The things they say . . .

Owen again . . .

. . .that is mostly because he does most of the talking around this house . . . and because whenever the older ones say something funny, they tend to get mortified. They also have a better understanding of how a blog works and how many people could be laughing . . .

So we'll stick with getting our laughs from Owen . . .

These were this morning on our way to summer school.

Note: It might help if you read aloud to get the double meanings . . .

Conversation #1:

I have noticed with this child that if he adds "head" to the end of another word - he thinks he has said something absolutely hilarious . . . either that or he feels he is borderline cussing.

"Mom, how old are you?"

"37"

"Oh, so you're a 37 - head."

"Brice, how old are you?"

"Ten."

"So you're a ten-head."

"Carra, how old are you?"

"Six."

"Okay, you're a six-head."

"Mikayla, how old are you?"

"Twelve."

"That makes you a twelve-head."

Mikayla pipes in, "So, Owen how old are you?"

"Four." And then pointing to the area right above his eyes . . . "That means I am a four-head!"

Conversation #2:

Summer school for the entire village of Sussex takes place at the high school, so little ol' Sussex gets their own version of a traffic jam at 8:30 every morning as the entire village heads in the same direction.

As I am pulling out of the parking lot, I start to think out loud as to which way I will turn to avoid the traffic jam. Owen glances out the window and pipes in . . .

"Yeah, Mom, look at that jam traffic . . ."

He put the emphasis on the /j/ in "jam".

It was a totally innocent switching of the words, but I'm thinking I might have to consider addressing that borderline cussing . . . .

A few tips . . .

for frog gigging . . .

In case you ever find yourself with the privilege of hunting for tadpoles or frogs at your local pond, here are a few pointers to take with you . . .

You can't go wrong with . . .















A good pair of rubber boots. How I wish I would have invested in these years ago . . .





















When wearing the boots, it is always a plus when you get to make a fashion statement. Wearing your shirt backwards is a sure way to gain extra attention. Well, at least the frogs won't know if your coming or going . . .




















If you are a little leery of the whole ordeal . . . a beer always helps.






















Of course, if you prefer coffee, that will calm the nerves too . . . hunting for frogs can make one jumpy.

Sorry. I couldn't resist.















A good selection of songs helps to pass the time. Personal favorites are "Oh, Tom the Toad" , "Dive", and maybe even "Skip to my Lou . . . "





















Be ready to jump at a moments notice . . .




















It always helps to be aware of your surroundings. Look up and out as well as down. I truly don't know what he is looking for . . . but apparently the hand helps.














And in the end, this may be all you go home with.

Ahhhh, time well spent.

And this is just in case you miss dandelion season . . .




















they would be almost pretty . . . if there wasn't so many of them - and they didn't make our neighbors shake their heads and mutter to themselves every time they glanced over at our yard. We had quite a collection this year - even though we sprayed. I think we've got mutant weeds who feed off poison. It sounds just like the kind of thing that would be growing in my yard.

Happy frog gigging . . .

Finally, pictures of my KIDS! ;o)

My fainting goats!

Pauline

Lucy


Tucker

We're baaaack . . .

Because I'm sure you missed us . . .

I just downloaded my camera and realized I had 228 pictures - which have so many stories that go with them. My computer is old and slow so this is quite an undertaking . . . but I'll try to fill you in on the life at the Powers . . . but not all at once. That would take all day and I wasted yesterday just getting them onto my computer and editing them . . . I don't have another day to waste. . . until tomorrow . . .

Today, I will just take you on the 25 cent tour of the Powers' ever changing menagerie.

Please remain seated and keep your hands and feet to yourself.

And I mean it. You don't want to see my "don't-make-me-stop-this-blog-and-come-over-there" look. (And all the Powers' children said, "Amen.")

* * *

Our first stop is the story of Gary. Gary came home with Brice because all the other mothers said "No!" to their boys, but Brice's mother wasn't there to defend herself . . . and so Gary became Gary Powers.

Snakes don't bother me as a general rule. The thought of one slithering through my house though doesn't thrill me.





















Gary had no idea what love was until he met Brice. That boy carried him everywhere with him. If you want to see Brice truly, truly happy - put a slimy creature in his hand . . . it's pure bliss.














But honestly, I don't think Gary appreciated all the loving . . .















It was just TOO much . . .

Because when Brice set him on the stool (because we all know how well snakes sit) in front of the dishwasher . . . Gary had had enough. He found the vent on the front of the dishwasher - and crawled inside.

Yep. I had to unscrew the front of the dishwasher to rescue poor Gary.

And then Brice had a brilliant thought. Using the limited logic of a 10 year old, he assumed that Gary couldn't climb stairs - so he would be safe on the stairway landing for a few seconds while he ran upstairs to grab something. His mother would never know . . . until he came back . . . and Gary was gone. Gone - gone. You know, search-for-3-hours-and-don't-stop-to-eat-or-pee gone.

We went to bed that night with a garden snake loose in the house . . . the things I do for love.

At 5:30 the next morning, Buff caught him slithering off the bottom step in the direction of the kitchen.

I think he was heading for the dishwasher . . .

From then on Gary was banished to the outdoors - if he is going to escape, he can hide under a rock - NOT under my bed.

So Brice brought this guy home instead . . .















He is one of several frogs living among us. (Several being defined as = I lost count . . .)

He's a bullfrog - named Big Boy Blue.

Yeah, I think he's color blind too - either that or the letter G is harder to alliterate into a frog name.















He was a big boy though - I'll give him that!















And this is how he escaped. Apparently frogs can hop. I suspect he is now living under the deck.
















With this guy . . .















And this guy . . .

And the dozen or so other frogs I never thought to take a picture of.

* * *

Now if everyone will remove their hats and have a moment of silence for Cory.






















(Silence)

(And that is about all the silence you'll get around here.)

He was a baby robin who fell out of his nest and died the next day. I threw him in the trash, but he was rescued by the family members with compassionate hearts and I found a little memorial for him out by the garden.

R.I.P. Cory.

It's a lot quieter out there . . .

* * *

And last but not least . . . meet Bob.















He was loved like no other inch worm.

Well, at least he got a name.

I'm wondering what's up with all the people names for such slimy creatures. If you have any of the above mentioned names - there is no intended connection . . . unless your name is "Big Boy Blue" - then I am just sorry for you.

* * *

And that ends this portion of your 25 cent tour. For another 25 cents I could go on and on about the crayfish and hundreds of tadpoles still living in tanks on the back porch. Owen would even add a few tidbits about his June bug collection, but I'm sure you have one of your own. But I bet you don't "wuv, wuv da beetles" like he does.

I am keeping in mind that it is only June. I'm sure there will be many more creatures following my children home this summer.

I am okay with it as long as none of them end up in the dishwasher . . .

The things they say . . .

Owen is heading to the table to eat his lunch . . . .

"Hey, Owen, did you wash your hands after you touched those frogs?"

"Yeah, I sucked them clean."

So my question is, do I NOW make him go wash with soap and water or has the damage already been done?

What are the chances this kid actually survives childhood??????