The Doggie Drama Continues

This past couple of weeks saw discussions in the Frump household about giving away D.O.G. , our not so beloved puppy.

They were family council type meetings where the problems were all laid out, and we each expressed our opinions as to what should be done about them.

Probably because Judah was tired of getting knocked down by D.O.G. every time he went out to play, Jericho was the only one who had any qualms about giving him away. Naturally, of the four of us, he's the only one to have grown attached to him having been his primary caretaker these few months. Even then, not all that much...not like with our other dog Raisin.

For most of the time we've had him, D.O.G. has been a very destructive, naughty puppy, chewing up everything in sight, ripping clothing with his razor sharp teeth and forever digging out of our yard.

Normally by now, our dogs have already learned what is acceptable and what is definitely off-limits behavior wise, and we've tried to teach him, believe me. He just won't learn.

This dog isn't very quick on the draw.

And from what the owners of two of his litter mates have told us, their dogs are the same way. Destructive bullies.

Up to now, I haven't felt one ounce of endearment towards that dog, and that is really saying something, because I'm an animal person and can grow to appreciate nearly any of God's creatures given time. (Well, except ferrets. I'm not a fan of fast moving rodents in the least.)

I look at D.O.G. and just see "Duuuuuhhhh". Not a single glimmer of good old horse sense (of the dog variety) in his eyes.

The worst part, however, is that D.O.G's presence in our household has caused our other dog Raisin to show some signs of distress.

Raisin has (since D.O.G's last growth spurt) moped around with a hangdog expression. This kind of cowed-down, tail-between-her-legs resignation towards this new puppy which invaded her life and grew from small and managable to big and ungainly in a very short time.

Raisin has not been her usual self, when before D.O.G. she'd had a chipper and easy-going disposition.

D.O.G. has become a terror. A pushy alpha male that would pick on her all his waking hours.

The bigger he got, the faster she was forced to eat her food or risk having him wolf it down the second he was done with his own.

It was pitiful. Poor Raisin couldn't even rest in peace night or day, because that puppy expected her to play, and when she didn't want to, he'd instigate fights. We'd hear them at night, and look out to see Raisin getting evicted from her warm bed and him marching in to sleep on the nice warmed-up dog pillow inside as though it was owed to him.

It seemed that she just didn't have the strength left in her to fight him anymore. He'd worn her down, and because he was a bully from the start was getting the best of her.

Then, one morning after I'd spent a considerable amount of time out back filling up the holes D.O.G. had dug along the side fence, I saw snatches of fur missing from Raisin's neck. Scabby patches. Upon further inspection, it appeared she had other places that had been previously nipped at but were in varying stages of fur growing back in.

I felt horrible. I hadn't realized it had come to this.

Then, D.O.G. made a fatal mistake. While I was heading for the back door, I witnessed him pulling the wrinkled up Shar-Pei skin around her neck out from her body...stretching it out like panty hose.

This wasn't mere puppy antics...he was just being plain old mean to her for sport.

I'd had it. This was not fair to Raisin and I most certainly didn't want him turning on Judah in this manner.

There was no other way about it, we simply needed to find him another home.

As it happened, in January one of our niece's lost her beloved dog Snickers to cancer. Jeff had to help her take her dog in to have it put down. Just the telling of it all to us later was a real tear-jerker, a sad and somber occasion.

It had been a few weeks, and our niece seemed to really miss having two dogs to look after and greet her when she got home from work, so we asked if she'd consider taking Stupid D.O.G.

We let her know we didn't want her to feel obligated in any way, and had even warned her ahead of time about all his less-than-desirable tendencies. We only wanted her to consider it if she truly wanted another dog.

To our great surprise, she said she'd give it a whirl, on the condition that D.O.G. got along well with her other dog.

So one evening a couple of weeks ago, we took him over to her house to give it a test run.

Her dog immediately laid down the law, standing firm as the leader of that pack, and D.O.G. got a big dose of his own medicine.

He actually whimpered and cowered in the presence of her dog (a male who looks like he's got some Corgi in him, and is shorter in stature than D.O.G.). We all found it rather amusing, this canine justice being meted out.

When D.O.G. realized he was out of his league and couldn't bully her dog like he had Raisin, he did the only other thing he knew to do and immediately began snuffling around the yard picking up every stray piece of dog jerky and Milk Bone dog biscuit on the acre. Acting as though he's never gotten a square meal in his life.

So the deal was, he'd stay one night, and if the dogs seemed compatible, she'd keep him.

That afternoon, we went home and Raisin seemed to have a whole new lease on life. Her chipper disposition was back and she ate a leisurely and stress-free meal, stretching out for a long and worry-free nap in the sunshine.

Her good (non-competitive) behavior was back, too, and she wasn't clamoring at the door like she did when D.O.G. was there. She seemed both relaxed and delighted with the new arrangement.

A call to our niece's house told us that the dogs seemed to be doing okay for having just met.

The next morning bright and early, however, D.O.G. was delivered to our door.

Turns out he'd scarfed down everything in sight inside our nieces house, including all the food she'd put out for her dog.

And then he whimpered all night long for us, apparently homesick (though I suspect it was digestive troubles, his greed having caught up to him).

Long story short, it doesn't appear that it's a match.

To make things easier on Raisin, we opted to keep D.O.G. in the front yard.

The yard we'd not wanted to keep him in before due to his propensity for digging (because if he digs out the front fence there is no second line of defense...he's gone). Heartless as it sounds, this time that wasn't a concern for us.

He seemed fine with the arrangement, greeting Raisin at the fence between the front and back yards, and romping around the front yard on his own.

Raisin looked a bit put-out upon seeing her nemesis was back, but still seemed chipper when we went out back with her. It seemed she could deal with things, so long as she had a whole yard to herself.

Then, on the morning of Valentine's Day, I was the first one up, padded out to the kitchen to get breakfast going...and found this:



What in the world?! How did D.O.G. (on the left) get into the back yard with Raisin?!

I promptly marched out front, went around to the side gate and found this:



This is the hole he dug from our front into the neighbor's front yard.

You can't tell from the pictures, but it was deep enough and wide enough for a much bigger dog than D.O.G. to get through, which tells me he must've spent half the night digging.

Apparently, upon entering their front yard well-after dark, he found he couldn't dig under into their back yard (thanks to concrete reinforced cross-fencing which he'd also encountered in our yard) and so he went around the opposite side of their house and dug under there, circling through their backyard and then digging back under into ours.

Yes, he's apparently become familiar enough with their back yard due to his previous excursions to know how to get back into ours.

Now I've heard of dogs digging out, but never have I heard of a dog digging it's way back in!

Yes, apparently D.O.G. missed Raisin that much. Or maybe it was her warm bed.

But let me tell you, she was none-too-happy to see him.

The funny thing was, D.O.G. seemed rather pentinent, as though he knew he was skating on thin ice with us and had better watch his step.

And that was when something really strange happened.

The tiniest little spark of endearment towards that dumb dog formed and was fanned into a very faint flicker. Of the kind that sputters a bit in the breeze, and though it disappears from time to time is still there, barely flickering.

Somehow, when I saw all the trouble the stupid cur went to in order to be a part of this family again...well, I just couldn't help but to take pity on him.

Even if I do resent that it means we'll have dig a trench and install chicken-wire along the entire front fence where he keeps digging under.

And that we'll have to add an extra step of tying him up just to get our cars out of the driveway lest he lope off down the street and get himself run over.

And get him into obedience school (if they'll even take him).

Something about that crazy mutt reminds me of some other dog story out there...

Oh, yes...I remember now:



I think they're related.

The neighbors big dogs (which I might add we've only ever seen in their back yard)...greeted their very puzzled owners the following morning from their front yard.

I'm quite sure the neighbors wondered what on earth had possessed their old dogs to suddenly decide to dig under into their front yard when they'd always seemed perfectly content out back.

After all the trouble D.O.G. has caused already, digging into their yard and cavorting about with their dogs (and eating their food and doing who-knows-what-else), I didn't have the guts heart to tell them how it happened.

I did notice in passing that they'd reinforced the cross fencing on the other side of their house so that no dog will ever dig out (or, as was the case in this story, in) again.

**update**

This was to post the day after Valentine's day, but alas, our niece decided to give it another go on her day off.

And though D.O.G. whimpered and whined for Raisin again that first night, it appears they do get along well enough that she's decided to keep him. (Thank God, because I didn't have the heart to take him to the humane society.)

Which also means that Jericho can still visit him from time to time.

Providing, that is, that D.O.G. doesn't pull one of those Incredible Journey type of stunts, find his way back to our house and dig his way back into the yard again.

Because, frankly, I wouldn't put it past him.

And that would mean he'd have to stay for good. Lord have mercy.

Frump House Randoms

My bloggy chica Gretchen over at Jewels in My Crown recently posted an interview with yours truly if you'd care to read it.

Her interview questions are always so good (in all her interviews) that it makes me question if she's truly the SAHM blogger that she claims to be, and is instead actually a TV personality that is making a foray into the blog world incognito... ;)

Seriously, Gretchen...you got skillz!

:: :: :: ::

In our household it's been part of a long-standing after bathtime routine that we twirl a cotton swab in our boys ears.

Thanks to our first pediatrician who looked for "bunnies" with that funnel-ear-gadget, we've always said to the boys, "Gotta get the bunnies out of your ears" as we do this. (Of course Jericho is way past this stage now, lol.)

A few nights ago Judah was fighting sleep lying in bed when he noticed that something in his ear was kind of bugging him.

"Mama? Can you get the bunnies out of my ear?" he called out.

And yes, throughout most of the rest of the world little children delay bedtime with requests for drinks of water or bedtime stories, but here in Frump House, we are a little different that way.

I came in with a q-tip to do the honors.

Afterwards, he looked at the q-tip and then up at me kind of puzzled, "How did da bunnies get into my bed and in my eaows?"

Apparently there has been a little confusion about what, exactly, bunnies are.

This was no doubt complicated by his newfound knowledge that the fuzzballs that collect on our wood floors are called "dust bunnies", and that Thumper is that cute little "bunny" rabbit from Bambi. I'm pretty sure he was wondering how the q-tips fit into that scenario, lol.

:: :: :: ::

The diet is going tolerably well, considering I have the worlds most sluggish metabolism.

I've lost 8 pounds in 2 weeks and didn't feel hungry once. And we even indulged in a Valentine's dessert. It tasted WAY sweeter than I remembered, but then, so do cherry tomatoes.

I still crave things, but it's not out of hunger...more because they were on my "foods to avoid" list, and because lettuce begins to get a little bit old with nearly every meal.

Tonight...I passed up Oreo's and Dorito's without a problem. But if someone had passed a freshly baked loaf of whole wheat bread under my nose, I might have been tempted to sell my birthright for it. (Figuratively speaking, you understand.)

Meanwhile, Jeff of the super-fast metabolism lost 16 pounds to my 8.

SO. not. fair...considering that I'm the one who had to be strong to keep us from even thinking about cheating on the diet. "Oh, no...we're not ruining 2 weeks of Sunday-dinner food preparation on a Snickers bar!" and "Look away. You do NOT want that lovely platter of Mexican food."

Grrr. And how unfair is it that it's immediately noticable on him, to the point of having to tighten his belt a couple of notches, but on me nothin'? Nothin!

:: :: :: ::

I haven't forgotten about the room reveals.

Work on the house slowed considerably these past few weeks with my babysitting full-time and the extra funds having pretty much dried up.

However, this past weekend, we saw one major improvement.

Our kitchen sink area previously looked like this:



But after a little of this (okay, so a LOT of this and a gash on his forehead for all his trouble)

It now looks like this (except not blurry, lol):



It was our joint 'valentine'.

I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be beyond thrilled to get a new kitchen faucet for Valentine's day, but now every time I go to the kitchen sink I feel positively giddy.

And I pat it and hug it and kiss it and squeeze it...because it's the most beautiful, functional and best-working kitchen faucet I've ever had.

I can't tell you how nice it is to have a spray nozzle feature that actually works and shuts off automatically and holds itself in place exactly where you want it to.

Sheer bliss, I tell you. This thing is only one step removed from actually doing the dishes on it's own.

Oh, and in other home-related news, I also found some FAB frugal deals for the kitchen/dining areas while antiquing and thrift store shopping this past week. Here is my $27 worth of loot.



Faux milk glass (which, if broken by boisterous boys won't hurt quite so much as the real thing, especially since it was purchased on 1/2 price day at the Salvation Army), a silver-plated basket, a fun working clock which I knew Judah would enjoy, and from the antique store the deep enamel roaster with a lid that will fit two chickens or a ginormous lasagna in it. (One day when I can make lasagna again, that is.)

So, things are coming along...slowly but surely.

Hope to have a kitchen reveal up in a couple of weeks.

:: :: :: ::

Last Tuesday evening we were up late putting the finishing touches on Jericho's science project.

I wonder if I should worry that our explosive weekend in the desert left such an impression on him?



Especially since he's wearing clothing that resembles the Unabomber?

Because his (carefully supervised) science project consisted of building his own explosive device potato cannon and testing which 'flammable liquid' would propel the potato the farthest.

His testing concluded that WD-40 was the hands-down winner.

However, the next day he came home from school after having turned the whole project in and said in disgust, "Mr. O wouldn't accept my project because I forgot the bibliography."

Thinking all that hard work had been for naught, I freaked out, "What?! No way. We You worked way too hard on that project for him to not accept it over a missing bibiliography."

Then I suddenly remembered reading his instruction manual and said, "Wait a minute...there was no mention in that packet about needing a bibliography."

"Gotcha mom!" Jericho said and ran off laughing.

The whole thing had been devised on his way home from school as a good way to pull one over on good old mom.

Punk kid. Starting to pull fast ones on me now is he?

Someone came very close to having to eat fish for dinner that night.

:: :: :: ::

Tonight on the way home from church, Judah asked once again, "Do da dino's live in Cabazon?"

I absently replied, "Yes...remember we saw them there?"

He asked, "Can dey get us in da van?"

And suddenly, I was in the moment. I swerved wildly (yet safely) and yelled, "The dino's are getting us!"

When I was done, I glanced over my shoulder and saw the wide-eyed expression on his face and asked, "You mean like that?"

He said, "Yeah! Do dat again!"

Yep, just doing my part to develop a lively imagination in the boy, lol.

A similar and yet related technique works especially well on days when little boys don't cooperate with going down for their naps. You just say as you're tucking them into bed, "We've got to tuck you in snug as a bug so the pteradactyl's can't get you."

Or so I've heard. That's also supposed to develop a really good imagination.

:: :: :: ::

This was going to be THE year.

We were going to knuckle down and finally take a daycation to San Juan Capistrano on St. Patty's day for the return of the swallows sparrows the birds that always come back to the Mission there. It was supposed to happen like clockwork...birds flying in en masse on their migration route home for the spring and summer nesting season.

Well, a retiree we know that lives there was visiting his granddaughter at our church a couple of weeks ago, and he told us that very few birds come back to the Mission anymore and haven't for a few years. Too noisy for nesting. The best place to look for them now is in the delivery alleyway behind the local Target. It's quieter there and more suited to nesting.

*sigh*

Guess I can replace that item on my bucket list. If I want to see a bunch of birds in an alleyway, I can do that just as well here and save the trip.

Just so the tourists don't go and chase off the elephant seals that live near Hearst Castle.

:: :: :: ::

We've been having a lot of discussions with our older son these days about purity. About modesty and respect and avoiding even the appearance of evil.

The other day while we were out and about just the two of us, we happened to see a very, um, busty woman. With ample cleavage exposed for the world to see.

Now mind you, I know from experience that clothing manufacturers make these ridiculously low scoop necks and v-necks on large sized women's clothing, which makes it very difficult to find modest coverage, but it was apparent by other things this woman was wearing that modesty was not a huge concern for her.

Jericho looked away, appalled, and said discreetly when we'd passed, "She shouldn't be showing off her leverage like that."

Bwahahaha~! Yes, I think he's hit on something there.

Happy Valentine's Day

Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast,

it is not proud. It is not rude,

it is not self-seeking,

it is not easily angered,

it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil

but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects,

always trusts,

always hopes,

always perseveres.

Love never fails.

~1st Corinthians 13: 4-8a

Dieting Woes

Jeff and I recently went on a very strict, self-imposed diet.

It a low-carb, high-protein, low-sugar, low-dairy diet consisting of mostly veggies, meats, eggs, a little bit of cheese and scant amounts of other dairy products, eliminating all bad fats entirely.

It's intended to be kind of a 'detox' program, helping to bring all our 'numbers' into healthy ranges while helping eliminate some of the foods that can worsen asthma symptoms, all while losing weight

I now bemoan the fact I ever laid eyes on that Costco sized can of Almond Roca over the Holidays.

Now, I have to beat my body and make it my slave...and it's hard work...torture, in fact, trying to bring my unwieldy eating habits into line again.

Because suddenly, I'm seeing food everywhere. Billboards, blogs, magazines, commercials, Sunday School donuts & coffee time...even logos of fast food places I've long avoided as disgusting make me drool with longing as we pass them.

Which is silly, because the diet food is all very delicious and satisfying.

I think it has a lot to do with the prep work that goes into making each meal and snack. It's caused me to feel as though I spend waaay too much time obsessing over food.

Part of the effectiveness of this plan is that you really have to WORK for what you eat. Each meal involves a lot of prep-work, and you don't dare cheat on it, because it means that all your previous work was for naught.

I suppose it's also intended to get you to stop and think about the kinds of things you put into your body instead of just mindlessly consuming things that are fast or convenient and usually loaded with bad fats, sugars and simple carbs.

It's about re-training yourself to eat good, nutritious foods while replacing unhealthy habits with healthy ones.

The shopping to prepare for this diet was ridiculous. Removing one item from my fridge now is like playing a game of Jenga. Kind of precarious in there and you really have to watch your toes whenever you open the door.

And the dishes! 2 and 3 loads a day!

I'm using my food processor more than I ever have, and still have multiple additional steps to make each meal.

It's been ages since I've cooked like that. It's like putting out a Sunday dinner for nearly every meal.

There's no one-skillet or crock-pot dinners here. Oh no...you want food, it's gonna take some time and energy to make it.

I poured Judah a bowl of Cheerio's for breakfast the other day, and must've been looking longingly at the milk as I was putting it back, because he said, "Why can't you have da meowk, mama?"

"Because I'm on a diet."

He hadn't heard the "t" sound at the end of diet, and kind of rolled his eyes, "Yeow not gonna DIE, mama!"

"No son, that would be Di-ET", I replied, enunciating.

Even if it does feel like I'm dying. I'll be honest, I'm pining away here! Longing for things simply because I know they're on my "foods to avoid" list.

And it's not on the things I might have expected. I could care less about ice-cream or chocolate or cheesecake or pie. Even candy or rich pasta sauces.

No, it's berries and fruit and a bowl of oatmeal that sounds good to me now. Sweet potatoes, for goodness sake. Right now I'm longing for a crust of homemade whole wheat bread, and I'd even eat it dry!

**sigh**

I miss you, my carb-laden whole wheat bread. You, too, my buckwheat pancakes and sweet potatoe casserole. And you, my sweet Vermont maple syrup-and-real butter oatmeal...I will never take you for granted again!

Ahem. Did I just say that aloud?

Such is my life of late.

You know you're going through withdrawls when even animated food looks good to you.

French food prepared by a Rat, no less!

I don't even know what Ratatouille is but it sounds and looks wonderful.

Somehow, Gazpacho and steamed cauliflower 'mashed potatoes' just don't sound quite so appetizing in comparison.

But it's working. Slowly but surely. And I've felt my energy level increase, in spite of all the sickness we've had around here of late. My hair is growing super-fast, too, which is nice because I've been wanting to grow it out again.

Even if we wanted to, there is no way we can stop now.

Nope. That's because Jericho has been watching us like a hawk.

He saw all the planning and the shopping that went into getting ready for the diet.

He saw the flurry of activity each day as we prepared the meals.

He even ate most of the meals with us and proclaimed them to delicious.

There were a couple of fish nights which we knew would not fly with him. On the night we had Mahi-Mahi, he said, "I feel kind of bad eating this in front of you", and guiltily squirrled his cheeseburger away to his bedroom to eat it away from the eyes of his drooling parents.

It is a heavy load to bear when your child is watching you, and you know you must model good, prudent and ethical behavior.

Especially when he announces at dinner on your 8th day in, "I'm so proud of you guys, sticking with this diet! I didn't think you'd last a week!"

Oh, man...there's no quitting now!

Darn kids, thinking they have to be your second conscience!

Yes, I miss you, too, homemade Baked Ziti. I'm sorry...we cannot see each other again. Not for a long, long time.

More Medical Adventures With Judah

Judah was sick with a fever this past week.

We assumed he was just fighting off the same flu-bug the girls I babysit for had recently.



Isn't that so pitiful?

His fever ran for about three days or so, peaking in the afternoon and in the middle of the night.

This, of course, wreaked havoc on my sleep. I don't know about all you other moms out there, but I tend to sleep with one ear open whenever my kids are sick, and just don't get good sound sleep.

Especially when there is the slightest bit of congestion or concern over a possible middle of the night puke detail.

Judah had pitiful glassy sickie-boy eyes and wanted me to hold him a lot more than usual, but he still found the energy to play with his toys and was cooperative in drinking plenty of fluids.

Waiting on sick children kind of throws a wrench in your usual routine, so needless to say, it was a very, very long week.

Made even longer by trying to keep him seperate from the rest of the fam to try and prevent the rest of us from getting the same bug.

When he finally started feeling good again and hadn't had a fever for 24 hours, we invited the girls I babysat for to come over again.

And that evening was when he broke out with red spots.

All over his torso, back and front.





Naturally I thoroughly freaked myself out by looking up pictures and symptoms on the internet but was very proud of myself for deciding to just take him in and let the doctor tell me what it was and not worry in worst-case-scenario for nothing.

It was a small victory, really, not running into the clinic as soon as it opened this morning thinking my kid had smallpox or some other dread disease.

Nope, I was a good girl this time.

But because a recent bout with Scarlet Fever and Hives and an ER visit weren't enough to worry his poor mom (not to mention the full-time babysitting schedule that another family is depending on us for) we now have a new childhood illness to add to the list:

Roseola. Baby measles.

And oh, joy...it's contagious to other children.

Even if the doctor did say it's pretty much just a viral infection that manifests in a rash and not particularly worrisome.

Thankfully, Jericho was already immune, having had it at 18 months while we were on vacation. Unfortunately, hard as I try to not 'share' our germs with other people when we're sick, this one kind of broke the rules on us.

I just love (sarasm intended) having to be the bearer of such news to other parents, "Oh, by the way...while they were over here yesterday, your children was exposed to ______."

Because it's not exactly the kind of news a parent says, "Thank You!" for.

Especially when it renders their kids cranky, contagious and more or less out-of-commish for a week.

Not that we could help it or anything...we took every possible preventative measure, but still, kind of embarrassing.

While at the clinic, the doctor detected a slight heart murmur.

One which wasn't detected by several medical personnel when Judah recently had his nickel removal procedure.

And speaking of which, that little emergency procedure to get "da money" out of our boy turned out to be quite spendy.



Yep, that would be 2 digits in front of the comma.

Thank God for good health insurance!

Our portion of the bill came to "only" $100.



Or $99.95 if you subtract the nickel.

*sigh*

Some folks worry about their boys eating them out of house and home with their 'growing boy' appetites, but for us it's a matter of being nickeled and Dimed by all the visits to the Doctor and the E.R.

And I ask you, does this look like a kid who has been sick all week?



Personally I think he's growing to enjoy being waited on hand and foot and is milking it for all he can.

The Long Q & A About Tuna

You know how there comes a day when it's like a faucet is turned on and three year olds suddenly begin asking "Why?" about everything?

It seems that their inquiring little minds are always at work categorizing and trying to make sense out of stuff they see at work in the world around them.

When you have a son like Judah, and then babysit two equally curious little girls every weekday, all of which are 3 and under, you can imagine the inordinate amounts of questions I get. Starved for adult conversation Gazillions of questions.

It can be kind of exhausting to have those brain picking sessions conversations with so many little kids all at once, because your mind has to race ahead trying to put the puzzle together for them, and usually they're all coming from a different point.

The other day was just such a day.

Judah came up to me in the kitchen with a can of tuna he'd snagged from the cupboard beneath the breakfast bar earlier in the day.

"What is dis, mama?"

"Fish," I replied absently, mixing up a batch of muffins.


"Fish?" he asked in surprise, squinching up his little nose.


"Yep. It's tuna, a type of fish."

Unconvinced, he asked, "Why does it have da daw-phin on it?"


"Oh, that's to tell us that no dolphins were harmed when they caught the fish in the big nets out in the ocean."


Looking carefully at the can again, he asked, "Is dere daw-phins in it?"

"Nope, no dolphins."

"Well, what's in it?"


"Fish," I replied again as I opened the hot oven and pulled an octo-mom, trying to keep all three of the kids from getting too close while getting the pan off the couner and situated in the oven.

I caught a puzzled expression on his face and added a tad impatiently, "Food. It's food. To eat."

"Fish food?"

That old comedic bit Who's on first? suddenly sprang to mind. "Well, yes. It is fish...and it's food."

"Da fish food for da daw-phins?" I suppose right about then he was remembering a TV show we'd seen that involved a trained dolphin being fed some fish.


"Nope. It's food for us."

"We eat da fishies?" he asked, looking astounded.

Suddenly I got that feeling.

You know, the one that parents feel when their kids first find out the truth about Santa? Except this was it's close cousin...the one you get the first time that your kids realize tuna comes from fish, beef comes from cows and chicken comes from, well, chickens.

I assumed that we were going to be in for a real ordeal over eating fish thereafter, because that kids flick about Nemo is one of his favorites. In fact, he'd been playing with his Nemo stuffed toy maybe a half hour earlier.

I knew I must act swiftly to distract him from developing an aversion to fish, "Yes" I replied enthusiastically. "Fish is very good for us. It's yummy, too." I felt compelled to pull out the big guns. "Daddy LOVES fish."


"Oh." That seemed to answer everything for him. "Can you make us some fish food?"

Because I'd already had chicken cooking in the crock pot and lunch was already over, I told him we'd have to do it another day.

Well, he wouldn't let it die.

The next morning, he spotted the can in the still doorless cupboard, and began to pester me anew to make him and his little friends "fish food".

He was ridiculously excited about it when I finally broke down and made an afternoon snack for them out of it. An old standby from childhood...macaroni & cheese with tuna mixed in.

He ran to tell his little friend Miss R that they were going to get to have fish food, and together they happy-danced around the living room, rejoicing over the prospect.

For some strange reason, they'd been lugging cans of tuna all over the house the past couple of days, and odd little snatches of their conversations during their play revealed their curiosity as to te mysterious contents of the cans.

So I made a big show of opening and draining a can of tuna and showing them the flaky fish inside as I unceremoniously dumped it into the Mac & Cheese.

After asking the blessing, they dug in, and the moment after he'd tasted of this delicacy, he announced, "Dis isn't fish food, mama...it's chicken!"

Oh, my poor, poor child. He must be soooo confused. Dolphins on a can of fish that tastes like chicken.


All I can say is that I'm glad we didn't have the brand of tuna with the mermaid on the front of the can or I'd have really had some 'splainin to do...because little Miss R is a huge fan of that little red-headed singing mermaid Ariel.

Calgon, take me away.