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.

Strange Things Yelled Out The Door Lately...

"Judah, get your horse out of the kitchen!" Referring to the stick-pony he'd been playing Cowboy with earlier that day, which for unknown reasons had been abandoned in the kitchen, it's reins tangled on the pantry door knobs.

"Don't torment the dog!" For so long, Judah was a little short-stuff, and our dog (though zealously protective of him) was not afraid to push him around a bit if so inclined. Now, with the clunky cast on his arm, Judah has learned that the dog moves out of the way real quick if he lifts up that arm.

"No jumping off the fence!" We have a giant roll of chain-link awaiting a project in our back yard, and though the doctor has forbidden athletic physical activity or horseplay, these sorts of things prove irresistible to him. I have also had to yell similar things about the picnic table and the swing at various times in recent weeks, as well as not sliding down our long wood-floored hallway and under the coffee table as though sliding into base in Little League.

"Don't shoot at the dog!" It sounds horrible, of course, but what I'm referring to is the boys' preference for unloading an entire clip of Nerf dart ammo at a moving target.

Poor, long-suffering Raisin usually has to employ zig-zag maneuvers to get away from the annoyance, and usually heads for the back door where she cowers knowing she has a better chance of my noticing and intervening there.

"What are you doing playing outside at 10 PM?" This is in reference to Judah's rather alarming new habit of slipping out of the house even when he's been told to get ready for bed.

Apparently, with the cast on and doctor mandated restrictions, he hasn't burned off enough steam by bedtime and just wants to run.

The fact that it's pitch black outside doesn't seem to phase him in the least.

It never has.

Which totally freaks.me.out.

And this gem, just in tonight...

"WHAT IN THE WORLD are you doing outside in your underwear, in the dark??"

I was straightening up the kitchen when I heard what I thought was the front door closing. Jeff was already long since asleep, having to get up really early to set up for a Cross Country meet at his school in the morning.

I marched over to the door (left ajar), and was stunned to see both boys coming in from dad's car...in their hot-weather, summertime p.j.s (aka underwear/boxers).

After they'd both long since been ordered to bed, mind you.

Apparently, big brother needed something out of his backpack which was left in the car, and though he can stare down a bully any day of the week, he isn't quite so brave as his younger brother when it comes to going outside after dark and had no problem whatsoever persuading his little brother to disobey.

Sooooo, in punishment for this, I did the only surefire thing I could think of...

"That's it! I'm putting this on the blog!" and ran for my camera.

Lucky for them, they both skedaddled quick as could be to their respective rooms and dove into their beds before it came to all that.

A device I plan to utilize more often to get those boys to obey...

A Little Someone Is Having A Birthday...

A couple of evenings ago, after Judah finally fell asleep, I went in to cover him up and found the following paraphernalia scattered throughout his bed:

• a Buzz Lightyear
• R.C. (the Toy Story remote control car)
• a monster truck
• 4 books
• a wolf stuffed animal
• the jeans he plans to wear tomorrow
• 4 socks
• a belt
• two toy pistols (one for water, one for air-soft pellets)
• and a bow complete with suction-cup arrows

This is after his room was found to be sparkling clean when he was tucked into bed for the night.

I suppose this is because a boy can never be too prepared for the next day's activities.

And that's just his bed!

I can't begin to count all the occasions in which I've wakened in the night with a Matchbox car under my hip, or a Batman figurine jabbing my cheek, or a heavy die-cast cowboy pistol connecting with my ankle bone at about 3 am.

While I love that all these things are all evidence of the lively little boy who lives here, sometimes I find that I like to stay up late just so I can kick back and read or crochet or think in a clean house for an hour or two. Because it doesn't last for long.

When you have young kids around the house, it seems you're forever cleaning up toys and other clutter, collecting laundry and wiping hand prints off of switch plates, messes off of counters, and crumbs off the floor and table, not to mention trying to keep the kids clean.

Sometimes you also find things in odd places. Things that make you stop and think, "Now how did this get here?"...and nearly always, in my household at least, the trail leads right back to the same culprit.

The same boy who is responsible for why the flashlight is never in the drawer of my nightstand where I am accustomed to looking for it. This because he was snooping around in there one day and now eagerly looks for opportunities in which he can come in borrow that fantastic invention (usually always resulting in dead batteries, I might add), and the reason why even though I never use it myself, I still put it back in it's home at least 3 or 4 times a week.

The same boy behind why the calculator I use for balancing my checkbook is never on my desk but has been found in the bathroom and various hidey-holes in his bedroom.

And why the DVD remote has wound up in his backpack (because he was using it as his 'phone' while pretending he was an army guy outside).

And why I've found kitchen utensils end up underneath his bed. Why, I ask? What possible use could an almost-5 boy have for a spaghetti grabber or a folding metal steamer basket?

And sometimes, I'll go to look for a hair clip I was certain was last seen in the drawer of my bathroom vanity and find it's not there.

And then I'll find myself thinking that maybe I'm getting forgetful.

And I'll worry about that. Maybe even look up possible nutritional deficiencies or some supplements I should be taking to help with that.

But then, while cleaning up Judah's closet two days later, I'll find said hair clip holding two belts together in what I can only assume was some getup he'd pulled together to hold his bow and arrows close to his person while playing outside, and this because we'd just watched Prince Caspian and he was suddenly into the whole Knight thing again.

Now we're big Narnia and C.S. Lewis fans, and I can totally appreciate the allegoric meanings attached to Aslan in particular.

But when you have a son like I do (who is both daredevil and overly impressionable) you find yourself needing to stay a couple steps ahead of the game. And movies like that conjure up a whole new set of previously un-imagined possibilities in my boys mind.

Things like leaping off or balancing precariously on cliffs and ledges, not to mention all the cool weaponry from knives and swords to catapults! The last thing I need is for him to find some way of turning my porch swing into a kid-a-pult.

The worst part, however, is that when Judah views the poignant scenes where Aslan is talking to Lucy and she is affectionate and cozies up to the big, friendly looking lion, he gets these crazy ideas rolling through his head.

Ideas that result in such wistful phrases crossing his lips as, "I wish we had a lion" and "I want to pet a lion."

Which wouldn't worry me so much if his eyes didn't light up in the same way they do when he tells us he really wants a puppy for his birthday.

These are just the kinds of phrases which propel me into one of those fast-forward, hyper-speed trains of thought where I suddenly envision him as a college freshman taking a dare from his buddies to climb into some exhibit at the local zoo.

I mean, it happens!

I used to hear such reports on the news and think rather judgmentally, "What kind of kid pulls a crazy stunt like that? And what kind of parents did those boys have that he would break into a zoo after hours and climb into the ____ cage?"

Except that in recent years I can no longer do that, because I know exactly the kind of kid that does that sort of thing.

Someone who was an adorable and yet precocious little 4 year old once upon a time.

Someone just like my Judah.

And though these things are largely responsible for every gray hair I have on my head, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Though boy behavior is foreign to my girly-girl nature and sometimes scares me as his mom, I love that innate, wild-warrior factor in little boys that makes them turn every stick into a gun, that leads them to climb up camper ladders and stand on the rooftop as conqueror, and which causes them to poke at dangerous spider webs and hold emperor scorpions in their hands at the pet store and to beg for reptiles and tarantulas as pets.

The same kind of behavior which when properly channeled helps to grow them up into valiant, warrior-protector types...that will one day be some young woman's knight in shining armor and later a father for his children to look up to. Perhaps also a soldier or a missionary, venturing into places where few others would dare to go.

I don't know what the Lord has marked out for this boy yet, but if his first 5 years are any indication...it's going to be a wild ride!

Happy 5th Birthday, Judah-Boo! We sure do love you!

Making Headlines

A couple of Thursdays ago, Judah and I spent the majority of the day at church for a "Sew Day".

For Judah, this meant spending the morning familiarizing himself with several fascinating boxes of sewing notions the ladies had brought in and playing all kinds of invented games with seam rippers, quilting rulers and spools of thread, and at one point chopping at something with a rotary cutter that had been left 'open' and was extremely sharp.

Thankfully no real harm was done to his person. Not sure about the table, though.

For the ladies, the day involved making donated fabric into numerous bags which could be easily tied to walkers or wheelchairs for a couple of local nursing homes and assisted care facilities.

We got the idea when one of the gals at church made one for her mother, and had dozens of requests come in, "Tell your girl I want to buy one of those for my wheelchair."

These bags are perfect for helping these folks to pick up their mail or newspapers each day, and gives them a place to put their cell phones or keys while out and about.

We arrived at 9 am, and promptly got to work, and were thrilled at all the progress we made. It's amazing how hard a group of dieting ladies will work with the prospect of protein-style In & Out cheeseburgers on the menu for lunch.

Shortly after arriving, we learned that one of the gals who organized the event had mentioned it to someone who mentioned it to a newspaper, and not long after we were into the swing of things...a reporter and a photographer from the paper showed up.

Lesson learned: Always dress as though you're going to get your picture taken for the paper.

**blushes** True to form, I showed up looking a tad frumpish.

Oh, I had makeup on and my hair fixed, but if I'd known the newspaper was going to be there, I would have worn a blouse instead of a comfy t-shirt.

And possibly touched up my toenail polish.

And had a hair cut.

And maybe had my teeth whitened.

And an eye lift...

It's said that TV cameras add 10 pounds...but newspaper photographs easily add 10 years. It's no-win!

Live and learn.

They interviewed each of those present, asking how we came to be involved in the project and craftily sneaked in questions involving our full names, ages and the area we happen to live in.

Lesson learned: Never give out your age to a reporter.

It might seem an innocent enough question, but these are the kinds of details that make it into their reporters shorthand.

Oh, and when they say, "Watch for the write-up on Saturday", don't believe them.

Stories like this are 'filler' and subject to being bumped for more important last minute inclusion into the paper.

Instead, you'll completely forget about it until you get an excited call from one of the sewing group ladies telling you that we were finally in the paper!

A non-Saturday printing like you'd been anticipating.

Then you'll have to scramble to obtain a couple of paper copies for the old scrapbook because you usually read the news online to avoid having to deal with piles of paper. And because the online news doesn't include all the photographs in the physical copies of the newspaper.

And after rounding up said copies, you will sigh with relief that your picture wasn't included.

But then cringe that you have, in fact, been quoted...and that your age is put out there in big blaring black and white numbers for the entire desert to see. Ugh!

The only positive to come from the experience was that Judah (for once) was pictured in the background of one of the photographs behaving nicely.

A total fluke. At one point during that day I clearly remember getting after Judah for running down the length of end-to-end table tops to get up enough speed for a good jump, and playing dinos between stacks of fabric.

I'll give him this, however...many of the ladies commented that he'd been a very good boy (for most of the day) which was really something considering we were there for 7 hours, and frankly, I'm glad there is photographic proof of it out there somewhere!

A New Family Milestone

Sorry...still no photos. Auuuuuuuugh!

I would LOOOOVE to be able to upload all my photos to the blog, as so many blogworthy events have transpired in the last few weeks , but I need a non-Mac computer to do so and I'm still waiting on that.

So bear with me, peeps. Hopefully very, very soon.

Anyway, getting back to the blog at hand, this week we celebrated a brand new family milestone:

4 year old Judah's first cast.

Big surprise there.

Yes, somehow we got through fourteen years as parents without any broken bones, only to have Judah come along and break our streak at age 4-almost-5.

Literally.

And of all places for it to happen? During an Awana meeting after church on Sunday evening.

The boys were supposed to be waiting on the bench for us just outside the classroom. But as time wore on, as brothers do, they got to roughhousing.

Somehow in the process, Judah fell and caught himself wrong, his entire body weight coming down on his wrist bones.

During the meeting, my mom radar detected what sounded like a whimpering sound instead of the distant giggling and talking. I peeked out the door, and saw my baby lying on the sidewalk holding his wrist and whimpering.

Naturally, my heart plummeted to my knees. I swayed a bit. Felt my hairline go cold with dread.

Then, as usually happens with Judah episodes, I experienced that whole feet-stuck-in-buckets-of-cement phenomenon as I rushed to get to his side in what felt like slow-mo.

So I finally get there, and he's doing this little panting-whimpering thing, "It huuu-u-u-urts, mama." Not a cry, per se, but you could tell he was in pain. It would have taken a whole lot worse to make him actually cry, but I noticed that his eyes looked rather glassed over with pain. Clearly, something was not right.

We requested one of the ladies, Mrs. S, (also in the meeting) step outside as she is a nurse with grown children and knew what to do in such situations.

She told us that there was likely nothing that could be done for him that evening, as the immediate swelling sometimes makes x-rays hard to read. Better to make him comfortable and take him to the hospital first thing in the morning when the swelling was minimal.

Sooooo, after immobilizing his injured wrist in an ace bandage and giving him Children's Tylenol we endured the longest. night. ever, waking with his every movement and whimper (with me growing every more delirious and crazy for lack of sleep with each sound), and finally rose and took him to the hospital.

Or as Judah says, "The hos-dib-bow."

Our newly instituted insurance plan sent him to a large hospital far from our house. We'd never been there before. Had no idea how things worked.

I must say that aside from the rather unfortunate name for the hospital, Kaiser Permanente, (permanent not being something one wants to associate with a hospital stay), we were very pleased with their speedy, streamlined and hassle-free service.

Our appointment was for 10:20 am, we were out of there with a cast on by 11:30. We were home sleeping within a couple of hours of that. With our old insurance plan, we would have been stuck in waiting rooms in different parts of town for most of the day. So, as an added bonus, Jeff actually had an afternoon off.

Our whirlwind adventure began at 10:20 when the nice family practice Doctor poked Judah's arms to determine where the injuries were, and had him do a couple hand-motions to determine if it was a fracture or a sprain.

And she totally called it, "Judging by where the pain is located and the fact that he can't do these motions with his hands, my guess is that there are two fractures, one on each bone. However, we're going to send him to upstairs for an x-ray just to be sure."

We had to go to the 3rd floor for the x-ray, and were in and out in minutes.

It was here, while looking down to the first floor of the hospital, that we noticed that Judah had managed to climb a railing that hangs out over that 3 story drop using his one good arm.

And where once again I felt that cold dread feeling spread across my hairline and into my stomach before my knees went weak and I grew a tad bit faint.

Did I mention that only days before this incident Judah was playing with our neighbor boy across the street, and when, upon hearing shrieks of delight I peeked out the window to check on them, I see him take a flying leap from their very large tree?

My heart plummeted that time, too, until I saw him bob up and run around to climb it and do it all over. Because naturally he thought it was all great fun.

At times like these, I just have to turn around and walk away. The tension that immediately knots up in my shoulders (not to mention my stomach) at witnessing such things takes weeks and several massage appointments to recover from.

Yeah, heights don't scare him. Or speed.

In fact, I'm quite sure we've got an adrenaline junkie on our hands, and am seriously questioning the wisdom of passing along big brothers too-small motorcycle to him so soon. Perhaps it's just best to wait until he's 18.

Though by that time I fear he may have joined up with Navy Seals, Special Ops or some such.

All of this daredeveil-ish behavior leads me to believe that we might as well put the casting department on speed dial for the duration of Judah's childhood. Lord, have mercy!

After x-rays and peeling him off the 3rd-story railing, went back down to our doctor on the first floor, who immediately pulled up his digital x-ray image on her computer and sure enough, there were two small fractures on the radius and ulna.

"We're going to send you over to the casting department for a long arm cast. For children this young, we need to immobilize more of the arm for proper healing. After you get the cast, you're free to go. Here is your appointment to come back in 10 days so we can see how things look and we'll let you know then how long we'll need to keep the cast on. Oh, and mom and dad, keep him indoors out of the heat as heat makes him swell enough that it could cause discomfort in the cast, and any perspiration could cause it to itch down inside."

"In the meantime, young man, you need to eat lots of good, healthy foods for your bones, okay?"

Within a half hour, he was getting his cast put on and within a few minutes we were out the door.

Easy-peasy!

The big bummer, of course, is that this means no more swimming for Judah for the remainder of the summer.

And, he'll likely have the cast on for his birthday party next month, so the bounce house idea is a no-go.

So far, the only complaint I've had from him is, "I don't look cool when I'm dancing in this thing." Though I still have to wonder how he discovered this fact.

There's also the whole milking-the-system thing that began when I refused his request for MnM's before breakfast this morning.

In a very Fred Savage-like voice (from his early role in the movie The Princess Bride) he looked up at me and said, "Mom, the doctor said I have to eat good food for my bones!"

Ah, yes, but your mama fails to see how MnM's are considered a good bone-mending food.

Had he said ice cream...maybe, just maybe I would have caved.

Now if we could just manage to keep the cast dry.

Do you know how hard that is when boys get so dirty playing during the day and need nightly baths?

Already we've had a freak incident involving Judah on a chair, kitchen faucet on full blast, Judah slipping and catching himself on the edge of the counter, whilst floundering about madly and knocking over the glass soap dispensers trying to gain traction. Again I ran across the house in slow-mo to try and rescue him...but was too late.

He'd already regained his footing, and holding his cast proudly aloft, "I didn't get it wet!"

Which is good, because he doesn't want it to wash off all the autographs his friends have written on it.

And because we didn't have to go back to the hospital for a cast for his other arm.

**sigh**

It's going to be a long few weeks.

Packing Laughs Into Lunches

Well, it's that time of year again...back to school.

And with my husband and son both back at school all day comes the age-old routine of making lunches.

And because I'm usually making these at the crack of dawn all bleary-eyed with bed-hair (soooo NOT a morning person), I make up for it by using that time to think up practical jokes to play on my guys.

Most of the time, it's writing sappy notes on their lunch bags, but I especially enjoy throwing some oddball item into their lunches just for laughs.

Whether or not they laugh I don't always find out about, but I know I laugh my head off just thinking about their reactions when they find these little surprises, and that makes it all worth it.

The trick is to pack the oddities near the bottom of the sack so that it's not a dead giveaway if they happen to peek in it before lunch.

In the past, I found that I can't very well do this every day or it would lose it's charm. Instead, I have to spread it out just long enough between times that Jericho thinks I've forgotten about my little game.

Being that school has only been in session for a couple of weeks, the only oddball thing he's found so far is a yellow onion. Packed in a plastic bag just like I would pack a sliced apple or pear.

Which I didn't find out about until way after-the-fact because after he'd laughingly told Jeff about it on their way home from school he promptly forgot all about.

A couple of days ago Jericho came home and asked, "Yeah, mom? What was with that gooey junk you put in my lunch today?"

Not having packed anything unusual, it took a few moments to figure out that he was referring to the delicious homemade peach tarts I'd made and packed into a plastic sandwich bag, which due to the tumbler-dryer effect of being in the boys backpack all day long and rendered it unidentifiable.

Naturally, he thought it was another one of my 'jokes' and tossed it.

The joke was on him, however...as he missed out on a delicious dessert! (Totally counts for bonus points in the lunch game, by the way.)

However, my all-time best caper (not counting the small jar of leftover capers, that is) was one I pulled off the last week of school in May.

Though sufficient for even his appetite, the leftover slices of pizza I packed in his lunch just didn't make the lunch sack feel quite as substantial as he seems to expect, and so, to weigh the bag down I tossed in a raw red potato.

On the way home that afternoon, he laughingly used his dad's cell phone to call what he thinks was my cell phone number (apparently punching in the number from memory), and leaves this message:

"Seriously, mom?! What was with the potato in my lunch?"

Unbeknownst to me, later that evening, Jeff receives a strange call from some mom with an unfamiliar area code. "Who IS this?"

Having not recognized the number, Jeff replied, "You've reached Jeff's phone."

"Oh." Pause. "Well, I think it must have been a wrong number or something..." the woman sounded rather puzzled. "The message left from your phone here sounded a lot like my son, but he was asking about his lunch? I dunno...nevermind." and hung up.

Later that evening, I'd long-since-forgotten about the potato, and Jericho said, "Oh, yeah...did you get my message mom?"

"Message?"

"About that potato?" he asks. "What was up with that?!"

"I didn't get a message." I replied, laughing at his facial expressions.

That was when Jeff, putting 2 and 2 together, mentioned his strange phone call and we all erupted into a fit of laughter realizing the confusion Jericho's mis-dialed message must have caused for some random mom out there, lol.

Ahhh, yes, but we just love when the hilarity keeps going, practically taking on a life of it's own.

Next up on the oddball items list...bittersweet baking chocolate.

Won't he be surprised, lol?