Archive | February, 2011

Freeze, Football, and Funnies

7 Feb

My kids have picked up my extremely bad habit of jotting down thoughts.  Maybe this stems from not enough common sense, but we put things in writing so they can haunt us for the rest of our lives.  We make friends and enemies with our written words.  It’s not smart.

FringeBoy constantly makes these little cartoon books.  Once an idea is on paper, it’s off his radar and left for his nosy mother to find.  If I want to know what’s going on inside my son’s head, I just leave him alone with a pencil and a few scraps of paper.  He never intends for me to read, so I can’t share his musings with all mankind and the cat sitting on your lap.  It’s unfortunate.

While scrolling through my two thousand too many photos stored on my hard drive and causing my computer to run at the speed of sludge, I happened upon this note from my son.  It’s a few years old, but made me laugh just as much as the first time I found it resting next to my coffee cup.

FringeBoy is very constitutional, while my daughter is more of the doodle silly things on the back of an empty pizza box kind of kid.

Equally goofy, they are also the reason I cannot think of anything but multiplication tables and aerodynamics this evening.

No real news to report on the Fringe.  I can sum up my weekend in one word – SNOW.

I can sum up my month in one word – SNOW.

My life in three words – SNOW, SLEET, and ICE.

The back of my house is leaking like a rusty faucet and the big melt is months out.  About March, I may start sleeping in a life vest.  Major flooding seems inevitable.  For now we will pick away at the ice jam creeping under the back roof.

I suggested we just knock the mudroom down and crown the Freeze Miser king.  FringeMan’s only response was a dirty look.

Thankfully the weather didn’t interrupt the Super Bowl.  Half our country’s men would have had cardiac episodes.

FringeMan and I considered having a Super Bowl party, but then we remembered we canceled cable in order to save money.  “You don’t think anyone would want to come over and listen to the game on the radio, do you?”  I asked knowing the answer in my heart.

I did not watch the game.

I did not see any hysterical commercials.

I am not terribly sad.

I don’t even miss cable.

I can watch Pickers online.

I do hope your team won!

Tell me about the best commercial.  I may be persuaded to watch it online.

What word sums up your weekend?

Time To Think of The Thighs

4 Feb

Hey, I’m over at An Army of Ermas today.  Can you believe they let me write for them?

I’m shocked too.

Come on over for a visit.  It’s about time we thought about our thighs.

Besides, you look like you need a laugh!

See you THERE.


My Husband Didn’t Marry An Ax Murderer

3 Feb

Mousecapades – Part One

When it comes to rodents, I don’t have a heart.  I know some of you catch and release, but quite frankly, the only way I want to see a mouse is dead.

Yes, I am evil.  Yes, I can be a little more humane.  Yes, I can see my need to be good to the mouse.

But I want the little sucker dead!

And can I speak to trap manufacturer’s for a quick second?

Glue is for school projects and broken glasses, NOT for rat traps.

I hate to admit this.  It’s not for the faint of heart, bleeding of heart, and definitely not for the ears of an animal rights activist.  Though Cats would probably applaud.

Consider yourself warned.

I once caught a mouse in a glue trap.  I pulled up a chair and watched its long tail struggle.  What do you do with a live mouse stuck on a pad of glue?

I definitely wasn’t touching the trap while he was alive.  The thought of letting him struggle for another eight hours until FringeMan returned made me a little weak in the knees.  As far as my limited experience with rodents could tell, there was only one thing to do – Kill the Varmint!

My husband didn’t marry an ax murderer and killing a mouse is a little different from killing a spider.  I have my limitations.  I won’t wear a shoe with mouse guts splattered on it!  I had no idea how to kill this mouse.

A hammer?  Too Ted Bundy.

A knife?  Too Jack the Ripper.

Suffocation?  Not with my pillow!

The shotgun?  Too Tim the Tool Man Taylor

I settled on Windex.

Shame welled up and flowed through my fingers as I typed W I N D E X.  I’m not proud, but please understand, I couldn’t sit and watch it suffer.  I may not have a bleeding heart, but it still beats.  There should be an extra warning label on bottles of glass cleaner – CAN BE HARMFUL TO RATS, MICE, & OTHER SMALL RODENTS.

You see why I am against glue, don’t you?

We didn’t use glue this time.  We used an honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, break-their-neck trap.  FringeMan filled it with peanut butter and set it next to the mouse freeway, running directly behind my trash can and under my kitchen sink.

For three days I waited for the ominous CLICK.  Nothing.

This afternoon, I was standing at the counter doing something important like reading a blog when I heard a scratching sound.  At first, I figured it was the kids raking their pencil across a page, but I think I remembered, We Have A Mouse!  Turning quietly I spun on my heel and caught the little mighty mouse eating the peanut butter.  On the trap.  No click.  No snap.  No broken neck.

I did what any self-respecting blogger would do, I turned in search of my camera.  So FringeMan will know I’m telling the truth about the roving rat, I took a picture.  Sadly it came out a little dark.  The lighting isn’t so good under my counter, behind the trash, but that mouse just ignored me.  Imagine!  Now I’m not only skeeved because I have a mouse, but I’m getting downright angry.

He’s going to push me to use glue!

It’s not bad enough that we are basically giving our house guest free high-protein meals (he’s not allergic to peanuts thank God), but then I find out my daughter has been feeding him.  She leaves him Cheerios.  Sure enough two little O’s sit next to my front door welcoming every rodent on the block.

We are hospitable that way.

Game on!

Exotic Travel With A Cow & A Bus

2 Feb

Despite any misgivings about raw chicken or fortune cookies predicting my dire future, we are ordering takeout tonight, Chinese style.  It’s been one of those gray, depressing, frigid days of winter.  They shuffle through January and February at speeds slower than my overloaded computer.

Don’t misunderstand, I am not wishing my days away.  I want to enjoy every moment of this age, because soon I will be…older.  I just wish for sun and temperatures that don’t make my toes turn blue with frost.

I checked the weather this morning, looking for a warmer place to visit, but I found the entire country is pretty much frozen.  If you’re in a small pocket of blue skies and above freezing temperatures, please don’t tell me unless you have a spare bedroom.

A few years ago FringeMan and I picked up a movie in the dollar store.  I wish I could say that I am not in the habit of buying dollar movies, but my DVD collection doesn’t lie.  We have enough Beverly Hillbilly reruns to laugh our way through the worst snowstorms.

This movie (I can’t remember the name and I’m too lazy to go look) features a hippy family that packed up their kids and traveled around the United States for a year.  The idea of seeing our great country and giving our kids a lesson in life that is sure to teach them more than any U.S. textbook is tempting.  I mean how fun would it be to see America and visit all of our friends and family scattered around our 50 states?

How can I live without seeing the Grand Canyon, a twister in Oklahoma, and Cali-forn-I-A?

I cannot.

We’re buying a bus, painting a few chickens on the side (or maybe a cow) and touring America!

Do you want us to come visit?

We must stop in Canada too.  I can’t tour America and not take a few extra steps to see Loyalist Cottage, Broken Poet, and my new best friend Sarah who likes my cow.

I will blog from cities, towns, and squirrel holes.  I will introduce you to new and familiar faces.  The FringeFamily will roam the land from sea to shining sea.

Can you hear the music?

“Amer-i-ca, A-mer-i-ca …”

FringeGirl goes mobile!

I’ll have stories to tell until my grandchildren get grays.

FringeMan will preach to the nations at a different church every Sunday.

If only I were independently wealthy…

Well, maybe someday.  I’ll never say never.

Wouldn’t it be fun?

Perhaps tonight’s fortune will say, “Exotic travel will come with cow and painted bus.”

You never know.


Grab Him By The Neck & Kiss Him

1 Feb

My mother Some random blog reader recently complained that I don’t take any good pictures of my kids.  I have two very legitimate reasons for this photographic failure.

I created that balloon masterpiece.  Is there no limit to a mother’s talent?

Don’t answer that!

1.  I am not a photographer

2.  My kids are old enough to complain

When children are little you can follow them around with a camera and document every blink of their eye, but once hey hit the age of complaint, it’s all over.  Telling them to smile for a photo is a lot like telling them to stop picking their nose.  It just isn’t going to happen.

As you all know, this weekend FringeBoy turned eleven.  Over a batch of chocolate chip pancakes, his father and I asked him about his goals for this his eleventh year of life.  Once we got past the “I don’t knows,” and “I’m only a kid, so I don’t have goals” excuses, we got our answer.

“I want to build a rocket, add wings, attach it to a remote control car and launch it.”


When I was eleven, I’m sure I wanted to see if Barbie could kiss Ken.

Or something like that.

I see much destruction in my future.  I wonder if NASA will let him come play at their place?

I wrote out Happy Birthday in chocolate chips, not to be mistaken for braille.

Because I care about your sweet tooth, I will share my quick cake secrets.  Take a box of ordinary cake mix.  When it says to add water, add MILK.  When it says to add oil, add ONE stick of softened butter.  It’s so much better.

Peanut Butter Icing

1 cup smooth and creamy peanut butter

1 stick of butter softened

Approximately 3 or 4 tablespoons of half & half or heavy cream

Approximately 1/2 bag of powdered sugar.  The BIG bag, not the little box

A shot of vanilla extract

Taste it and you’ll know if it needs more sugar.  Add extra cream to get the texture you want.

Marshmallow Icing

1 stick butter, softened

1 7oz. tub of marshmallow fluff

Approximately 3 or 4 tablespoons of half & half or heavy cream

Approximately 1/2 bag of powdered sugar

A small shot of vanilla extract

I may not be able to make a can of condensed soup, but I actually enjoy making cakes.  Is it any wonder?

I had to grab him my throat in order to get a birthday kiss.  Don’t worry, I left bright pink smooch marks behind. ;-)


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