A Modest Rant

Okay, it's happened again.

Perhaps it is the demographics in the town where we live, I'm not sure...but whatever it is, it's simply GOT to stop!

There we were sitting in a nice family restaurant on a Friday night, enjoying a pleasant meal. Yes, for once, even Judah was cooperating. About 2/3 of the way through our meal, I glance up and see my husband looking over my shoulder, aghast. He was facing the entrance into the dining area, but suddenly averted his eyes, lowered his head, and whispered furiously across the table at me, "Oh!...you've got to see this...turn around, 9 o'clock." he said, nodding in a series of short little 'hurry up' kinds of nods. His tone was one of complete disgust.

I casually turned around to glance over my shoulder (well, as casually as a person can when turning completely around to stare, LOL), and my eyes widen. I quickly turn back. I, too, am utterly and completely horrified, and want to reach and cover my older sons eyes. Oh, good grief, lady...have you no decency? Thankfully our son was completely oblivious, far enough out of my husband's line of vision that he couldn't see.

A party of four was just being seated nearby the booth where we sat. Two cowboy looking dudes with big belt buckles, minus the hats, and their dates, which happened to be two very big girls that appeared to be sisters. Possibly even twins. The women had attractive faces, and perfectly styled hair done up as they probably had since their heyday...true Eighties Ladies. One of the gals was dressed rather stylishly for a big girl, in expensive designer clothing cut for the bigger woman, complete with Mary Kay makeup and Cookie Lee jewelry. The other gal matched her almost entirely, except for the piece of clothing that could very loosely be referred to as a blouse.

Now before you get all offended, you should know that I fall in the 'big girl' category myself, but I'm not a big hair kind of gal. Anymore. (I did go through a very brief phase during the 80's where I had the big claw bangs, sprayed to perfection with a half a bottle of L'oreal super-hold hairspray in the Mondrian bottle. But having grown up in the miserable and notorious Western Washington rains, it usually ended up falling flat, and had to be brushed out and quickly restyled in the bathroom before school with my butane curling iron, and second time attempts after the rain never quite achieved the previous height. Thankfully that phase was shortlived, and I've never returned to it.) No offense is intended towards these women, I assure you. I'm just stating the facts here, folks, trying my durndest to give you a good mental image while still keeping my blog "G" rated.

Being a self-professed FrumpMama, I'd be first to admit I'm no authority on fashion. This isn't to say I've given up completely on my appearance, because I haven't. My clothes are wash-and-go, but I never leave the house without clean hair, teeth brushed, makeup on, and if I'm going somewhere special, a couple of spritzes of perfume. Every FrumpMama knows that the second you slip into forgetting good grooming, and go to the grocery store without makeup, you will bump into every person you know! That and the fact that you lose ground, slipping from Frump to Dowdy, skirting dangerously close to becoming one of the throngs of people that don't give a hoot about their appearance and just completely let themselves go.

As I have mentioned before, most days I schlep around in oversized, brightly colored t-shirts, jeans and flip-flops because they are practical. I'm a busy stay-at-home-mom that doesn't have time to worry over things like dry clean only designer fashions. If I can't get toddler stains off of my clothing with Dawn dish detergent (for greasy ones) or Shout out the rest, and if it can't be tossed in the dryer on accident and survive unscathed..it doesn't meet my criteria for purchasing it to begin with.

I buy nearly everything I wear at WalMart or Target, and I purchased my last pair of dress shoes at Big 5 Sporting Goods. Yes, you read that right. Dress shoes. Big 5. They were sensible slip on flats with black leather uppers and good arch support, on sale for $20. What can I say, I have a toddler and often have to dash after him, and so my motto is to always be ready to run (not away, just after my son.) Jimmy Choos, while stylish, would be ridiculously impractical for my lifestyle, and if it's not totally and completely practical, I don't own it.

Even things like sunglasses don't bear designer labels. Why? Because my toddler broke three pairs of my sunglasses over the summer, and I'm glad to say that all I was out was $12. Total. Two pairs were from dollar stores, and one was an overpriced pair I got on sale at Tar-che' while on vacation, only because I didn't know where the nearest dollar store was, and pair #2 had just been stepped on.

That said, I wear oversized t-shirts, mostly for modesty sake, and because I believe that women of my size and stature should just keep their stuff covered up. I'm a big girl, but I'm nowhere near as big as some of the teenagers and women in our area that I see with love handles spilling out of low-rise jeans, or a midriff bearing top that reveals a c-section scar and/or a spare tire just hanging out there uncovered for everyone to see.

Really, everyone should at least take a look in a full length mirror and make sure that nothing is visible that would cause hormonal pubescents to giggle or stare, or cause grannies to gasp. It's called decency. Modesty. And sadly, our nation is lacking it in all levels of society, thanks to Hollywood. And these things are especially noticeable in those that are, um, big. Major fashion faux pas, people!

And as a self-proclaimed fashion police...I'm zero tolerance when it comes to crack. Any kind of crack, anywhere. And I don't care how confident you are or how sculpted you think your body is, ain't nobody wants to see spandex anything outside of a gym, yo! And that goes for men and women alike!

What was so appalling, was that the gal I'm referring to was a big gal. And had very large...bosoms. Buzumbas. And the strained piece of fabric she probably thought was a blouse was nothing short of obscene, leaving nothing at all to the imagination. BMI-Bad mental imagery. TMI-Too much information. Nobody wants to see that much of a stranger, trust me. I was embarrassed for her.

As my husband mentioned when we got out of the restaurant, it wasn't in a "Whoa, she's hot" kind of eye magnetism, but more a drop-your-jaw-in-utter-shock and gape for a moment before uttering "Oh, good heavens, what was she thinking?!" kind of eye magnetism. One of those things you couldn't help taking a double-take at because it was just so hideous.

One family within sight of said party was so offended, they actually got up and shuffled their boys past while covering their eyes, and demanded a new seat. Around the other side of a wall. And with good reason!

This gal was sitting there with a look on her face that told you she thought she was hot-stuff, making eyes at her man, who apparently thought she looked good, too. If her husband (at least that's what I'm assuming he was, given the rings) thinks she's sexy, that's great for them...but could you please confine it to the privacy of your own home, and not go trotting it out in the public arena where there are people eating? Nobody else wants to see your sexy, lady! For gosh sakes, go put it back where it came from! At the very least adjust your 'blouse!' Ask for a bib! Don't just sit there, do something!

To say the neckline was plunging would be an understatement. It looked as though her scoop neckline had gotten hung up on the doorjamb of her car when she attempted to get out, stretched out as far as it could go, then stayed there. Did I mention this woman was...well endowed? I'm being kind here, when I say that her cleavage resembled what you might inadvertently see when the heavy-set plumber was bent over working under your kitchen sink (and recoil in horror), except that somewhere along the line, she'd apparently been in the sun, because the top half of said cleavage was well-tanned, but the bottom portion was fish-belly white, which made it all the more riveting to behold.

Her, um, 'over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder' wasn't quite holding in 'the girls', if you know what I mean, and that's just giving her the benefit of the doubt that she was even wearing one! Nearly every portion of her bosom was hanging out in full view of that great cloud of witnesses, and it appeared that she was either completely oblivious to it, or had intended it to be that way. Judging by the completely disinterested expressions on the faces of the rest of her party, they were apparently used to this manner of dress by that member of their party. The woman herself no doubt thought she was dressing to please her man...but, to put it lightly, she hadn't dressed enough!

Remember the old Aesop's fable about the council of mice that got together and decided that they needed to put a bell around the cat's neck, but they had to find someone brave enough to do it? Well that was the waitstaff at said restaurant. Nobody was quite sure how to handle it, or what to do about it. The manager stood by fretting, sort of wringing her hands. In the end, they decided to just let them be. Come to think of it, I didn't notice a "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service" sticker on the window there, but my guess is that they might just get one after this little incident.

The waitresses were all scurrying around, gaping from their stations across the restaurant, and there was much whispering behind leather tab folders, as they gossipped about the audacity of the woman at table 23.

Did this woman wish for everyone in the place to be discussing her in such a way? Did she even care?

Other customers around the place paused mid-bite to stare.

The cooks, dishwashers and even the busboys were called out to witness the spectacle. Many of which were young men...none of which were impressed. Most of them faked coughs to cover their sudden amused laughter, as they doubled over and turned around, retreating immediately from the scene. Everyone who looked upon her was flabbergasted.

Suddenly, the two women from the afroementioned party got up to go to the restroom together. Because, you know, that's what women do. Except that these women had to do a fair amount of shuffling and side-stepping to get around their table before finally gaining the main aisle. Every head in the place was following their progress, this wardrobe malfunction-in-progress, the restaurant oddly quiet, except for the Shania Twain song, "I feel like a woman" piped in through the speakers. As soon as they entered the hallway leading to the restrooms, the place erupted into a frenzy of whispers and horrified, hand-over-mouth "Oh my word" kind of chuckles and gestures.

I'd have been mortified. The man she was there making eyes with, saw all this going on, and just smiled, as though he thought it was just par for the course, everyone thinking his woman was hot. Which she was not...at least not to everyone else in the place.

They returned a short while later, and once again, the restaurant again fell strangely quiet. People just couldn't help but to gawk.

My husband and I have an inside joke for moments like that where you just can't help but to stare. We got it from the animated movie A Bugs Life, where there is this obscure yet brilliant little scene were a flying bug, I think it was a mosquito, is heading straight for the light of a bug zapper saying in a warbly, singsong voice, "I can't help it...it's so beautiful" and then you hear the telltale, "Ztzzztzzzap!"

And that was pretty much what people throughout that restaurant were doing, gaping aghast. Except that it wasn't beautiful, but appalling.

In the name of all that's pure and holy, lady...cover thyself up!

Oh, and by again? I meant that I saw someone who I think must have been her mother or another sister in the grocery store checkout line a couple weeks ago. Wearing stretch pants so tight that the seam over the stomach made her belly look the same on the front as she did on the back.

I looked over just in time to see some little children that had noticed the same thing gawking at that spectacle and giggling behind their hands.

Please, people, this epidemic has got to stop! Some things are just meant to be covered up!

My Cheesy Ant Rant (with Haiku)

I realize that I am typing this post at the risk of the entire blogosphere thinking my housekeeping must leave something to be desired, considering I've already done a posting about the cricket in my kitchen, LOL. I'll just mention here that I live with two boys and a husband, and leave it at that. Nevertheless, the blog-topic cupboard was also rather bare today, and seeing as I seem to be waging an ongoing war with ants, the following is my cheesy Ant Rant (yes, again with the haiku...because nothing quite expresses anything like a good haiku!).
But nobody is forcing you to read this, so if you so desire, you may stop here. Or here. Or here or here or here. Do not read any further if you already feel a yawn coming on! Nobody is forcing you to read the following, mindless drivel.

Bugs make me shudder.
Especially many ants
crawling through my house!

I have suffered from a plague all summer long. Armies of sugar ants marching around the perimeter of my kitchen to hang out under the kitchen sink in the garbage can. The same garbage can that gets emptied more than once a day, I might add.

Why in my kitchen? Under my sink?

I just don't get it! There is a virtual ant smorgasbord outside in the big garbage can where we take all the trashbags, yet they still prefer swarming inside and to the kitchen garbage for the one crust of an egg salad sandwich that was put in it after the trash was taken out earlier! And they never come alone. Nope, these babies come in droves.

Why, exactly, are they called sugar ants? They certainly aren't sweet. Well, maybe they are, but I've never tasted them to know for sure. I always just assumed they were after sweet stuff, hence the name. But at the end of August when I made a wedding cake, I had powdered sugar all over the kitchen...but were they interested in all that sugar? Not in the least. They've also been known to bypass all sorts of sweet morsels that Judah has thrown from his high chair. What is it that they are after?

I simply must know
Why not sugar, sugar ant?
What did you come for?

And where do they go? Straight for the kitchen garbage can every time!

Once, they came for the handful of potato chip crumbs they found inside that garbage can. And then there was a separate band of ants headed the opposite direction from whence they came, returning victors, bringing back the spoils to their colony, which I believe is nestled down below the concrete of my back patio, accessed via the beauty bark covered soil of the flowerbed.

You hide so secure
don't you, tiny little ants?
Soon, I will get you!

When I first saw their little ant army, marching as to war through my kitchen...I pulled out the Windex...because you know, Windex is good for everything. I sprayed them until they were surrounded by liquid, then looked away so I wouldn't have to watch them perish. It was like a minature natural disaster, puddles of blue windex filled with ant carnage.

Just when I was sure they had to be dead, I saw brave warrior ants, wading into the puddles and removing their dead and gravely wounded, carrying them back to the colony. I will give them that much...they are meticulous.

Tiny medic ants
take fallen comrades home. No
soldier left behind

A couple of days ago, I cooked plain chicken breasts in the crock pot. When they were done, I took them out and put them into a covered dish which I put in the fridge. I poured out the water in the crock, leaving it in the sink to cool, then spent a few minutes reorganizing my refrigerator and emptying out the dishwasher. When I turned around to fill the dishwasher, the inside of the white crock in the sink was covered with ants. Undulating might be a better word, tiny black speckles moving all over the surface, my granite countertops having provided perfect camoflauge for their covert operations.

And it's not just me having this problem. Several ladies at church were recently bemoaning the fact that the only product that had worked to kill them is no longer sold to the general public. Now you have to hire a pest control outfit to come in and spray excessive quantities around your house if you're to ever be rid of them.

Ahhh, Chemicals. If there is anything I dislike almost as much as the bugs...it's the harsh chemicals they have to use to kill them being poured into the environment in large quantitites. Aside from the pollution, I have extrememly sensitive skin, and I have athsma, and it doesn't take much to make me miserable. Contact dermatitis is commonplace.

Needless to say, I don't do well with chemicals. Or fumes. But I have yet to find a successful 'green' method of ridding myself of the ant problem. The Tabasco/cinnamon/garlic spray that I read that was supposed to get rid of them? I think that may be what drew them back to begin with. Well, now that I think about it, it might have been the honey nut cheerios Judah had spilled nearby. Nevertheless, I sprayed the Tabasco mixture near where I very first saw them coming in. But I'm pretty sure those scouts went back and told all their comrades, "There are giants in the land, but the place is flowing with milk and honey!" And thus began the ant stampede.

We probably have a worse than usual problem because our entire backyard is a concrete patio (except for the flowerbed around the perimeter where the dog, Raisin, does her business). It wasn't my favorite feature, but the house came that way, and it looked nice when we first saw it. We've grown to appreciate that the concrete is easy to maintain, nice for entertaining, and keeps Raisin's nails filed short so I don't have to do the horrible task of clipping them. *cringes* But I do miss having grass. In our old house, it seemed to act as a natural barrier to ants. Here, the concrete acts as a perfect place for them to come up for food and then retreat to their secluded little colony hidden down below where we can't get at them. An ant autobahn, getting them to and from our kitchen more quickly.

Did you know that there is even a scripture in the book of Proverbs about ants? "Go to the ant you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest."

Which is precisely what they are doing in my kitchen. Storing up their provisions. Gathering their food at harvest. Grrrr.

Personally I think those ants feel vindicated, having their very own Scripture in the Bible. And now I'm not so sure those are potato chips they are carrying when they leave the kitchen. I think if a person were to get down there with a magnifying glass, they'd see they were tiny little picket signs reading, "Proverbs 6:6-8" and others, "Go to the ant you sluggard!", "Consider our ways and be wise!" and "Read about us in the Bible!"

Smug little creatures. I'm about ready to cave in and call Orkin.

Talking to the Dog

Please Excuse Me While I ReBoot My Day

Ever have one of those days where you rise early, fully intending to to have a Lucy Lawless/Xena Warrior Princess kind of day, kicking some serious boo-tay on things that you needed done, um, yesterday...but you're not even up half an hour before things have deteriorated, and at best you might make Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniel's in Dumb and Dumber?

Here's a little rundown of my morning. Okay, maybe back that train up to last night just before bed when our older son Jericho told me me, "Oh yeah, mom, tomorrow is picture day." That's a little like your husband calling you just before coming home from work, when the house is a mess and dinner hasn't even been thought of with, "Oh, by the way, I invited so and so over for dinner tonight." (Not that mine has ever done this, I'm just sayin'). Niiiice. Thanks for the advance notice and everything!

Aiming for unflappable and roll-with-the-punches, I took one look at Jericho's hair, which naturally was in need of a haircut, and just shrugged. "I'll get you up a little earlier than usual in the morning and we'll see what we can do."

I should have known things would take a downturn when Jeff woke me from a dead sleep this morning at his earlier wake time and said, "I really need you to run an errand for me today...".
I was so tired and uncomprehending at that hour of the morning, that I said, "Just leave me a note." He did, then left.

Unfortunately, he got no further than the driveway, because when he went to get into the car, he found that it wouldn't start. Apparently something to do with the battery. Again. Which meant that the light that had been flashing at odd intervals, sometimes fading out, sometimes staying on...was for real and not a case of old Honda electrical system 'gremlins' like the problems with the radio had been.

Coming in and out of the house to get into the garage for tools woke our toddler way earlier than need be. Which woke me up again, because Judah is a daddy's boy, and cries and carries on no end whenever he is awake before Jeff leaves and knows his daddy is leaving for work without him. Which meant I was up a half hour earlier than need be.

So, I went ahead and just got the kids up, figuring perhaps we could use the extra time to get ready for what was sure to be a crazy-busy morning.

After cleaning corrosion or something from the battery terminals, Jeff was able to get the car started and get to the District Office in time for the meeting he had this morning. Where the car promptly died. (Yes, Brenda, if you're reading this from work, that little red car with the dancing hula girl on the dash down below your office window? That's ours.)

The note had said, "Please buy 10 Science Display boards and a box of 1 x 2 5/8 labels and bring to the D.O. and leave in my car by 10:30."

Except that in the middle of my usual morning chaos, I get a couple of text messages from Jeff during his meeting. The first one said: "Car died." The second one: Plz deliver everything to my school, to [the teacher/coach that would be making all the signs for the cross-country meet during her prep hour]. Which was even further across town. And it had to be there by 10:30 am.

No pressure or anything, just the entire League's cross-country Meet participants being able to find their events...and all of it hinging upon whether or not FrumpMama can deliver!

But Murphy's Law dictates that everything that can go wrong, will, and in direct proportion to how much pressure you have upon you.

First thing we discover was that Jericho doesn't have the form for school pictures anywhere in his bookbag. That form I need in order to know how much to write the check for, and then to put the check in. He looked twice, then I looked. Nada.

Which meant that I'd need to leave at least 20 minutes earlier if we're to get a parking place in the postage stamp-sized lot at the school, so I could get into the office to get a new envelope, write the check and still get Jericho to class on time.

As it happened, the line snaking it's way onto campus was longer than usual, and Jericho had to be let out so he wouldn't be tardy. Naturally, just as soon as we get a parking space, Judah's diaper needs to be changed. So I get out the diaper bag, get everything ready to go...and no wipes. Arrrgggh! Could my day get any worse?

Making do with fast food napkins (which means that he still reeks, which is totally embarassing, but it was that or he would be miserable, which would have added whining to the mix, and by this time I had only one nerve left), I go inside, fill out the form and hoof it across campus with Judah on my hip. Of course, the stroller was in Jeff's car. What a helpful little contraption, that. When it's in the same vehicle as the car seat!

We dash back to the car, then to Staples, and get the supplies, and rush across town to deliver the goods, first stopping off at the D.O. to get the stroller from the car, because how else is a mom supposed to handle a toddler, a stack of heavy science display boards, a box of labels, and my purse? Of course, it's as I'm starting up the truck again after getting the stroller, that I glance down and notice the gas gauge on E. But of course!

Oh, and because I was a little bit warm from the exertion of my marathon morning, I rolled down the window. Just as a dump truck goes by and belches out a big cloud of pollution. Can we say Athsma attack? But, as it happened, we screeched into the school parking lot just under the wire, and delivered the goods.

I'm ready for a morning nap along with Judah by this time. He is whining because he saw a fast food logo on a sign, and suddenly realized he was very thirsty (no doubt because he'd had salty, leftover pizza for breakfast). "Dring? Mama...Dring! I wanna drrrrrriiiiinnnng!"

When I finally have two minutes to breathe after the frazzled fiasco that was my morning, we're sitting there sipping our O.J. and I'm wondering how things ended up so hectic when I'd been up even earlier than usual.

And wouldn't you know, the scripture from Psalm 118:24 pops into my head, "This is the day that the Lord hath made...let us rejoice and be glad in it."

And suddenly I remembered that I forgot to pray.

*sigh*

Please excuse me while I reboot my day.

A Fabulous Card (even if I do say so myself)

Okay, so this is a bit over-the-top even for me, but I've spent a loooong time working on this card, and had to show it off somewhere. Using the loosely quoted remark from one of my most-watched movies ever, Napoleon Dynamite, "It's pretty much my best card ever." (LOL, what you can't see is that it's 2:19 in the afternoon, and I'm still in my P.J.'s.! Talk about stuck in Frump!) It's a multi-page, pop-up extravaganza of a card.

My second youngest sister Johanna and her husband Nick are the bride and groom in the last photo. They were married this past June during a short interval between two of his overseas TDY's. Nick is a military man, currently stationed overseas, and Johanna has just completed her 2nd grueling week of basic training. To become part of a Military Band. Yes, even those who will play piano and sing for U.S.O. and troop morale concerts must go through training to become soldiers.

While she's gone, her girls are staying with a good friend near their home, with my mom and another sister Jami, coming to spell their babysitter periodically. It's been difficult on them all, being all spread out all over the place, and they are all extremely homesick. As if that weren't enough, the girls will both have birthdays while mommy and Nick are gone.

Needless to say, the girls were in need of a good pick-me-up. Hence the elaborate card.

I'm so proud of my sister. She's made a lot of sacrifices to get to where she is today. Basic Training is not easy, but she's working very hard at pursuing a dream of hers that until just a couple of years ago she thought had all but died. God has blessed her faithfulness, both with a wonderfully supportive husband that adores her and her girls, and the ability to finally pick up and dust off her dreams, including that of singing on stage. I'm really excited to see where this venture takes her.

Keep on Keepin' on, G.I. Johanna, and you'll soon pass with flying colors! You're in our prayers!

Creative Uses for Children's Toys

Our younger son Judah loves safari animals. Zebras were a favorite for a while, and we seem to have an abundance of them around the house for some reason, from stuffed animal versions on down to those tiny little figurines that really hurt when you step on them in bare feet.

"What this, mama?" he asked me today, holding up a soft, plush Zebra.

"That's a zebra," I said, enunciating as carefully as I could to encourage him to pronounce it properly.

"NO!" he said, shaking his head. " 'Orsey."

"No, it's a zebra. Can you say zebra?"

He frowned, and said insistently, " 'Orsey."

He's determined that zebras are horses, because in his mind, if it's the shape of a horse, it's got to be a horse...of course.

At a recent family gathering, he glommed onto a young cousins two elephant toys (in a restuarant) and it kept him quiet the entire time (in the restaurant!). Actually, when it was time to give the toys back, he caused quite a scene because he really liked those elephants (which I thought was especially sweet, because it was a mommy/baby set), and was sad to have to part with them.

We were sad to see those toys go, too, thankful for anything that would cause enough of a diversion that we could actually enjoy an evening out. In public. With our toddler.

Afterwards, we searched high and low through toy stores trying to find that same toy set, but to no avail. So for his birthday, our friends went in search of elephant toys for him, and found two really cool specimens that even made sounds.

Now normally Judah loves toys that make sounds, but when big brother oh-so-helpfully demonstrated how they worked, Judah took one look at those things, and backed away, totally freaked out. Ever since Sunday, he has skirted around those elephants warily, and skedaddles if someone depresses the buttons to make their elephant sounds.

So today, in the middle of an extensive photo printing project, Judah kept climbing up on my computer tower to sit (on what he assumes is his booster seat) at my computer desk to play cars. The other side of the desk was wide open for this, mind you, but he likes sitting on that particular side. Normally I wouldn't worry, but today I was worried for several reasons, the main one being that I was using scissors there, and any mom knows you just don't leave scissors within a toddlers reach. Especially around electrical cords!

But after the third time of scolding him for opening my printer to put his cars inside (while it was printing!), I happenned to glance up and see one of the new elephants up on the top of the nearby armoire. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I once again removed Judah from his perch on my computer tower, and placed the elephant there, pressed the ear so it would make it's sound. Judah scrambled to get away, and has not climbed back up since.

Here is a picture of our very scary guard elephant.



We've decided that one's a keeper.

:: ::

On a side note, our friends included the gift receipt 'just in case', and so we went ahead and took the other elephant back tonight. We wandered through Toy'sRUs for a while, trying to determine what Judah wanted.

Which was hopeless, because that place is a major sensory overload for any kid, especially a high-energy toddler like Judah. It's like IKEA for kids. Waaaaay too many things to choose from. Judah tried one toy, then ran to try out the one beside that. And the next one. And the next. All the way through the store.

Even when I did find the very toy elephants that his cousin had (which a stocker was just putting on the shelves tonight after a recent store expansion) Judah took one look at the elephants, and backed warily away.

I'm afraid we've ruined him for elephants.

Meanwhile, big brother carted around a Buzz Lightyear toy strapped inside a box which kept it standing upright. He kept placing it in front of Judah in the aisle whenever we'd stop, hoping beyond hope that Judah would choose that toy. Because, you know, every young boy must have a Buzz Lightyear. And must love it as much as Jericho loved his. Judah did not take the bait.

Neither did we.

Here is a recent picture Jericho drew and posted on our refrigerator.


We are so onto him.

What in the world happened here?

My husband went to get into the truck for work this morning, only to find a HUGE mess all over the cab. Crumbs and sesame seeds all over the seat, floor and dash, a fast food bag torn to shreds, the paper contents unwadded and strewn all over the place, and a discarded bottom bun with ketchup and a pickle stuck to it face down on the drivers side seat. Right where he would need to sit.

Knowing this was far worse than the usual mess left behind in one of our cars, he wondered how and what had gotten inside. One glance to the driver's side window found it halfway down. He growled his annoyance at my neglect, my having driven that vehicle last, hastily cleaned everything up, and went to work.

When he got home this afternoon, he was still annoyed about the mess and arriving to work later than he intended, and came in the door set to tell me all about it.

Only to find me in the throes of a previously scheduled breakdown. Bawling my eyes out. I was just getting to where I thought I might need to skip Bible Study tonight because my eyes would be too red and splotchy when Jeff walked in the door with this odd look on his face.

"You've got to come and see what happened to the truck cab this morning!" he rushed to tell me. "Some...some...critter got inside the car last night because you left the window open, and tore the car apart!"

"What?" I asked, not sure I'd heard correctly.

"Yeah...completely torn apart!"

I'm thinking I was going to see foam bits sticking out from between shredded upholstery the way he was talking, and followed him out to see what was left after the carnage.

Prints on the driver's side window.

Small, what...cat prints?

That was what we thought it was at first glance, but they seemed a bit narrow for a cat. They looked more like something we remembered seeing on our last camping trip.

Does anyone know if Raccoons are capable of jumping 4 feet off the ground to get into an open window? Or are they known to hoist each other up the side of a vehicle to get inside? Because these muddy prints (probably made sometime after our sprinklers went off around Eleven last night) showed definite signs of a struggle getting in and out, with much slipping and sliding, and grabbing onto the top edge of the window, but they didn't look cat-like, and nowhere was there a single cat paw print as evidence.

It struck me as so random and odd, that I just stood there laughing like a crazy woman, picturing a bunch of raccoons hoisting themselves up on shoulders until the topmost one reached up and then scrambled his way through the window, casting aside the bun like yesterday's news and rifling through everything, unwadding wrappers, eating Judah's leftover cheeseburger patty and part of my burrito from yesterday's lunch, not even bothering to let his buddies in on the loot.

Well, that explained that hamburger bun I saw lying in the beauty bark in our front yard when I went to put Judah into his car seat this morning! I puzzled over that one no end, wondering what sort of person would drive by and just throw a bun out their window and into someone's yard.

It felt so good to laugh, after having been only moments before crying my eyes out. So good, in fact, that I went ahead and went to Bible Study. And found it to be exactly what I needed to hear to set everything I'd been crying about before back to rights.

Laughter truly is the best medicine.

:: ::

***Maniac Laugh Alert***
The video clip is up for Jericho's First Day of School Surprise (Sept. 6th posting) if anyone is interested. And please try and ignore my hideous laughter. If I knew how to edit that out, I would!

My Baby Is Two Today

Hard to believe our little guy is already two.

In the same way I mourned our dog leaving her puppiness behind, I'm just not ready for Judah to be a toddler yet.

Okay, so maybe I am ready for him to finally get past the diapers. And to grow out of his restaurant booth gymnastics. But some of what he's doing now is so darling, I just wish I could freeze time.

A couple of days ago, when Judah saw a picture of a birthday cake, he said out of the blue, "Ap-Bir-Day!" *looks adoringly at son* It was just so darn cute! I didn't think he'd remember what they were since the last party we went to, but he did, and just in time for his own birthday. Much to my delight, he even said it on cue! But of course, pull out the video camera to get footage, and he just stares blankly at it and won't say a word.

We had a houseful of guests over after church yesterday to celebrate with us. It was a lot of fun. Judah was thrilled with his new stuff. As was big brother. And, to be honest, so was dad.



I suppose every dad revisits a little of their own childhood when their son starts playing with the kinds of toys he remembered and enjoyed as a child.

For me, their toys hold little interest for me. Especially when I find matchbox cars inside my computer printer, or some soft plastic figurine melted to the inside of the dryer. Or when an electronic toy became a bath toy without my knowing about it, and the electronics began short-circuiting and making odd sounds from the toybox in the middle of the night a week later, waking me from a dead sleep at 2 am, my heart pounding.

Now I've got mad love for my boys, and would never trade them for the world, but I was just certain both times I was pregnant that I was going to have girls. Someone to teach how to french-braid hair, paint fingernails, sew doll clothes, decorate cakes and do other 'girly' things with down through the years. Like proms. And weddings.

Instead, God gave me boys. Who want to do boyish things like pick up bugs and examine them. And stop to check out the contents of every spider web. Or to put a black widow and praying mantis in a jar and see which one wins. And I'm forced to hold my squeamishness in, because daddy wants them to be good solid, brave boys, not scared of bugs and other creepy-crawlies. *shudders*

Frogs I was okay with. Even buying crickets for and feeding them to our frogs I could handle. But I draw the line at reptiles and rodents in the house. Even in cages. Because I've known of far too many people who had them escape into their homes, not to be found for days. Or ever.

So, as a mother of two sons, I have been forced to use my girlish skills to come up with suitable boyish alternatives. Like getting a set of barber clippers to cut hair with instead of braiding hair. Instead of sewing doll clothes, I am now begged to sew Jedi costumes from tee-shirts, and make costumes for school plays. Instead of the elaborate distinctly feminine cakes I always longed to do, I've done Star Wars and Pirate cakes.

Unfortunately, the inspiration simply did not strike for me this year. Even as I was frosting the two different sized layer cakes the night before Judah's party, I still didn't have any idea as to what sort of a theme to go with for the cake. However, upon looking through my cake decorating tackle box, I did have some yellow food color paste and a tube of black decorating gel, so having made two round layer cakes, one smaller than the other, I thought I'd just make the top one into a smiley face. Easy enough.

Until I went to draw the eyes and mouth on, and found that the decorator gel was too thin and drippy. Grrr. I gave up and went to bed. Call me crazy, but the frumpmama in me decided that fabulous just wasn't worth a trip to the grocery store at midnight for a new tube.

In the rush of Sunday morning, I didn't give it another thought, and it wasn't until about five minutes to the time of the party starting that I remembered I wasn't finished with the cake. With some last minute improvisation, this was what I came up with.



:: ::

Today I took Judah in for his scheduled 2 year wellness checkup. We had to wait over an hour to be seen, but thankfully our doctor had the foresight to install giant flatscreen TV's on the walls in the waiting room to play movies for the kiddos. Judah did a great job, cooperating with the doctor, and even laughing and giggling. His doctor is such a kind man, it's no wonder his office is always packed. He has such a good way with kids (and parents), that I walk out of there feeling like the best mom in the world.

During that long wait, I heard this kid around the corner near the play area whining and carrying on. Now, because my own son is usually a beast in public, I am pretty tolerant of such things. But this kid just wouldn't stop. For the entire hour we were all waiting to be seen. I kept thinking, somewhat annoyed, "Why don't those parents say anything to their kid?"

But when they were finally called to go in, I realized that the poor little kid that had been whining had a horrible skin condition that caused him to itch constantly. Fiercely. He had scratch marks and scarring all over his exposed skin, and was even itching through his clothing. It wasn't contagious, or I'm sure the rest of his family would have had it, but the poor little guy was miserable. Then I saw his little sister, who was about 2 or 3 and bald. As though she'd recently been through cancer treatments. I wondered if it was some congenital condition that was treated with chemo. My heart just broke for them.

I felt so convicted that I would sit there getting so annoyed with people, not having any idea what life in their shoes must be like. I was compelled to pray for that family as I watched them go into the office. Aside from his constant itchiness, the little boy was very friendly when distracted, like when the nurse was talking to him. He couldn't help that he was suffering from a chronic, miserable skin condition. The things I consider 'trials' with my kids pale in comparison to what that family must go through daily.

"Gag" Photos

Sadly, I do mean literally.

I'm well aware that this is, um, odd. And to most, probably not very blogworthy.

Allow me to explain.

My husband has a booming voice, and recently landed a gig through the school district where he teaches to announce for home football games at one of the two local high schools.

Jeff used to play high school and college ball, and coached for a few years when we were first married, and has really been missing being involved in the sport, especially this time of year, when certain sounds and the scent of fresh cut grass sweep him right back to those nostalgic days spent sweating to death in his practice uniform under the hot sun during grueling football practices.

When he first heard about this job, he figured it was the perfect answer to his getting back into the sport in some capacity, without the demands of needing to be at every practice as with coaching. A win-win situation.

Last night was the first of the home games, and we went out as a family to support him. Jeff did a terrific job announcing, and as such games go, this one really delivered. They won in the last 30 seconds of the game. The crowd went wild!

And what a crowd it was! The people watching at this particular high school was second to only one other public event I can think of...the Monster Truck Rally at the County Fairgrounds which we went to with some friends a few years back while Jericho was going through his monster truck phase. I'm pretty sure a few of America's Most Wanted were in that crowd that day. Along with a lecherous old geezer nearby that was wearing a shirt which read, "Don't deny it, you know you want me". But that is a story for another day.

This football game was a blast. The atmosphere was festive, the marching band, ROTC and cheerleading squad were in fine form, and the kids were alive with school spirit.

The big plus for me was that there was enough action going on all around to keep even our rambunctious little Judah from acting up like he does in restaurants, particularly when the giant balloon arches in school colors broke free of their moorings and went snaking off into the sky. I think that was the highlight of the evening for him. He was also leery enough of the school mascot that he hugged up real close to me whenever it came around--which worked better than anything to date to keep that boy in line! In fact, he sat very nicely during the entire evening, not venturing more than about three steps from me!

All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable family outing.

During halftime, because we couldn't go interrupt Jeff in the press box, I thought I'd try and document the evening for the family scrapbooks, and at the same time try and get a good current picture of the boys for Jeff's desk at school.

I tried in vain to get a good 'brothers' picture. Always, when one boy was looking at the camera, the other one was not. Or Judah was too antsy to sit still for such frivolous things (or maybe it was that I had gone a tad bit overboard documenting the event) when there was so much excitment.

After several separate attempts throughout the night, I was unable to get the picture I was looking for. Just about the time that it appeared that Judah would finally cooperate, Jericho started acting up.

Now I totally did not expect this from my eleven year old. Normally, Jericho is very cooperative and even helpful, and we'd even allowed him to bring along his Nintendo DS game system so that he'd have something to do if time seemed to drag on for him. Surely, being such great parents, our son could favor me with one really good picture, right?

Wrong. As I'm taking pictures, Jericho thought it would be hysterically funny to do this gagging thing I've scolded him for in the past. He thinks it is the funniest thing in the world to not only appear as though he's gagging, but to make really loud, uncouth accompanying sounds...just as I was about to snap the pictures.

When all was said and done, there were several 'gag' shots in among the bloopers and outtakes. And Judah, taking his cue from big brother, eventually joined in by making raspberries at my camera lens.

*sigh* While some folks will have beautiful scrapbooks with darling, perfect pictures of their children in them, it appears mine are destined to be filled with all their goofy faces, photographic evidence exhibits A-D of their various 'incidents' (Judah's recent 'tattoo' incident, for instance), as well as the few memorable things I manage to write on the calendar for posterity. Like how Judah has recently mastered gargling.

I said to Jericho after taking one of the 'gag' photos and showing it to him on the little digital screen, "Is this what you want me to put in the scrapbooks or on my blog?"

His face lit up, "Yeah!"

Silly me. Here I was thinking it would be some sort of punishment. I suppose I shouldn't have phrased that one rhetorically.

Boys!

Blogging and Catch-and-Release Fishing

Blogging is sort of like catch-and-release fishing.

You bait the hook, toss it in the water and wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

You can drop the baited line in the water, but you can't force the fish to bite. Even if you're out where the fish are, you will wait.

Even when all you really want in return is just to see a few comments on each of your postings, so you don't look like the worst fisherwoman, er, blogger of all time. Some nibbles on the proverbial line so I'll have some great 'fish stories' to tell.

Is this lack of bites on the line because the fish are full? Or because they are simply bored with the bait? Because I've been told there are lots of fish out there who enjoy the bait. Nibbling the bait from the hook, but otherwise leaving no sign they were there.

Or perhaps it's because some of the fish have not yet subscribed to Google to get their free account so they can leave comments. (If I could figure out how to do this, anyone can!)

You know who you are, lurking about in virtual waters.

And there the comparison ends, because I'm pretty sure a fish wouldn't come near the bait if they knew they were going to be caught. Even if they knew they would quickly be released. Who wants a hook yanked out of their mouth, after all?

Okay, so maybe this FrumpMama needs to get out more. How sad that I'm virtually begging for comments on my virtual blog.

Maybe it's just the late hour.

Maybe I'm just a few bulbs shy of a full box.

Just a few crumbs from your tables, folks. Is that so much to ask? ;0)

Eating out with a Toddler

I love my boys, and would do anything for them. It's my job. And I'm very thankful that I get to stay home with them.

But sometimes a mom just needs a break.

Yesterday I spent the entire day working on jobs around our house that needed doing before we have company this weekend, many of which were above and beyond "normal" cleaning routines. Mind you, 95% of these jobs were necessary because of Judah, the evidence of which reached to the point where he could touch if standing on tiptoe with arms extended. Sort of like high-tide markers.

From the Ovaltine dribbles on the kitchen floor (I thought those sippy-cups were leak-proof!) which blend in until you see it in just the right lighting, to the spots on the carpeting. Lots and lots of spots on the carpeting. And hand prints on the walls, kitchen cabinets and the fridge. Also the oven door. Tiny fingerprints on every conceivable surface, including couch cushions. Things that a FrumpMama doesn't always notice until looking over her home with the critical eyes of one that is due for a house full of company for Judah's 2nd Birthday Party come Sunday.

Sadly, I had fallen behind. My lack of vigilance and attention to such details were beginning to show.

So last night, when my husband got home from work looking for dinner, I informed him we were going out. An idea he's never too crazy about anymore unless it's just he and I, because invariably, Judah will want to sit with him on his side of the booth. Which means that he gets to contend with his antics throughout the entire meal. And believe me, I don't complain!

As soon as Judah was old enough to toddle, we began asking for booths in restaurants instead of tables. We learned early on that Judah screamed and wailed if put into a high chair in restaurants (and Ew, gross...the germs!), and that people began looking askance at the parents of such an annoying child, wishing that they had chosen a different place for their dinner. With a booth we could trap Judah on the inside, where at the very least he couldn't just take off running willy-nilly through the restaurant.

All of our child-rearing efforts at home go out the window the moment we set foot in a restaurant, however. Judah knows he can get by with a whole lot more in public, and tests the limits. Pushes them to the utmost. The crazy thing is, he doesn't scream around the house. Nope, he saves all that up until we're out in public or in restaurants, and then pulls out all the stops, causing us to cringe in embarrassment. And if his screams and wails don't do it, his bad behavior sure will. You'd think he had never been taught a single thing at home!

The problem is that this sort of behavior coming from our child is still relatively new to us, because big brother Jericho was always a compliant, well-behaved child. A first-time parents dream. Not to say that he didn't have his days, too, but even as a toddler, the old folks at church used to shake his hand or pat him on the head, exclaiming over what a good boy he was and then complimenting us on our parenting. No more! While Jericho always sat very obediently and quietly between us during church services as a little tyke, Judah and I spend every Sunday in the nursery. I can't even keep him in the sanctuary during the worship portion of the service anymore, because he doesn't understand "Shhhh"...or if he does, simply flat out refuses to do it.

Jericho was also a model child in restaurants. About 8 or 9 years ago, an older couple at a Red Robin restaurant once went so far as to secretly pay for our meal so impressed were they by our parenting. Apparently their faith in the common decency of the next generation was renewed.

But little brother is built of totally different stuff. Compressed film footage of him in a restaurant would show a blur of activity where he is supposed to be seated. If he's not leaning forward over the table, climbing up the back of the booth with his feet, he's trying to crawl out under the table. Or throwing things. He's either hopping or jumping on the seat, or crawling over the table to be by brother. Or spilling something.

Judah has the energy of two or three average toddlers. I've babysat some pretty rambunctious boys in my time, but this kid supersedes them all. By dinner time, his energy has been pent up from the ride in his carseat to go pick up Jericho from school, and like last night, of having driven in to the restaurant in town, and it just sort of explodes all over the place by way of bad behavior. All the kids I used to look aghast at in Jericho's classes over the years, thankful my son wasn't like that? Well, I've got one of those now.

We beg the waitstaff not to bring him crayons. Not only because he would write on everything in sight, but because those will be airborne in no time at. As it is, we have to do a complete remodel of the tables in a restaurant. Moving everything on the surface waaaay out of his reach, or the sugar packets will fly. He's also been known to slam down glass bottles of picante sauce on tables. Or suck on the communal A-1 bottle top. And crawl halfway over the wall between booths to visit the folks behind or beside us.

In the past month, we've had three really embarrassing restaurant episodes. One involved an empty individual creamer container, which when Judah was done with it, promptly crumpled it up and let it fly. Over the wall into the booth next door. I was mortified, but secretly thankful the wall hid us completely from their view. That was just one stop-off on my big shopping/errand day with him in tow, and was a precursor of things to come that day. I actually had to ask the waitress to apologize for me, as Judah had been so naughty. Meanwhile, Judah looks at me with this impish grin that says, "Wow! Did you see how far I threw that?!" Like I should be proud of his 'accomplishment'!

The second involved the guests seated behind us in a restaurant. Judah turned around, and seeing a man's back within reach, lifted up his hands, hauled off and smacked the guys back. Because, you know, that's just what you do when you see a stranger's back...behind you...in a restaurant. I cannot stress to you how quickly this transpired, because we are overly attentive where he is concerned. Jeff was right there, yet it happened like a snake-bite. Thankfully, that time, it was a good-natured father of pre-teens, who laughed and gave our rambunctious little son a high-five, apparently having enjoyed his antics.

But last night was Judah's crowning achievement. He truly saved the best for last. And I do mean last. We are not going out with him again for a long, long time!

The couple were probably in their late 70's or so, and far removed from their child-rearing years, if they ever had children at all. Both had the look of either long time childless professionals, or the very rich who shuttled their children off to boarding schools. They were also the sort that think their money is worth more than ours, too, huffing in consternation when Judah hopped and jumped on his own seat. Silly us, we thought it was a family restaurant.

Apparently loathe to make enemies and desiring to make it up to them, Judah then climbed almost all the way over into their booth. His feet were just about to disappear when Jeff grabbed him, and brought him back over. After apologizing profusely, we opted to cut our meal short, get our bill and leave. The old man was facing my direction, and across from me, Jeff was back to back with the old woman, and they were clearly not amused. Oh, well...you can't please everybody.

The worst part came while we were boxing up our leftovers in the styrofoam cartons they brought us. Judah took the bag they bring out to put the leftovers containers in, and tossed it up over the seat behind him, where it promptly sailed down and landed on the old woman's head like a new hat, and she reached up to swat at it like some pesky bird. My face paled. Jeff glanced at me, and seeing the gravity of the situation, quickly took Judah into custody.

There was much blustering over there, and the booth was just high enough that I couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but the scowl on the man's face said plenty. "Humph...parent's these days!" Or maybe it was something about having been recently hit with an individual creamer carton at another eating establishment, I'm not sure.

In any case, it was one of those moments that you want the floor to just open up and swallow you.

Instead, Jeff signed the slip, we gathered up our things and got out while the gettin' was good!

The parenting books all say that eventually we will be able to funnel these things into a positive direction in Judah's life. That one day, all these things that are so difficult for us now as parents will be turned into positives. That the Lord has somehow equipped Children now with characteristics that are just part of their makeup, and will be helpful later in life if we can just help steer him in a positive direction. Though I'm at a loss as to how to do that when nothing seems to deter him.

Which reminds me of the quote I came across again while I was cleaning house. I originally heard on FamilyLife Today Radio with Dennis Rainey. "Parenting was designed by God to drive us to our knees."

Me thinks I will be spending a whole lot more time on my knees in the future!

Striving for fab, striving for fab.

Grocery Un-Shopping

Oh, they look sweet and innocent, don't they?

Try taking them into a grocery store just once, however, and you'd quickly change your mind! Something about the lighting there suddenly transforms them into grocery store Gremlins.

Jericho, our oldest, who never even thought to beg for food items back in the days before his little brother was born, now spends half his time trying to wheedle a Lunchables out of me on shopping trips, hoping he'll luck out and catch me at an off-moment where I'll cave in to his whining. Which isn't likely since they don't meet my strict, nutritional criteria.

Judah, little octopus arms, reaches for everything in sight. Which is a lot. Because food companies spend untold billions of dollars on clever marketing strategies and colorful, kid-friendly packaging that just entices him to grab it and never let go, or to buck and whine from the confines of his stroller whenever I am forced to remove something from his grasp.

I had to resort to strapping him into a stroller for shopping trips, because when he used to ride shotgun on the cart (only after carefully sanitizing the handles with the wipe-ettes they provide in the entryway, I might add), I spent the majority of my time in grocery stores un-shopping. Putting all those things back that he tossed into the cart oh-so-helpfully, which usually necessitated several trips back through the store. Now, I don't have to retrace my steps as often, but I do have to vigilantly swerve the stroller out of reach of any and all displays.

Which generally works fine until you get to the check-out lanes. There, a mother's mettle is put to the ultimate test. The walls there are lined with row after colorfully-wrapped row of bubble gum and candy, all conveniently located where kids can and will rifle through it while mom is distracted by putting the groceries on the conveyor belt. Harried moms are forced to do the multi-tasking mambo, rifling through jam-packed purses for money while trying to keep older children from absorbing all the headlines and images from trashy tabloids, and keep the younger ones from getting into all that candy.

Candy companies know they have mom's over the ropes there, don't they? Because even if you say "No!", there is still the possibility that some candy could be inadvertently opened by curious little hands while you're otherwise distracted. Then mom's would be forced to buy it out of guilt. So there is always the chance that moms going through those lines with children are going to buy at least one thing.

Well, make that two, because by that time, most moms I know will want to reward themselves for enduring the trip through the store.

Sensible moms apparently go shopping solo. Or buy their groceries on Amazon.



:: ::

Because I'd already blogged about something else, the following image is my tribute to those folks that lost their lives in the tragic events of 9-11, the many families left behind, and our soldiers continuing to wage war against terrorism and the protection of our freedom. God Bless You...and God Bless America!




:: ::

Tonight at Bible Study, I asked the gal beside me what the date was. Immediately after I asked, I slapped my forehead with my palm, remembering. "Duh!" How could I have forgotten, when all day long I'd thought about it? Planned on blogging about it?

She chuckled and consoled me with a little story about how she was working in a corner coffee shop, and before filling his order, asked the man for his name so that she could write it on his cup.

"Jesus", he said, with the Spanish pronunciation of the name.

"How is that spelled?" she asked, then immediately remembered.

It happens to the best of us.

My Rapturous Ode to Fine Chocolate

It's date night with my husband. Without the kids. And what I'm thinking would come out sounding almost like dialogue from a romance novel:

"I have waited for so long..."

"I've yearned for you..."

"I can hardly wait to see you again..."

I don't know what you all were thinking, but I'm talking about our once monthly trip to Cheesecake Factory for my favorite dessert ever...Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake! ;0)

My husband jokingly refers to my love of fine chocolate as me stepping out on him with my European lovers...Godiva, Guittard, Ghiradelli. Yes, I do have a problem. I am hopelessly addicted to chocolate.

It is pretty sad when we finally have an evening to ourselves, just Jeff and I, without Judah wreaking havoc in a restaurant or the kids reaching over to snatch croutons from our salads or whining about not wanting to go look in all the shops at the mall, and no set time to be back...and all I can think about is that decadent, mouthwatering, flavorful culinary masterpiece...Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake.

"My name is Becky and I am a chocoholic."

The First Day of School Surprise

It's hard to believe our little boy is already a big fifth grader, and that it was six years ago today that we dropped him off for his first day of Kindergarten. *sigh* They grow up so fast!

Up until about five minutes before we dropped him off this morning, Jericho thought he was going to the new school just down the street from us.

When we moved a year ago, it was fifteen minutes from his old school, and in a completely new school district, but because of all the adjustments we had to make with that move, we went ahead and kept him in that school for one more year.

So this was to be the year he began new school. In a new district. With all new kids.

I didn't think it would hit him quite so hard leaving all his old friends. He was bemoaning the fact for the last few weeks of school, and well into the summer. So much, that just before school ended, we checked into it, and found out that we could get an inter-district transfer to keep him there, but we would have to act quickly or his 'spot' would be filled.

The plan was hatched. We decided to go ahead and re-enroll him, just to keep that option open...but kept it a secret from him. I suppose to a certain degree, we were hoping he'd get used to the idea of the school just down the street, as it would have been far more convenient for me. Then we learned that if we transferred him to the local school district this year, because of the way they have things arranged, he would be in three different schools over the next three years.

Then it was decided he would be going back to his old school after all.

We've known for several weeks, but kept it on the down-low.

This morning, after our yearly tradition of taking first day pictures at Grandma's house, Jeff broke the news to him. He was SO delighted!

Hardest secret I ever had to keep!

Naughty, Naughty, Naughty!

This is what my family sees when I'm angry. Not pretty, I know.

Our older son used to refer to them as my 'big eyes', after having been corrected for wrongdoing. Back in the days when he used to jump-to when told to do something, or show proper reverence or correction in naughty behaviors when implemented.

But the other day, while I was in the middle of getting after him about something, he half-laughingly joked about my 'big eyes'. They obviously didn't hold the same threat they once did.

My 'big eyes' are no longer as mean as they used to be, apparently.

And the sad thing is, I was trying not to laugh. My expression betrayed a feeble attempt at faking anger, instead of resorting to laughter for the sake of discipline.

Sometimes disciplining children at times like this can be so difficult. They've done something wrong. You know it needs to be corrected. It's your parental duty to do so. But what they've done strikes you as amusing, and you have to pour all your energy into schooling your features to hide the laughter that is threatening to burst forth.

Which is not good when you're in the middle of chewing out an 11 year old that brazenly (jokingly) tried out the phrase "get it yourself, mom" when I'd asked him to get me something from the garage. I was so astonished, that my face betrayed me with a smirk!

Or a couple of days ago when our toddler drew all over himself with a jumbo black permanent marker and was standing there sucking on his binky with laughter in his eyes while I'm in the midst of saying, "Naughty, naughty, naughty! to him. And why is it that my first reaction was to run for the cameras, instead of standing my ground with him?

And where is this sort of thing addressed in parenting books, I'd like to know?

I've been a parent long enough to know that there are no 'take two's' when you're in the middle of disciplining your kid. You have to act while you have the chance. Correct the behavior while you can. All the while commanding respect and maintaining your authority. Slip up, and the moment to correct and instruct is lost.

Which is exactly why I could never be an actor. I would give the director's fits, having to do two hundred re-takes to get one scene just right. I had trouble with my part as Mary in a video segment our church put together for our Christmas production last year. And it was a non-speaking part!

I was supposed to look up in awe when the angel appeared to tell me--er, Mary, that she was with Child. But there were like 25 cast members standing around watching, and one very nervous-looking man angel...and combined with my nervousness, I just couldn't help it. I laughed. And ruined the whole scene. Even after a few retakes in the hurried, one-night production, we were unable to get a 'perfect' shot, and so the best 'take' in the video clip shows a smirking Mary in it.

I still cringe thinking about that one. For me, when I feel a laugh coming on, it's like a sneeze...there's just no going back. As hard as I fight against it, it's gonna show on my face. I couldn't maintain a poker face to save my life.

And this seems to happen frequently. Like when something so unexpectedly funny happens in the middle of the Sunday sermon that you're left practically snorting in your attempt to smother the giggles that are trying to escape? And you couldn't even look at your husband or whoever saw it happen with you, because you knew that if you did, it was all over?

The fake coughing thing usually doesn't work for me, either, because if I set one sound free, the others are all gonna follow. When joy bubbles up, it's like a well shaken soda can...pop the top even just a bit, and it's gonna explode.

Why is it that something like your toddler son naughtily (is that even a word?) throwing a stack of offering envelopes three pews ahead during in the middle of the sermon, which fluttered to the ground like ticker-tape, causing the elderly gentleman opposite the aisle to start with fright...why is this sort of thing suddenly so hilarious at a time when you're supposed to be contemplative and reverent?

Our Pastor had to have seen that happen. Yet was able to maintain his composure and move on like nothing ever happened, while my husband and I were red with embarrassment and our shoulders were silently heaving with repressed laughter. We didn't dare make eye contact with each other (or his mom who was seated behind us) for long minutes afterward for fear of losing it. It was still funny three minutes later!

On the one hand, I feel like I need to do something about this problem soon. Jericho is only growing older, and the way things are shaping up, I'm going to be in for it if I don't maintain control over my facial muscles while trying to smother laughter, especially in the middle of correcting his behavior.

But perhaps, like my role as Mary when we never were able to get a good 'take' of that scene, I'm just destined to have a few disciplinary occasions in my life where I'll just never be able to get a good 'take'.

Maybe this is just one of those occasions where a parent has to choose their battles. Where realizing that having laughter in the home can be just as important as correcting behavior, the intersections between the two just happening to cross with laughter winning out. Rather than a spike in blood pressure due to anger, I needed the endorphin-producing laughter that brings about a feeling of well-being.

The Lord, who knows me best, must know that I need plenty of laughter in my life, because this sort of thing seems to happen a lot around here lately.

The Wedding Cake That Almost Didn't Make It

This is the happy couple, Mike and Kelsie. They were actually married three weekends ago out in the Midwest where her family is from, but Mike's folks, our friends Steve and Chrissy, wanted to put on a second reception to celebrate with the many friends and relatives that couldn't make it to the wedding. It was a casual affair, and the happy couple only requested the flavor of the cake, so I was all jazzed about being able to take some artistic license with the way it looked.

Due to weather concerns (possible humidity), I nixed the fondant idea, and opted to stick with what was most familiar to me...good old buttercream frosting.

My plan: to get a good leafy green frosting on the cakes, and pipe white squiggles over it, pipe a band of white at the base of each cake where I would then pipe small clusters of grapes and vines around it (in keeping with the grapevine theme). The idea in my head was a good one, but I ran into a little glitch when I was mixing the green food coloring paste into the test batch of icing. Leaf green is a garish spring green. Almost neon. And the more I toyed with my food color pastes trying to achieve a pastel version of forest green, the more grainy and non-pastel the batch got. It was a lost cause.

As I was helping set up and decorate the tables early this morning, I wished I'd gone ahead and brought the cakes with me then, as it was already promising to be a scorcher of a day at 9:30 in the morning.

My trip home was made in miserable 107 degree heat. I spent that time kicking myself that I'd not gone ahead and made the fondant as the cakes would have probably fared much better, but now that was out of the question for lack of time. With iffy weather, the decision simply couldn't be helped.

Did I mention that it was 107 degrees outside? Or that we transported the cake in our tiny hatchback (that finally passed smog)? Even with the A.C. on full blast, the sun through the windows softened the cakes, the top layer of which Jericho was holding in the back, and the large bottom layer that I held on my lap the entire way because--well, because I've yet to find a foolproof 'safe' way of transporting that bad boy. The rest were nestled in protective boxes on the carefully leveled hatchback storage area.

10 cake mixes worth of cakes. Five, 2-layer cakes of varying sizes (including two 8 inch back up rounds)

12 pounds of frosting (made largely from shortening and powdered sugar with a little milk and flavorings mixed in).

107 degree heat

25 minute ride.

When I say the cakes were softened in the sun...I mean that in spite of the fact they'd been frosted partially frozen and refrigerated to firm overnight, they were sliding all over on their platters by the time we got to the church at 2:00. The middle layer of the cake had to be strategically arranged on the rack because the backside got pretty messed up in transport.

Though I'd rebooted my day by showering and starting over after the fellowship hall decorating this morning, I was sweating like a farm animal by the time we arrived, and had spent the last 10 minutes of the drive tilting the cake back and forth to 'slide' the gooey mess back to the center of the serving platter where it was supposed to be.

The top layer didn't fare as well. Jericho was holding that one, and informed me that it was 'like a waterfall'. Not to mention that Judah was grabbing at it from his carseat nearly the entire way there.

I didn't even want to think about what had happened in the back to the rest of the cake layers.

That had to be the longest 25 minutes of my life.

After frantic repair work at the church, I began decorating with the swirl pattern to disguise 'thin' spots in the icing.

I finished about 2 minutes before the reception was to begin.

I hope folks don't think I was rude, keeping my back to most of them as they were filtering in, but I had to get that cake done, and it had taken way longer than I'd anticipated.

To not finish it it time would ruin my streak!

:: ::

On sort of a whim, Kelsie's folks surprised everyone and flew out to be at the reception. During their layover they were able to get an even sooner than scheduled second leg of the flight out, which got them to the reception in the nick of time. It was the cutest thing to see Mike and Kelsie's expressions when they looked up to see her folks walk in the door. If only I'd had the video cam handy! It was the perfect crowning touch to a perfect evening.

:: ::

Chrissy and Steve, you guys know how to put on a party! Good job!