to you. Continue to be a leader both inside and outside of the classroom.

No matter how much you or those around you change in terms of physical growth or behavioral tendencies, always remember what is important to you (yes, I repeated that on purpose). And when little miss sunshine comes prancing around the corner asking you to cut back on the things that make you the happiest in life so that you’ll have more time to spend with her…no matter how hot she is…

Beware.

Written (with love) by Heidi Woodard

Special thanks to Peggy Dineen Reall for finding these blast-from-the-past pics.

Special thanks to Peggy Dineen Reall for finding these blast-from-the-past pictures.