We love sharing inspirational and heartwarming videos, but this one is truly awesome that you don’t get to see often.
Meet Tervel, a blind and partially deaf dog, and Pudditat, an adopted stray cat. After Tervel became blind, he was stuck in his basket because he was afraid of getting hurt by moving around. Then, everything started to change when Tervel’s owner adopted Pudditat.
According to their owner, Pudditat is not very nice with other cats. But somehow, she was able to get along with Tervel. Pudditat eventually became his eyes and guides him everywhere. It’s true that cats and dogs don’t get along most of the time, but the bond between Tervel and Pudditat is really special and heartwarming.
Who’s responsibility is it when children don’t do their homework? Should the parents be accountable to make sure their children complete it, or is it up to the teachers to get them to do it?
In this story, the students are having problems with their grades, and it seems people don’t want to take responsibility. Read on and decide who you think should be responsible.
Here is the message that the California Pacific Palisades High School staff voted unanimously to record on their school telephone answering machine.
This came about because they implemented a policy requiring students and parents to be responsible for their children’s absences and missing homework. The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children’s failing grades changed to passing grades even though those children were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough school work to pass their classes.
This is the actual answering machine message for the school:
“Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting the right staff member, please listen to all your options before making a selection:”
– “To lie about why your child is absent – Press 1”
– “To make excuses for why your child did not do his/her work- Press 2”
– “To complain about what we do – Press 3”
– “To swear at staff members – Press 4
– “To ask why you didn’t get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you – Press 5”
– “If you want us to raise your child – Press 6”
– “If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone – Press 7”
– “To request another teacher for the third time this year- Press 8”
– “To complain about bus transportation -Press 9”
– “To complain about school lunches – Press 0”
“If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework, and that it’s not the teachers’ fault for your child’s lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!”
I fondly remember my days in school but never experienced a lesson like this until later in life. I suppose at the time I was just thinking about my own little world and preoccupied with my immediate concerns. This story of an Arkansas teacher brings home a lesson that we’re never too old to learn.
A social studies school teacher from Arkansas did something not to be forgotten. On the first day of school, with permission of the school superintendent, the principal, and the building supervisor, she took all of the desks out of the classroom.
The kids came into first period, they walked in; there were no desks.
They obviously looked around and said, “Where’s our desks?”
The teacher said, “You can’t have a desk until you tell me how you earn them.”
They thought, “Well, maybe it’s our grades.”
“No,” she said.
“Maybe it’s our behavior.”
And she told them, “No, it’s not even your behavior.”
And so they came and went in the first period, still no desks in the classroom.
Second period, same thing. Third period. By early afternoon, television crews had gathered in the class to find out about this crazy teacher who had taken all the desks out of the classroom. The last period of the day, the instructor gathered her class.
There were all sitting on the floor by this time around the sides of the room.
She said, “Throughout the day no one has really understood how you earn the desks that sit in this classroom. Now I’m going to tell you.”
She went over to the door of her classroom and opened it…
As she did, 27 U.S. Veterans, wearing their uniforms, walked into that classroom, each one carrying a school desk. And they placed those school desks in rows, and then stood along the wall. By the time they had finished placing the desks, the kids, perhaps for the first time in their lives, understood how they earned those desks.
Their teacher said, “You don’t have to earn those desks. These guys did it for you. They put them out there for you, but it’s up to you to sit here responsibly, to learn, to be good students and good citizens, because they paid a price for you to have that desk, and don’t ever forget it.”
Layers of crumbly Moon Pie, rich cream cheese, and creamy vanilla pudding make this Moon Pie Banana Pudding the ultimate indulgence for Southerners and wanna-be-Southerners alike!
Ingredients for Moon Pie Banana Pudding
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened at room temperature
1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk (not evaporated milk)
2 cups milk (I used 2%, but you can use Whole milk)
1 (5.1 ounce) box instant vanilla pudding (or a small box each of vanilla and banana)
6 Original or Double-Decker Moon Pies, cut into squares or wedges
6 bananas, sliced
8 ounce Cool Whip, thawed or equal amount of whipped cream
Directions for Moon Pie Banana Pudding
Once you have the ingredients, you really can’t miss putting them all together.
Take 6 Moon Pies and unwrap them. Cut each in half and then cut the halves into thirds. Place the large pieces aside and save all the crumbs for topping.
Take the cream cheese and your hand mixer and cream until smooth. Add the condensed milk and blend until creamy smooth.
In a separate bowl, mix pudding and milk. Once mixed, add to cream cheese and condensed milk mixture. Cream with mixer until smooth.
Now comes the fun part, time to start layering!
First a layer of pudding. About half the bowl. On top of the pudding, place a layer of Moon Pie pieces and then a layer of bananas. Another layer of pudding, Moon Pies and bananas. Top it off with pudding and then a layer of Cool Whip. Sprinkle any left-over Moon Pie pieces and crumbs on top and ta-da!!
Forget everything you know about cooking steak. Turn any cheap cut of beef into a succulent filet mignon with these two easy steps.
Jack Scalfani works his magic on $1.99/lb. meat, and it magically turns into the best steak I’ve ever had. You can visibly see the difference in the side-by-side comparison of the treated, versus untreated meat.
If you are a fan of big stuffed baked potatoes, then you’ll love the twist this recipe brings to the table. It delivers all the scrumptious flavors like sour cream, Cheddar cheese, and bacon, and they all come together in this cold potato salad. This is a super quick, super easy recipe that everyone will love.
Ingredients for Loaded Baked Potato Salad
8 medium Russet Potatoes
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 package of bacon, cooked and crumbled
1 small onion, chopped
Chives, to taste
1 1/2 cups shredded chedheese
Salt and Pepper to taste
Directions for Loaded Baked Potato Salad
Wash and cut the potatoes into bite-sized pieces.
Cover with water and boil until fork tender, about 20-25 mins.
Drain and cool the potatoes.
Once they’re cool, mix the mayo and sour cream. Add the onions, chives, and cheese. Salt and pepper to taste.
Top with extra shredded cheese and bacon and serve.
Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling.
They find out that the new baby is going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sings to his sister in Mommy’s tummy.
Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes … every minute. But complications arise during delivery. Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael’s little sister is born. But she is in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushes the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.
The days inch by. The little girl gets worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents, “There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.”
Karen and her husband contact a local cemetery about a burial plot. They have fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby — now they plan a funeral.
Michael keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister. “I want to sing to her,” he says.
Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in intensive care. But Karen makes up her mind. She will take Michael whether they like it or not. If he doesn’t see his sister now, he may never see her alive.
She dresses him in an oversized scrub suit and marches him into ICU. He looks like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognizes him as a child and bellows, “Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed!”
The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steely-eyed into the head nurse’s face, her lips a firm line.
“He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!”
Karen tows Michael to his sister’s bedside. He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he begins to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sings: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.”
Instantly the baby girl responds. The pulse rate becomes calm and steady.
And Michael keeps on singing.
“You never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away…”
The ragged, strained breathing becomes as smooth as a kitten’s purr.
And Michael keeps on singing.
“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms…”
Michael’s little sister relaxes in rest, healing rest. Tears conquer the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glows.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”
Funeral plans are scrapped. The next day — the very next day — the little girl is well enough to go home! Woman’s Day magazine called it “the miracle of a brother’s song.” The medical staff just called it a miracle.
Doctors still don’t completely understand the complexities of sibling bonds. We know siblings are very emotionally attached to each other, and that being around them can make us happier and live longer. Miracles are God’s way of showing us there is a much higher power! The love shown by this brother gave this baby a need to survive!
Susan Funck got the horrible news on her 47th birthday – Aug. 27, 2012.
Her 13-year-old daughter, Hannah Duffy, had a brain tumor. A biopsy later confirmed that the tumor was malignant. It would be fatal.
Funck swore from the beginning that she would tell Hannah the whole truth about her diagnosis. Over the next year, Hannah confronted her mortality, sometimes tearfully. She also scored a winning soccer goal in double overtime two weeks after her biopsy. She laughed and celebrated. She demanded spicy food on chemo days. She kept her heart open.
During an emotional hour in a small Convention Center meeting room, Hannah’s mother, along with her oncologist and chaplain, described what Hannah feared and wanted as her cancer progressed.
While it’s her “mission” to be open with the children she treats, Jean Belasco, the oncologist, said the path that Hannah and her family chose was unusual and a “work in progress.”
Laura Palmer, the chaplain, said Hannah’s story showed the value of hard conversations, a recurring theme at the four-day meeting of nearly 3,000 health professionals. The author and surgeon Atul Gawande had addressed the main gathering a short time before.
“Until we ask someone what their fears and concerns are about dying,” she said, “we really cannot know what they are thinking.”
Hannah’s mother spoke of her as a natural athlete, a loyal friend, and an adoring big sister.
Funck and her ex-husband, Kevin, decided that Belasco would break the news to Hannah that the MRI had found a tumor. Her mother would be present.
“I looked at her and only her, and said she had a brain tumor,” the oncologist said.
“Is it benign or malignant?” Hannah immediately asked.
“I don’t know,” Belasco replied. That and a little information about the biopsy was all that the girl needed then.
Hannah, who had been having seizures that summer, had suspected a brain tumor. “It wasn’t a surprise to me,” she wrote in her journal after the MRI. “It was like I expected it.”
After “nine really good months,” her mother said, Hannah was hospitalized again.
Belasco told her the cancer was back.
“Well, it never went away,” Hannah said.
“Am I going to die?” she asked.
“Yes,” Belasco answered, “but not today.”
Then Palmer stepped in. She talked with Funck about Hannah’s upbringing – Catholic – and met her new, very sick patient in a dark hospital room. Funck lay in bed with her daughter. The three talked for a long, painful time. They all cried.
“Will everyone forget me when I die?” Hannah asked.
Palmer said Hannah had made such a big impact on her family and friends that her spirit would live on. “No one could possibly forget her,” she said, “because, when you love someone deeply, you live in that love forever and, unless you stop loving someone, you can’t forget them.”
Hannah asked if it would hurt to die or be cremated – no – and if she would be able to recognize her Aunt Michele when she got to heaven. Palmer said Aunt Michele would recognize her. She said Hannah would be able to recognize her mother even if Funck died 50 years later. “You know the sound of each other’s heartbeats,” Palmer said.
“Will people be disappointed in me?” Hannah asked. “I was supposed to beat my cancer.”
Hannah had beaten the cancer by not letting it touch her spirit, Palmer said. She had inspired others by not letting fear hold her back, by living life on her terms.
Hours later, the chaplain was still shaken. Then she saw a surprisingly happy Funck in the hall and learned that Hannah felt much better. “What I thought might be too much was cathartic and liberating for Hannah,” Palmer realized.
Soon after, Hannah asked to go home. Her doctor was pleased. It meant Hannah had taken control of her life. Hundreds of people from her community, Tinton Falls, N.J., welcomed her home. She lived, with help from hospice, for five more weeks.
She gave marching orders to her survivors.
Her close friends were to wear pink high heels with shiny silver H’s etched in glitter on the soles to her wake. (They used rhinestone stickers.) She asked friends to embroider her name on their wedding dresses. She said she would send signs for them after her death: sunbeams and butterflies.
“When you look at a clock and you see that it’s 9:11, think that it’s me,” she told her mother.
Why 9:11? Funck asked. “Every time I look at the clock, it’s 9:11,” Hannah told her.
On Hannah’s last day, her room seemed peaceful and glowing.
“You can fly with the angels,” her mother told her. “Mommy will be OK.”
Hannah died on Sept. 26, 2013, at 9:11 p.m.
She was 14.
After the presentation Friday, Funck said Hannah would have wanted the hospice doctors and nurses to hear about her life.
“Her greatest fear was that she was terrified of being forgotten,” her mother said. “I think it’s important, as hard as it is for me, to share her story.”
Hannah’s biggest fear was of “being forgotten.” Let’s make sure her spirit and her remarkable story live on. Let’s help provide inspiration for others, especially those facing similar situations. Share this story, or your own, with your friends and peers. Starting the conversation could mean more to them than you think.
When the pastor calls for prayers, I’m sure he didn’t expect this! A woman makes an announcement about an accident that had happened to her husband. It was enough to make all the men in the church squirm and the women nearly pass out. Bless her heart, but this is just too funny!
During the service, the pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for prayers, which had been answered.
A lady stood up and came forward.
She said, ‘I have a reason to thank the Lord. Two months ago, my husband Jim, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn’t know if they could help him.’
You could hear an audible gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagined the pain that poor Jim experienced.
She continued, ‘Jim was unable to hold me or the children and every move caused him terrible pain. We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation. They were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Jim’s scrotum and wrap wire around it to hold it in place.’
Again, the men in the congregation squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Jim.
She continued, ‘Now, Jim is out of the hospital and the doctors say, with time, his scrotum should recover completely.’ All the men sighed with relief.
The pastor rose and tentatively asked if anyone else had anything to say.
A man stood up and walked slowly to the podium.
He said, “I’m Jim.” The entire congregation held its breath.
“I just want to tell my beautiful wife, the word is sternum (chest).”
