Stuck in Frump, Striving for Fab

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...

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.

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?"

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.**

...your toddler son is already lifting weights

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.

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?

Yeah, that one.

And no, the crazy lady driving it was not trying to communicate something to you.

Nor was she committing road rage.

Yes, she was snarling and weaving all over the road.

Yes, it probably looked really bad.

But you must trust that it was not what it seemed.

That hand you saw against her window?

It was splayed out in an act of desperation, not anger.

In fact, she was actually trying to hold the car window up, because every bump she drove over that day caused it to fall down an inch or two more each time, and she was worried that it would slide all the way down and end up stuck inside the door, blowing cold wind all over the crying toddler in the back seat.

And because she was worried that if it did fall all the way into the door, she would have to spend even more money to have the door taken apart at the car window place in a seedy side of town (which she is still not convinced isn't a chop shop) and the whole idea in getting this inexpensive used car to begin with was to keep from having to come up with the monthly equivalent to a new car payment until such a time as they could afford to do that. Surely knowing all this you can imagine her consternation?

And that revving motor at the stop light with the casting of glances your direction?

No, it's not because she's challenging you to a street race.

In fact, she was actually wincing in embarrassment and utter mortification.

Because it's come to the point where at intersections she has to put the car in neutral and gun it a few times to keep the motor from cutting out.

Which, if it did, would cause further delays in having to restart the thing again, because sometimes after such episodes it takes a couple of attempts to get it going again.

So you see, she's really just trying to be kind and save you time.

So, please...if you see that dilapidated well loved Mercury Cougar driving erratically on a road near you? Just drive around it. Please? And don't give the poor bedraggled driver any hassles about it?

She would appreciate that ever so much.

Thank you.

The other day, our older son Jericho came to me with a question.

Would I give him the $6 he needed for a Tech Deck toy he wanted if he gave me the remaining $8 balance on his Christmas Starbucks card from his aunt Karen?

"If you think that's a good deal, I suppose I could do that. (You know, I didn't want to take advantage of him, seeing as I'd get the better end of the bargain.)

"Really? You'd do it?"

"If you're sure."

He gave me a hug, "Thanks, mom!"

And so the transaction was made.

So earlier today after running some errands, I decided to stop off at Starbucks to use part of my recently acquired $8 balance.

I ordered my coffee frap, and Judah's Horizon Vanilla Milk. When I got up to the window, I handed her the card Jericho had given me. "Could you please check and see how much is left on this card?" I asked, feeling hesitant since it wasn't my own carefully monitored card.

She swiped it, and moments later said, "Um, there's a zero balance"

That dirty dawg! "Oh, my older son is in SUCH trouble", I said, handing her some cash instead.

She seemed kind of chatty and personable, and so I elaborated, "He told me there was $8 on that card, and traded it to me for $6 cash! He's SO busted."

She laughed. "April Fools?"

Oh, man...I hadn't even thought of that!

Could my sweet and innocent 11 year old be that devious and lowdown as to cheat me out of $6?

Nah. I don't think so.

So on the way home from school this afternoon, I casually mentioned, "By the way...about that Starbucks card? I stopped by to use it earlier today, and there was a zero balance..."

His eyes widened and he looked horrified. "Oh, man!" He thought for a moment, "I must've given you the wrong one out of my wallet!"

Now I knew about the card from aunt Karen, but where is this kid getting these other Starbucks cards? And come to think of it, why does my 11 year old even need overpriced beverages that include coffee?

I wasn't even allowed to touch the stuff until I was a teenager, and even then my grandma still pooh-poohed the notion. "It's not good for growing bodies" she'd say, and instead offer us Postum or Ovaltine. We couldn't have tea, either, come to think of it.

Jericho was horrified that I would even suspect he was trying to chisel me out of $6. "Mom, I swear...if I can't find the other card, I'll pay you back out of my account. Serious...that card aunt Karen gave me had $8 left...the Starbucks lady told me last time I used it."

I could totally tell that he was telling the truth, because his nostrils didn't have the telltale flaring.

When did he use that card from aunt Karen last, anyway, because it wasn't when he was with me! And the kid never takes his wallet with him anywhere. How is it that he's suddenly hanging out at Starbucks without moi?

Sheesh...when did my 11 year old suddenly become a teenager?

And how do I make it stop?

:: :: :: ::

Apparently, due to the fact that I got Jeff pretty good with my April Fool's day prank, and because he still hasn't forgiven me for posting here about how he doesn't hide my Christmas gifts well enough...Jeff decided to exact his revenge yesterday.

Wouldn't you know, it was on the very day I was having major chocolate withdrawls.

Which happened because we made a pact between us that in April, we were going to give up chocolate completely.

Here I was, only 2 days into the month, and already feeling totally deprived, and wanting it all the more. Isn't that so pathetic? (My spirit is willing, but my flesh is sooo weak!)

To rescue us from ourselves, Jeff had taken it upon himself to hide the leftover Easter chocolate so that he wouldn't be able to get to it at work (and hopefully forget about it once he was home) and to keep it from me while I was home all day.

And it worked!

But that didn't stop me from searching all day long to find where he'd hidden it, because my chocolate radar told me that there was indeed chocolate in the house...and my chocolate radar is never wrong. Especially if it's chocolate wrapped in foil.

Anyway, I searched my storage units, an armoire, and in several craft towers (which have about 8 drawers each, stacked vertically, filled with all manner of arts and crafts and scrapbooking supplies.)

I searched the shelves in the master bathroom where I keep extra T.P. and feminine products. And the cabinets where I keep the towels and cleaning supplies. And the drawer tower in our walk-in closet where I keep extra razors, the first aid kit and the hair clipper set.

I searched in pots and pans and crock pots and the cupboard where we keep all our baking sheets. And behind foodstuffs in the pantry. And on the very top of our kitchen cupboards.

I searched through drawers, and my cake decorating toolbox, and in mixing bowls. And bins and tubs the whole house over.

I searched under beds. And in closets.

I searched through both boys rooms, the cabinets in the laundry room...on my bookshelves behind books.

I searched through every drawer and cabinet in our house.

I wanted that chocolate in the worst way I was very thorough.

And I must give credit where credit is due...Jeff really outdid himself with the hiding.

I'd searched high and low, in every nook and cranny...all to no avail.

Finally, in a measure of desperation, I texted Jeff at work. "Must have chocolate" I typed in, like a dying desert sojourner, crawling on hands and knees in search of life-giving water.

He texted back, "Look under the straws in the kitchen drawer. I left four there for you."

He'd thrown me the proverbial bone.

Except that it was chocolate.

Four individual Dove chocolates with almonds.

And that should have been enough, I know. But the dark, smooth chocolaty goodness only whetted my appetite for more.

It's almost that time of the month, for crying out loud...I need chocolate! How can he deprive me so?

I texted him again, "Who appointed you keeper of the chocolate, anyway?"

By this time, I'm perturbed. Because I'd looked everywhere, and hadn't found it.

He texted back, "Hid it pretty good, didn't I?!"

Smart alec.

So I looked through everything again in hyperspeed, retracing my steps, just to be sure I left no stone unturned. If I didn't find it this time, I'd just stop by the store and buy some on my way home from picking our son up from school.

Because of course by this time, I'd worked off the calories from those first four chocolates. My proverbial 'tank' was on E.

On the way out the door I called him at work (his school day had just ended). "You da man, Jeff. You have stumped me completely. I give. Now where. is. the. chocolate?"

Because I humbly bowed to his superior hiding skills, he laughed, very proud of himself. "Go to the chrome rack in the kitchen."

"But I'm on the way to get Jericho" I said, a twinge of whine creeping into my voice.

"Oh, good, then I won't tell you" he says with a sinister laugh. "More for me!"

"That's so not fair! I'm PMSing, and this constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. Where is it? Just tell me, please?"

Clearly, there was some cheese out there needing to go with that whine.

"It's in Jericho's orange insulated lunch sack."

Which has sat in it's usual rumpled condition on that chrome rack next to the Costco sized box of plastic forks since the day Jericho decided it was uncool.

Hidden. in. plain. sight!

The dirty dawg!

I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to let him in on where I hid the stash of my "naughty" (double chocolate almond) biscotti. At only 140 calories and 3 grams of fat they are a safer bet than most candy bars...and are capable of curbing a rabid chocolate craving.

I know, because I picked up a Costco size tub of them on the way to collect Jericho this afternoon, lol.

Guess we'll have to shoot for May to begin our chocolate-free diet.

When I was a girl, my dad would come into the kitchen on April 1st and ask, "Hey, kids, who'd like doughnuts for breakfast?"

This was a very rare treat in our somewhat health-foody home, so naturally all four of us would clamber excitedly, "Me! I do!"

"Me, too" he'd say wistfully. "Too bad we don't have any!" And then he'd throw back his head and laaaaugh. "April Fools!"

It seemed like such a cheap shot, but really, we were no worse off than we had been moments before when we were thinking it would be the usual ho-hum Life cereal or Cheerios.

It was just his way.

Apparently I've inherited this same obnoxious trait, because my dad's lame April Fool's Day 'jokes' always triggered a day spent trying to 'trick' the others in my life in some way, just to be able to say the coveted words, "April Fools!"

For us, it was usually just stupid stuff. "Hey, what's THAT?" I'd say, looking all wide-eyed scared into the woods behind my sister at the bus stop. Her eyes would widen, and she'd slowly turn around. "Ha ha, made you look. April Fools!"

This morning I got my son up as usual for school. "Guess what? You don't have to go to school today!"

He looked up excitedly, "I don't?" No doubt he figured it was something to do with us being down to one car again.

"Just kidding." I threw my head back and laughed uproariously. "APRIL FOOLS!"

This is the response I got from him.



I'm thinking it was similar to the ones my dad got from us all those years ago.

Apparently he didn't inherit this same obnoxious trait.

****update****

Or maybe he did.

On the way to school, I had to stop and get gas. Jericho was trying to tell me to stop at a gas station I never go to because it would be easier to get right back on the road.

Like Kramer from Seinfeld, I like to push it to the edge where getting gas is concerned, so I thanked him for his advice but told him that I was going to go to the other one closer to the school. That particular parking lot is easier to get in and out of.

"But that place is closed now, mom."

For a second I thought about it, and realized it had been over a week since I'd passed that particular station, what with Spring Break and all. Maybe it had closed.

"It is?"

Jericho pipes up, "April Fools!" and threw his head back and laughed. "Got you good, mom!"

I guess now he'll probably be off trying to trick everyone at school, too.

It's true what they say...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Guess we're all a bunch of April Fools, lol.

****updated yet again****

Just got a call from my hubby.

Him: "You dirty dawg!"

Me: Laughing uproariously (because what other way is there to laugh?).

Him: "You're just lucky I double-checked my Text Messages, because I was just on my way out to get you..."

Jericho and I plotted a good one to play on dad while on the way to school this morning. When I dropped Jericho off, I texted Jeff, "Thanks a lot for leaving me with the gas tank on E this morning. I ran out of gas on the frontage road."

I hadn't really.

A few moments later, I texted again, "April Fools!"

Me: "I got you good!"

Now I just have to guard against retaliations for the rest of the day. Seems there is a fine line between practical jokes and crying wolf.

Oh, but it was worth it.