More Brain Lint and Loose Threads

Last Thursday evening, our older son was in a musical at his school. It was a patriotic play, and he had a leading role.

He did a great job and we were so proud of him, we could just bust.

That's him in between Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty.

This was a huge milestone and an answer to prayer for him, as last year at this time he had a leading role in a different play, but ended up being removed from it due to extreme stagefright.

The kind that caused him to call home during the school day the week of dress rehearsals claiming to be sick, and needing to cart a water bottle around for his cotton-mouth kind of stage-fright.

But this time around he did a fabulous job, and even the teacher that directed the play told us that he nailed his lines.

Somehow afterward, we got talked into Chuck E. Cheese and a trip to Toys R Us.

We. are. such. suckers.

:: :: :: ::

My hubby is home this week on Spring Break.

You may remember my mentioning a while back that we don't have cable or satellite TV. It was a choice we made on purpose a long time ago, and one we have never regretted for a minute.

We do have a small dinosaur of a TV set for occasional use in our home with carefully screened, family movies. And this thing usually doesn't come out, except on weekends and school breaks. (Or, ahem, when mama needs to distract little brother for long enough to get some things done and keep them done for more than ten minutes).

Unfortunately, Jeff's and Jericho's breaks didn't coincide this year. This effectively limited our Spring Break vacation (or lack thereof) options.

So between the two of them, they came up with a plan on how to make the most of 'our' time together this past weekend:

Jeff borrowed the complete set of Smallville - Season Six from a buddy on Friday afternoon.

He and Jericho pulled the TV out into the living room, and have been watching back-to-back episodes for days, taking a break only on Sunday. (Thank You Lord for that day of rest!)

Since Friday, I've been on a crash course in Smallville (by proxy) and now know far more about The Justice League, Lex Luthor, Lana, Chloe and of course Clark Kent...than I ever wanted to.

And did I mention they've been watching these back-to-back?

In the living room?

Which is 15 steps from the dining room where my computer desk is located?

22 episodes.

And they're already done!

"Somebody saaaaaaave me!"

:: :: :: ::

On another note:

Judah is officially 2 1/2 today!

St. Patrick's Day is our youngest son's half birthday.

*sniff, sniff* He's not our witto boika-boo anymore.

Nope, he informed me today, "I'm da man!" and thumped himself on the chest proudly.

But I'm pleased to say that I finally got his Two year pictures taken last week.

Yep, I'm finally finishing up my to-do list from September! Woo Hoo, at this rate, I might finally get my scrapbooking finished up by the time I'm 85, and then can finally sit down and enjoy them in my dotage.

And if the last word of my last sentence sounded a bit different from my normal vocabulary, blame it on the Mitford series.

Because in between entertaining Judah and getting my living room furniture rearranged around the viewings of Smallville this weekend, I managed to finish the last book in Jan Karon's popular Mitford series.

Even if I am the last person in the country to finally 'discover' the series and read it through.

I absolutely loved these books. They were wonderful, sweep-me-away-to-another-place kind of books, and an absolute delight to read.

I was so taken with the books, that I briefly considered buying the companion cookbook, because I just had to find out how to make Esther Bolick's famous Marmalade Cake.

Thankfully, I found it online for free. I'm thinking of making that for my contribution to the big family Easter dinner.

Did I mention how much I loved this series? The only bummer for me was that because everyone else has already read them long ago, I'm left feeling a little like the latecomer to church on the morning after Spring daylight savings...just pulling into the parking lot as everyone else is pulling out.

I was too late to get in on all the action of discussing the books as other people read them!

For an avid reader like myself that's torture, I tell you! Torture!

:: :: :: ::

While Jericho was in school today, the rest of us made the long trip to the fish hatchery with some friends.

We went there a while back, but Judah has begged to go there repeatedly since that time. And when you're tucking him in at night and he says in his sweet little enthusiastic and hopeful voice, "We go to the fith hatchy tomowwow?", how can a parent resist that?

So we made a day of it. We had grandma pick up big brother from school, and packed a picnic for the trip.

Judah loved feeding the fish and watching the feeding frenzy.

And playing with his friend Rachael.

And pushing the stroller.

And picking up the dead "fithies" the Dept. of Fish & Game employees skimmed out of the water while we were there.

And hugging dead "fithies" to his face like it was the most adorable little thing he'd ever seen...

...While germ-freak mom had to stand by taking pictures like it was no big deal, because he's a boy and they're supposed to do gross stuff like that.

:: :: :: ::

Two weeks ago, it was 85 degrees where we live. Local trees were blooming in profusion. A sure sign of spring, right?

Yesterday we woke up to 2 inches of snow.

Then, today we woke up to another beautiful warm day.

Ahhh, springtime in the desert. Fickle as a gradeschool crush.

Every single year that we've lived in this barren wilderness in the Southwest, I've put all our winter clothes away thinking winter was finally over, only to have one last spell of cold weather sneak up on us immediately afterward.

Ten times this has happened now.

Will I never learn?

:: :: :: ::

Oh, and if you're PMSing, I don't recommend seeing the movie No Reservations. While it's a cute chick-flick, it's also a bit of a tear jerker.

The kind of movie that might cause you to want to immediately contact a lawyer to take care of your will.

Which will cause you to want to bawl your eyes out and not want your family members out of your sight for a couple of days.

Just sayin'.

What In The World Is A Chip Monkey?

Our toddler Judah, almost 2 1/2, came up and climbed into my lap at the computer the other day. "Mama? I want chip monkeys."

"Chip Monkeys?" I ask, wondering what in the world he was talking about. I quickly thought back through his recent activities and experiences, trying to decipher what chip monkeys could possibly mean in his little toddler mind, but drew blanks.

"Chips?" I asked, beginning with the logical choice of some type of food.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Monkeys?" I asked in a very convincing Mrs. Potato Head voice, as she packed a few barrel-o-monkey monkeys in Mr. Potato Head's 'trunk' for his journey (in the bloopers section of his beloved Toy Story 2). Pictured here is another favorite scene when she packs his "angry eyes".



"No."

"Chunky Monkey?" (not that he would have any earthly idea what that even is. Ahem.)



"No."

"Chocolate Chip Cookies?" I asked, thinking maybe he mistook cookie somewhere for monkey.

"No, mama." Then grabbing my cheeks with his little hands he said, "Chip monkeys." He was pleading with me to understand.

When I couldn't, in a measure of utter desperation, he threw back his head and yelled, "Al-BIN!"

"Ohhh!" I said with a laugh. "You mean The Chipmunks!"

His eyes brightened, and he smiled and nodded, and ran to get his shoes on as though we could just hop over to the nearest store and buy these for him.

Though he's longed for a puppy for ages, after seeing this movie a few weekends ago, he's apparently stored this away in his little head, and is determined that he now wants The Chipmunks instead of a puppy.

Not the stuffed animal versions, either.

Nope, he means the real, live talking versions that he saw interacting with a man named Dave in the movie.

Because, you know, if you see it in a movie it's for real.

And he knows that somewhere out there are some little critters looking just like these guys, that wear clothes, and talk and dance and sing with helium voices, and eat lots of whipped cream on their waffles...and he wants them for his very own.

You have no idea how this scares me.

Especially given that Judah is pretty fearless.

And because though he was just a few months old at the time, he was there when big brother befriended some of these (which I believe were actually squirrels) while we were vacationing near Hearst Castle in California a couple of years ago.

And then later saw a sign at a nearby State Park that said "Beware!", because there had apparently been documented cases of Bubonic Plague (!) transmitted by these in the area.

Lovely.

I won't even go into the hypochondria/paranoia that gripped me when big brother developed a large, puffy and growing red welt on his knee only hours after playing with these critters, which resulted in a midnight trip to a rinky-dink hospital in Northern California, where they determined it was just a badly infected mosquito bite, but went ahead and gave him antibiotics as a precaution. And yes, the doctor there had treated both Bubonic Plague and Rabies cases before, and "no", she assured me, "this was neither".

Still, with the cold sweats I'm already getting thinking about my son's innocent little request, I'm thinking maybe we should rethink our plans of camping in that area again this summer.

And maybe just pacify him with the movie when it comes out on DVD.

If that doesn't work, I'm afraid our only recourse will be to take him to Disneyland and terrify him with the Chip & Dale mascots.

What Not To Do If You Get A BAD Cold...

I'm now wrapping up the end of the third week in my battle with that horrible cold that is going around.

Judah, our 2 1/2 year old, is long since over his bout with it, and is back to his full-throttle, high-energy way of life.

Not me. I thought I was getting better, but I'd spoken too soon.

I continue to have to breathe through my mouth at night, and waken to either coughing fits every hour-on-the-hour or the incessant need to blow my nose.

My lips are chapped.

I'm leaking out of almost every orifice on my head, and am a whiny mess.

And I'm getting desperate for one, uninterrupted night's worth of sleep.

I suppose that it didn't help that when I was at my worst with this illness, my husband was off at a teacher's conference leaving me to cope all by my lonesome while sick. Then he came home feeling not so good himself and got to retire early, on account of his having to work the next day. Because, you know, what I spend my days doing is apparently recreation. Leisurely activities like scrubbing toilets, mopping floors, and occasionally having to burst into speed to rescue an errant toddler from the dangers of neighborhood cars speeding past our cul-de-sac.

But you know how it is. Us mom's don't have time to get sick.

So to cope, I self-medicated.

Because nothing comforts quite like chocolate.

And needing a good chocolate fix, the only thing I could find in the entire house were Hunt's chocolate pudding cups.

It was either that, or drive far, far away for a slice of my favorite cheesecake ever.

Call me crazy, but I just wasn't up to trying to wrangle my toddler son into his car seat while he was performing that amazing gymnastic feat of strength otherwise known as the iron cross (we should really consider entering him in the Junior Olympics. He's that good.)

Fortunately for me, the pudding cups weighed in at only 120 calories and 3.5 grams of fat per serving, compared to a bazillion calories and a pound and a half of fat in the slice of cheesecake.

It was the logical, yea, even sensible choice.

Plus, I'm a self-sacrificing kind of mom.

I threw myself in front of the pudding cups to protect my children from the harmful effects of foodstuffs sitting for who-knows-how-long in plastic containers sealed with aluminum tops, enhanced with artificial flavors and colors yellow#5 and yellow #6, all disguised in what appeared to the naked eye to be plain old chocolaty goodness.

Ahh, the sacrifices we parents must sometimes make on in the best interest of our children's good health.

Because believe it or not, we never buy these sorts of things in our whole-grain, health-foody home. And I'm serious when I say this. One of the boys' aunts (who shall remain nameless) apparently took pity on our poor, sweets-deprived children, and sent an entire case home with them after visiting her house recently. A case which I immediately banished to the garage (intending to break it out for use at our next youth group event), so it would be out-of-sight, out-of-mind.

Because, you know, it was just too much of a temptation for me our children, so I did everything in my power to save this family from going down that broad road that leads to destruction. Ahem.

However, I have learned something from this binge lapse in my usual good judgement, and I don't recommend medicating with pudding for bad colds for a couple of reasons:

First, pudding was the better choice over the cheesecake calorie-wise, but that only pertains if you limit yourself to one serving. Not that I've had more than five one or two, mind you.

Second, as most mom's know, there is a very complex mathematical formula that comes into play when a family member is sick with a cold:

Dairy products + a bad cold = congestion and lots of snot an abundance of mucous.

Not to mention garbage cans overflowing with used tissues.

And having to resort to using rolls of toilet paper when all the boxes of tissues in the house are used up because you didn't feel up to navigating the crowds at Walmart with an eight-armed toddler grabbing at everything in sight feeling as you do.

Nor do you feel like going anywhere that would necessitate another hand washing for already crackly-dry hands due to excessive hand washing so that germs are not spread to the unaffected members of the household (even if unrolling a length of toilet paper with which to blow your nose just doesn't look very classy while waiting in the parent pick-up line at your son's school).

However, the third reason reason is due to the little known side effect of chocolate pudding cups on sleep-deprived moms with colds...and that is that they are hallucinogenic.

Yes, my friends, there is apparently something in those pudding cups that causes hallucinations.

Allow me to explain.

Routine tasks like applying makeup (so as to disguise the dark circles under one's eyes) will begin to really trip you out after consumption of chocolate pudding cups. Especially when you see what appears to be bite marks in your concealer.

But then, that's just crazy, because who in the world would ever do such a thing?

Then, in that brain fog that usually accompanies a head cold, you will begin to see strange things occurring around the house, like your 11 year old son playing with little-kid toys like Buzz and Woody.

And your toddler dressing strangely.

.

And then your older son will get right in your face, clowning around trying to make you laugh and feel better when you're dozing on the couch. Later, you will have no recollection of exactly what he said or did, only the vague notion that whatever it was, it was pretty cheesy.

.

Even simple tasks like putting on your shoes, which was an automatic maneuver before...under the effects of chocolate pudding cups leave you feeling...impaired. Disoriented to the point of not even being able to slip your feet into your favorite pair of shoes on the first couple of tries. It's really trippy.

And just when you think you're past the worst of it, you'll see strange, impish creatures running through the house.

Take my word for it...it's really better to just steer clear of the dairy products and sweets altogether, because trust me, you don't want your cold to last for three weeks, and you don't want to feel like this. *couuuuuugh, cough, sneeze*

17 Years Ago Today...

A little over seventeen years ago, I had just returned to Minnesota after a Spring Break trip to visit my family in Washington State.

That's my sister Jami with me (on the left) in each of these photos. (If I had a dollar for every strip of photos I'd had taken in the Kmart photo booth, I'd probably have been able to pay my way through college then, instead of still. I loved those things!)

There we were, goofing off just before Kmart closed that Saturday night, with me patting myself on the back for already having my stuff all packed and ready to go for my flight out the following morning.

When I called to confirm my flight early Sunday morning, the kind lady at Northwest Airlines told me, "Ahhh, miss, it appears that you've missed your flight."

"WHAT?!" I squawked, in disbelief.

Apparently I'd overlooked the whole AM part of my itinerary, and had missed my flight by several hours.

Through panicked tears, I pleaded with the woman over the phone, explaining my predicament, and that I absolutely had to get back to college or I could lose placement in some vital classes for my major, and that I couldn't afford a whole other ticket because I was just barely making ends meet as it was, and that either my college career would be doomed, or I would be relegated to eating saltine crackers and ramen noodles for the next three months if I had to buy a new ticket...

$50 dollars later, she was able to reschedule my missed flight, and we were forced to dash to the airport the minute I got off the phone if I was to catch it on time.

Early Sunday afternoon, my Uncle Mark and my Cousin Tiffany came to the airport to pick me up, and while on the drive back to my college, Tiffany announced that some guy named Jeff had called the house several times looking for me.

Because I'd lived at my aunts house for a year before starting college, their address and phone number were the ones that ended up in the college face book as my home numbers.

"Jeff?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat. Could it be? Had that studmuffin football player/campus security guard called moi?

I could barely contain my joy. "Are you serious?" I asked my startled young cousin.

"Uh....yeah." Clearly, she was oblivious to the importance of such news.

But then my heart sank remembering a trivial but very important little detail that put me in a bit of a predicament.

Which Jeff?

Just before leaving for Washington, I'd learned through the grapevine that there were two different guys, both named Jeff, that were interested in me.

I asked my cousin a couple more questions, trying to narrow down whether or not it was the Jeff that I was interested in, or the other guy.

Had he left a name? No.
Had he left a phone number? No.
What did he sound like? I dunno.

Big help, Tiff. But then, she was like 11 or 12 at the time and didn't pay attention to such important details.

So I worried for the rest of the drive back to campus about what I was going to do if it was the Jeff I was not interested in who had called, and how I would ever get over the disappointment if the one I was interested in never did call me.

It was all kind of wishful thinking anyway, because for all I knew, it might just as easily have been my cousin Jeff who was due to be shipped off to the Persian Gulf with the Military at any time, and who my dad had mentioned had been calling around to say his goodbyes to the fam.

How odd to have so many Jeff's in one's life all at once confusing matters.

When I got to the college, much to my dismay there were no messages for me either on my answering machine, or at the Student Center desk.

So I went shopping.

I'd just put in my two weeks notice as a cosmetics consultant at JCPenney's, and wanted to use the money my grandma had given me while I'd been home on a new outfit or two before my employee discount ran out.

As it turned out, I happened upon a fantastic spring sale, and was able to get three new outfits, two of which were suits that I'd be able to wear to church. I was ecstatic.

A couple of hours later I returned to campus, hoofed it in from the far parking lot, my purchases over my arms, dreamy thoughts swirling through my head about when and where I'd wear my new clothes and how I'd style my hair. Suddenly I see the gray campus security van pull to a stop alongside me on the one-way road in front of the building.

I glance up and see Jeff. The Jeff that I had so hoped was the one who had called my aunts house looking for me!

He had rolled down the window and was leaning out slightly, smiling.

Be still my heart!

He called to me over the sound of the van motor, "Hi, Becky."

My throat suddenly felt dry, and my hands went all clammy.

"Hi" I replied shyly.

"I tried calling you a couple of times over Spring Break, but I must have had the wrong number or something."

"Oh?" I croaked out, knowing what was coming, my heart doing really funny things inside my chest.

Just then, I see some of Jeff's buddies, Chad and Dean-O, walking towards us on the sidewalk. They glanced up and saw Jeff in the van. They smiled and nodded in the way of guys sending signals meant to egg each other on. Dean-O called out, "Just do your job, man...just do your job."

I knew they were razzing him, and could sense Jeff's embarrassment. But it gave me a moment's reprieve to collect myself and try and swallow the nervous lump in my throat.

When the door closed behind them, I turned back and found him smiling that drop dead gorgeous smile of his once again, and my heart fluttered yet again.

I later learned that during this precise moment, Jeff was pressing his already buff bicep against the van door, hoping to make it look even bigger, lol.

I was suitably impressed.

"I, uh...I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime?"

By now, my heart was flipping around like a fish on the riverbank. Or maybe it was the butterflies in my stomach all flying upward at the same time, pounding against my heart...nevertheless, it produced all manner of nervous sensations inside of me.

Plenty of guys had asked me out before, but always, and I mean always, I knew right off the bat it was a one-time deal. Sometimes I would dread going out with the guy, and would suffer through a lame date simply because I didn't have the guts to decline.

But this...this was different. From the very first moment.

No, with Jeff, there was no revulsion whatsoever.

Nothing that turned me off, or yea, even repulsed me to the point I wanted nothing to do with the guy afterward. Like the new guy on campus who jumped out from behind a tree while I was walking late to class one morning and scared the bejeepers out of me. Or the guy who parked his can on my sofa during visiting hours and expected that I would cook for him on my one, thin dime (while his parents paid his way through college). Or the really enthusiastic guy with the white eyebrows who had a tendency to spit when he talked. Or the other guy, who though a sweetheart, was about a foot shorter than I was, and had a unibrow and poor table manners. Or my 'secret brother', who after the big 'reveal' made it known that he liked me, but unknowingly sealed his own doom when he didn't wipe the mayonaise off the corner of his mouth one day at lunch.

No, with Jeff, I knew right off, from the moment we'd caught eyes at the basketball game that there was nothing like that standing in the way with him.

Everything about him was perfect. And attractive. And I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the entire world the moment he smiled at me.

"Um, sure...that sounds good."

And so it was set.

My roomies Lynette and Mary will try and tell you that I came back to our dorm, cast aside my purchases and jumped up and down on my bed as I excitedly screeched the news to them...but I couldn't possibly have been as juvenile as all that.

Or, ahem, maybe I was. It's been so long ago now, I scarcely remember...

In any case, 17 years ago today, we were sitting in Baker's Square, on our first date, where we talked for four hours straight over a slice of Brownie Pie with vanilla ice cream.

And late the evening of that momentous occasion, smitten as I was, I floated into my dorm room my feet not quite touching the ground and told my roomies all about how wonderful Jeff was.

That night, as I lay in bed trying to get to sleep after such excitement, the words of a poem kept coming back to me, tugging at the corners of my mind, until I was forced to get up and retrieve the book I had found it in.

Rhapsody

(as found in the book Julie, by Catherine Marshall)

My Love is come

and stars are bright

melody flows

from out the night

The little bear shouts

the dipper drips wine,

all of this beauty

is mine, is mine

Let dawning be red

as fair as that day

when my Love will come

to stay, to stay

The trees are dancing

in rhythmical sway,

and this is the tune

they play, they play:

My love is come

and stars are bright

melody flows

from out the night.

And I knew, without a doubt...he was the one.

It's Like Halloween Around Here!

The best part about Jeff getting home safe and sound Sunday night was seeing our youngest son's delight at finally getting to see his daddy again. Four days without your daddy is a long time when you're 2 1/2!

I was also considerably relieved that all the worst-case-scenarios I had conjured up in my stuffed up head were all for naught, and that his plane did not crash leaving me a young widow with two children to raise on my own.

But the next best thing was when Jeff dumped out all of the loot he brought home with him from the conference all over our round kitchen table. And there was a lot. The boys went berserk. Jericho and Judah were in the thick of things snatching items for themselves um, generously dividing up the goods.

Now this stuff that might not seem like much to some, but it was all free, most of it useful, and the reps from various educational organizations kept shoving it at my husband, so he kept taking it. And did I mention it was all free?

Among the spoils:

• Several highlighter pens in every available color (always useful for Bible study)


• A black tote bag (can you ever have enough of these with children?)


• A bright red backpack, which Judah laid claim to immediately (after playing with the highlighters)

• Lots of pens in various shapes and sizes, enough to fill a gallon ziploc bag.

• Three bright red foam apples. My first thought after seeing these was that they had to take the cake for being the stupidest gimmick from the conference. However, one minute later I quickly changed my mind, because being somewhat 'Nerf-like', it was discovered they can be used to safely play catch indoors. But Jericho found the best use of all for them:

• Some novelty light-up LED necklaces


• Several picture books of animals and a book about the State Capitol


• Enough note pads for even my compulsive list-making needs for the next year.


• A beautiful stainless steel insulated coffee mug that will fit in my console in the car.

But my favorite items of all?

A ginormous stack of Post It Notes!

I kid you not, if Jeff would have offered me my choice between a box of fine French truffles or a stack of Post It note pads, I'd have taken the latter. And that's saying something, because I do love fine French truffles. Thank you, Jeff!

And now, with a nearly endless supply...I don't have to resort to rationing them any more. I can use them for whatever my heart desires! Woo hoo!

Ahem, I know that perhaps this might seem a bit weird to you all, so I won't even get started on my collection of bread bag tabs.

Or the fact that my friend Chrissy even saves hers for me. Because one day...one day I'm going to make a magnificent work of art, my magnum opus, entirely out of these recyclables. (I'm hoping that will, you know, help to relieve some of the guilt caused by the numerous trees that were sacrificed to support my copious Post It Note habit)...but that's a post for another day.

Can I Get The Number For Poison Control, Please?

I've been working on a couple of posts that I've been trying to find pictures for, and so they are currently gathering dust in my draft file. Something else always seems to come up before I can finish them.

But that's okay, I simply haven't had time to look through old photos...I've been kind of busy calling poison control today.

Well, actually I didn't bother when Judah tasted the dog food earlier this morning, because he'd done that once before without any ill effects, and after chewing, promptly spit it back out.

I wanted to ask him, "Has it come to this? You're so hungry and neglected that you've resorted to dog food?" This kid is always eating and snacking. I just don't get it.

Kibbles & Bits must really look appetizing. Mmmm...just like candy.

But while bathing him this morning, I left the bathroom for two seconds...one second into his room just across the hall to grab his little bath towel, another second to return...and there he is, the bottle of baby shampoo upended, and undetermined amount down the hatch.

I asked him, "Judah! Did you just DRINK the shampo?" with my firmest icky-yucky, we-don't-do-that face on.

He quickly put the bottle back up on the ledge (where big brother apparently left it this morning, because it is usually on the higher one out of his reach).

"No" he says in reply, a gigantic bubble coming out with the word.

Reminded me a little of that old episode of Lil Rascals where Alfalfa Corn had eaten soap, and was blowing bubbles...

I guess this wasn't so bad though. Judah did down an entire bottle of bubbles at my sister's wedding last June, which promptly came right back up, and that didn't seem to have any lingering side effects. Perhaps he didn't ingest quite so much this time around.

The fun never ends in the Frump household!

Too Crazy A Day To Be Sick

Sometimes I go for days, running along in the same well-worn grooves.

Not that I'm complaining, as predicatability can be a good thing.

But for me, it always seems that long stretches like this are punctuated by a really crazy day to sort of make up for all the ordinary ones.

You know, those days that seem like a condensed weeks worth of stuff all crammed into one 24 hour period?

I was ready to send out an S.O.S. on Thursday morning:

Flying solo with kids for 4 days (stop) Sick with a cold (stop) Toddler feverish (stop) Send reinforcements (Stop)

Kidding on the reinforcements part, because we're actually begginning to feel much better now.

But I should have known things were heading south Monday morning.

That was the day Jeff reminded me about his conference this weekend, and the same day that I first woke up with a bad cold and a lovely man-voice (which was so hoarse my own mom didn't recognize me on the phone that day).

Wednesday night, I asked if he could cancel the trip. I just wasn't ready for him to leave for his long-weekend school conference the next day. Especially being sick myself and with Judah feeling a tad feverish.

But Jeff couldn't exactly get out of this one, as it cost his school a pretty penny.

Yeah, I felt sorry for him, 'having' to fly by plane to get to this thing and then 'having' to stay in a Hyatt hotel. As if that weren't enough, the poor guy also 'has' to eat out at nice restaurants every day while he's there, and then spend his free time shoping among throngs of people. Poor thing.

In spite of being crazy jealous about his paid weekend away, we've coped quite well.

Our older son Jericho has been a huge help since dad's been gone. Getting sippy cups of juice for little brother, making toast and other easy-to-prepare foods for himself and his brother, and even helping with Judah's bathtime yesterday evening.

Of course, being able to call and talk to daddy has helped, too, because little Judah is just beside himself without his daddy here. Especially since learning that daddy got to go on an "airpane" AND a "buth", he has not stopped hounding me about where his daddy is. Until we call and let him talk to him.

I was still feeling pretty rough last night, and was looking forward to sleeping in and lounging around in my jammies all morning long.

However, our new neighbors in the house next door were up-and-at-'em at 7 am, clamouring around in their backyard (I think getting it set up for a birthday party or something) with our loyal watchdog Raisin barking up a storm at them through the fence.

Needless to say, I was wide awake hours before I wanted to be, and so because the kids can sleep through anything, I came out to enjoy the relative peace and solitude of my kitchen in the early morning sunshine.

I had just sat down with a hot cup of tea, when I saw this

Apparently the ants in the neighborhood were all roused from their winter lodgings by our brief streak of warm weather, thought it was spring, and decided to get to work building themselves an anthill...inside my kitchen!

One inch from the outside!

Either they overshot their tunnel digging, or they were enticed in by the ready supply of crumbs left on the floor since mom's been sick.

Which means there is a crack that I will have to locate and patch up to prevent the summer onslaught from that same point of entry. Oy.

In trying to clean all that up, I woke up the boys.

So everyone was up by 7:45, and we started our Saturday much earlier than I had hoped.

But Judah was still very tired, and after he ate a little, and watched Charlotte's Web, was ready to go back down for a nap about 9:30.

I had just dozed off again myself when my sister-in-law called around 10.

In the middle of the call, there was suddenly a knock on my front door. I peeked out the peephole, and saw her standing on the other side of the door with her daughter, cell phone in hand (like she's 'surprised' me before), and I threw open the door and said, "You dawg!"

Except that it wasn't her at all, but a couple of women from a local church that goes door to door passing out literature. The woman was just putting her cell phone away, and looked rather stunned by my outburst.

"I'm sooooo sorry." I'm sure the poor soul thought I was certifiably insane.

After making feeble apologies, I closed the door.

Meanwhile, my sister-in-law is still on the phone, and so I fill her in on what just happened and we get a good laugh out of it.

But before that call ended, there was another knock on the door. This time a salesman.

I didn't bother to answer that one.

And that was just the beginning of my day!

It all seemed so simple that morning, when the only actual plan we had for the day was to take Jericho to his Awana Games practice at 2 this afternoon!

Hopelessly wide-awake, I sat down at my computer for a bit while Judah was still napping.

That lasted maybe a half hour, but with the boys snacking and some VeggieTales, I was able to finish a few things.

Then at noon, I get a call asking if Jericho was going to be at the church for Bible Quiz practice at noon.

The practice I knew nothing about, because Jericho hadn't bothered to tell me he'd even made the team!

It was ten til noon, and still in our PJ's, we had to kick it into high gear, and I got him to the church a little late.

I thought it would be nice to take Judah and go to the bookstore to kill the next hour or two, and as I was pulling out of my church parking lot, I saw a 'suspicious' car parked along the road across the street from our church, and thought at first that what I was witnessing was graffiti tagging-in-progress. In broad daylight.

It caused me to pause momentarily and assess things.

The driver's side door suddenly popped open, and a woman hopped out, steadied herself, and leaving the driver's side door open, and sort of stumbled around to the passenger side, balancing herself on the car.

The passenger, a guy who had apparently been struggling to get out of his door (what I had mistaken for graffiti-in-progress), tossed a can against the stucco wall they were parked beside, which sloshed all over the wall, then staggered around to the driver's side, and hopped in. The woman was already inside, having lit a cigarette, which for some reason she was holding out the sunroof.

I pulled out behind them, following discreetly at a distance, and glanced down at the can he'd tossed out. A beer can. At 12:30 in the afternoon. Hence their staggering.

My hackles rose. (Insert a Marge Simpson "Grrrrrr")

Their recklessness and irresponsibility was going to endanger countless other people's lives!

And I say this from the perspective of one who had friends in high school that were killed as a result of the fatal combination of drinking and driving. That was so SADD, and made a lasting impression on my life. Then, a few years ago, my cousin Rachelle, a college kid with a bright future ahead of her, was killed by a drunk driver. That makes me MADD!

So, good citizen Becky was on the job. I followed this possibly inebriated couple as I dialed 911 and gave all the particulars.

They immediately dispatched a unit that was nearby. Half an hour later, I was asked to drive past their location and ID the driver (while on the phone with one of the deputies). It was him alright. And he was already in handcuffs.

With that much excitement before 1 pm, I thought perhaps we should just play things safe, and head straight home from Jericho's practice!

So far, so good.