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    For most every rule, there is always an exception. With that in mind, I share with you the three-day rule that my mother created many years ago. Whether it is heartache, indecision, or having your feelings hurt, you have three days to lick your wounds, assess the situation or throw an all-out pity party for yourself if you so desire. After three days, however, you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and move forward.         While Iím not even sure what a bootstrap is, I know what I am expected to do on day four. There is no promise it will be easy, but there is assurance that nothing good will come if you donít pick up the pieces and move ahead. Nothing is ever gained from wallowing in the comforts of self-pity. The few exceptions to this rule include loss of a loved one and illness, those obvious mountains that canít be climbed in three days.
    When I was 18, I decided to spend the summer four states away making my fortune waiting tables for minimum wage in a local Mexican restaurant. My mother looked on with great doubt. When my checking account was below zero and my safety was at stake, my mother snatched me home and informed me that I would go to college somewhere within a 200 mile radius. In shock and disbelief, I took to my bed for three days and called it the flu. My mother knew I was licking my wounds and on day four I was met by a team of family members who snatched me from my self pity and showed me the path forward.  That was my first taste of the three-day rule. My uncles showed up in a 1980ís conversion van and I sat in the back seat as we drove around town until I had no doubt about what comes next in the life of an unemployed 18 year old, unskilled at properly carrying a large tray of nachos and margaritas.
    I have invoked the three day rule many times over the years to assist with broken hearts, lost jobs, embarrassing moments, and bullies who somehow made it to adulthood. While I know longer disguise it as the flu, I have been known to sit in the dark and spend a weekend watching The Godfather surrounded by empty bags of comfort food. Five pounds heavier and four days later, I arise from the depths of the couch with a renewed attitude, a prayer of thankfulness on my heart and the vision to see the good that clearly outweighs the bad.
    My children are already well versed in the three-day rule and I have watched them calmly accept bad news of lost pets, stolen items, failed projects, or being left out. While their hearts may be heavy, they emerge from their sadness after three days and never look back. Unlike their mother, they take to their rooms, wrapped up in auxiliary cords and headphones while they let music distract them from their worries. They donít need a weekend with the Corleones. They just need timeÖ  and three days is what they are allowed before that van full of family members shows up at their door ready to take them for a little ride. Take it from me and from Luca Brasi, a ride with family who disagree with your actions is never a good ride. As long as you are up by day four, youíll never have to worry about such. 
    So, take your three days, mend what is broken, accept that healing may take some time, and set your sights forward. On day four, wake with a smile. Thank God for all that is good and take that first step towards happiness. It truly makes all the difference.  

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    For most every rule, there is always an exception. With that in mind, I share with you the three-day rule that my mother created many years ago. Whether it is heartache, indecision, or having your feelings hurt, you have three days to lick your wounds, assess the situation or throw an all-out pity party for yourself if you so desire. After three days, however, you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and move forward.         While Iím not even sure what a bootstrap is, I know what I am expected to do on day four. There is no promise it will be easy, but there is assurance that nothing good will come if you donít pick up the pieces and move ahead. Nothing is ever gained from wallowing in the comforts of self-pity. The few exceptions to this rule include loss of a loved one and illness, those obvious mountains that canít be climbed in three days.
    When I was 18, I decided to spend the summer four states away making my fortune waiting tables for minimum wage in a local Mexican restaurant. My mother looked on with great doubt. When my checking account was below zero and my safety was at stake, my mother snatched me home and informed me that I would go to college somewhere within a 200 mile radius. In shock and disbelief, I took to my bed for three days and called it the flu. My mother knew I was licking my wounds and on day four I was met by a team of family members who snatched me from my self pity and showed me the path forward.  That was my first taste of the three-day rule. My uncles showed up in a 1980ís conversion van and I sat in the back seat as we drove around town until I had no doubt about what comes next in the life of an unemployed 18 year old, unskilled at properly carrying a large tray of nachos and margaritas.
    I have invoked the three day rule many times over the years to assist with broken hearts, lost jobs, embarrassing moments, and bullies who somehow made it to adulthood. While I know longer disguise it as the flu, I have been known to sit in the dark and spend a weekend watching The Godfather surrounded by empty bags of comfort food. Five pounds heavier and four days later, I arise from the depths of the couch with a renewed attitude, a prayer of thankfulness on my heart and the vision to see the good that clearly outweighs the bad.
    My children are already well versed in the three-day rule and I have watched them calmly accept bad news of lost pets, stolen items, failed projects, or being left out. While their hearts may be heavy, they emerge from their sadness after three days and never look back. Unlike their mother, they take to their rooms, wrapped up in auxiliary cords and headphones while they let music distract them from their worries. They donít need a weekend with the Corleones. They just need timeÖ  and three days is what they are allowed before that van full of family members shows up at their door ready to take them for a little ride. Take it from me and from Luca Brasi, a ride with family who disagree with your actions is never a good ride. As long as you are up by day four, youíll never have to worry about such. 
    So, take your three days, mend what is broken, accept that healing may take some time, and set your sights forward. On day four, wake with a smile. Thank God for all that is good and take that first step towards happiness. It truly makes all the difference.