Stuck in Frump, Striving for Fab

Boy, oh, boy...what a weekend we've had around here.

Sorry to bore y'all with the details, but I had to write this one down for posterity.

The fun began Thursday evening when Jericho came down with what appeared to be the beginnings of the flu.

Friday was his 12th birthday.

Instead of breakast in bed and the royal treatment all day long, he moaned and groaned from the confines of his sickbed, absolutely miserable.

Not even the Nerf 425 repeating rifle, the very latest in Nerf technology, and two bags of additional suction cup darts were any consolation, so great was his misery.

It's no fun to be sick on your birthday.

Lucky for him, we'd planned his big birthday party for Saturday.

By Saturday morning, he'd chirked up considerably, and was sitting up playing video games like nobody's business.

Because of the bummer the day before, we humored him, waiting on him hand and foot.

But an alert chime on my cell-phone informed us that we had a dance recital to attend for one of our youth group girls that evening at Seven. Only an hour after Jericho's birthday party was to begin.

Yipes! But we weren't about to cancel either event.

The girl who was having the dance recital had been talking about it for months, had asked us weeks in advance to attend, and had been working very hard to prepare for it. Her dad was out of town on business rather unexpectedly, too, and so we felt we couldn't not show up.

But neither could we cancel the party, as we'd prepared enough food for an army and it was a double birthday party for Jericho and one of his cousin's children, the entire family of which had flown to town for a visit. We had over 30 people coming.

So after a flurry of calls, we bumped up the time of the party to Four o'Clock. Which barely gave us time to finish pulling the house into respectable shape and getting tables and chairs set up.

By the time the party began, Jericho was feeling well enough to get up and enjoy the meal with everyone.

Afterwards, the parents of all the young children decided to walk to our nearby park to burn off some steam, as all the little kids were getting kind of squirrelly and though the A.C. was on full-blast, it was kind of warm in the house.

Jericho was in the backyard then playing with his Nerf gun, and didn't see everyone leave, so when he came inside, he asked if he could go catch up to them.

Not even thinking about him overdoing it so soon after being sick, I told him to go ahead.

He ran all the way down to the park, where he ran and jumped and played around in the heat of the day with a bunch of cousins.

And I didn't give it a thought.

When he got back, he didn't feel so hot.

In fact, he felt so icky that when it came time to light candles, we had to proceed without him.

At his own birthday party.

He didn't even get to open his presents with everyone there.

And later, when he finally felt up to doing so, was really bummed because this was the first year he'd never asked for a toy. Everyone had given him money towards one big gift.

Which meant there was nothing to play with except the repeating Nerf rifle that makes so much noise as to not be allowed as an indoor toy.

Bummer.

Because he wasn't feeling well, we had to ask Grandma to stay and watch the boys while we went to the recital.

We'd thought 2 1/2 hours would be plenty of time for the party, but our guests didn't leave.

In fact, they stayed and partied without us. It was all very odd, really, us leaving our own party midway through.

The recital included some numbers done to the soundtrack from the movie Enchanted and also High School Musical, and our young friend did a terrific job...very graceful in her ballet numbers, and very cool in her hip-hop ones.

We got home late that evening, and Judah was still up with grandma, looking a little peaked.

Initially, it appeared he'd crashed after a major sugar high, having eaten no less than three slices of cake while we were gone. And a bite of German Chocolate Brownies.

He slept fine through the night, but Sunday morning woke up sick.

I stayed home with the boys.

Jericho was by this time 100% better, but Judah was now miserable.

While Jeff was at church, I noticed that Judah's face had gotten kind of puffy, swollen and red.

Then pox started appearing all over his face.

And the itching. Oh, the poor kid. I tried to coach him to scratch with his knuckles to avoid scarring, but sometimes he would forget.

More appeared on his face, his tummy, his back, his underarms, behind his knees...all the usual places that chicken pox appear.

Then I thought of all those kids who had attended the party, and our immuno-compromised brother-in-law who is on dialysis...all of which would need to be informed, especially since the one family with three children would be returning home on the plane in a couple of days. Ugh.

When I first noticed Judah's condition, Jeff was about 20 minutes or so from getting home, and I watched as the pox continued to worsen.

I finally called Jeff, "We've got to get this kid to the doctor pronto. I think he's got chicken pox. A way worse case than Jericho ever had."

Five minutes later he got home, and we left immediately.

As we're waiting in the E.R., it appeared that there were pox on top of pox, especially on his cheeks which had puffed up as though he had cherries inside of each one. And his ears were covered in them. He was itching his lips with his teeth and I was worried that he might get them in his mouth.

I began to feel a little panicky, especially when the nurse who checked us into the examination room looked at him askance.

It was then that I remembered some pictures on another emergency room door a couple of summers ago, and a new thought occurred to me. Could it be? That dread disease of yesteryear? Smallpox?!!

I felt a little faint, dread coiling in my stomach, thinking about the wretched scarring that leaves behind. How he would be scarred for life, perhaps even made fun of for his terrible looking skin.

I'd worked myself into a sufficient dither just about the time the doctor walked into the room.

The ER doctor (the same one who saw us a few weeks ago for scarlet fever) took one look at him and said, "You poor kid. What did you eat?"

"Eat?" I asked. "I think he's got chicken pox..." or worse.

Though I didn't voice my concern about smallpox, I thought sadly about how he was going to have to live with the results of his illness for years to come.

"Oh, no. That's not chicken pox. That's what we refer to as Uticaria wheels."

Except that with her accent, it came out sounding like "Uticardia". Cardia? Heart?

Was something wrong with his heart?!!

"It's an indicator of a severe allergic reaction." She checked him all over. "Yep, here and here, too. See how the bumps are all different sizes and his face is so red and swollen? That's a severe allergic reaction, most likely to something he ate, though if he came in contact with something through his skin or even something he breathed in, that can cause it too."

This was not what I needed to hear.

My mind suddenly went back to the fear I felt a few weeks ago when I thought Jericho was suffering anaphylaxis but it was really scarlet fever, and my knees got all weak.

Especially when she added, "Under extreme cases the symptoms could last for up to six weeks. You'll want to try and identify what it was that caused his reaction. Sometimes these reactions can be delayed by a day or two."

Suddenly every food, every substance in our home was suspect. The enemy.

Then she prescribed freaky sounding things like steroids and creams and antihistamines (which of course came with all of the paperwork they include with prescriptions that tell of the worst-case scenario side effects), and by the time I got home, I suddenly felt very weary.

But I couldn't crash just yet. I still had to get through the very important V.B.S. leader's meeting at church later that evening. For the Vacation Bible School that begins in a week's time. The one I'm in charge of getting off the ground. Oy.

Here is our poor pitiful patient after he'd been given the antihistamine.



The swelling was mostly gone, and by the end of the evening, there were just a couple of red splotches on his face.

When I did get home, the first thing I did, of course, was to go online and look up allergic reactions.

I'm a glutton for punishment that way. I wasn't sufficiently freaked out enough at the E.R., and had to go look at all the other things that could have happened to him.

And there were a plethora of them, my friends. Frightening photographs of reactions that would have caused me to pass out cold if they happened to my child.

But I did learn something very important. Those very scary sounding "Uticaria wheels"?

Just a fancy Med School way of saying, "Hives".

Why couldn't she just have said hives? For pity's sake, I have so little experience with such things how was I to know they manifested in so many different shapes and patterns! Webs, patches, pox-like bumps, bright red spots, completely covered torsos and bodies, and eyes swollen shut. I feel a little bit faint even thinking about such things.

As for what caused the reaction, after going over every possible thing he'd eaten in the past couple of days and ruling out those things that he'd never had any trouble with before, we're pretty sure that we've narrowed it down to the coconut in those brownies.

Off brand, sale-priced coconut flakes that had been preserved with scary sounding things in the sulfite family.

Bad coconut. I will never, ever, ever make anything with you again!

We knew heading into it that this summer would be kind of an odd one for us.

Our older son attended a school in the district that lets out last in our area, and was on a completely different schedule from the school where my husband teaches.

My husband had only a short window of four days off (with our son still in school) before he began teaching summer school and the whirlwind of graduations, youth group outings, our anniversary and some birthdays came up.

We really needed a change of scenery.

A break from the well-worn grooves of everyday life.

However, with gas prices being what the are and with watching every dime we spend right now due to the possibility of purchasing a home in the near future, we knew that an actual vacation was pretty much out of the question.

So, taking a page from J.D. and other bloggy proponets of frugal living, we decided to do something a little different this year.

Something that would still give us the feeling of a restful and relaxing vacation, while not traveling too far from home or spending too much money.

We went on a day-cation.

For this daylong adventure, we invited grandma along. We took Jericho out of school for the day, packed a cooler full of food, and went on a road-trip.

Our destination was a historic mansion that we'd heard about and had wanted to go see for ages.

And I'm so glad we did!

It turned out to be a very enjoyable, inexpensive little get-away. It cost less than $75 for the admission fees, snacks we wouldn't normally buy (but splurged on since it was a special outing), and then the cost of gas.

And the kids couldn't have been happier. You'd have thought we had taken them to an amusement park, so great was their delight in all they got to see and do. And all without the crowds and the much greater expense a trip like that would have been.

Before our scheduled tour, we had a fun-filled time exploring the quaint little town the mansion is in, as well as the park adjoining the mansion grounds.

We had our picnic here, among a plethora of humming birds, butterflies, lizards and beautiful flowers and plants.

Here Judah is peeking around a palm tree near where we at our lunch. He wouldn't sit still when he saw there were ladybugs on the trunk of the tree.

And like any true brute boy, he promptly squashed several before I realized what he was doing and told him that ladybugs were good bugs. Bugs that ate aphids and helped to protect the flowers in the garden.

*sigh* I'm afraid in my vigilance against the black widows and crickets that have found their way into our garage, and flies and spiders that find their way into our house, I may have inadvertantly given him the impression that the only good bug is a dead one.

His Samurai training is a bust...complicated.



Jericho got to pick his very first orange. A real treat, which we're told tasted "way better than the kind from the store". Of this I have no doubt, though I'm sure that the novelty of getting to pick it himself also had a little something to do with his conclusion.



Incidentally, I found it interesting that most of the residents that grew up in the historic mansion lived to be well past 90, no doubt benefitting from the abundance of Vitamin C in all the fresh orange juice and lemonade they drank on a daily basis thanks to their private citrus grove.

Here was a stand of lovely Madilija Poppies which formed a hedge outside of a residence not far from the entrance to the Mansion grounds.



These chest-high flowers smelled sooo beautiful...not overpowering or heavy, but a light and dainty fragrance that would be especially pleasant to enjoy while swinging on a porch swing during breezy summer evenings.

Though it probably doesn't appear so in these pictures, their very delicate blooms were quite large. Cupped hands could barely contain the full size of the deep blossoms, the shape of which resembled a fine porcelain tea cup.

The petals are papery and delicate, and the inside was bright yellow.

I can now understand the lengths my mom went to in order to track down some of these lovely flowers for her own garden in the Pacific Northwest.

Judah, who was sitting on my lap while I posted these pictures said, "Wook, mama...da egg!" MMmm...sunny-side up.





One of the beautiful gardens on the mansion's grounds.



Here is the Koi pond where our boys would have happily spent hours, perhaps even days, if we'd let them.



We did spend at least an hour here, because there was so much to see and do.

Though none of my pictures of the fish turned out very well, the koi inhabiting the depths were at least 16 inches long, and there were hundreds of tadpoles swimming around the shady areas.

See if you can spot what we found in the next few photos.









Also along the walkway to this pond and the steps leading to the landing above it, the boys stopped to chase small lizards that were basking in the sun along the stone railings. Though we live in the desert, we have always lived in housing developments and so have rarely experienced such things except when camping.

We were told by the docent that the owners grandchildren, in the late 1920's and 30's, also used to spend hours of their freetime playing around this same pond and one near the carriage house.

And one day, while their grandfather was gone, the children rounded up some of the rare specimens of Koi and took them to a pet store in the city to sell them for some spending money.

Needless to say, their grandfather wasn't too happy about that, having to go and buy back his own fish.

I took great comfort in knowing that there were mischevious children like my own living during the early 1900's.

Here was a beautiful sculpture, aptly named Shy Girl, which stood in an area near the Koi pond that was reminiscent of the grounds at Hearst Castle.

Click on the image to enlarge it.



This was a fountain which the docent told us the grandchildren were permitted to play in when they came to visit, as it was within sight of the porch where the grandmother spent her time in the afternoons doing handiwork and catching up on her correspondence.



It was 95 degrees the day we visited, and the idea of taking a dip in that fountain sounded very tempting. At one point, I did have to snatch Judah back from the edge, where he looked behind him as we moved away, "Da poo-ow, mama! Can I go hwimming?"

On a side note, allowing one's toddler to use binkies at bedtime and first thing in the morning when he likes to be cuddled can be detrimental to their enunciations of the "s" sound. It comes out sounding like a wheezy-nasal "h" sound. As though one is saying it around a pacifier. (Betchya tried that sound out just now, huh? Go ahead...it's fun! Hwimming. Hnake. Htupid. Hpit. Hcawy Mon-toe!)

Anyway, at long last, here is a picture of the lovely mansion.

I only wish we could have taken pictures inside.

The interior decorating had been comissioned by the owners, and had been done by the famous Tiffanys. They also had several Tiffany lamps in the home.

The walls in one of the rooms had been done with a patina of actual silver and copper, which left a metallic silvery sheen to the walls that was exquisite...unlike anything I've ever seen before. They'd also used damask cloth as a wall covering and for window treatments.

The library, otherwise known as The Peacock Room, contained a fireplace, some beautiful period furniture, and a fabulous Persian rug that had peacocks on the four corners.

The kitchen itself was rather small and ordinary (and had been poorly updated in the 1950's), but the butlers pantry, a shelf-lined hallway where all their china and other dishes were stored was amazing. Floor to ceiling shelves with beautiful woodwork and glass doors so that you could see where everything was.

There was also a thoroughly modern device installed in here for the waitstaff, which was rather like an intercom and could alert them when they were needed in a particular room of the home. It had been installed in the early 1900's.

It was a beautiful home, and it was apparent from all that the docent told us that many, many happy memories were made in that home back when the family lived in it. And the thing was, you could tell. It was an elegant home, but had a lived in, happy feeling about the place, as opposed to a museum for fine objects. I enjoyed knowing that the family viewed the place as a home. That children once chased each other through it's halls and rooms, and brought pet frogs and toads inside in jars, and maybe slid down the bannisters.

The last family member to reside there was a prominent member of the community, died childless and donated the entire property and all it's contents to the people of the city, to be maintained as a historical site.

That little day-cation put us in vacation mode, which helped the remainder of Jeff's time off to feel just as restful and relaxing as if we'd gone on a long camping trip. It also gave us some ideas for other trips that we plan to squeeze in later this summer.

It was great to get away and see some new sights.

To absorb the history from a different era.

To enjoy seeing some of the lush vegetation that grows in a climate so different from arid desert we live in.

And what trip of this nature would be complete without rolling down the very inviting hills on the immaculately kept grounds?



Good thing this wasn't Hearst Castle, or we'd have been booted out for sure!

Big brother walks down the hall, glancing through the open bathroom door in passing, and steps into the living room with a squinched up face, "Oh, that's disgusting!"

"What is?" I ask, just sitting down to the computer.

"Judah is playing with his bath toys in the toilet!"

Sure enough, he had his entire set of "Pirate" bath toys in the toilet bowl.

Judging by the looks of things, the pirates must have been enduring the storm of the century, because there was water all over the place.

How my mom-radar had not picked up on that kind of frivolity happening just around the corner I'll never know.

I'm just thankful the toilet was freshly cleaned, or it might have given new meaning to the term poop deck. (Sorry, couldn't resist, lol.)

:: :: :: ::

I was putting on my makeup one morning when Judah came wandering into my bathroom.

He saw me doing my mascara face while brushing the wand across my eyelashes, and after watching me for a few moments turned his head to look up at me and said, "Are you da mon-toe, mama?" (That would be monster in toddler-speak)

Not exactly what a mom wants to hear after putting on her makeup on, lol. Thanks a lot, kid.

:: :: :: ::

After putting the kids down the other night, I kept hearing what I thought was Judah calling out for me. "Mama?"

I got up, walked to his room, and found him sound asleep.

Just to be sure, I checked on big brother, too. He was out for the night.

Minutes later, after settling comfortably back in my own bed, I hear it again.

It was that sort of that feeble sounding call that I usually hear when the kids are sick in the night and call out to me, or need a drink after long since put to bed.

I got up and trudged down the hall. Both boys were sound asleep.

What in the world? I was sure I'd heard someone calling for me.

No sooner had I crawled back into bed and curled up with my book than I heard it again. Was Jericho messin' with me?

I called out, "What do you want, Jericho?"

"Mah-om" came the faint reply.

I knew it was coming from the direction of the boys bedrooms, so I got out of bed once again, and went to check on them. Sound asleep.

It wasn't even a case of Judah talking in his sleep as he is known to do. I know, because I stood in there for a few moments to see if he was mumbling in his sleep.

Turns out it was a pair of mourning doves that had nested just outside Judah's bedroom window, and the sound was a bit distorted.

:: :: :: ::

It was a long hot afternoon, and Judah wanted into brothers bedroom in the worst way in order to play with his much cooler toys. Jericho, however, wanted nothing to do with that prospect.

After listening to the obnoxiously incessant plea, "Wet me ih-ih-ih-ihn", coming from just outside his closed bedroom door, Jericho had had enough.

Through the closed door, I hear him try out the very naughty phrase, "Aw, shut your pie hole!" (Sadly, they're not perfect angels all the time, lol.)

Judah, amazed to have finally gotten a response to his nagging, stood up hopefully from where he had just been lying on the floor kicking the closed bedroom door in an annoying, little-brother kind of way.

When I glanced at his face, I saw that Judah looked bemused, as though reaching for a really great comeback. Doing this little bobble-head gesture, he yelled back through the door, "No, I Judah, Jay-co!"

:: :: :: ::

Upon arrival at our niece's recent graduation ceremony, we learned that while her mother had brought the family camera with her, Katie had left the very important camera card on the computer desk back at the house.

Since I had my camera with me, I was asked to sit up close with Katie's mom and grandma rather than in the back with my husband and our boisterous toddler Judah. (Nobody had to twist my arm!)

I had the privilege of sitting completely undisturbed throughout the entire event, taking pictures at all the perfect times, without a toddler hanging on my hip or my arm, asking me repeatedly for tic-tacs or gum or a drink, talking too loudly or needing his diaper changed at the most inopportune time (which would have necessitated having to step on at least twenty people's toes in the process of getting out of the row of seats to the nearest exit).

At the closing of the ceremony, the graduates were called up front as a group to collectively and symbolically switch over their tassels.

The young men were in their blue caps and gowns, and the young women in white. It was so neat to see these young people, many of which my husband had as students over the years, looking so mature and grown up as they symbolically switched over their tassels, beginning a new stage of their lives, and then tossing their four-cornered caps up into the air in celebration.

The students dispersed rather quickly in the large auditorium in order to find their families and friends for pictures, and the lights began to dim almost immediately.

I glanced back and noticed at least a dozen, maybe closer to 15 or 16 blue caps and tassels left behind on the steps leading up to the stage.

I stood there for a moment kind of stunned, pondering why no young women and so many young men would just carelessly let their caps fall where they may and then leave them there.

Maybe I'm overly sentimental, but I still have my graduation cap packed away in a box of high school memorabilia. You're supposed to keep them...or at the very least the tassel, so that you can hang it over the rear view mirror in your car. It's one of the unwritten rules of graduation, for crying out loud.

I was just about to write it off as another puzzling difference between the sexes, when suddenly in my periphery, I see a lanky young man loping towards the stage from the left hand side of the auditorium, and upon his arrival promptly began scooping up all of the leftover caps.

Oh, good, I thought. The guys sent someone back in to retrieve their hats.
(In fact, I got that same "all's-right-with-the-world" feeling one gets after witnessing a panicked little tot that had somehow gotten separated from her mama in the grocery store happily reunited).

To this scrapbookin' mama, things like that are of utmost importance.

I would not only want pictures of our sons in their hats, but I would want the hats themselves. Perhaps to be used to decorate the front of their high school scrapbooks, or to be made into a decorative wall hanging, or at the very least, to decorate with at the big family party following the event.

Certainly not left forlornly onstage in the auditorium.

Some of the other mom's must have felt the same way, because in the dim lighting, I saw a couple of them approach the young man and each request one of the hats he was holding.

That SO would have been me, and I felt vindicated knowing there were other equally sentimental moms out there.

It was then that I noticed that something about the silhouette of the young man holding the caps was vaguely familiar and caused me to do a double-take.

Turns out it was our oldest son Jericho, plundering the loot left onstage.

And suddenly, I felt all at once chagrined that those moms had to go claim their sons caps from Mr. Greedy-guts up there onstage, and then highly amused, wondering what in the world my nearly 12 year old son wanted them all for, lol.

I even asked him about it later, curious as to what had been going through his mind at that moment. What would possess him to run up onstage, and gather up over a dozen blue graduation caps? What did he plan to do with them?

He looked a little sheepish and admitted that he didn't really know. Apparently, he just didn't want them to go to waste.

Or maybe he just wanted to add it to his collection of other oddities.

Like the two tissue-papered cones left over from a pinata which he acquired after a recent party we attended. The same ones still rattling around in the trunk of my car.

Who can know the mind of a pre-teen boy?

:: :: :: ::

Both of our boys adore the Toy Story movies.

Jericho, wavering on that threshold between childhood and the more "mature" stage of his pre-teen years has, for the most part, outgrown the toys.

They have been bequeathed to little brother without argument or even 'reserved rights' to them, and are very happily dragged all over town with us.

But when we recently heard rumors that the production company responsible for those movies had a Toy Story 3 in the works, we had to check it out.

After a Google search which confirmed this, there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but even our "mature" son Jericho was mourning the premise of the story.

It sounds as though Woody and friends get heartlessly dumped off at a daycare center.

This after having been happily reunited with Andy in the first two movies.

Days after the news broke, Jericho commented on it again, still saddened by their choice for sequel. "I still can't believe they would do that in Toy Story 3! They're just going to end up torn up and thrown away in the day care center. They should have just had Andy's mom keep them for her grandchildren to play with."

I didn't dare divulge to him that grandchildren aren't especially easy on toys.

Or the sad and bitter end that met many of the toys still left around at my grandmas from when my mom and her younger brother were children.

How that early edition G.I. Joe figurine my uncle used to play with (which would have been worth a fortune now), met a dastardly fate when my cousin Rexie blew it up with firecrackers behind grandma's garage, and then melted one of the hands with a magnifying glass to simulate war wounds.

Naw, it's just better to let him think that toys like Woody and Buzz are all about wanting to loved and played with to the bitter end, and that drooling kids fighting over them in a daycare would be preferred far more than ending up in a dusty bin at a thrift store.

In case you were wondering, no.

I'm so not an Alice Cooper fan.

Never was. Never will be.

I just remember hearing the song School's Out For Summer from time to time over the years.

Most recently when Wii ahem, we played the video game Guitar Hero.

For some reason, it's been rattling around in my head ever since.

I'm pretty sure that's because I totally rock did pretty well at that game.

I don't want to sound, you know, braggy or anything...but I didn't see anyone else making it to the encore! And I wasn't getting booed off the stage, either.

(Sorry, but I have to glory in the moment. It's not every day that I am able to beat both my husband and our resident video game expert son all in one day!)

I must admit I'm hoping Jericho changes his mind about what he wants for his birthday so that we can get that game and I can beat his socks off again enjoy it all summer long. ;)

Anyway, about the whole School's Out thing? If finally happened for us!

It all began Monday when Jericho had a field day. Literally.

Little brother got to participate since mama was helping to supervise the event at the park.

He thought he was one of the big kids.



Big brother kindly took Judah through the sprinklers.





The Park & Rec people were so nice, they waited to water the lawns until the kids were sweltering hot from playing games in the sun, and then let them play in them for about a half hour to cool off.

It was great last hurrah for Jericho with his buddies.



And thus began the official countdown to the last day of school...which was today!

Summer has FINALLY begun! Whoop-whoop!

:: :: :: ::

Yep, they're baaaaaack.

I guess it's the Year of the Dog in our neighborhood.

Which somehow correlates directly with the tenants that have cycled through the rental next door.

The family that lived there back when I started this blog less than a year ago had 5 grown pit bulls in their backyard.

Five.

Large.

Vicious.

Dogs.

That would all jump up against the fence en masse to snarl and bark at our poor dog Raisin.

It was downright frightening.

I didn't even want the boys to play back there in case that was the time the fence would finally fall down, and they'd maul our children to death.

Hey, it happens! This wasn't a case of me being an overprotective mom. It was that bad!

We know this because there used to be a beagle that lived in their yard with them, but the dogs ganged up on the hound, and that was the end of that poor beagle. And if they'd turn on one of their own...well, it makes me shudder even thinking about what could have happened.

It was a relief to see those dogs vacate the 'hood.

The next family had a pit bull puppy and a yappy pomeranian that would dig under our fence and eat up all of our dog's food.

Daily.

And those two dogs kept digging new holes when I'd fill in the last ones.

The proverbial icing on the cake was when they moved out a few months later sans their Pomeranian.

As in leaving their dog locked up in the backyard of that house without any food or water. A virtual death sentence.

At Christmas time, no less.

In the dead of winter.

But we noticed just in time, rescued it, and that Pomeranian now happily reigns as doggy princess at my brother-in-law's house, living side-by-side in peaceful co-existence with their pet rabbit.

And just when we thought anything would be better than what we'd suffered with those two families pets invading our serenity, the latest family moved in.

With the noisiest dogs on the block. Perhaps even our entire city.

Perhaps that's because there are NINE dogs in their little postage stamp of a backyard all competing for attention and food.

Nine.

Dogs.

Digging.

Seven.

Puppies.

Yapping and scrapping.

All hours of the day and night.

It's enough to make a person go insane.

Those seven naughty little puppies dig under the fence too fast for me to keep up with filling in their holes. It's really a wonder there is any compacted dirt left to hold up the wooden fence.

And so they romp all day in our yard.

Eating poor Raisin's food.

Drinking her water.

Rousing her from her sleep.

Running her ragged trying to defend her territory.

Leaving behind...evidence of their visits.

Did I mention that there were nine dogs over there?

Yapping at all hours of the night?

Interrupting our sleep?

It's bad, I tell you. Bad.

But darned if they aren't some of the cutest, most playful little pups I've ever seen.

Pure white little furballs.

And when they hear me coming, they dive through the hole under the fence.

Canine skydivers making a hasty exit, ending up in perfect formation on their side of the fence like they'd been there all along. Slick professionals that they are.

And they're so fast I hadn't ever actually caught them in the act.

They almost got away with it, leaving me to think it was just my imagination that I saw several little white balls of fluff floating past my glass sliding door.



But see the little guy on the left, his tail in the air? He was a tad bit too slow.

Maybe held up by one of his brothers in line ahead of him, I'm not sure.

All I know was that his sister looked downright embarrassed to have been caught in the act.

So here we find ourselves faced with what to do about the neighbor's dogs.

Again.

It would help if I wasn't such a sucker nice person, knowing that there are children living there that are attached to these adorable little puppies.

Children who would weep and wail and cry buckets of tears if they were to suddenly be parted from their precious puppies.

What's a nice neighbor to do?

You're still the one~
Love, Becky

This is the photo that we framed for Daddy's desk at school.

I feel bad, because Father's Day comes at a hectic time of year.

I'm not sure about you all, but with graduations, family gatherings, wrapping up the end of the school year...it's easy to let this day slide to the bottom of my list of priorities.

I suppose this is made even worse by the fact that our wedding anniversary is so close to Father's Day that Jeff often gets the short end of the stick. His big day has often become ours, with dinners that 'double' for Father's Day and Anniversary celebrations.

Not exactly fair when I get Mother's Day all to myself, lol.

So this year, I made a concerted effort to ensure we celebrate Father's Day all by itself, and that we really went all out for Jeff.

This year we actually got his gift ahead of time.

Which was big for me, as Father's Day always seems to creep up on me. "Oh, no...Father's Day is tomorrow?" I gasp, and dash off to the store to get the gift I knew he wanted.

Only to find it sold out, and having to resort to something else.

Something that is usually disappointing because it wasn't even something that he really wanted.

But this year...this year I took note of the hints he'd been dropping, and went and got him the very thing he'd asked for.

I also intercepted Jericho trying to dig out his handmade Father's Day gift (which he made at school) ahead of time, and convinced him to save it for today.

I'm the type of person that doesn't mind knowing in advance what my gift will be for some special occasion (except maybe at Christmas). In fact, I've actually picked out my own gift in the store while shopping with Jeff a few days ahead of time. It doesn't bother me at all.

But since he was a kid, Jeff is one that enjoys the anticipation of a special occasion, and waiting to find out which of the 'hints' was taken with regard to his gift. He loves surprises. I think this is all a part of his 'love language', though it's been so long since I read that book that I admit I'm a bit rusty on the particulars.

Anyway, going all out, I even took the time to make a favorite coffee last night so that it would be ready for him for breakfast this morning.

Then, after church, we invited his mom out to his restaurant of choice for lunch.

He also got to take a nice long undisturbed nap this afternoon.

And he loved his gifts.

Just before he went off to bed this evening, he told us all he'd had a wonderful Father's Day, so I'm pretty sure the day was a hit.

Which is a good thing, because it was my turn to handle our anniversary plans this year, and so far I got nothin'.

Filed under Drinking Water Adventures in the Frump House:

Recently, after a long, hot day of 90+ degree weather, my husband asked our older son to get him a glass of ice water.

Jericho dutifully pulled a large glass out of the cupboard, dispensed some ice, then water, and brought it to his dad.

About a half hour later, after sipping the water while watching a movie with the kids, Jeff suddenly made a gagging-wretching noise. "E-gaack...YUCK!"

We all turned from what we were doing, and saw him holding his cup aloft and inspecting the contents in the bottom of his glass.

"There's CORN in my ice water!" he gasped in total disgust.

And we all just laughed.

Because, well, we're kinda corny that way. Not with our water, mind you, but our sense of humor.

Turns out a few kernels of corn escaped the confines of a bag in the freezer door just above the ice chute, and hid out waiting for dad's glass before making their escape, lol.

It could have been worse, though.

Like the last time mystery floaties began appearing in our ice water.

When it happened to me, I immediately investigated.

I unwrapped a mangled ziploc bag which had somehow gotten twisted around the corkscrew thing that pushes ice out the dispenser chute. It had torn open, dispersing unappetizing chunks of leftover pepperoni pizza into our water. Blech.

:: :: :: ::

However, that doesn't even begin to describe the grossness that Jeff discovered teaching his first day of summer school.

Jeff always takes in a couple large bottles of water with him to school, as the water fountains there are always tepid and the water tastes disgusting.

One of his usual water bottles was in the dishwasher, so he slipped into the bedroom and took the one he had on his nightstand.

This particular bottle was, in a previous life, a 2 quart milk bottle from a local dairy. He likes this particular one because we have a tight-fitting plastic lid that came with it, and the opening is large enough to accomodate ice cubes, and doesn't have the icky plastic taste that most water bottles do after a while.

In a bit of a hurry, and noticing that it was already half-full of water, he just grabbed out a handful of ice and pushed the cubes down inside.

Later, after talking at length to his students and working up quite a thirst, Jeff sat down at his desk to enjoy some ice water while they took a quiz.

As he's guzzling down the water, he suddenly feels the most disgusting thing plop into his mouth.

Are you ready for this?

I'm warning you...it's gross.

If you have food, I'd advise swallowing or putting whatever you have down.

It was a cotton ball.

A used cotton ball.

One that had been soaked in rubbing alcohol and used to clean off a pretty good scrape on Judah's knee.

When we first moved to the Southwest almost a decade ago, I spent the first four years of our time here babysitting my sister-in-law's three children.

Our son Jericho still has a very close relationship with these cousins, because they were together so much during those years and since, and they relate more like siblings than cousins.

Back at the time of our move, I remember thinking how fast our niece Katie had grown. Almost overnight, it seemed, that darling little tot that loved "titty-tats", cherries and the color pink...the same cute little pixie that served as our flower girl in our wedding five years prior had grown up to be this vivacious little 3rd grader.

But recently we've discovered that we have been living in some strange kind of time warp, because all of a sudden, she's driving, working, dating, and tonight...tonight she graduates! *sniff, sniff*

It just doesn't seem possible. Where does the time go? You blink, and suddenly it's ten years later, and there she is, receiving her diploma and gearing up for college. *sigh*

Anyway, for her graduation, I wanted to do something special to mark the occasion.

What we came up with took me a full two days to put together, because it's 3-D.

It's technically a little too thick to be a card, so I suppose it would fall under the memory book category:

We're proud of you, Katie-Girl!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Welcome all you PhotoStory Friday bloggy peeps!

Thanks so much for stopping by!

:: :: :: ::

Our boys were out front "riding bikes" one evening last week while daddy was washing the car.

Actually, little brother Judah was sitting on his red tricycle on the paltry stretch of sidewalk directly in front of our house feeling his limitations.

He longed to break free...to ride the wide open streets like big brother Jericho, who kept passing by the house on a continuous loop from the cul-de-sac out to the street and back.

Finally, he could stand it no more. "Pweeze can I wide on ye-oh bike Jay-co?"

After several mournful pleadings, Jericho finally consented and pulled to a stop to let him climb up on the pegs.

Little brother couldn't have been happier.

Daddy called inside, "Quick, get the camera!"

I arrived on the porch and saw this.



And something about the facial expression big brother was wearing just then reminded me of something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Until he deadpanned, "I can get 70 miles to the gallon on this hog. There's still room for one more if you still want to go to Aspen."

And then it all became very clear.

Lovely.

Now why, if he had to emulate someone, couldn't he have gone for someone a little more...noble?

Like say...Lancelot gallantly rescuing Guinevere from the stake?

Granted, it's his kid brother and not a fair maiden, but still.

On second thought, forget I said anything.

I don't need him getting any ideas like this for anything that involves swiftly moving horsepower.

Especially considering he asked for one of these motorized bad-boys for his upcoming birthday

I'm just not sure I'm ready for him to be pulling crazy stunts like this

And especially not in front of his daredevil impressionable little brother who has already started doing things like this

and this

and this!

Oh, lawsamercy...why don't they make smelling salts anymore? I'm feeling a little faint all of a sudden...

Leap-blogging off of Dawn's idea, we went HERE and Simpsonized our family.

Meet the Simpson's newest neighbors, The Frumps!



Just thought I'd pass along the info in case you were in need of something to waste the next four hours of your time!

For some odd reason I was thinking the above sentence in comedian Gilbert Gottfried's voice as I was typing, lol.

(Betcha go check out the Simpsonizing site, though, huh?)

One of Jericho's daily chores is to feed the dog, and to see to it that her water dish (an old camping cooler) stays clean and sterile and is refilled each afternoon with fresh, cool water.

A couple of mornings ago I went outside and found that the cooler was noticably green and disgusting around the edges.

Now I know that hot weather speeds this algae growing process up, but if our son was a little more vigilant in preventing it from getting to this point, that might help, too.

To demonstrate how repugnant and unsanitary it was for the dog to be drinking such dirty water, I picked up a sippy cup that I'd found earlier that morning beneath the sofa (which had Ovaltine brownish-pink yogurt curdled inside) and asked if he'd enjoy drinking the contents of such a cup.

He was, of course, thoroughly repulsed.

So, armed with a bottle of Dawn and a scrub brush, out he went to get the job done.

And--as he is wont to do--stayed out far longer than necessary for the task.

I had started getting dinner ready, and after several minutes found that I needed the garbage to be taken out, and so called for him to come in.

He showed up at the back door like this.



And then proceeded to do this.



And this.



And this.



This from my son who has begun making sounds about wanting to be treated like he's more mature. You know, like a teenager.

Which is kind of hard for a mom to do when he's pulling goofy stunts like this and still plays with action figures and G.I. Joes.

:: :: :: ::

They say that kids thrive on routines.

I believe this to be true in lots of ways.

For instance, if daddy doesn't scoop little Judah up at approximately the same time each night, take him around to kiss everyone goodnight, and then tuck him into his bed with his blankie and binkie, he goes hog-wild, tearing through the house like Taz, leaving a wake of destruction in his path (Judah, not daddy, lol).

Then, with his pent-up energy completely spent, he will lay down wherever he happens to end up and promptly fall asleep there.

:: :: :: ::

One of my favorite things ever is when I catch a glimpse of how important to our toddler's security and well-being that boundaries and routines are in his eyes.

It used to be that when he would see the Golden Arches, even if he'd just eaten, he would whine, "I want a hamma-grrr", and would throw a fit when we passed it, whining all the way home.

But after much work, with consistency and follow-through, he no longer whines about it all the way home.

After dropping big brother off at school one morning last week, Judah and I ran errands on the way home, and when passing by the golden arches, he 'tested' me by asking for a hamma-grrr.

To which I immediately replied, "No. We're going to go home and you can have some yogurt or cereal." I tried to sound enthusiastic about the prospects.

From him I hear that single, indignant **cough** sound that kids do when they are put out by something their parents do, immediately followed by a moderately whiney, "What?!" But that was it.

Not a huge gain I'll admit, but it sure beats the incessant whiney cries all the way home.

:: :: :: ::

Another 'tradition' that Judah likes to make sure I uphold, is how I respond to his outlandish claims.

And being the kind of kid he is, he makes several of these a day.

Earlier today, he looked at me very seriously, wearing one of the extra backpacks we have around the house and said to me, "I go to cowwedge wif my pack-ack".

"You did naaaaaat" I replied, poking him in the tummy as if to say, "Silly boy". He grins and runs off to find something else to get into do.

"Mama, the dwagon bited me" he announced later, after seeing a Komodo dragon in a picture book.

"Nuh-uh" I said, poking him in the tummy.

Normally he would grin, and run off, but this time he stayed planted where he was, shook his little head as if disagreeing with me...then his eyes light up and he tilts his head slightly and says, "It did naaaaaht!" mimicking almost exactly my usual tone and response to his claims.

With children, it would seem that predictability translates as security, and gives a child a sense of contentment.

Well, except when he sees his bag of pinata candy on top of the fridge and wants it bad, asking and whining and pleading for it.

Though your answers are predictably "no" (he only gets it when we use it to bribe him to eat his dinner offer it to him), there is simply no contentment when he knows that bag is full of "canny" and "bub-oh gom".

:: :: :: ::

Judah recently came up to me, cradled my cheeks in his hands and said all affectionately, "Mama? Ye-oh so cute."

Made my heart melt into a little puddle right there on the floor.

:: :: :: ::

While in the middle of a VBS planning meeting last Sunday evening after church, Jericho and Judah were hanging out with some of the kids just outside the door on the concrete pad.

Jericho came running in and told my friend Brenda, "Ah, Cassie fell off the skateboard out there, and we're trying to revive her..."

"Trying to revive her?!!" she exclaimed, already rushing to get outside to her daughter.

Turns out Cassie had fallen off one of the boys skateboards outside, got the wind knocked out of her, and bruised up her elbow pretty good.

Not to mention that it probably stung a bit to have fallen in front of all those boys.

We heard from Cassie later that all she saw and heard in the ensuing chaos of her fall were the boys leaning over her, their concerned voices asking, "Are you okay?" and Judah saying over and over, "She dead! Cath-y dead!"

:: :: :: ::

Now that Awana is over for the summer, Jeff has begun another study of the book of Revelation with our teens from church.

The kids in our youth group are fascinated with the study of the end times, and can't seem to get enough of it. Each summer, they literally beg for us to go through this book again.

Seeing as there is a blessing for all those who read that book, hear it and take to heart what is written in it (Rev. 1:3), we figure it can't hurt to study it again and again each and every summer.

Besides, it helps to clarify their understanding a little more each time we go through it.

Because we work with the youth group, our boys are often in our class with us and are therefore exposed to a great deal of teaching on topics one might think were far above their level of comprehension.

But at 11, Jericho already has a pretty good working knowledge of the book.

Or so we thought.

Upon starting the study last week, Jeff asked each person in attendance to draw a picture of what they think of when they study the book of Revelation, or End Times prophecies.

There were the expected themes of chaos and destruction, the Battle of Armageddon, Jesus Second coming and his reign during the Millennium. One girl drew question marks all over her paper, representing the great mystery that it all was to her.

Jericho, however, drew a picture of a demon and an angel throwing down insults at each other in a "Yo' Mama" contest.

I'm thinking we have some work ahead of us trying to straighten out his understanding of such things.