Waxing Poetic About Brownies, Makeup Mischief

We had brownies the other night.

When it comes to dieting, I'm my own worst enemy. I'm simply too good a baker for our own good.

Especially if it involves chocolate.

I'm not bragging when I say this because it's a fact. I've been told I make a killer brownie.

Often with the help of Ghiradelli, but nonetheless, by adding my own secret ingredients I make them truly my own concoction.

My family gets positively giddy about brownies.

Especially moist and chewy, fresh-from-the-oven brownies.

Especially when I made a 9x13 batch in a 9 x9 pan (so our ginormous modest brownie consumption didn't make us feel quiet so bad about totally blowing our diet.

As it happened, we were watching Pride & Prejudice (the A&E version) while eating said brownies.

It was sheer bliss.

But after eating all that chocolaty goodness, one simply has to ask...

Got milk?

(Or as Mr. Darcy might have put it, "Have you any milk?")

Brownies, by nature, simply must be accompanied by milk. They are like the tides are to the ocean. The scent to the flower. They simply wouldn't be the same without it.

And so, when my husband posed this question to me, I went in search of some.

And found that our older son had beat us to it.

The last of it.

Which was akin to torture, I might add.

I know we're a tad late, but we can't seem to get that boy off the bottle, lol.

He's addicted to milk, I tell you!

Which also explains the copious amounts of milk we seem to go through in this household.

And him not even having gone through his summer growth spurt yet! (We are SO in for it!)

We're seriously thinking about moving to the country and looking into buying a cow.

:: :: :: ::

Judah's been into my makeup again.

While he was home with daddy one evening last week, daddy was working on something in the living room, and it got quiet.

The kind of quiet that smacks of trouble when one has a toddler in the house.

Jeff headed for the master bathroom, but Judah met him en route.

Judah smiled up at daddy looking very pleased with himself.

He even posed to show daddy his handiwork.

Daddy was displeased.

Makeup is not the sort of thing the father of a future football hopeful likes to see his son get into.

Into as one gets "in" to a scene, like 'Greasers', 'Preppies', 'Rockers' or the like.

Except that in this instance, 'Goth' and 'Industrial' come to mind.

After taking note of daddy's displeasure, Judah had the good grace to look a little chagrined.

Daddy knew it was time to put the kabosh on the thrill of playing around with mommy's makeup once and for all.

He launched into a lecture about how makeup was for big girls and mommies, and that boys should never, ever touch it, much less put it on (even if it was fun to fingerpaint in the foundation all over the counter, and smear concealer and powder and eyeshadow all over his face, and paint himself with mommy's eyeliner brush).

Even so, something about what Judah had done bothered daddy at a deeper level.

He just couldn't put his finger on what or why he felt that way.

Until Judah did this:

And then he knew.

Suddenly it all became very clear.

And somehow more than a little disturbing.

To think that this guy was some mother's darling, cherubic little toddler way back when.

And that such career aspirations had to begin somewhere.

Kinda makes a person wonder if he got into his mommy's makeup once upon a time, doesn't it?

It's enough to warrant this mommy putting her makeup under lock and key.

One Of My Favorite Things...

A few weekends ago, Jeff and I met some friends at a restaurant called The Yardhouse, which is renowned for it's Mac & Cheese² (with cheese, applewood smoked bacon, mushrooms and truffle oil in it) and their Creme Brulee among other delicious menu offerings.

When we left that evening, it wasn't these things that we were raving about as usual (though we enjoyed what we'd eaten very much), but rather their iced tea.

Yes, though their food is really good, it was their iced tea that stole the show for us that evening. My husband and I both agreed it was among the best flavor of iced tea we'd ever had.

I've actually dreamed about that iced tea since then.

Because I love iced tea.

Especially when the weather warms up, or I find myself thirsty for something besides water.

And green tea is good for you.

I've longed for that delicate green tea flavor ever since...iced tea with none of the bitterness usually associated with green tea, and just a hint of floral essence.

The best thing of all about this tea? No sweetener is necessary. It's got a naturally light and sweet taste to it, and compliments any type of food well.

So while I was grocery shopping the other day, I stopped by the tea section of the store, and voila! There it was!

I'm not sure if it's the exact same tea they used at The Yardhouse restaurant or not, but I tossed it in my grocery cart, and the moment I got home, set about brewing up a gallon of iced tea.

It tasted just as I remembered.

Fabulous.

My absolute favorite new beverage of choice.

I kid you not, it's that good.

The perfect compliment to any meal. Truly. This week we've had it with hamburgers, Italian, Mexican, Asian, salads, and even at breakfast, and the flavor was just right with each meal.

And David and Eunice Bigelow, if you or the marketing department at R.C. Bigelow, Inc. would like to express your thanks to me for pimping advertising your product on my blog of my own volition...out of the goodness of my heart, I'd be ever-so-happy to accept a lifetime supply of this FAB tea for myself, as well as some restaurant supply-sized gift boxes to give away to my bloggy peeps.

Thank you kindly.

FrumpMama

A Broken Trust

The house was quiet.

Eerily so.

She noticed that his shoes, socks and pants were strewn about the living area and the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

The door stood open.

She had always made it a point to keep all the doors in the hallway shut.

Her eyes widened with the realization of what was happening, and her anger surged as she mumbled fiercely, "How could he do this to me again?"

She walked quietly down the hallway, dread settling in her midsection, leery of what she would find.

The room was still, but sounds were coming from the master bathroom.

Dare she proceed, when her gut told her that whatever waited around the corner was sure to be her undoing?

As though propelled forward by some unseen force, she continued forward, all at once needing to know the truth, though not sure she was quite ready to face it.

In that moment, she remembered that this was exactly the same way things had happened the last time he had broken her trust.

"And just when I thought we'd worked through all that!" she thought fiercely. "I can't trust him for a minute!" Already, she felt the sting of the betrayal churning within.

Her normally calm countenance became angry.

She stepped silently but swiftly into the master bathroom.

"What have you done?" she asked petulantly.





"Make up?" his tender little voice asked.

She couldn't help but to laugh.

"Yes. Mommy's make-up. And you're not supposed to be messing with mommy's makeup again !"

It was hard to be taken seriously as the disciplinarian when she was taking a picture and/or laughing uproariously.

"How" she asked aloud, "did you manage to do all this in the short time it took me just to clear the dinner table? And how are we ever going to get you to hold still long enough to scrub that mascara off your face?"

Picture This...

It's late at night.

You're craving something made of chocolate.

There is nothing in the house.

Not even a secret stash.

But you're already in your pajamas, and don't feel like heading out.

So you put in a call.

Instead of this...



There is a knock on the door.

When you answer the door, there is a uniformed waiter is standing on your doorstep, a towel over his arm, as though he were room service in a fine hotel.

With a flourish, he removes the lid from a silver platter

and presents you with a platter full of decadent brownies...



How much would you be willing to pay for this service and what would you call it?

**edited to add that I appreciate all your input and support of my idea, and that I do officially have something "in the works". I'll keep you all posted.**

You're In The Throes of The "Terrible" Two's When...

...your toddler son is already lifting weights

...his hands and face are always in need of a good scrubbing

...he's a constant blur of activity around the house

...he is forever trying on everyone else's shoes (and slippers)

...he tries nearly everything on (his head)

...he gets in to everything

..."Pretendo" only occupies him for about a minute before he catches on that he's not really playing and complains, "Thaths no fay-oh"

...extra latches become necessary high on the front door to keep him from escaping outside all hours of the day and night (and so his mom can get sound sleep at night)

...he's already begun giving you 'looks' when you discipline him

...he only lets you rock him to sleep every once in a blue moon

...and just when you think you're going to go berzerk from all the extra work he makes for you...

...he comes in from the backyard after not seeing you for a few minutes, his face lights up at the sight of you, he runs across the room as fast as his little legs can carry him, arms flung wide, and as you bend and scoop him up into your arms he squeezes your neck and says in his tender affectionate little voice, "I wub you, mama!"

And your heart melts into a little puddle, and suddenly all the spots on the carpet and the handprints on the walls and the breakfast cereal spilled all over the kitchen don't matter quite so much as they did before.

Becky's Brazenly Braggy Blog

This is my younger sister, G.I. Johanna.



I wrote about her here, shortly after she got remarried and joined the U.S. Military.

She is one of those natural raven-haired beauties with blue eyes, but works a side job as a hair stylist, and so plays around with her hair from time to time. She recently went blonde.

It works on her though, what with her big blue eyes (though looking at the picture right now, I notice the right eye appears to be brown for some odd reason, which it's not.)

I know, I know. You're probably all wondering how such a beauty came from the same genetic line as FrumpMama.

I, too, have long wondered the same thing, thinking that perhaps all those stories my dad's older brother used to tell me about my folks trading me from the Gypsies for a couple of chickens and a basket of grapes were true.

But alas, the very strong resemblance to my dad's side of the family, particularly his mother-my Mamaw, are simply too strong to ignore. Even if she was a thin and fashionable Officer's wife that did a tremendous amount of entertaining and lived all over the world, where I'm a frumpy flip-flop kind of mom that has lived in the same area for nearly a decade.

I'll never understand the mysteries of DNA, because I was the oldest child, first from my mother's womb, and yet somehow managed to end up with the leftovers floating around in the family gene pool. Plain dark brown hair, brown eyes, and big bones. My three sisters all scored with dainty petite frames and beautiful big blue eyes. *sigh* Some girls have all the luck.

Even my brother ended up with these amazing hazel eyes and dark hair and a tall thin frame.

But me, I ended up the "big" sister. For years I tried to console myself with the fact that at least I ended up with boobs out of the deal. Unfortunately, I also ended up with a big bootie to even things out proportionally speaking.

But I digress (I love that word, even if it is getting a bit cliche'). This post isn't supposed to be about me.

Among her many talents and abilities, Johanna is a fantastic vocalist.

We knew this early in her life when she was singing all the songs she was learning in Kindergarten (like the ever popular "Five Little Ducks Went Out To Play") with a decidedly grown up 'sound', and folks would tell us she should be put on Star Search. She also belted out Sunday school songs like "Jesus Loves Me" with impressive vocal skill, her voice never cracking or getting off-key in places like the other children. And she could sing Rich Mullin's song "Awesome God" like nobody's business.

Things got a little dicey for a while, though, when she was strutting her stuff around the house singing "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna (and sounding pretty doggone good), even if it was a little odd hearing her sing, "I'm gonna keep my baby...oooh, oooh" at the tender age of 8 or 9.

And let me tell you, Papa would have preached if he'd heard her singing it. Secular music had been forbidden in our home for years. Lucky for her, we lived with our mom and not him at that point or she would have been sooo busted.

Nevertheless, Johanna grew up and began to pursue her dreams in singing, always doing a superb job wherever she was given the opportunity to perform, first as a member of an award winning Jazz Choir in high school and then as a member of the Jazz Choir during her freshman year of college. Then she took a break from her ambitions for a few years to tend to her duties as a Military wife and SAHM to her precious little girls.

But on opening day of MLB baseball season last week, she reached an unparalleled pinnacle in her career when she sang, "God Bless America" during the 7th Inning Stretch, in front of 24,000 Seattle Mariner's fans in Seattle.

Any time I hear that song, I get goosebumps, and my heart fills with a powerfully prayerful patriotism...but when it's your little sister that is singing? As our other sister Jami put it, "I was so proud I could just bust!"

Living in the Southwest, however, I wasn't at the game, and due to commercials during the 7th inning stretch, her song didn't air on national TV.

Thankfully my sister Jami's hubby Eric saved the day by taking a video of the whole thing and sending me a clip via e-mail so I could see it. It's a bit wobbly as they were sitting in the cheap seats and had to zoom waaaay in, but you can still hear her loud and clear.



And so now is my chance to be all obnoxious and big sisterly just like I would have been if I were at the game, by yelling things to the fans around me like "That's my sister!" and clapping my hands excitedly and smearing my mascara when I got all misty-eyed and blubberingly proud of her.

Fabulous job, Johanna!

:: :: :: ::

Then, as if that weren't enough to bust my buttons, the following evening our son Jericho competed in the annual AWANA Bible Quiz competition for our region. He spent hours and hours studying and memorizing for this event.

Here are a couple of pictures of him afterwards, wearing his 1st Place medallion!



Here he is with daddy and little brother. Yes, he was showboating there just a bit, for which he was scolded afterwards. *rolls eyes longsufferingly*



With some of his buddies.



With grandma and little brother.

Once again with the misty-eyes and smeary mascara. Which, incidentally, is also why my own picture with Jericho wasn't suitable for blog purposes.

A mother's heart is never so proud and full of Praise to the Lord as when her offspring chooses to love and serve the Lord of their own volition.

And this concludes my brazenly braggy blog posting.

Car Adventures and Questions For Carseat Makers

Installing our two-and-a-half year old into his carseat in the middle rear seat of our Mercury Cougar is always an adventure.

One side benefit is that I'm getting some serious muscles from this process, because repeatedly lifting our young son in and out of his carseat several times daily is quite the arm and torso workout.

Especially while wrestling him into submission from the iron cross position lovingly buckling our compliant young son into the five-point harness.

Unfortunately, my abdominal muscles are only a three-pack, because only the left side of my body benefits from this workout, which is accomplished while leaning awkwardly into the rear seat from the front door of the car (did I mention our car was the two-door model?).

This uneven muscle-building should look especially nice in another year or so when one side of me will look like a body builder, and the other like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Why, I'll be the very picture of Stuck in Frump and Striving for Fab! Which should make shopping for clothes even more of a challenge than it already is, but that's another story for another time.

What I'd like to know is why weight-lifting belts aren't included with the purchase of every carseat?

Fast food restaurant employees are now wearing these now to empty garbage bags, so why not us moms?

Especially those of us who have had c-sections and could use a little help keeping our stuff where it belongs?



Picture this little dandy in the color of your choice, with a few tool belt pockets in front to hold extra binkys, juice boxes, snack packs of raisins, Tic-Tacs, an emergency diaper or pull-up, tissues, keys, a cell phone and the all-important Starbucks card.

Because of their width, they'd be far more slimming than the fanny packs of old.

And really, with one of these babies you couldn't go wrong because not only would you have the abdominal and back support needed for lifting toddlers into their car seats, but you could even afford to tighten them a couple of notches if so desired.

It would be a cinch (sorry, I couldn't resist), really, because by their very nature as weight-lifting belts they are capable of withstanding hundreds of pounds of pressure.

With all the crazy accessories that have sauntered down fashion runways in the past, it's a wonder the fashion industry hasn't glommed onto these by now as the girdle for a new millenium!

But I digress. What I'd really like to know is why the Automobile Safety Commission (or whoever it is that governs such things) decided to make the buttons on carseat buckles bright red?

I know for a fact there was not a mother of young children on the panel that made that decision.

How do I know this? Because any mother of a terrible-two toddler would know that bright red would only highlight to a toddler exactly which portion of the buckle to depress so as to get free.

And any mother of said toddler knows just how quickly and capably he can extricate himself from even the most child-proof restraint system once he learns to push the bright red button.

Which, for mothers of sons like mine gives me night terrors. Especially after the recent parking lot fiasco (and because he's already proven himself to be a very capable Houdini).

While waiting in the parking lot for big brother's school to let out one day last week, I had a temporary lapse in judgement, and allowed Judah out of his carseat to roam freely through the car while I oh-so-efficiently took the occasion to balance my checkbook.

There was the usual twisting and pushing of radio knobs and buttons, the opening and closing of the glove box at least twenty times, pushing of the buttons that pop open the gas tank and trunk, flipping the interior overhead lights off and on a half dozen times, adjusting the A.C. air vents and the messing with the rearview mirror.

When I finished entering my receipts, I glanced over to where Judah had sat himself down in the front passenger seat and managed to pull the lap belt proudly over himself and secure it into place. He looked so tiny in that big old seat.

I was putting my checkbook away when I heard the 'click' of the bright red seatbelt button and the telltale zip as the seatbelt rolled back up in it's dispenser.

But before I could even think of the ramifications of his new skill, Judah pulled another rabbit out of his little back of tricks, opened the passenger door and bolted outside. He was out of my reach in a split second.

Law abiding citizen that I am, I was still belted in, andas such was simultaneously praying for his safety, watching to see which direction his little golden-brown head was bobbing off to all while frantically finally locating the button by feel, at which point I jumped out of the car and gave chase.

By this time, of course, he was already several yards away, but I was already thanking the Lord that there hadn't been any moving cars in the parking lot at that moment, that he hadn't gone the other direction towards the very busy street in front of the school, and for the observant mom who saw what was happening and was heading his direction ready to intervene if need be.

It wasn't until I got him back to the car and buckled securely into his car seat that I realized it wouldn't be long before he'd make the connection between the passenger seatbelt's bright red button and the one on his car seat...and then it would all be over.

I'm afraid the authorities would frown on the use of duct tape as a secondary restraint, but short of handcuffing him to the interior of the car, what other options do I have?

Unless these are available for installation and use in vehicles now?