My Temporary Blogging Station

A little peek at my work-in-progress kitchen.

This is the counter from whence I blog.

Yep, that's pink tile. It came with the house.

Seeing as granite was not in our budget, and ripping out counters and a backsplash that were in perfectly good condition seemed excessively wasteful, I decided instead to just incorporate the salmon mousse pink color into my decor.

It adds a feminine touch to the kitchen, I must say.

And without the use of doilies or lace, so Jeff's happy.

As for the counter, it's quite high for blogging.

I don't have barstools yet (and the area below the counter is not yet finished), and so I sit on a chair.

Trouble is, when I blog, I kind of feel like this (except without the tattoos):

How biker types can ride those things for any length of time without their arms going numb from lack of circulation is beyond me. My arms are tired.

However, necessity dictates that blogging from this position must be, until this weeks-into-months project is finally complete and blogging can resume from my desk in the guest room.

I can hardly wait! The laminate flooring goes in this weekend!

Oh, and I DID finally find my camera bag. It was a sweet reunion. Oh how I've missed you, my Fuji Finepix!

We've been making up for lost time bustling around the house taking pictures of the progress.

Renovation results postings coming soon!

A Long Meandering Tale of Home Decor, Hormones, Zombies, the Color Green and Girls Nite Out

Today I'm going to discuss a few things not often discussed here at Stuck in Frump.

Things like home decor, girls-night-out, testosterone, Zombies and the color green.

No, you have not stumbled upon a strange episode of Sesame Street.

And yes, I'm sure you are wondering what a self-professed Frumpmama would be writing about such things for, and how they could possibly ever even remotely relate to each other.

I suppose I should start by informing you that while it may not seem like it to you, my bloggy peeps, deep in the heart of this Frumpmama is an interior decorator waiting to burst forth.

To be set free. Loosed!

To decorate with abandon as I have longed to do for years and years.

I do not kid you.

I was an art major in college. At one time, I planned on becoming a graphic designer, creating world-famous logos.

Then we became parents, and all that changed.

My focus shifted to the more important matters of custom birth announcements, scrapbooking...and the creme De la creme: interior decorating.

Settling on the all-important theme for our baby's nursery (which in Jericho's case was the brightly colored Paddington Bear in case you were wondering...because no son of Jeff's was going to have a nursery in pastels of any color, thankyouverymuch) was of utmost importance.

Sadly, despite all my best efforts, my home's decor has suffered terribly, becoming the biggest casualty of my condition.

For the past 15 years, I've suffered from a condition known as RID.

Otherwise known as Repressed Inner-Decorator.

I blame this condition largely on the fact that we've rented for so long and have had to suffer with 'rental' white (and in one case, a very sad shade of 1970's 'Navajo White' which was not white at all, but a very drab tan) and some wood-look paneling, which worked together to suck all the brightness from the living room of our home...in spite of even the bright halogen torchere (sp.?) lamps we had in those days.

It was a very trying time for me, but I persevered.

Under the constraints of those drab rental walls, I usually managed to decorate our home in a pleasing manner, employing artwork of my own design (though always longing for the day when I could finally slather the walls with color and could place things on the walls and hang select objects from the ceilings wherever I wanted to).

Recently, as I've begun to reassess my home decor choices from years past (and plan out completely different colors for our new home), I've noticed something remarkable.

Somehow in recent years and quite without my notice, our home decor has evolved into an abode that virtually screams 'boys live here'. Though that could be due in part to all the Matchbox cars littering the floors.

In spite of all my efforts to steer clear of sports related themes, never giving in to the desire (however brief) to decorate in "Lodge" theme, the color scheme of our home still gravitated towards masculinity, leaving not a vestige of femininity in the home.

How could this travesty have occurred with a girly-girl (albeit frumpmama) in the house, you ask?

I blame it all on the color green.

Forest green, specifically.

Now I love the color forest green. Always have, and probably always will. Probably because I used to wear a lot of it.

The long, forest green wool winter coat I used to wear over my work clothes during Minnesota winters was what I happened to be wearing when my husband first took notice of me.

My love of forest green, however, became all-consuming, and led to a serious decor dilemma, and one that I tell you about because it must be nipped in the bud right away so one doesn't fall prey to it.

You see, I loved the color SO much, that the very first furniture that we ever bought new was a two-sofa set from This End Up...honey pine finish with upholstery of forest green.

We still have these sofas today, all. these. years. later.

Aside from a couple of stubborn grease spots still remaining from the "Molly McButter" incident of Jericho's toddlerhood, they still look pretty decent.

Yes, thanks to ScotchGuard and the high-quality foam and upholstery fabrics they were made of, the pieces are virtually indestructible. And still comfortable. Just sadly in need of a better color.

Cutesy "Country" style furnishings were in when we bought those sofas.

Navy and burgundy were also used (along with forest green) in profusion around our home.

For years and years. And years.

Because I did not realize the gravity of the situation early enough to correct it, most of my living room decor choices over the years have (out of necessity) had to match those forest green sofas. One can't ignore those elephants in the room.

And as a result of that, my family became accustomed to this abundance of masculine colors permeating our home decor.

In fact, I believe the men in my life have come to correlate hearth and "home" with these colors, and have firmly resisted change. Jeff has turned up his nose at all of my forays into incorporating "Shabby Chic" or "Victorian" or "Romantic" look in our home, because, well, we raise boys here.

Anything pink, lacy or including the term 'doily' is pretty much out of the question.

Which limits me considerably.

I'm just not into the sleek modern or minimalist looks.

Even as a FrumpMama, non-fashionista type, I still desire to have a beautiful, functional and cozy home with decor that includes those special feminine touches that truly make a house a home.


I suppose I could deal with the whole 'masculine' decor issue well enough if I hadn't become inundated by another wave of testosterone around here lately.

Yes, as if decor colors weighing heavily on the side of testosterone weren't enough...every which way I turn in this house I've been subjected to ongoing testosterone-filled discussions about sports, superheroes (who can 'take' whom), race cars, weaponry, Thomas the Train, the TV series Smallville, anything and everything Star Wars, and more recently, Zombies.

"Zombies?" you ask.

Yes, Zombies. As in Dawn of the Dead zombies.

In recent months, my husband and oldest son have become rather obsessed with Zombies.

Ever since they first heard about the book World War Z.

They even have a contingency plan.

Wherever we go as a family, be it an amusement park or a museum, the grocery store or Lowe's...at some point during that trip it is a given that the topic will arise, wherein they will discuss the merits or failings of such a place being a 'fortress' to defend themselves were "Zombies" to ever attack.

Because, as you all know, there is a very real and imminent danger of Zombies attacking, and we should be fortified and heavily armed 'just in case'.

It's at times like these that a mom just wants to throw her hands in the air and cry out, "Why did I not have any daughters, Lord?"

Rarely do I get the opportunity to use, much less bestow upon a daughter my vast array of girly knowledge...things like French-braiding hair, sewing, applying makeup, teaching a girl to crochet or quilt or cook or decorate cakes, the fine arts of making deviled eggs, cooking Thanksgiving turkeys or decorating elaborate Christmas cookies...(not to mention someone to bequeath my expansive 5th grade sticker and doll collections to one day).

At times like these, I sometimes mourn all those girlhood plans I'd made to one day throw wonderful girl birthday parties and make beautiful cakes for my daughters...because, well, those plans went out the window when I had sons.

Because in our forest green manly house, boys cakes with icing roses would never fly.

Instead, I was forced to come up with things like Pirate cakes and parties.

But that's a blog for another day.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I love doing fun stuff for my boys.

It's just that all these girly talents within me have gone largely untapped.

I've even begun to think in boy.

Instead of pointing out pretty hairstyles or beautiful flower gardens to a daughter, or maybe marveling over a new color of lipstick or nail polish or a beautiful new dress together...I find myself pointing out lizards and bugs along the sidewalk. Or listening to long discussions on Star Wars or the latest episodes of Smallville, or long diatribes on superheroes and kung fu movies.

And if that weren't bad enough, I have even found myself occasionally slipping my two-cents into the family Zombie discussions.

**hangs head in shame**

As you can see, due to all these factors, it was apparent that I was long overdue for a girls night out.

Because a girl (especially the mother of two sons) needs an outlet every now and again, you know?

Time to get in touch with her inner-chick.

Thankfully, my good friend Chrissy and her sister-in-law Lisa rescued me from my distress.

They whisked myself and three other women away for a Christian women's arena event called Women of Faith.

We even booked a fancy hotel suite.

It was a refreshing, estrogen-filled weekend getaway. A slumber party of sorts.

And you truly haven't lived until you've heard Anita Renfroe, Patsy Clairmont, Luci Swindoll, Sheila Walsh, Nicole Johnson, Sandi Patty, Nicole C. Mullen, Steve Arterburn, Natalie Grant, Luci Swindoll, Mary Graham and others talk or perform live on stage all in one weekend.

And you really haven't lived until (courtesy the deal-finding skillz of Lisa's husband) you've scored arena floor seats about 7 rows behind "the porch", where all these ladies all sit while the others are on stage.

And you really, really haven't lived until Sandi Patty walks down the aisle past you after singing one of your old Sandi Patty favorites and speaking on stage, and you smile at her, and as she's passing by she warmly pats you on the shoulder.



Sandi was one of my favorite Christian singers as a girl.

That sistuh can saaang!

Hers was one of my very first cassette tapes ever, purchased by my mother the Christmas I received my very first Ghetto Blaster.

And Sandi Patty patted my shoulder.

That was huge, peeps.

Being that the only other celebrity I've ever seen up close was Don King the boxing promoter...for me, this was like running into royalty.

I'm pretty sure I still have fairy dust on my shoulder. Sandy, Michael W. and Amy were my childhood heroes.

And now, she and I are like this: **crosses fingers**

We're practically best buds, lol.

Yes, all things combined, it was a touching and wonderfully refreshing chick-weekend!

More Home Renovation Lessons Learned

Still here. Still *cough, cough* covered in construction dust. Still striving for fab.

I have been a horrible blogger, I know, going for days without any contact while we were in the throes of DIY projects and covered in construction dust, but when I signed on to my reader yesterday after having been virtually out-of-commish for a little over a week, I found over 500 postings to slog through. It may take me a while to get all caught up.

As for the home renovation lessons we've been learning? Here are a few more...

16. Even if your list of DIY projects appears to be small and manageable, you will get 10 days into the list (the projected finish time), see no end in sight, and will wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew. And you will weep and wail and gnash your teeth. (Not really, but it sounds so dramatic, doesn't it? And I'm nothing right now if not dramatic.)

17. Your family will lament the fact that the new home just doesn't feel like home yet. And you will wonder if the boxes of glass-framed family pictures and things ended up getting buried beneath boxes of stuff in the garage, hoplessly broken to smithereens. But you can't check on this because there is so much else that must take priority.

18. The house, though you spend hours each day trying to maintain a modicum of your usual high standard of cleanliness and homemaking will still look as though a bomb went off. (Oy, the dust! We're all sneezing and coughing and none of it is due to colds.)

19. It is possible for even a compulsive blogger/family chronicler/hobby photographer like myself to lose track of her camera bag (*gasp*) and her laptop (*gasp and sputter*) in the move.
20. Calling the trash company twice about your not-yet-delivered garbage cans will yield little by way of results, but you can bet they will still try to charge you for "service".

21. Bags of trash will pile up in the bed of the pick-up in your driveway for lack of any other place to put it until such a time as the recepticles finally arrive. All that is needed now are for a few broken down cars to litter the yard, and to allow the weeds to grow knee-high, and we'll really look the part of the desert rat.

22. Never leave a cup of paint thinner with a paint brush in it outside on the patio, where a toddler could push paint cans over to step up and get it. Because he will find it, spill it all over his pants, and though the pants are removed at the first discovery of chemical smell, the son's legs will not smell like paint thinner, and you will wrongly assume that it merely got on his pants. Later, however, inspection of your toddler son's "owie" will reveal a bright red rash on the top of his foot that will evidence his lengthy contact with the chemical. You will thank the Lord that your husband had the foresight to clean the bath tubs in the new home (while you were unpacking) in preparation for the families first night there, and will promptly put your child to soak, then soap it up and soak him again, and it will will (thankfully) return to normal color by late that evening. And you will be eternally grateful that said paint thinner-in-a-cup was an unappealing color of murky taupe so at least he didn't drink it. Like your (then) toddler nephew did a few years earlier when he happened upon a cup of milky-white paint thinner-in-a-cup in the new home they were moving into and took a swig while his mom raced across the floor in slow-mo, with leaden feet (like in nightmares) because he'd recently had heart surgery, and aspirating it into his lungs was a frighteningly real possibility with potentially grave consequences (though thankfully he never had any lingering problems as a result, either).

23. Compulsive perpetual listmakers like myself will go crazy during the move, both from having the well-devised lists and plans for our renovation getting tossed out the window, and from not being able to find a single piece of paper in the house (not even a scrap of scratch paper) on which to write new lists. Which results in lots of writing on the palm of my hand to stay on track for the day.

24. Ripping up the carpeting that had been in the house will prove to be a wonderful idea, because the funny smell the house seemed to have lingering inside will go away (along with the carpeting)...and will be worth every extra penny you are forced to spend on new carpeting (which thankfully ends up being far less than usual, thanks to your husband's firm refusal to go over-budget, and the carpet place's desperation for a sale in a very slow market).

25. Oldest son's bedroom will turn out drastically a tad brighter than the paint chip you'd picked out to match the 'water' on the maps you would be hanging up in his room, rendering his room a garish aqua (instead of the desired lighter shade of turquoise), because contrary to popular conjecture...paint does not dry 'lighter', and those paint chips are colored with transparent inks, not opaque paint. However, being 'turning-life's-lemons-to-lemondade' type of parents you will enthusiastically applaud his color choice (and he will, thankfully, be delighted with the results), which is a good thing, because his project-weary parents aren't likely to be changing the color any time soon.

26. It is possible to teach old dogs new tricks! I have learned (among other things) the fine art of switching out door-knobs and installing dead-bolts and door hinges, and Jeff has learned how to install new electrical light fixtures (thanks, Steve!) without incident. And our normally 'bark only when necessary' dog Raisin has learned to bark at every. single. person. that passes by our house each day.

27. Even decor-conscious folks like myself will deign to live (temporarily) with plastic garbage bags and/or newspapers taped over the front windows until I'm able to get around to hanging up curtains, because just about anything is better than that 'living in a fishbowl' feeling of not having the windows covered.

28. Your first night in the new house will not be entirely restful, as a whole new set of sounds will wake you throughout the night, requiring investigation as to the cause if you are to get any sleep at all. Including what sounded like someone breaking into the garage, but turns out to be your scaredy-cat dog pounding and scratching on the metal front door and snuffling along the bottom edge (which echoes funny through the house due to different accoustics than you were used to) to inform you that she does not like life in the front yard one. single. bit.

29. The laminate flooring that you ordered 10 days earlier (and paid for in advance) and was told should be delivered via a store-to-store transfer in just a couple of days will not actually get ordered, resulting in both rescheduling the installer and enduring another 10 days or so of dusty living on bare concrete floors. Ugh. However, we will recognize the blessing-in-disguise when we end up with a 20% discount for their mistake and our inconvenience.

30. Though the house is still in a tumultous state, having the kids settled in their beds in their new rooms after bedtime prayers, and the "Goodnight Johnboy" bedtime routine returning will bring a sense of normalcy to things once again. Who knew that parents needed those routines just as much as the kids?

**Cough, Cough** Home Renovation Lessons Learned

I'm still here. **cough, cough** We've been buried under all the dust involved with the 'face lift' of our new home.

Here are a few of the lessons I've learned during this renovation:

1. Do take the time to cover more than just the newly installed light fixtures with plastic before sanding cabinetry and taking up the tile flooring, because such tasks will leave a superfine layer of dust across the interior of your home that will rival the amount of ash that your grandma had all over her yard in Tacoma, Washington after Mt. St. Helen's blew back when you were a girl.

2. Take the time to be sure you've turned on only the lights in the fixtures NOT still covered in plastic in your new home...before you are nearly driven from the home by the smell of smell of melting plastic on hot bulbs.

3. If what you thought was "merely" a heavy film of grease on the kitchen walls around the stove does not come off the walls after inordinate amounts of scrubbing with sudsy Dawn, TSP and a stiff scrub brush...it is most likely a film of nicotine. From six-pack-a-day smoker.

4. Bugs of all kinds can survive in 2-years-vacant homes, and five dead cockroaches found in the newly cleaned out and bug-bombed fogged garage will cause horror-flick quality nightmares that will pervade your normally sweet sleep, and cast a pall over the wonderful experience of owning your beautiful new home. As in those kind of repeating nightmares that come back night after night taunting you with their realism, causing you to fret even in your sleep that you will accidentally 'infest' your sister-in-law's home where you are staying during the renovation and that she and her family will recoil in horror, thinking you and your family to be horribly disgusting and filthy because of it.

5. Just when you think you have the perfect time frame all mapped out for completing the 'flip', something seemingly insignificant will pop up that will bump all the remaining tasks off schedule and require calling around to reschedule help in the days ahead. This will happen a minimum of five times.

6. You will be happy to accept help of any kind, even from people who don't bother to read your notations on your painstakingly organized moving boxes (such as "FRAGILE" and "HEAVY") especially if it means being able to get to bed before midnight, because your back and feet will be screaming, lamenting the use of muscles you never knew you had.

7. Feeding your volunteer work crews from day to day will provide you with moments of hilarity you never thought possible before...like the day you ordered 14 tacos, 10 burgers and 10 orders of fries at a drive-thru (for a group of teens from church that were coming over to help), and the kid taking your order gasps, "T-TEN?! Ten small fries?" (with a "Say WHAT?!" kind of verbal double-take), and you must, with red face, admit that yes, we are in fact ordering 10 orders of fries. And you will feel that all the workers in the restaurant will be peering out the drive through window to witness the spectacle that is your family to put a face with the type of people order that many orders of french fries all at once. Then, you will get to the pick-up window and your husband will deadpan, "My wife was really hungry."

8. The projects that were slated to take only a week on paper will stretch into at least 2 weeks, with the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel looking very faint off in the distance, because of all that still needs to be done and because the carefully rendered master list was cast aside in favor of 'winging' it.

9. Your son will come down with the flu during the window of time between getting moved out of the old house and into the new, hampering your ability to supervise help with certain crucial aspects of the transition that will further set you behind on both the move out and the renovation prior to move in. Things like the crucial order of first sanding and removing floor before dusting and washing down walls to prepare for painting, making it necessary to do this lovely little chore twice.

10. You will suffer extreme fatigue after the final 'inspection' on the old house, knowing that the really hard work hasn't even begun yet, and will feel uncharacteristically out of control and snappish, to the point where everyone in your life will look at you like you've lost it...only to realize that you were trying to catch your breath due to a horrible asthma attack you didn't even realize was upon you until you were wheezing and gasping for air...no thanks to all the cleaners being used in the house all at one time. And you will want everyone (even those helping to get things done faster) to go away and leave you to suffer without spectators.

11. The nephew in the household you have invaded (while his parents are in Hawaii and you are in the midst of the renovation) will have an accident while horsing around outside while having a Nerf warfare battle with your son, which necessitates the need of a late night trip to the E.R. for an x-ray on his hand. Thankfully this involves 'only' a contusion and no broken bones, even though your ornery husband decides to tell his sister by a trans-pacific cell phone call that it was a horrible break on the growth plates, and will need titanium pins and intensive physical therapy to restore use. She will groan with regret, ruing the moment she decided to take the trip, until her brother says, "I'm just kidding...it's only a bruise. He'll be better in a day or two with a pain reliever" to which she will reply, "You jerk", but in the same sentence thank him for taking care of her baby in her absence, because that's just the kind of family they are.

12. You will discover that your new neighbors love playing very very loud music at all hours of the day and night, the decibel levels of which will reverberate in your chest like the 3rd row tickets to a lame Stryper concert you went to as a teen, and that said neighbors will, with much profanity the following morning, blame you because the cops showed up to bust them for disturbing the peace at 3 am, all because you're the new kids on the block. (Not the NKOTB, but the new family in the 'hood.) And you will worry for the safety of your home and belongings and dog after leaving the house each night.

13. Your normally stalwart, brave guard-dog will exhibit bizarre and uncharacteristic behavior. Like tugging on the gate of the chain link fence with her teeth to try and open it and get out. Or like jumping in the car every time you open the doors as though to say, "Please, PLEASE don't leave me here by myself again!" until you realize that she is accustomed to viewing everything from the relative privacy afforded by wooden fences where she would spy through the gaps in the boards, but is now 'exposed' by chain link, and doesn't like it one. single. bit. And she will hover around you (because, after all, you are the only mama she can remember) every moment you spend at the new house working, literally dogging your every step. And you will have to speak to her in soothing tones to calm her down. And she will run to you with relief at your arrival each morning, and you will feel great guilt for not being able to do anything about it.

14. Your appliances will not be available for delivery for two full weeks after move in, and your kitchen things will all still be packed due to the renovation dust, effectively preventing you from cooking dinner in your home. (Darn).

15. Because of # 5 and #8 and #9, your renovation will drag on days longer than you anticipated, and you will find yourselves feeling rather homeless, dragging clothes around with you in tubs in the backs of your vehicles for convenience sake. This will be confirmed after one particularly pitiful incident in WalMart parking lot where you were seen in grubby work clothes, messy hair and without makeup on, mumbling about trying to find some clean clothes for your toddler son 'in there somewhere', and you will turn and notice disparging looks being cast your direction from the lady in the nearby car who just watched you change said son's diaper, and you will realize that folks think you are living in a van down by the river.

Of Packing, Bombs, Getting the Keys and Moving

So we've been doing a lot of this lately:






Which is the reason I haven't been commenting on blogs as much as usual.

I haven't forgotten about y'all, though.

Believe me, I'd rather be blogging. It's just that some days it's kind of like an archaeological dig trying to unearth the computer from beneath the piles of stuff lying around.

My living room has shrunk to a 10x10 patch of carpeting, with stuff stacked up all around.

The packing seems like a never-ending job.

Which is probably because Judah is going along behind me unpacking everything I've already packed.

Because, you know, he just loves to 'help' his mama.




Plus I've packed up most of his stuff (including his toys) and he's been feeling a bit cooped up.

That's okay, though...he's reliving his early childhood by playing around in all the old baby stuff that's turned up again.





And laying claim to new 'toys' he's found around the house.



Then we got the call that Escrow was delayed a day. The bank that owned the home seems to delight in keeping everyone on pins and needles and stretching things out to the last possible minute.

I'm soooo tired of not having the things I need and use from day to day at my disposal, and was beginning to lose patience.


My to-do lists for both houses have been rather long. These are just the top pages.




Shopping for appliances, switching over utilities and forwarding our mail to our new address, keeping track of paint chips and carpet and flooring estimates has been...challenging, to say the least.

Like spinning plates. Lots and lots of plates.


I'm kinda dizzy from it all, really.

Trying to get help lined up when the closing date wasn't set in stone was just plain crazy. We've had to reschedule things with all our help twice already.

I was not too happy with the delays.

Then we received the joyous news...we should have the keys tomorrow! WOOOO HOO!!

That made me very happy.



Though the past couple of weeks have been hectic enough with all the cleaning and packing in order to move...now the real work begins as we swing into action to get all the painting and flooring replaced in the house before we can move in.

It's probably going to result in us needing to sleep over at my MIL's house for the first couple of days of October, as there will still be paint fumes for a while. But that's okay, because everything is getting a fresh new coat and is going to look FAB when it's done.

Due to our closing date on the house falling so close to the end of the month, our back-up plan was to move all the boxes of stuff into the new garage so that we could get out of our rental on time.

But before we could do that, something had to be done about the year or two's worth of spider-webbage in the long-vacant garage.

There was something in that garage that was making really, really strong, thick webs. Webs that looked and felt like super sticky dental floss.

On the final walk-through with our agent Todd last evening, he got some of the stuff stuck on his sunglasses. Stuck!

*shudders*

All I knew was that I wanted whatever it was that made that web hunted down and killed. Pronto.

I'm kind of arachniphobic that way.

Jeff suggested bug-bombing it, and went to the store for one.

Jericho became fascinated with this new thread of conversation, and asked several questions.

"You have to bomb the new house?" Jericho asked, aghast.

"Yep. Lots of black widows in the garage," I said absently, strapping tape on and then marking the twelve hundredth box.

Later, he came up and asked me, "So what does the bomb do, exactly?"

"Well, you set it off and it gets rid of all the bugs," I replied.

Still later, Jericho came into the room where I was and asked, "Won't a bomb hurt the house?"

"Oh, I suppose it leaves a little chemical residue inside the garage, but if it kills all the bugs we can deal with that."

"Do you have to light it?"

"Light it?" I asked distractedly. "No! You just...set it off."

"So it's like a grenade?"

"No!" I said for what felt like the umpteenth time. "It's just a can of stuff that when you set it off it sprays stuff up in the air and the vapor or gas or whatever is inside goes throughout the room, into all the nooks and crannies, and kills all the bugs."

"Ohhh." This seemed to satisfy him, and he wandered away mulling that over.

Later, Jeff brought home a box of Raid foggers. Wherever he'd stopped to get them, they only sold them in bulk.

"I got the bug bomb" he called to me, no doubt knowing I'd want to check that off my 'list'.

"You got the bombs?" Jericho asked, rushing over to him as excited as he gets knowing they're going to go get fireworks for the 4th of July.

Jeff not having been there for the previous portions of this continued conversation looked at him oddly as he set the box on the counter. "Uh, yeah. I got the bug bombs."

"I want to set it off!" Jericho said excitedly.

Jeff looked askance at him. "Okaaaaaay..."

I walked into the room just in time to witness this little exhange and laughed. "Is that what all these questions have been about?" I asked. "Son, they're not that kind of bomb."


I felt the maternal need to dispell whatever notions he'd been conjuring up in his head.


Like this:




And this:



And this:



Jericho grinned a bit sheepishly and snatched up the box of foggers.

"See..." I said, pointing to the picture on the box. "It's a little like a can of hairspray...except that stuff sprays out the top, and the button doesn't turn off once you depress it. You just put it in the garage, push the button and run out and close the door so the fumes kill everything in that room."

"Please, can I help set it off?" he asked, his eyes pleading with his dad.

"Yes," Jeff replied. "It's not a big deal. Really."

I think Jeff may have been aiming that comment at me.

"Just so you don't breathe any of that junk in" I retorted and went back to my cleaning detail.

I guess maybe we would have saved ourselves a lot of miscommunication had we just said "foggers" from the get-go.

On second thought, we would have missed out on a whole lotta laughs.

Still...there's just something about Jericho's expression makes me a tad nervous.






Now please excuse me while I go hide all the matches in my house.

Strange Things Heard In Frumpville Lately

Our son Jericho insisted that I blog about the following:

These very words sprang forth from someone's mouth last Saturday morning around 10 am or so, directed at Jericho:

"Get dressed, take out the trash and GET YOUR BROTHER A PICKLE!"

And was met with uproarious laughter on Jericho's part.

We won't, ahem, mention any names, but will say in that persons defense that Jericho had been told a number of times to get his brother a pickle and hadn't yet done it.

When someone is busily chopping potatoes and peppers for a big country-style, Saturday morning breakfast, all while trying to keep the eggs from burning, mixing juice, and trying to get to the ringing phone... and can't get a pickle for the little boy herthemselves and said boy is hungry and keeps asking (for unknown reasons) for a pickle, and so the parent asks big brother to do it for them...they'd better hop to it!

:: :: :: ::

In preparing for our move, among other items on a long list of 'to-do's' we've been spackling all the holes left in the walls from nails for pictures and other decorations in the home we've been renting.

I've been going through things with a fine tooth comb and cleaning like mad.

The first Christmas we were in this house, I'd hung some large twist-in hooks on a wide archway above the kitchen counter/bar that separates the kitchen from the dining area to accomodate some lighted Christmas garland I'd hung there, and left the hooks up year round.

At the end of a particularly long day of packing and scrubbing, Jericho was asked to climb up on the counter and dab some of the spackle into the holes on the underside of the archway, then wipe off the excess with a wet rag.

He got up there and took an inordinate amount of time to do the task, rolling the stuff into a ball and pushing it into the holes.

So long that he couldn't remember what he'd been told to do with the rag.

"Wipe the excess away" his parent repeated.

A minute later, after sufficiently filling the last hole, he asked again, "What was I supposed to do with the rag again?"

His parent's ire was growing. "Wipe the excess away!"

And because the task had been taking so long the parent snapped and added, "And while you're up there...wash that soup off the ceiling!"

At which point Jericho began laughing so hard he nearly fell off the counter.

"Man, you come up with some doozies" he said to his parent after finally regaining his composure.

Lesson learned from that soup on the ceiling?

Never ask a child to rinse off the dishes without first explaining how the strength of the stream of water issuing forth from the faucet will, with direct proportion dictate the strength of the water that will burst forth from the sprayer.

Because said child will spray it full bore into a crock-put with leftover minestrone, a tidal wave will ensue splashing tomatoey soup clear up to the ceiling and every wall within a 10 foot radius making a huge mess to have to clean up later.

Not that I, ahem, would know anything about how all that happened, but, you know, I've, uh, heard about it.

:: :: :: ::

It was "pick on mom" night recently in the Frump household.

Not intentionally, mind you, but rather one of those odd happenstances where several things are said one right after another in a short period of time that leave you feeling a little...well, picked on.

It probably doesn't help that I have very observant children.

They don't miss a thing.

The other evening, after having been packing and hefting boxes around all day long with facial masque on (to clear up the horrible stress-related breakout that I'd been afflicted with) I passed a mirror which reminded me it was on my face and finally got a chance to wash it off.

I meandered into the dinner table sans makeup.

"Mommy, you have owieths all over yo faith!" Judah said the moment he saw me, looking very concerned. As in, "Do you need a band-aid?" concerned.

Hmmph. "How nice of you to draw everyone's attention to it," I muttered as I dished up everyone's bowls of stew, suddenly feeling grumpy in addition to frumpy.

Later that same evening, Judah was backtalking me after being told not to do something. I got after him severely for it. "...And don't talk to your mama that way again, do you understand me?" I stated firmly.

"Yesth sthir, mama."

Sir?!

(Real confidence booster, that.)

He wasn't through with his observations however.

Still later, while dusting the tops of my kitchen cabinets, I must have had a distasteful expression on my face from the dust falling down from the ledge and Judah looked up, "Mama? Are you da montoe?" (It's not the first time he's asked me this particular question, either. *sigh*)

So all in one night I was hideous, manly and monsterish.

Thanks a lot, kid.

Late that night while trying to relax sore muscles on a heating pad lying in my bed reading, Judah came in to snuggle for a bit before daddy carried him to bed.

Just as he was dozing off, I turned towards him and saw that drowsy, almost-asleep adorably innocent look on his face and kissed him. "Love you sweetie boy" I said softly.

My words startled him awake just long enough to murmur, "Yeow bootifo, mama" before giving in to the heaviness of his eyelids.

And all was forgiven in that heartbeat.

How to Wash the Dog

How to Wash the Dog

Step 1

Recruit little brother for wash and rinse duty.

Equip with hose and running water.



Step 2

Gather your supplies.

And the reluctant and uncooperative mongrel family dog.



Step 3

Wet dog.

Lather her well with doggie shampoo using special scrubbing mitt.





The dog will tolerate appreciate and enjoy all the attention you lavish on her during this step.

Step 4

Rinse.



You may need to hold the dog tightly during this step, as she isn't wild about having water sprayed on her.

Especially by that short kid who gets a little drunk with power while holding the hose.





What have I done to deserve this?



Step 5

Do NOT repeat.

Step 6

Lavish the dog-washing children with praise for a job well done.



Compliment them on their initiative in seeing the need and volunteering to meet that need.

This way it will come as no surprise that next time this need arises, the local 'experts' will once again be called forth to dog-washing duty...all the while thinking it was their idea.