We're Number Twenty Eight!

As newcomers to this town five years ago, leaving a large city, we loved this sign.
But it made us ask questions about this curious ranking.

Are there foam hands available with twenty eight fingers, proudly proclaiming that "WE'RE NUMBER 28!!!" Maybe you have to buy six hands.

How does a town become the twenty eighth best small town in the U.S.A.? Where do you go to vote in this contest? And how can you win that sort of election? With the most votes? But then would you no longer be a small town if you can out vote other small towns? Did the small town that came in first have no votes at all? Probably not.

The people who put together the lists like this compile numbers such as local jobs, environment, taxes, schools, crime statistics, that sort of thing. Can they look into the soul of a community and see the every day decency of the people in it? Our entry into Seaford has been mostly through its homeschoolers, the local man who, until recently, operated the MailRoom, the post office and the credit union, and everyone we have met has been wonderful. Maybe twenty eight is too low a number for this town.

Americans are mostly good people. (Except for everyone in that movie we just watched, "Burn After Reading.") Wherever I have lived throughout my life, I have encountered hard working people who try to do the right thing. It is a part of our American spirit and I hope that we never loose it.

Manners? We don't need no stinkin manners!

Ny dear hubby has been trying to instill some manners in our boys lately. He has gotten them to stand at their seats, waiting for me to sit down first before they sit. It has instigated some comical situations.
There was one dinner time when the boys were standing, patiently waiting, and I kept on puttering with assorted details before finally taking my seat. I dragged out my little tasks and added several before finally approaching the table. We eat in the kitchen, so I was in full view as each little job was discovered and completed. Oh, there is no salt on the table. Didn't anyone put glasses out? (We are very casual.) Oh, I need some ice, don't you? It became almost absurd, but then I finally sat down, and the two boys raced each other to see which of them would land first.

This ongoing race to see who would plant their derrieres fastest began to eclipse the manners we were trying to instill, so my husband had a talk with the boys, letting them know that the winner was not the child who sat down before the other, but that the winner was the one who sat LAST. This has turned into another ridiculous competition, and now they are trying to eat dinner while straddling, but not occupying their chairs.

Whenever the children actually start to get the point that we are trying to get across on the first go around, that means that we are done, right?
Oh the joys of the boys!

Nothing to lose?

Somewhere in the past, I read an anecdote about a high ranking military officer on his way somewhere, making a stop in frozen Greenland for refueling. There was a private assigned to some of the clean up duties, which included emptying the waste tanks. The officer, sitting in his warm plane, was not happy with the speed at which the private was executing this procedure, and let him know about it.
The private replied, "I don't have any stripes, and I am in Greenland pumping sewage. What are YOU gonna do to me?"
The officer was at a complete loss. The private was allowed to carry on with no additional pressure to speed up.

I guess the moral of the story is that you should always save a little leverage room?
Or maybe something else.
No matter how high and mighty you think you are, the guy who pumps out the septic can slow you down.

Anyhow, watch out for the little guy, no matter who you think you are.

Division the nine year old way

Well, today, I was trying to work with my nine year old son on some multiplication and division and he was insisting that he was just bad at Math. Of course, I could not accept that, so I tried to give him some example drawn from one of his
experiences.
"What if you and J (13 year old brother) had 8 cookies, and you had to split them, how many
would you get?"
"I wouldn't get any because J would eat them before I got up."
"No, not like that. How many would you have to get so that you wouldn't be
mad at J?"

With almost no thought at all, he replied, "Eight!"

I should have seen that coming!