Cheap Thrills

An old pair of glasses. Free.

A close-up of Jeff's eyes printed out on label paper I already had, and affixed to the glasses then carefully trimmed with an xacto knife. Free.

Goofy glasses good for a half-hour's worth of hilarity and family giggles. Worth a million.

Passing the fun along to nieces in a care package...priceless.

We can't help it. It's genetic. ;)

Rites of Passage

One of the funny things about having children spaced 9 years apart is that odd little scenarios take place that I'm not sure happen with other families.

In families where there are stair-step children (like the one I grew up in) certain normal childhood happenings become common knowledge, because the younger children see the older children go through it, and know that in time they, too, will experience that very same right of passage.

For example, big brother recently lost a molar. I knew he'd been wiggling that tooth back and forth to no avail earlier that afternoon. (In our family, we're notoriously late for losing baby teeth.)

Later, when Jericho came to show the gap in his gums to me, Judah heard me ask him, "Oh, did you finally lose that tooth?", and was instantly all ears.

"You wosed a toof?" he asked, astonished, staring up at his brother in wide-eyed wonder.

This concept was completely foreign to his little 3 1/2 year old self, and fascinated, he had to see for himself both the molar and where it had been in Jericho's mouth.

Then he had to tag along as brother went into the bathroom to swish his mouth out in the sink.

When he saw the bloody water swirling down the sink he became even more fascinated.

Jericho, who is used to his little 'tag along' following him around, dropped his tooth (which still had some blood inside of it) in the drawer in the bathroom for safekeeping until later that night. You know, to put it under his pillow for the whole 'tooth fairy' schtick (even though he's a little old for that tradition, lol).

Naturally, Judah couldn't let things go at that. He asked a dozen questions. "Why? Why do people wose dere teef?" "Why?" "Why did you put your toof in da dwoor?" "Are you gonna weave your toof dere?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"

Then he heard about the tooth fairy.

"You git money for da toof?" he asked in amazement. Clearly, it was almost too much to take in.

The questions began again. "Wots of money or witto money?" "How does da money git in yeow piwwow?"

He's also strangely fascinated with that molar (though I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree where dental issues are concerned) and has been found in the bathroom a couple of times, drawer open just staring at it in abject fascination, poking it with his index finger...when he had no other real reason to be in there.

He'd be playing with his toys on the living room floor, and suddenly jump up and go into the bathroom...except that instead of sliding his little step-stool over to the toilet as usual, he'd stop in front of the vanity and open the drawer to stare at that tooth.

Sometimes I wonder what is going through that boys mind.

It was the same deal as when a mean neighborhood raven took out a small pigeon in our yard a while back.

After those birds were done consuming their grisly meal, the boys just had to go over and gawk at the remains (mostly just the wings and ribcage and a few scattered feathers). Oh and the bashed-in brain.

Where most girls would go look their fill but then say things like, "Ewwww, gross!" and back away, my boys are over there poking at it with a stick, inspecting. "Dude...it's got maggots crawling out of it."

Don't know if I'll ever get used to this girly-mom-raising-manly-boys thang.

The Frumps Attend A Wedding

This has been kind of a crazy-busy week for us. Saturday I attended a baby shower for one couple, and a wedding for another.

Our little family all attended the wedding together. It was a very enjoyable occasion.

Now my husband works with the groom. We've been to the grooms house before, and he's been to ours, and our boys really enjoy he and his new bride.

During the reception, Judah noticed the just-married couple coming towards our table as they were greeting all their guests and called out their names, ecstatic to see his "fwends".

The bride loves small children and interacting with them, and they all respond well to her. I suspect Judah has had a bit of a 'crush' on her since meeting her that first time for this reason, but as they drew closer to our table, he suddenly got very shy. Uncharacteristically so.

Our friend looked beautiful in her dress, and I knew that Judah thought so, too, so I said, "She looks very pretty in her wedding dress, doesn't she?" He nodded, hand in front of his mouth barely making eye contact with her, and when he did, his lashes batted bashfully.

I thought it was so cute...even a young child noticing the exceptional, resplendent beauty of a bride.

After the reception, I rounded up the boys to ride home with me because daddy stayed to help clean up.

I found my boys on the grassy area out back where all the children had congregated to play. I saw an older teenaged girl out there with Jericho supervising their young charges...three little boys all in the 3-4 year old range who had far too much energy for the confines of the reception hall, and called to my boys that it was time to go.

On the way home, Jericho was riding shotgun and said somewhat sarcastically (though perhaps with a touch of awe in his voice) announced, "I was hit on by this older girl at the reception."

Surprised I said, "What do you mean?" The only girl I had seen out there looked at least 18 or 19.

He explained that there was this older girl in a reddish dress, "that probably should have had more clothing up there if you know what I mean", and she asked him, 'So how old are you?'. He told her he'd be 13 at the end of the month. She's like, 'No way...I'm turning 15' and then asked his name and a few other innocuous things that convinced him she was very interested in him. Overly so.

That cougar! That's my little boy she was preying on!

And then I realized that this was it. He's NOT so little a boy any more...he's growing up.

In fact, in just a couple of weeks he is going to be a full-fledged teenager.

And I suddenly got that same little lurch in my stomach that you get when slowly climbing towards the highest peak on a roller-coaster, just before you go shrieking down the hill on the other side, white-knuckled and breathless...except that this crazy ride is the one we call the teenage years. That crazy loop-de-loop filled ride that every parent must go through ready or not.

And I've gotta say, I don't feel ready for it.

I don't DO roller coasters well. I usually chicken out at the gate and turn back.

But this time...I can't. I'm committed. I'm already locked into the seat. He's going to be a junior higher this next school year!

**curls up in fetal position to moan**

Just then Jericho's voice broke into my spinning thoughts, "She was waaaay too old to be hitting on a kid my age. Sheesh." Clearly, he was disgusted.

And this mama breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Reprieve granted, if only for a short season.

Singing in the Bathroom

I recently 'splurged' and purchased my first ever ringtone.

I got kind of tired of being out and about, hearing my phone ring and going to answer it only to realize it was some person behind me in line at the grocery store...someone among many who used the exact same pre-programmed tune I did.

So when I found out that one of my favorite groups, Barlow Girl, had one available for their song "Never Alone", I bought it.

A couple of mornings ago I received my first call since getting said ringtone, and after the call ended I was off to take a shower, humming the tune the entire way down the hall.

By the time I stepped into my own personal Karaoke hall bathroom, I was belting out the tune and thinking I sounded pretty good.

Because everyone knows that accoustics in the bathroom are best.

Ahem. Anyway, so I finally reached the chorus of the song when I saw that my bathroom window was open. *blushes*

Right at that moment in the song, there is this significant pause that went a little like this:

"And I'm ne-e-e-e-e-ever....."

As if in answer, from outside I hear a very loud, "Me-e-e-e-e-eh-meh?"

Took me down a couple of pegs to realize that the young neighbor goat thought I sounded like his beloved Nanny.

I'm trying not to take offense at that.

School's Out For Summer!

Oh, summer break how I love thee. Let me count the ways...

But first, I must touch on a couple end-of-the-school-year traditions in our family.

Like Judah getting to go to school with daddy on the last day.

Here's what he thought of that idea:



Of course he wasn't official without his "pack-ack" and his "yunch".

The lunch that probably would have been more apropo around Easter, but gets him to eat all kinds of things he might not normally bother with .



It's amazing how a novel little thing like a plastic camping 'egg carton' and leftover fillable Easter eggs can help even a picky child to eat good-for-them-foods. Nuts, dried fruit, sliced veggies, cheese, meats...when packed in this way I can be assured that he's going to at least give it a try because opening up each egg is such a treat.





What you can't see in these photos, however, is his daddy.

There is a reason for that.

You see...last year, he lost a friendly 'bet' with a co-worker over who would win the NBA basketball championships.

The loser had to cut his hair into a mohawk for the last day of school.

Not that I'm calling him a loser, you understand. I wouldn't mess with this guy.



This year, the same guy dared him to cut his hair into a "Polish" mohawk (his words and description, not ours) after winning the staff pick for employee of the year over Jeff.

Here Jeff is before making good on the dare, with all that thick dark hair



And here is some stranger that took over his body. You can see that Judah did not see the humor in things at all.

Where is my daddy and what have you done with him?!!

I tell you, every time I looked at him like this, it was a bit of a shock.

And then I would laugh about the whole goofy thing all over again.

Especially with the faces Jeff would make, like those of some downtrodden poor sap.



I must say, he was a very good sport.

He even got up to speak at a last-day-of-school teacher's meeting this way, and had the entire staff laughing at him his zany sense of humor.

While at work, he sent Pix messages to his mom and sister.

They freaked out.

Told him he looked like Bozo the Clown.

Couldn't believe he'd willingly done such a hideous thing.

And I, as vain as it may be, became convinced that (as far as his hair is concerned, anyway) it's all or nothing.

Is that wrong?

It's just that I could barely go this



It was SO not him.

And waking up beside him the next morning was nothing short of startling.

Yes, he insisted on keeping that hideous hair style for one more day. Startled himself a couple of times when he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, too.

By the next morning, however, the kids wanted normal Jeff back. This little charade had gone on long enough.

So, Saturday morning we buzzed it all off.



Ahhh, much better.

Sunday Funnies

This was written a couple of weeks ago...

Sunday mornings these past couple of months have been wonderful, because I get to sit through the entire church service.

The day begins when we arrive at church and go straight to Sunday School with our youth group teens.

Judah usually comes in there with us, as our smaller congregation has found it hard to keep find Little Tots workers for the Sunday School hour.

It's not often we make it all the way through the hour. Judah has the attention span of...well, a 3 1/2 year old boy, and tends to get really squirrelly after sugary treats like donuts and juice.

Those well-intentioned folks that brave working the Little Tot's class, for whatever reason, usually only last a few weeks.

I think this is because of the fact that Judah the three boys currently in that class are, together, a real handful. Yes, Judah and the twins are a force to be reckoned with.

Recently, my friend (the twins’ mother) had brought to church with them a toy motorcycle that Judah had left at their home the previous Sunday.

This toy is roughly the size of motorcycle Barbie would ride if she had a street racing bike. (Or does she? She's come a long way since the days of the fancy pink RV I used to play Barbies with at my friends house as a girl.)

This is one of those toys that has obnoxiously loud sound effects which I have elected never to buy for my own children, but am tortured with annoyed by on a regular basis anyway thanks to an uncle who thinks our boys need the noisiest toys on the market.

It's one of those toys which I loathe and feel like chucking off a twenty story building usually disable the sound effects for by removing the batteries, but somehow kept forgetting to do so. I think that is because it involves finding a Phillips screwdriver to open the battery case on the bottom, and me going to our garage to find a tool would be akin to asking Jeff to find me some scrapbooking eyelets in my craft room. A wild goose chase.

Which is the very reason it’s one of Judah’s favorite toys...because with him, the louder the better.

This is probably also why the twins mother wanted to return it to us so badly enjoyed playing with it so much during the week it was at their home.

Because of the fact there was no Little Tots class, the twin brothers were sitting with their mom and their visiting aunt in one of the adult Sunday School classes. Which happened to be held in the sanctuary. They were in the front pew.

The motorcycle was in with their mom’s stuff, and one of the brothers just couldn’t resist pushing the button on top of it.

And into the middle of the Sunday School lesson, the toy belts out, “I FEEL THE NEED FOR SPEED…LET’S RIIIIIDE!” complete with very loud music and the revving sounds of a motor. And it doesn't stop for a long, long, too-embarrassingly-long time.

Which was probably about the time she promptly rose and ushered the boy back to the Little Tots classroom where I was hanging out with Judah waiting until the teen girls arrived to take over for the Service.

Yes, a few months ago someone finally came up with the brilliant idea (read: they’d run out of other options) to ask a couple of the teen girls at church if they would like to work in the nursery during the service, and wonder of wonders they agreed to do so! For the first time in ages, I’ve been able to sit through worship without distractions.

So anyway, later that same morning, while listening intently to the sermon, I saw my friend (the twins mom) walk past and suddenly recalled the story of the toy motorcycle she'd told me just before the sermon began.

Which triggered the thought that my cell phone ringtone was not yet set on vibrate after a busy day out and about on Saturday. Which meant, of course, that I had to tend to that promptly and so reached over to rustle it out of my purse.

This is because my dad someone in my life has a real knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

In doing so, I glanced at the time and discovered that we were just a couple of minutes from the end of the sermon.

I turned my attention back to the sermon, and became so engrossed that I didn’t realize we’d gone a few minutes over the usual ending time.

That is...until I heard a loud banging on the two-way mirror between the nursery and the sanctuary.

How distracting, I thought, then glanced back, and from my angle could barely make out the silhouetted ouline of one very familiar little head, cocked just so, and the faint, somewhat muffled sound of his gleeful shout behind the glass, “Hey, dere’s my mama and daddy!”

Clearly the boy was proud of himself for spotting us his parents and slapped the glass a few more times before he was bodily removed from the chair he’d somehow managed to push up to the two-way glass.

Yes, because stealing toys from the church nursery, running up and down the aisles during the middle of a sermon and then flipping the bank of light switches for the sanctuary off and on during another service were simply not enough, he had to add yet another incident to his record.
This kid is making a real name for himself in our church, let me tell you.

The Great Garden Nozzle Search

I'm a bad, bad blogger. It's been over a week since my last posting!

Sorry 'bout that.

It's just that when the weather warms up and the wind dies down in our desert community, an inner switch gets flipped on and I spring into activity...planting seeds, getting garden plots ready, prettying up my entire front yard porch for some curb appeal, starting way too many DIY building and fix-it projects, repurposing thrift store finds, and basically using every spare minute of daylight til I fall into bed exhausted each day.

And I totally love that...but alas, it leaves me little time to blog.

Not that I don't still take pictures of everything as is my usual M.O. (What kind of blogger would I be if I didn't at least do that much, lol?)

In fact, I have several posts in draft that will show what I've been up to, but I'm waiting until everything is complete so I can show the before and afters.

Naturally, doing all of this has involved a few trips to those cavernous home improvement stores.
Because having been renters until just last October, aside from the flower pots I've used at the previous two houses we are pretty much starting from scratch where things like soil amending and supplies for our home-reno projects are concerned.

When I go into places like L*wes and H*me Dep*t, I usually stand there a tad overwhelmed by a store so big that birds make their nests inside in the rafters.

And where calling out to my children who run ahead of me down the aisles sounds a little like this: "Jericho...cho...cho...".

Aside from the obvious basics like where the garden, paint and lumber departments are, there are a lot of odd little idiosyncrasies about these stores that I just don't 'get' even after numerous trips through them (like clotheslines mixed into the same aisle as storage tubs, ironing boards and shelving. Who thought that was a good idea?? They're something you'd find outside, for pity's sake!) I don't 'get' why my husband could spend hours in there.

In the same way he doesn't 'get' the lure of places like JoAnn Fabric and Michaels for me. If I asked him to go find chenille pipe cleaners or fat quarters of fabric in one of those places, there's no telling what he'd come home with. (It was the same story when I was recently asked to find a cloth tool bag for him.)

Anyway, my list the other day included:

*clothesline t-bars
*silver colored corner brackets (for a project I'll be highlighting in an upcoming post)
*those sharp wiggly little things that you hammer into two adjoining pieces of wood to reinforce the corners...
*spray paint in three colors
*dowels
*a well-built garden nozzle to attach to the end of my hose which will allow me to mist delicate seedlings or saturate a fruit tree with the flip of a switch. Not gun shaped or cheap plastic.
*1x2x10's (4)

I guess the thing I dislike about these stores is that I just feel so...lost in them.

While it is one-stop-shopping (always a plus when you've got a toddler or three in carseats and don't relish the buckling and unbuckling them and loading and unloading them to make 10 different stops to get a few items), they've lost the one-on-one, 30-years-worth-of-hardware-knowledge and friendly customer service that their smaller competitors of yesteryear had.

Some friendly old guy behind the counter who you could explain your problem to, and he'd set you up with just what you need and might even explain how to install it in women's clear and concise terms that will help you to make the needed installation or repair on your own.

I really miss that, because after walking 20 miles pushing an unwieldy cart with 10 foot long lumber and a fussy toddler in it, I finally found an employee to help me find some corner brackets, and it ends up being some still-in-high school pretty-young-thang-with-glamour-length-acrylic-nails that didn't even know what a corner bracket was, and wasted about five minutes of my time before saying rather weakly, "I'm pretty sure we're out of them, because, like, this is where they usually are."

Later, I thought I'd try again, and ended up three sections down in the same aisle, where in desperation I asked another customer (an old guy), and he said, "Oh, those are right there" and pointed to where I could find them. Sure enough...there was a ginormous bin full of them.

Ahem.

Anyway, after laboriously finally locating everything and getting my cardio workout for the day, I had everything on my list except the garden nozzle thingie. So I asked an older woman that worked there where to find that, and she said, "Oh, those would be in seasonal." (Once again, I would have thought they would be located out in the nursery, by the plants needing watering, but who am I to organize these bastions of masculinity? **inserts Tim the Toolman Taylor grunt here**?)

Naturally, "Seasonal" was on aisle 3,129 c, so we had to go clear across town the store yet again.

I noticed something that day in L*wes.


There are a LOT of tools out there that are gun-shaped, with triggers.




Not to mention staple guns, industrial hot glue guns, and all the power tools and things that can be attached to an air compressor.

Which explains why I can never find these things at home in the place I last put them, thanks to a couple of very imaginative boys living under my roof that love anything and everything that they can pretend is a gun.




But behold, after a long sojourn through the cavernous depths of that store...I found it.

My precious.



It's heavy (which is supposed to indicate good solid construction, according to my Make it Last book), and it has every feature and then some which I wanted for my garden watering purposes.

Plus, it's flashlight-shaped instead of gun-shaped!

I promptly brought it home, installed it on the end of my favorite hose, and told the boys, "This nozzle is MINE. Do not touch it without asking, and keep it in the shade on the porch so that it won't be destroyed by the summer sun and so that I can find it whenever I need it. Because it's mine. Mine. All MINE!"

My instructions went unheeded. Apparently flashlight-shaped (or maybe it was all the bells and whistles?) are the next best thing to gun-shaped.



*sigh*

I guess I should look at the silver lining in this...now Jericho begs to go water all the plants outside...front yard and back!

Now if we could just work on conserving water in the process...



**Edited to add**

In the writing of this post, I highlighted and was playfully bemoaning the general lack of help that folks tend to get in these large box stores in comparison to the small corner hardware stores...particularly from the younger employees who do not have several years worth of home repairs/DIY projects/woodworking/gardening experience under their belts to make them especially helpful to store customers.

What I failed to think about was how this post might be perceived by my mom...who happens to be a very hardworking master gardener employed in the garden center of one of these box stores. **"Doh!"**

My mom is on her feet for hours every day, lifting heavy bags of soil and other garden-related supplies, not to mention tending to the vast numbers of plants with varying needs that come and go at the store.

My mom is hard-working, really knows her stuff, and is the go-to person in her department when the store manager has a department-related question. She also spends a considerable amount of time answering customer questions out of her vast wealth of master-gardener knowledge, bending over backwards to make sure they get the help they're looking for, all with top-notch customer service and a smile.

In fact, her store was actually awarded recently for having the highest sales nationwide in their garden center, which I have no doubt was in large part due to her hard work there.

Sorry mom! Your store and the customers there are fortunate to have you...I only wish you and your store weren't 1,500 miles away!