ℕ𝕚𝕣𝕗𝕠𝕩, San Meteo Lane NE, Albuquerque, NM (2025)

08/06/2025

To the Woman in the Salina, KS McDonald's bathroom:
You heard me as I reasoned with a 3 year old to use the bathroom.
You heard me tell her we had a long drive home and she needed to use the potty. You heard her tell me she was scared the toilet would flush while she was sitting on it. I couldn't convince her I would block the sensor and keep that from happening. She promised she could hold it and wouldn't p*e in the car.
Then, you stepped in. You told her you would give her a bracelet if she would go potty for Mommy. She perked up and agreed. I turned to quickly put her on the potty (before she changed her mind). You told her the bracelet would be waiting outside the stall for her. I turned to say thank you, but you were already gone.
Outside the stall was a bracelet and a mini Snickers bar. ❤️
Her eyes lit up as she put the bracelet on after using the bathroom.
We made it home to Wichita safely and she is currently sleeping soundly next to me...still wearing the bracelet.
Thank you for your kindness! I wish I could have thanked you in person, but maybe you will see this. If not, hopefully it inspires someone else to be kind like you were.
Sincerely,
A Grateful Mother" ❤️

Credit goes to the respective owner.
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/06/2025

I'M 74 AND ADOPTED A GERMAN SHEPHERD WHOSE OWNERS WANTED TO EUTHANIZE.

When my son called me about Hunter, my heart broke. A young couple had brought this gorgeous 3-year-old German Shepherd to the shelter, asking to have him euthanized because they were moving and couldn't "handle a big dog anymore." A dog they'd raised since he was a puppy — just tossed aside like he didn't matter.

The shelter refused, of course, and kept him, but when I heard the story, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I told my son I wanted to adopt Hunter, but he hesitated. "Mom, he's a big dog — what if it's too much for you?" he said. But I've had big dogs before, and I know how to handle them. Besides, when I met Hunter, I saw right away that he's a gentle, obedient soul.

I brought him home that day. Now, Hunter follows me everywhere, curls up by my feet, and watches over me like he knows I saved him. It's hard to imagine anyone seeing him as a burden. He's my family now, and I'll never let him go.

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[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/06/2025

THERE WERE COPS IN MY YARD, AND AS AN AFRICAN AMERICAN FAMILY, MY MIND WAS FULL OF NEGATIVE THOUGHTS
I froze when I saw the police car parked in front of our house. The flashing lights weren’t on, but my stomach clenched anyway. Then I spotted two officers standing in my yard.
I gripped the doorknob, hesitant to step outside. My son, Isaiah, was in there. My husband wasn’t home. And we’re a Black family—I didn’t need to tell myself what could go wrong.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. “Isaiah?” My voice came out shakier than I wanted.
Isaiah came running up the steps with the biggest grin on his face. “Mom! Did you see?”
One of the officers, a white guy with a buzz cut, turned toward me. “Ma’am, your son is quite the little hero.”
Hero? My mind scrambled to make sense of what I was hearing. I looked at Isaiah, then at the second officer, a Black woman who gave me a small, reassuring nod. But my body was still tight, my hands still cold.
“There was a man running through the neighborhood,” the officer continued. “Wanted for robbery. We were about to lose him until your boy did… whatever that was.” He let out a short chuckle.
Isaiah practically bounced on his feet. “I used my—”
I grabbed his arm before he could finish. “You helped the police?” My voice was gentle, but my eyes searched his face. I wasn’t mad, just cautious.
Isaiah nodded proudly. “Yeah! And they caught him because of me!”
I swallowed, glancing at the officers again. The Black woman smiled. “He really did. It was clever, honestly.”
I exhaled, my nerves still buzzing. Isaiah was safe. He wasn’t in trouble. But I still needed to know—how exactly did my son, my nine-year-old, help the police catch a thief?
Isaiah smiled wider. “It was easy, Mom! I just used my...”

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[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/06/2025

The call came during second period—calm, but with an edge. “Can you come down to Room 12? One of the eighth graders is refusing to remove his cap.”
When I got to my office, there he was. Jaden. Usually soft-spoken, respectful. But today… he sat curled in the chair like he wanted to vanish. Cap pulled low. He muttered so quietly I almost missed it: “They laughed at me.”
He told me kids in the cafeteria had made fun of his botched haircut. He slowly lifted his cap. His hair was butchered—lines jagged, patches bald. I could’ve written him up. But rules aren’t always what kids need.
I stood and walked over to my cabinet and pulled out my old barber kit. Before I became a principal, I cut hair to pay for college. “Let me help, yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. I draped a towel over his shoulders and started shaping him up. As the first smooth line buzzed into place, he exhaled—like someone finally let him breathe again. And then he started talking. About how laughter hurts worse when it follows you all the way home.
As I adjusted the angle for a final fade, I noticed something. Scars. Tiny, raised lines etched into the back of his scalp. I froze for half a second. “These… from something recent?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. Then he whispered: “That’s where they hit me. Last year. When we were still at our old place.”
I turned the clippers off. “Who’s ‘they’?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. And then he said something that made my blood run cold—
“My mom’s ex-boyfriend,” he whispered, his voice so small it was almost swallowed by the quiet hum of the office. “He… he used to get mad. At her. At me. He’d throw things. The last time, it was a coffee mug.”
The clippers in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. The botched haircut, the hat, the fear—it wasn’t just about shame. It was about hiding. It was about survival.
“Jaden,” I said, my voice steady despite the rage coiling in my gut. “Is he still around? Is your mom okay?”
He finally looked at me in the mirror, his eyes wide and haunted. “We left. A few months ago. We have a new apartment now. It’s supposed to be better.” He paused. “But he found us.”
My blood ran cold. “When, Jaden?”
“Last night,” he choked out, a single tear tracing a path through the tiny clipped hairs on his cheek. “He was waiting outside. He told my mom he was sorry. He said he’d changed. She… she let him in.”
The haircut. It wasn’t his cousin. It was him. A clumsy, cruel attempt at an apology, or worse, a mark of ownership.
I put the clippers down. The haircut was over. My real job was just beginning.
“Okay,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. I put my hands on his shoulders, turning him to face me. “Here is what’s going to happen. You are not going home on that bus today. You are going to stay right here with me. We’re going to call your mom, and we’re going to call some people who can help. People who make sure men like that go away and never come back. Do you understand?”
He just nodded, a wave of relief so profound it seemed to uncurl his hunched shoulders.
For the next two hours, my office became a command center. I called Child Protective Services. I called the police. I spoke to Jaden’s mother, who sobbed on the phone, admitting she was terrified but didn’t know what to do.
When she arrived at the school, she wasn’t alone. A police officer and a social worker were with her. They had a plan. An emergency protective order. A new place to go, a shelter with security, where he couldn’t find them.
As Jaden got ready to leave with his mom, he stopped at my office door. His hair was perfect—a sharp, clean fade. But more than that, his eyes were clear. The fear was still there, but it wasn’t hiding anymore.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re a good kid, Jaden,” I said, my voice thick. “You deserve to feel safe.”
He reached up and touched the back of his head, where the scars were now hidden beneath the clean lines of his new haircut. “You know,” he said, a small, hesitant smile on his face. “You’re a pretty good barber.”
I just smiled back. “I’m a better principal.”
That day, I broke a school rule. But I had followed a much more important one. I had listened. I had seen a child who was hiding, and instead of punishing him for the hat, I had asked him why he needed it. Sometimes, the most important thing a kid needs isn't a lesson. It's a safe harbor. And a decent haircut.
Also read 👇
https://nirfox.com/peter-became-a-father-by-adopting-an-11-year-old-from-foster-care/
Credit goes to the respective owner.
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/06/2025

“This young man is Anthony, he works at the Piggly Wiggly on 78. On Wednesday after work I went to Piggly Wiggly to buy a few things. Before I left I pushed my buggy in the port that holds the buggies on the outside of the store. After going home I realized at approximately 9:30 p. m. I couldn’t find my phone. I started to look for my wristlet that carried my money but I couldn’t find that either. Earlier that morning Shelisa had given me 200.00 cash to get our tags, and I had over seventy dollars of my own money in there including 10.00 worth of quarters. Tracing my steps I realized that the only place I had been was Piggly Wiggly. I called them and true enough my wristlet and phone were there. What is even more astonishing is, I had all my money in the wristlet and my I Phone. I asked the store manager who turned it in, and they said it was Anthony. The picture below is Anthony. Anthony is a teenager at Central Park Christian. I went to bless Anthony today with $100.00, and I also called his mom Joyce to tell her what a great job she was doing with her son. His mom cried tears of joys. We hear very little about kids when they do something positive, it’s always lots of talk about the bad things that happen.“

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[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/06/2025

"This is my youngest daughter, she’s 14. This is her second year working a summer job. She decided where she wanted to work and walked in a resume. They didn’t call. So she called them, twice. Then went in to see if they had looked at the resumes yet. They hadn’t. They asked her if she had time now to do an interview. She said “yes”...
She got the job.
She works whatever shift they want. She posted a sign on the employee bulletin board telling co-workers if they want a day off she’s happy to help...
She cleans dishes and toilets. Takes out garbage and mops the floor. Waits on customers and manages money. She makes fancy coffees and smoothies...
It’s not glamorous- but she’s saving 70% of what she makes to become a doctor. The other 30% is going towards a computer and time with her friends...
She’s leaning in. She’s putting the work in. She impresses me"

Credit Wendy Shane
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

If there is anything I could tell the parents of teenagers right now, it would be this: It doesn’t matter.

I am a mom of four, a college counselor for high school students, and a journalist who has covered college admissions and parenting topics for almost a decade, and I am here to tell you that it just doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if your child earns a B (or a C or even a D) in Algebra, if they don’t make the National Honor Society, if they start on the varsity baseball team, if they warm the bench, if they don’t pass the AP exam or if they get the highest score, or if they get that internship or not.

It doesn’t matter if they get a perfect score on the SAT or if they bomb it. It doesn’t matter if they are the valedictorian of their high school. It doesn’t matter where they go to college.

It just doesn’t matter — none of it matters — if your kid isn’t healthy.

I’m not talking about if your child is afflicted with appendicitis, lupus, or cancer, although, of course, those conditions would all take precedence, too. I am talking about mental health. And please, do not be fooled: Mental health is physical health.

Over the past several years, I have done a lot of reporting and analyzing why our kids are in such a dark place. I’m not a psychologist, a sociologist, or a trauma expert, but I have talked to many high school and college students from all over the country, and my not-expert opinion is this: The stakes are simply too high.

We have convinced our teens that there is no room for error.

Parents ask if they can pull their children out of classes if they are in danger of earning a B, certain that anything less than an A will keep them out of a “good college,” whatever that means. They won’t let them quit a sport or an activity they don’t like anymore because they believe colleges will not want their kids unless they show a four-year commitment.

Our kids compromise their sleep, nutrition, and social lives, chasing some notion of what their future demands.

Don’t get me wrong; I understand these worries and the fear kids need to do certain things to have “good” lives (again, whatever that means). I get it. And, of course, our kids need to do things that make them uncomfortable or challenge them. I wholeheartedly believe that.

But simultaneously, because we are their parents, we’re sometimes the only ones who can turn down the pressure valve for our kids. We have to confidently tell them it’s OK (really!) to get a B, a C, or even a D.

It’s OK to fail. It’s OK to quit a team, a band, or a job. It’s OK to say no. It’s OK to be who they are, and that may not be the class president, team captain, or valedictorian. They can just be themselves because being themselves is enough, and they are enough, and they can and will survive any of these perceived setbacks.

Here’s the hard truth: So many kids have sat in my office and told me while wiping away tears that they are afraid of disappointing their parents. It breaks my heart because I want my kids to be happy like any other parent. Yet, I know my kids would say the same thing.

It’s easy for us to get caught up in all of it, to believe that we need certain scores, grades, titles, or acceptances to validate ourselves and tell the world our value. Our job is to let our children know that their value is inherent.

Your children, my children, and all of our children believe their value in this world is in question. My mission, I have decided, is to make sure my kids know that all I want for them is to be good citizens, friends, partners, and humans.

What matters? Hope, effort, love, purpose, and people matter. Wanting to stay on this planet, get up tomorrow, and try matters again. Nothing else really does.

How do we convince our kids it’s all right to put down their burdens and rest and realize they have always been enough and worthy of love just as they are?

They need us to tell them.

They need us, the ones who have lived long enough to see the other side of a bad day, a bad month, or a bad year, to tell them things are not either “perfect” or “ruined” —that lives, like some of the best roads to travel, are winding and have rest stops, and that success (whatever that looks like for them) is not linear.

They need us to tell them the stakes are not nearly as high as they think.

Something has to happen. Something has to change. And that something starts with us believing that nothing matters as much as our kids’ health.

There’s no time to waste.

by Allison Slater Tate
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

"I have debated whether or not to share this primarily because I don't think it's possible to find the words eloquent enough to describe the profound impact it had on my life and also because, though we were surrounded by thousands of others, the experience seemed so intimate it almost feels too personal to share.
Last week when we were in Disney, Oliver, Chris, and I had dinner in EPCOT's World Showcase in Norway. Afterwards we decided to travel the countries and take some pictures. While in France a sweet couple stopped to take our picture in front of the Eiffel Tower. They were very patient as Oliver did not cooperate during the picture taking and finally got a decent one. We said 'thank you' and went on our way.
Several minutes later the same man who had just taken our picture walked up to us, in tears, and asked if we had a moment. He promised he wasn't creepy and introduced himself as Scott and his wife as Sally. Through broken tears, he went on to tell us they had four beautiful children, 3 of whom were in the park with their grandparents, while the fourth was spending his first birthday in heaven. Today, July 1st, would have been sweet baby Duke, who passed away just a few months ago, 1st birthday. Oliver reminded them so much of their little boy they asked to take him to Mouse Gear's on a shopping spree for baby Duke's first birthday. As a parent, and looking back on the moment, you would never think to just give your child over to perfect strangers but in that moment I was so overwhelmed with peace, a peace that only God can provide, that I handed my little boy over and watched as he held the hands of these two people whom my heart suddenly felt so connected with. Chris and I of course followed behind (we're not that crazy😉).
When we got to the store Sally held Oliver's hand and led him to the toys. I watched her eyes turn from sadness to joy every time Oliver smiled at her. I watched the sorrow turn to hope each time Oliver picked up a toy and hugged her thank you. As Oliver reached "up, up" I watched Scott's pain start to fade as he held Oliver and wept into his head. Through an act of their own generosity, I witnessed a couple begin to heal from the grief and ache of losing something so dear. After they bought him way too many toys, we all stopped in the middle of the store. We held each other and we prayed. God's presence was so real and we worshiped and praised him for his ultimate design, for it was only God who could have brought us together. As we left Sally told us that she prayed that God would send her closure and tonight was her gift from God. After tonight she could start to move on. To heal.
Y'all. This is God. He is so real. Only he can put the right people in the right place at the right time so he can heal a broken heart. He designed it this way. Had we stopped in one more shop, taken one more picture, went a different direction, watched the parade a little longer, we would have missed it. But we didn't because God was in control. And that, my friends, makes life a whole lot more meaningful."

Credit Taylor Fisher
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

For the past two summers I've been the pool director at a country club pool.

I have a staff of 11 lifeguards - seven boys and four girls. Nine of the guards are college freshmen and sophomores, and two are high school seniors.

This isn't my first job as a country club pool director, but it is my first job as a country club pool director since becoming a parent.

Over the past two summers I have noticed some common threads with lifeguard applicants and my staff.

These are my anecdotal observations and not scientifically backed data or research, but I have consistently seen the same thing repeat itself over and over again.

Guards whose parents micromanage and do everything they can to prevent their kids from failing are my least dependable guards.

They don't know how to pay attention to detail, and they are not proactive.

This isn't specific to one gender, but I see it predominantly with boys.

I've received applications filled out by parents. I've received emails, texts, and private messages from parents asking questions their kids are capable of asking themselves.

What I have learned from personal experience, both with my own kids and my employees is that the best way to help kids learn and grow and become independent and reliable is to stop doing things for them.

Let them learn how to communicate with adults. Let them miss deadlines. Let them miss out on job opportunities.

Let them be responsible for both their good and their bad results.

Let them learn from their mistakes.

They will not make the same mistake twice if it costs them time or money or opportunity or all three.

But they will continue to be flake jobs if they know you are going to do the important stuff for them no matter what.

This is how mothers of boys, in particular, perpetuate the cycle of men who don't contribute equally at home.

When you are raised by a mother who does things for you in order to make sure you don't miss out, you don't suddenly snap out of it when you get married or become a parent.

In most cases, you do what you know.

As parents, if we want to put dependable, reliable, proactive and successful teenagers out into the world, we have got to be willing to let them struggle and fail.

Because that's the only way for them to grow. Failure is a necessary part of a healthy human experience.

Because failure isn't actually failure.

It's a guidepost
You're either winning, or you're learning.

Let your kids learn.

Credit not-your-average-mom
[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

Everyone knows Elon Musk.
But far fewer know the extraordinary woman behind his earliest inspiration: his mother — Maye Musk.

A woman of brilliance, resilience, and elegance, Maye has lived a life as multifaceted as it is inspiring. Model, scientist, mother of three — and still, well into her 70s, she continues to thrive, dazzle, and redefine what it means to age.

Born in Canada to two adventurous pilots, Josephine and Joshua Haldeman, Maye moved to South Africa as a toddler. Her parents were dreamers — quite literally searching for a lost city in the Kalahari Desert.

By 15, Maye began her modeling journey. A few years later, she became a finalist in the Miss South Africa pageant — all while building a parallel path in science. She earned degrees in dietetics and nutrition and went on to teach at university level.

At 21, she married her childhood friend Errol Musk. But after years of abuse and hardship, Maye made the bold decision to leave — taking her three young children and starting over in Canada with nothing but determination.

She worked five jobs at once to support her family — modeling, teaching at the University of Toronto, giving nutrition seminars, and more. Elon often speaks about watching his mother hold it all together, day after day.

Each of her children rose to greatness:

Elon built Tesla, SpaceX, and beyond.

Kimbal became a renowned restaurateur and social food innovator.

Tosca forged a successful career as a film director and producer.

But Maye’s story didn’t stop with their success.

At 55, she stopped coloring her hair, embraced her natural silver, and stepped into a powerful new chapter. From Vogue spreads to runway shows and campaigns — her modeling career soared again.

At 60, she recreated Demi Moore’s iconic n**e maternity cover — strong, proud, and utterly graceful.
At 69, she became CoverGirl’s oldest brand ambassador — shattering age stereotypes across the beauty industry.

And when she turned 75? A reporter asked if she was planning to retire.
Maye laughed and replied:

“That word doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.”

She even shared how her own mother, Josephine, learned graphic design at 94.

Now, with over six decades in fashion and education, Maye Musk continues to inspire — not just as a model or scientist, but as a woman who never gave up on herself.

She is the true definition of an ageless icon — an it-girl of every era.

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[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

This is my great grandmother Martha Boone holding me in this picture in 1991. She was born in Gates County, North Carolina on April 24, 1904. She was a sharecropper and worked fields they didn’t own just to survive. As she got older, she passed down stories about what it was like growing up in those times.

Gates County is more than a quiet rural town and it carries a deep history. It sits on land once home to the Chowanoc people. They were a powerful Native American tribe who lived along the Chowan River for thousands of years. Over time, many Chowanoc people blended into nearby Black and Native communities. Laws erased Native identity and reclassified people by appearance rather than their ancestry.

Martha was also a housekeeper. She worked hard, cleaned other people’s homes and was a wife all while raising her own family. She passed away on January 4, 1997 at 92 years old. She gave it everything she had just so her children and grandchildren could have a better future. ❤️

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[𝘋𝘔 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭]
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08/05/2025

When I opened the mailbox today, there it was, a little duck, wearing a tiny blue knit hat, sitting on top of the bills like it had something to say. At first, I laughed. It looked so out of place, like a kid forgot their toy. But then I noticed the detail. That little hat? Hand-knit. Not store-bought. Someone made that. I already knew who. My mail carrier, Robert, is quiet, older man, walks a little slower than he used to. Never misses a day. And after my husband passed last year, he was the only person I saw some weeks. Just a wave through the window or a polite “stay warm” through the screen. But one day, after a particularly heavy delivery (hospital bills, sympathy cards), I opened the door and just broke. I told him everything. I don’t even know why. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. He listened. Didn’t try to fix it. Just nodded and said, “My wife passed a few years ago too. I still crochet her things.” Since then, we’d share a few words here and there. He told me how crocheting helped him with the silence. And I told him I used to knit, too, a long time ago, but couldn’t bring myself to pick it up again. He said, “When you’re ready, you will. It’ll call you back.”

Well… this little duck? I think that was the call. I brought it inside and stared at it for a long time. The hat was simple. A soft blue with a tiny pompom. It reminded me of the first baby hat I ever made. I hadn’t thought about that in years. That night I opened up my old yarn bin. It still smelled like cedar and old hope. And for the first time in forever, I logged back into the Tedooo app, the place I used to run my little knit shop before everything fell apart. My hands were stiff, but muscle memory kicked in. I started slow. Just a little ribbed edge. Then a loop. Then another.

It’s not much. But it’s a start.

I don’t know if Robert meant it as a gift, or just a quiet reminder that healing can come in the smallest stitches. But it worked.

I decided reopen my Tedooo app store. For the woman I used to be and maybe still am. So yeah. Maybe it’s just a duck in a hat.

Or maybe it’s proof that kindness doesn’t need to knock.

Sometimes it just sits quietly in your mailbox, waiting for you to open the door.

Credit Tanya Frumina
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