'Round Here Lately...

No doubt everyone remembers their first car.

That old bucket o' bolts that was held together with duct tape and baling wire, and which coasted into gas stations on a wing and a prayer?

Or was that just mine?

**blushes**

In any case, most folks have had at least one vehicle which was utterly humiliating humbling to drive.

But they were your wheels, and you were grateful to have them.

As is the case with Judah's first car.



It's missing a headlight (from trick riding on the hood while operating the pedals inside with his hands). Scared much, mom?

The paint job has been horribly damaged by the desert sun.

And it currently has to be pushed around because the battery refuses to charge as it should and we've not been able to locate a replacement.

But they're his wheels, and he enjoys that car regardless of whether or not it moves on it's own.

Note the bow hanging over the roll bar in front of him.

Doesn't every desert dwelling jeep owner carry one of these at all times?

Judah seems to think so.

I'm just thankful that the arrows are tipped with suction cups, because he was shooting them straight up into the air moments before, letting them fall where they may.

And his expression? That was him saying, "Mo-ohm"...because I had just scolded him with that favorite mom-line, "You'll shoot your eye out, kid!"

:: :: :: ::

I just love when we manage to capture moments like these on the camera.

Both our boys kickin' back on the sofa together...hanging out and enjoying each others company.



What could possibly bring them together in such a peaceful manner?

Mostly the fact that big brother was exhausted after his wrestling tournament earlier and little brother exhausted from watching it.

It might also have had a little something to do with the fact that Toy Story 2 was playing on the TV.

I like to think, however, that the feelings of brotherly love had carried over a bit from earlier that day.

That was when little brother seemed to sense that big brother was nervous about his upcoming match...the third one of the day.

And, thoughtful little brother that he is, seemed to know just what would help.



Sometimes it's not so much that they're there at that pivotal moment in life...but the fact that they care.

That they will love you no matter the outcome.



And that they'll be cheering for you all through your match, pulling for you to win, but loving you anyways even if you don't.

And that they'll be proud-to-busting when you take home the 2nd Place medal for your weight class at the tournament.



Admittedly, it might also have had a little something to do with the fact that big brother shared his Gingerbread shake with you at Red Robin after his big victory. Even if you did eat the lone gingersnap on off the top.



In any case...I like it, and want to see a lot more of it.



"Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another." ~ Romans 12:10

Hair Salon Woes

I recently went in for my bi-monthly Hairapy appointment.

Though I've been experienced the pain of a bad haircut in the past, I think, like childbirth, that I usually forget all that pain by the time my next appointment rolls around.

Somehow, the moment I cross the threshold of a salon, the sights and smells seem to contribute to this renewed sense of hope that this time...this time it's going to be the 'best haircut ever', I'm going to love it and I'm going to walk out of the salon feeling like a new woman.

I was a bit overdue for this appointment.

This old gray mare just ain't what she used to be.

The old 'touch-up-the-grays-with-a jumbo-black-Sharpie' trick no longer works for me.

Mostly because having a daredevil five year old son has caused grays to come in at an alarming rate of speed.

Adding insult to injury, it was this same son who announced quite loudly and excitedly in church one Sunday not long ago, "Mama...you have lots of sparkly hairs!" Thanks a lot.

Which was why I was there to begin with.

Seriously, I was so embarrassed I wanted to dye.

And die. But only after the aforementioned son pulled half a dozen spinning stunts like this one while at the salon:



Apparently cake doughnuts and vanilla milk from Starbucks (which I had bribed him with earlier to sit still) had gone straight to his bloodstream, resulting in hair salon gymnastics, pulled cords, and fallen hair styling implements.

The stylists were all very sweet, and brought out paper and markers hoping to save their salon for him to draw.

Which kept him busy for a while. Three or four minutes at least.

The cars and action figures I had in different parts of my purse were each cast aside after about ten minutes.

Which left a considerable amount of time to contend with such antics.

Why, oh, why and I thought it a good idea to bring him along? And why did I get him Starbucks and not some happy meal with a toy?

Anyway, so I'm sitting through the whole process, trying to keep a close eye on the boy by playing endless games of "I Spy", while sitting beneath that brain-cooking, hair dye 'setting' whole-head hair dryer and flipping through some hairstyle magazines...when I was overcome by the smothering heat.

Heat which caused me to toss aside the hairstyle book and say to myself, "Nah...I think I'll just explain to the stylist what I want. They never get it just like the pictures anyway."

I think the hair dye must have had some instantaneous affect on my own blood stream or the fumes from the dye were getting to my brain, because I actually felt confident in my ability to explain the look I was going for to her verbally. There are dozens of celebrities wearing longish layers, after all.

That I'd overheard a couple of other stylists sidle up and ask if she could do their hair when their shifts were over at various points while under the dryer seemed to speak well of her ability.

Now my hair grows super-slow. It's taken a couple of years worth of those trims (you know, the ones which are supposed to help it to grow longer) to finally get past my shoulders, and the last thing I wanted was for her to cut off any length.

She explained that with my texture of hair, she'd probably use a razoring technique to get rid of the split ends and give a little more volume and better blending for the layers.

It was then I took note of her own beautiful medium length style and her impeccable taste in clothing, and decided that I trusted her implicitly.

After shampooing and conditioning my freshly dyed hair, she asked me a few pertinent questions to be sure we were on the same page, and got to work.

When she finished, I noted that the front had shaped up rather nicely.

It wasn't until she handed me the mirror and spun me around for a look at the sides and the back that I recognized the celebrity she'd apparently been going for:



No, not her...him!

David Cassidy of The Partridge Family fame.

Though the lyrics immediately popped into my mind, I couldn't say "I think I love you" and I certainly couldn't bring myself to "C'mon get happy...". Because I was neither.

Because she had done such a great job with the dyeing, I couldn't bring myself to let on that I wasn't happy with the cut. I plastered on a smile and resigned myself to a future of ponytails.

I still feel a bit put out that I now have 1970's man hair! Couldn't she at least have gone more the direction of Farrah Fawcett?

Seriously...no matter how I style it, and no matter how much product I use...within about an hour...I look just like David Cassidy.





I know 'retro' is in, but c'mon... feathered hair?

**Sigh**

I'm so done with trying to achieve a celebrity style.

Never quite works out for the way I expected.

Oh, and as it turns out, "I Spy" worked quite well for entertaining him for the rest of our time there. In fact, they even gave Judah a helium balloon for being such a "good boy".

A Wrestling Meet

It had been a pretty rough couple of weeks in our house.

Jericho's coach needed another guy in the 120's weight class, and so Jericho had to drop a few pounds to make weight.

For a lean and wiry guy like him, this was no easy task.

It involved switching to a low-sugar, low-carb, high protein diet for a few days, and running a couple of miles each morning and night on the treadmill.

Because he usually takes a pretty good size lunch to carry him through from breakfast to the end of his after school sports practices, eliminating the carbs was like torture to him.

And because I was the one packing those lunches, I was the bad guy.

It's hard to hear your kid say, "I'm starving, mom...my stomach growls all day long...I need more!" The accompanying pleading look of desperation almost did me in.

But the goal was in sight, and we knew it was important for his own personal discipline and training that he see this thing through to the bitter end.

We gave him plenty of fruits and veggies between meals to help fill the void.

And discovered that spaghetti squash makes a pretty good substitute for a pesto dish when you can't have all the carbs in the usual whole wheat pasta version.

The night before the big meet, about 8 pm, when Jericho was once again ravenous and foraging in the fruit bowl having already burned off his dinner from two hours before, I heard him rhapsodizing, "...and when the meet is over tomorrow...I'm gonna have a big ol' spoonful of peanut butter! And two hardboiled eggs! And milk! And...and...bread....I miss bread!"

Poor kid didn't even remember all the candy he got trick-or-treating, lol.

Nevertheless, after all the coaxing coaching him along to meeting this goal, by the morning of the big weigh-in we were all on pins and needles.

After weighing himself that morning, Jericho came walking into the kitchen, arms upraised in victory and yelled excitedly, "I get to have raisin bran!"

I never thought in a million years that I would ever hear my teenager utter such words...ever, lol.

Ha ha, nothing like a strict dietary restrictions to really help him get his priorities in order.

Apparently those raisins were like ambrosia after two weeks of nothing but 'health' foods and very little sweet stuff.

Anyway, despite the 85 degree temps in November (seriously...when is fall going to arrive in our desert, anyway?), the day was gorgeous.

Here was a beautiful crimson tree on his school campus which really popped against the blue, blue sky.

Love. The. Fall.



Frumpmama that I am, my crochet bag comes along to all meets. Having something to do to pass the time helps to keep my mind off the discomfort of those hard wooden bleachers.

And the little girls nearby who, along with Judah, love to play with the hilarity inducing Flarp for the entire two hours.

But when it's Jericho's turn to wrestle...I feel this unusual transformation come over me.

Truly, a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde kind of transformation.

I go from the cool-calm-collected-crocheting wrestling mom to the drop-everything-and-cheer-like-a-crazy person version of myself.

"GO GET 'EM, JERICHO!"

"THAT'S MY BOY!"

"WooHOOOOOOO!"



Those few minutes your kid is on the mat feel like an eternity.

I bob and dodge and strain to the left and right just as keenly as though I were the one on the mat, praying all the while that the other guy (in red) not hurt my baby.



Jeff, too.

That's him in the upper left corner in the blue shirt.



He's assistant coach and has to keep the book during each meet, and does a great job of it.

But when his kid gets out there...he, too, feels that transformation come over him.

He's like a crouching tiger...and it's all he can do to restrain himself as coach, to hold back and let the head coach do the yelling and to not show too much extra enthusiasm or partiality when he has an entire team of boys to encourage along.

But we needn't have worried.

This was about two swift movements before Jericho pinned his guy. "WooHOOOOO!"



Wow...that's exhausting!

Costume Party

It was two minutes before we were to leave for the costume party when I realized (while still sewing) that I hadn't put the sleeves to Judah's costume on in the proper order. To do so would have required much ripping of seams, frustration and another couple of hours worth of assembly.

And an echo of, "NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo!" rang through the neighborhood.

One simply cannot be a Knight without his chainmail...especially when the sleeves were already cut out and ready to go.

So I did what any crafty mom would do and whipped out the glue gun.

And a tacky old t-shirt in Judah's size.

And glued the sleeves to the shirt.



And voila! Knight in shining chainmail.



Though it goes against my perfectionist grain to have not done this the 'right' way on the sewing machine, I must admit none was any the wiser, and Prince Caspian was happy as could be.

In all the chaos and yet another fail on my part, I forgot to take photos of Jericho and his cousin K, who went as Jocks and Nerds.

K was the jock, wearing his full football gear, and Jericho was a nerd, wearing Urkel shorts, glasses, a short sleeved dress shirt with a tie and tube socks, along with a couple of pens in a pocket protector.

Along with an old Member's Only jacket recently unearthed when a cousin moved.

At the costume party, and older gentleman came up and asked, "Is that a Members Only jacket?" There was a touch of awe in his voice, remembering how very cool those were once upon a time.

"Yes" I replied, adding, "He was the last member."

The man about choked on his dentures for laughing.

And last but not least, Jeff and I went as Cowboy/Cowgirl by default.



Sadly, this was the only photo we got of us...in the truck on the way there.

The best part was, because we had the kids along, we got to make an early exit and get to bed at a reasonable hour!

It's a sad day when you realize you've reached the age where you turn into a pumpkin about 9:00 at night.

Back in Blog-Business!

Okay, let's see if I can remember how to do this...it's been awhile!

Weeks ago, I mentioned here that our old computer crashed, and that due to a pay cut, we couldn't afford to go out and get a new one.

We prayed about it, and while visiting with friends not long afterward, they mentioned that they could probably get a good used one for us for free.

Which they did.

YAY!! Our Heavenly Father takes very good care of us! He often uses others to bless us in ways we never would have imagined. Thank You, Lord, and thank you Mike & Kels!

All my older, familiar programs work beautifully on it, I once again have access to my all my digital files and all is well with the bloggy world.

Once I got the computer set up and running, I had to contend with about 1,800 or so photos that had been saved on various camera cards all summer long.

I have cropped pictures, fixed the red-eyes, adjusted the contrast and put them all in chronological order...and can finally blog with pictures once again! WooHOO!

:: :: :: ::

The following is a test.

It is only a test.

Can Frumpmama still upload photos?



Yay, I did it! I guess it is a little like learning to ride a bicycle...you never forget.

Incidentally, without regular access to a computer this summer, I had lots of time to spend on one of my other favorite things...crocheting. Or 'hooking' as some of my friends from the UK like to call it. On the one hand, crocheting sounds so old-fashioned, but 'hooking' just seems a bit unseemly, haha.

Mostly granny squares or stripes like the above custom colored baby blanket made for our neighbors, who just welcomed their firstborn into the world, and the following of which are either for my personal baby gift stash or for old folks at a local nursing home.









Whee...fun stuff.

:: :: :: ::

In other news, this summer we attempted to put in a lawn in our front yard.

Now, Jeff worked in landscaping for years during high school and college, and knows quite a bit about sprinkler systems and how to put in and maintain a lawn.

I assisted with some of the hunting and gathering necessary to bring back supplies for this process to begin unimpeded, as well as furnishing iced tea and sustenance to my ravenous work crew.

Things went pretty well for a few weeks. We had a beautiful sheen 'o green in our front yard.

And we were SO excited.

Our poor desert-dwelling kids couldn't wait to play catch and run about on grass, and I was looking forward to only having to sweep, dust and mop half as often.

Jeff was actually looking forward to mowing the lawn, as it beats hula-hoeing the weeds back any day of the week.

But then the hot, triple digit summer-in-the-desert temps set in.

And our water bill soared.

And all kinds of strange vegetation began to appear between the tender blades of grass.

We think it was a combination of the bags of soil or manure having viable seeds of all manner of weeds mixed in and the surplus water bringing to life long dormant seeds already in the soil.

Seeds for things like this.



Above the flower in the above photo, you'll notice that there first appears a pod. But then one day it begins to do this: In this picture, it shows up a mauve color, but in person it's the faintest tinge of lavender.



And then it begins to unfurl into a star shape...and you can see that the lavender very subtly tips the delicate white bloom...painted every so lightly with a pastel yellow.



And turns into the most beautiful, squash-like bloom that you've ever seen.



Sometimes when we go exploring in the desert while on vacation, we'll see these growing wild out in the middle of nowhere. Huge clusters of whitish flowers opening to the sun every morning.

They are beautiful, these Coyote Melon plants, and even though the lawn is being stripped out once again, we're keeping this plant around for a while. It's just so pretty. Judah loves to run inside and tell me every time a new flower opens up.

Eventually, it will produce wild melons.



Though called melons, they are actually a member of the gourd family, and are therefore not very good eating. I understand you can eat these, but they are gross.

Mainly we're keeping it around to try out an idea I had for making some birdhouses out of them, since my birdhouse gourds in the garden didn't grow large enough to do so.

:: :: :: ::

In yet other news, today Jeff's and Jericho's school permitted students to wear costumes to school.

It IS a great deal of fun for all the students and teachers alike, and is a much-looked-forward-to occasion.

Jeff went as a cowboy.



Jericho borrowed a costume he knew would garner a lot of laughs.





I received a call earlier today (from Jeff) who was laughing as he recounted their stepping out of the truck at school and having students remark, "Ahhh...a cowboy and...and...what is he, BIGFOOT?

The costume is actually an ill-fitting, waaaay-too-small orangutan costume, the feet of which come to his knees. I'm sure he was really comfortable in that all day long, haha.

Jericho, of course, at hearing their laughter, hammed it up with some swinging of arms and grunting noises and chased his buddies into the school.

And to think he's heading off to a school dance in that very costume as I type this?

Ahhh...who am I to understand the mind of a teenage boy?

:: :: :: ::

Not to be outdone, Judah, while eating his breakfast, grabbed the nearest props he could and said, "Look! I'm a zombie!"



Scaaaaary.

Here was another recent 'costume' he contrived after watching big brother's recent wrestling match.



The following was NOT a costume. It was little Mr. Independent coming out of his bedroom last Sunday morning all dressed for church. In all the clothes he loves best...all at one time.



Nearly every color of the spectrum was represented. He was so proud that we let him wear it to church.

His Sunday School teachers didn't bat an eye.

Not sure what he was trying to be in this one, but this sort of thing is not an uncommon sight when he really gets 'into' his playtime, and is usually accompanied by all manner of sound effects and flying nerf darts.



Or this, when he plays 'Army Guy' out back. His good imagination goes a long way with even the simplest of props.



Here he is wearing cousin K's football gear.



And as Ironman.



And dressed up like a Pirate on his recent birthday, thanks to the costume Auntie Jami sent him.



Yes, our boy loooooves dressing up.

I suppose I'd better get going...I have finishing touches to put on his latest costume, which he'll wear to a costume party tomorrow evening.

Let's just say he's begged me for this one ever since watching Prince Caspian.

A Couple Of Funnies

WooHOO! Tomorrow, I'm to take possession of my 'new' computer! YAY!!

Let the whole slug of new blog posts begin!

**Ahem**

But in the meantime, I had a couple of Judah stories I just had to get down before I forgot them:

I recently took Judah to the bank to open his very own savings account.

This was due in part to the fact that his birthday money was burning a hole in his wallet, and partly because I was tired of finding his Buzz Lightyear wallet in the bottom of my purse with more money in it than I ever seem to have on hand.

So we take it to the bank, and after filling out the appropriate forms and everything, I count out and hand over all his money for the nice lady to deposit into his account.

"We have to give her my money?" he asked, appalled.

He looked up at me as though to say, "Can you rethink this, please?"

"She's going to save it for you," I replied absently, trying to put all the paperwork into my purse where it wouldn't fly away.

On the way out to the van, I realized he was mad. I spent a good part of the trip home trying to convince explain to him how his money would be saved for him there.

Later, I heard him telling dad and big brother all about it, "...and mom made me give all my money to the lady at the bank!"

I guess he's still a little unclear on the concept of a savings account.

One day he'll thank me.

:: :: :: ::

In yet another 'flirting with danger' episode around here, Judah was chattering away at me a couple of days ago, and I responded appropriately with "uh huh" and "really?" and "are you sure about that?" replies...but suddenly stopped short when I heard, "...and if we have gloves on, we can touch the wires!"

WHAT??

I could see his minds wheels turning and knew I must immediately clarify a few important points.

"No, no, no...not just anyone can touch electrical wires. You can only if you are wearing special gloves and using special tools and if you work for an electric company like Uncle Sal and have one of those special cherry-picker trucks. Otherwise, you're not allowed to ever, EVER touch wires!"

I felt it very important to add, "And if you ever touched a wire with bare hands or even with winter gloves on, it would shock you (at which point I demonstrated all dramatically, "Bzzzz-zzz-zzzt", as though I were getting shocked), and could electrocute you! You could DIE!"

He looked up at me with this wicked gleam in his eye and said rather ominously, "I want to be a 'lectric man."

The perceived thrill of touching something that could kill him seems to be a recurring theme with this boy, as evidenced here, here, and here.

You know that tingly, goosebumpy sensation you get just after something scary happens? I'm pretty sure that's the feeling one gets when hair follicles give up the ghost and lose all their pigment.

It's a feeling I seem to experience on an almost daily basis, and the large number of grays I have attest to this fact.

A Gruesome Scene

Okay, so this one borders on the uncouth, in that I would normally never admit to having such a problem, but too much has gone on in the past few days to not recount it for posterity on this here blog.

A few nights ago, I was up late working on my Bible Study at the kitchen table when I saw out of my peripheral vision a tiny little something whiz past the glass sliding door of our little country house in the city.

A house that is a mere 5 minutes from WalMart, mind you.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "No...NO!

I looked again. "Oh, no...it is!"

It was a mouse. Ewww!

I like country living for the most part...but this I did not sign on for.

About a half hour later, I saw it scamper past again, directly to Raisin's dog food bowl, and in a split second, even faster that the infernal birds that help themselves so greedily to her food, that mouse had jumped in, grabbed a piece of food and jumped back out.

It was so fast I wondered if I was just seeing things, having felt that creepy-crawly, high-alert way that one feels when they realize the relative peace of one's backyard has been invaded by vermin.

In the morning, I told Jeff, who was equally appalled.

After searching around, we found a little stockpile of food beneath a shelf set up temporarily on the back porch to hold various camper renovation items.

Then a horrible thought came to me. Oh, no...the camper!!

Could this critter and it's kin have set up housekeeping in our beloved camper? Horror of horrors!

I've read about the Hante virus. And we certainly don't need that!

We need mousetraps, stat!

So, Jeff went off in search of some. Which he did in stores far from our home, lest he be seen by anyone we knew.

Unfortunately, in the city, folks apparently don't believe in the quick and humane methods of mouse extermination (traps), and seem to prefer these plastic trays with a super-sticky gel substance on it wherein the critter gets hopelessly stuck to the trap and eventually starves to death. Or smothers, if their little nose happens to contact the substance.

Seeing the mouse brazenly come up at dusk last night, we put the trap out beneath the shelf where we'd found a stockpile of dog food.

This morning, Jericho comes in from feeding the dog to inform us, "I kid you not...there's a mouse on that trap."

There was an air of excitement in his voice...having never experienced such a thing before.

Or maybe it was morbid fascination.

Judah, too, rushed to inspect. Squatting down, poking at it with a stick.

I went out in my bathrobe, bleary-eyed, to see for myself, hoping beyond hope the poor thing was dead so it wouldn't be incumbent upon us to have to put it out of it's misery.

But in the few moments in which Jericho had come in to tell us, and when I finally got outside, it was gone...trap and all! Jericho looked around in disbelief.

We hadn't counted on the dog wanting in on a piece of the action.

I glanced over to the most obvious place...nearest her house, and there was the crumpled up remains of the trap, mouse still attached, albeit wet and mangled from the wild roller-coaster ride inflicted by our jowly dog.

I was just thankful that super-sticky trap wasn't stuck to Raisin's snout.

When she heard her us using her name in an implicating manner, she stood to the side all innocently as if to say, "What? I didn't do anything!", but guilt was etched on every wrinkle of her Shar-Pei face.

When I got over to the trap, poor little critter's ears twitched, it's beady little eyes looking up at me.

Horrors! It was still alive!

Jeff was getting ready for work, so I asked Jericho to use the pitchfork to put it back under the shelf where the dog wouldn't mess with it.

Which he did.

Followed by several shouts of, "BAD GIRL!" because Raisin had followed, and was digging under the shelf with her paw, trying to get it back out again because all of this was very exciting stuff to the poor city-dwelling canine.

Jeff came to the glass sliding door having heard the goings-on, and casually mentions, "We'll need to hit it over the head with a shovel to kill it."

"We'll?" Oh, ho ho...not me! (I distinctly remembered having mentioned traps, because I wanted it to quickly dispatch the critter). I could barely bring myself to look at the poor, hopelessly stuck critter, let alone do it in.

Well, as it turns out, Raisin, bad girl that she is, saved the day.

She managed to dig it back out once again, and her jowly mauling apparently did the trick.

We think the poor thing died of a heart attack.

Now, let's just hope there is not a little nest with pink jellybeans to be found in the camper!

As Judah and I were leaving for Bible Study later that morning, I glanced out the backyard and was horrified to see that Raisin had managed to ferret out the other trap from beneath the camper, and had it stuck to her front paw.

She was doing this little step-step-shake the paw motion (much like a cat will do if you stick tape to the bottom of it's paws, not that we've ever done that), looking terribly guilty.

I managed to step on the exposed corner of the trap just as she snatched her paw back...with half the crumpled plastic still securely stuck there.

Raisin, of course, thought all of this was great fun and that I had come out to play with her, and raced around so that I couldn't get her. If I didn't get going, I was going to be late.

When we arrived home later, she greeted us at the fence, having managed to get the remainder of the trap off without incident.

The fun just never ends, haha.