Stop! In the Name of the Law...

It is good to live in the USA...but you just gotta wonder at some of the laws we're required to live by:

In San Francisco, California, it is illegal to wipe your car with dirty underwear. (Whooo, I'd be SO arrested if I lived there...)

In Kansas, it is illegal to practice knife-throwing at any man wearing a striped shirt. (Soooo, are polka-dots OK? What if the striped-shirt-wearer is a woman?)

Canton, Mississippi has a law that says you can't kill a squirrel with a gun in a courtroom. (I just don't even know what to say for this one.)

North Carolinians may not use elephants to plow cotton fields. (What about corn fields?)

In Atlanta, Georgia, it is against the law to tie a giraffe to a telephone pole or street lamp. (I guess tying it to a fence is alright, though...)

In Idaho, it is illegal for a man to give his sweetheart a box of chocolates weighing less than 50 pounds. (Drat! This one was repealed. Guess I better go unpack...)

It is illegal to flick boogers out of a window in Alabama. (Oh, I can barely type for the huge giggle fit now in progress!)

A law in Alaska says one may not push a moose from a moving airplane. And, one may shoot a sleeping bear, but may not wake the bear to take it's picture.

In California, you cannot move more than two thousand sheep down Hollywood Boulevard at one time. (Crap! Now how will I move the dang things?)

Also in sunny California, a vehicle without a driver may not exceed 60 miles per hour. (Let's ponder that one a moment...)

Connecticut law says a pickle is not a pickle unless it bounces.

In Maryland, it is illegal to take a lion to the movies.

Florida law says one is prohibited from farting after 6 PM on Thursdays. (But once Friday comes, well, let 'er rip!)

One may not catch a fish with one's bare hands in Indiana. Meanwhile, in Pennsylvania, the only body part that may be used to catch fish...is one's mouth.

Kansans may not use mules to hunt ducks.

If you live in Maine, it is illegal to step out of a plane while it is in mid-flight. (Alrighty.)

In Montana, a sheep may not be in the cab of a truck without a chaperone. (Baaaaaaad sheep!)

Nebraska has a law on the books that says a parent may be arrested for their child burping in church. (So, what happens if it's the parent that burps?)

It is illegal in New York to throw a ball at someone's head for fun. (It must be OK as long as you're serious about it.)

Ohioans who own tigers must notify authorities within one hour if the tiger escapes. (Edna: Hey, Earl! The dang tiger's out again! You better call the authorities. Earl: Alright, alright! Just lemme finish my sandwich first.)

In Wilbur, Washington, it is illegal to ride an ugly horse.

Pennsylvanians are prohibited from singing in the bathtub. (Uh oh! Handsome Boy better watch out...)

In South Dakota, no horses are permitted into Fountain Inn unless they are wearing pants.

Wyoming has a law that says one may not take a picture of a rabbit from January to April without an official permit. (Geez. The Easter Bunny is getting really strict on the paparazzi thing...)

Yep, there's a ton of silly laws out there, and not just here in the States. Drop me a comment with some of your faves not listed here (and remember, keep them kid-friendly, please)...

Sources:

Silly Laws

More Silly Laws

All States Have Silly Laws

25 Crazy Laws From Around the World

Crazy Laws in the United States

Book Review: The Willoughbys, by Lois Lowry

Once upon a time there was a family named Willoughby: an old-fashioned type of family, with four children.

The Willoughbys begins with this innocent and fairly benign sentence. The rest of the book, however, is anything but. A baby mysteriously appears on the Willoughbys' doorstep. Since no one wants this "beastly baby," the Willoughby children - Tim, the twins Barnaby and Barnaby (called simply A and B), and Jane - are dispatched by their mother to "Dispose of it. I'm making meatloaf." The baby is taken to another doorstep. Soon after, the Willoughby children hatch a plan to orchestrate the demise of their parents. Meanwhile, the Willougby parents hatch a plan to sell the house and disperse the children. Do the parents perish? Are the children scattered? And what happens to the poor "beastly" baby?

Overview:

Not too thick, and not too thin, The Willoughbys is the perfect book to read on lazy summer afternoons. The bright red door peeking through the black and white drawings on the book cover draw the reader to come closer and take a peek. The book feels once-upon-a-time-ish with its simple drawings, ragged-edged pages, and of course the characters' own assertion that they are an old-fashioned family. 

Interspersed throughout this nefarious tale are snippets from and references to many classic stories, from Hansel and Gretel to James and the Giant Peach, and everything in between. But, the story doesn't take itself too seriously. It is, in fact, a tongue-in-cheek, playful parody on the classic old-fashioned stories: long-lost relatives, orphaned children, ill-tempered parents, abandoned babies, and strict nannies.

For even more fun, the author has included two extras at the end. First is a glossary, with definitions given for many of the words used in the book, along with some humorous commentary for each one, written as if she were just sitting and chatting with the reader. Second is a bibliography of all the stories and books mentioned in The Willoughbys, listing title, author, and a brief summary for each one.

For Teachers and Librarians:

This book make a great ending to a classic literature unit. Your students will enjoy reading/hearing about the dastardly plots of the parents and children, and laugh at how it all turns out. You can easily use it as a review, asking the children to identify and discuss the plot points of traditional stories that this book subtly makes fun of: the abandoned baby, the uncaring parents, the long-lost relative, the strict nanny, etc. The glossary and bibliography at the end are also great tools - for comic relief as well as education, and may make your young scholars seek out the titles listed, to see just what the Willoughbys were referring to throughout this book.

For Parents, Grandparents and Caregivers:

What a fun book to read together, or to give to your special kiddos to read on their own! It's a great summer read, as it's a book that doesn't take itself too seriously, but has such an interesting plot with so many surprising turns of events and ridiculous situations (which the characters pass off as nothing more than normal) that kids can't help but enjoy going along for the ride. Since the author sprinkles in titles and happenings from other classic literature throughout, it may cause your young readers to ask to visit the library or bookstore to pick up those titles as well.

For the Kids:

You will love, love, love The Willoughbys. It is a lot of fun! The Willoughby family is old-fashioned, but they have some interesting adventures. When the children find a baby girl on the doorstep, the oldest boy, Tim, names her Ruth, for a reason. What is it? The Willoughby twins both have the name Barnaby - and even the parents shorten it to call them "A" and "B." (But they're not the only Barnabys in this book. Hmm...) When the kids realize they don't like their parents very much, they decide to get rid of them. When the parents realize they don't like their kids very much, they decide to get rid of them. And none of them knows what the other is doing. How does it all turn out? Then there's the nanny the parents hired - how does she fit into all this? And can you believe it - that tiny baby turns out to be very important for everyone, without even knowing it. How could that be? Read it and find out...

For Everyone Else:

The Willoughbys is a fun, slightly twisted variation of the old stories you remember from childhood. In this parody, the children want to become winsome orphans, the parents are ridiculously uncaring, and misfortune is exaggerated to humorous proportions. You might especially enjoy the glossary at the end - the definitions are correct, but it's the extra little tidbits the author adds on to each one that will have you giggling out loud.

Wrapping Up:

The Willoughbys is a delightful departure from the usual old-fashioned tale. Find a comfy chair, curl up, and get reading. You won't be sorry!

Title: The Willoughbys

Author and Illustrator: Lois Lowry

Pages: 176

Reading Level: Ages 9-12

Publisher and Date: Houghton Mifflin/Walter Lorraine Books, March 2008

Edition: 1st

Language: English

Published In: United States

Price: $16.00

ISBN-10: 0618979743

ISBN-13: 978-0618979745

Author Spotlight: Lois Lowry

Lois Lowry dreamed of being a professional writer since childhood. One marriage, two college degrees, and four kids later, she achieved that dream. Since then, she has written everything from fun and quirky to somber and serious.

On her website, Ms Lowry says that her works, while different one from another in style and content, have essentially the same theme - the importance of human connections:

"the vital need of people to be aware of their interdependence, not only with each other, but with the world and its environment."

Born on March 20, 1937, Lois Lowry was the middle child of three. She first lived in Honolulu, Hawaii. Because her father was a career military dentist, the family moved to many other places: Hawaii, New York, Pennsylvania, Tokyo, and Washington, D.C. Throughout her childhood, writing was her best subject in school, and she would fill notebooks with her own stories and poems. 

In 1956, at nineteen, she left Brown University and married a Naval officer, which meant more moves and more additions to the list of places she has called home: California, Connecticut, Florida, South Carolina and Massachusetts.

She went back to school to earn her BA in English Literature from the University of Southern Maine in 1972, then went on to pursue graduate studies. It was during grad school that she discovered photography, using her photos to accompany the freelance writing she began after graduation. One article in Redbook magazine - written for adults, from the point of view of a child - caught the attention of a Houghton Mifflin editor, who encouraged her to write a children's book. 

The result was her first children's book: A Summer to Die, published in 1977, and winner of the International Reading Association's Children's Book Award. Since then, she has continued writing for children, with over 30 books published to date. Her work has received many awards, including Newbery Medals for both Number the Stars (1990) and The Giver (1994).

Divorced since 1977, Lois Lowry and now divides her time between Cambridge, Massachusetts, and an 1870's farmhouse in Maine.

Sources:

Lois Lowry official site

Lois Lowry Biography/Timeline

Lois Lowry - Wikipedia

Lois Lowry - Scholastic

Author Biography - Book Browse.com

Lowry, Lois Ann (Hammersberg)

A Postponement

Today's Author Spotlight and Book Review will be posted on Sunday, June 29, due to unavoidable circumstances. 

(Translation: I am mired in party prep for Handsome Boy's birthday party tomorrow, and totally ran out of time to get my blog posts done today...)

Educational Junk Mail

So, I'm perusing my email, and I click on the Junk Mail folder. It's always interesting to see what pops up in the subject line. Sometimes, those lines are downright icky, and I can't hit delete fast enough. Other times, I see a message I'm expecting in my Inbox, and mutter to myself as I transfer it, "No! No! No! I want that one!" (But it's never one of those icky ones.) And then there are the run of the mill ads that I yawn and delete at a more leisurely pace.

But today, I have added a fourth category to my Junk Mail sort: Educational. That's right - I said educational. I learned a new word today, and it's all because of the subject line of one of my junk mails. It contained the word...

Awesomesauce

 

I have never before seen or heard this word, yet there it was, big as you please in the subject line of a junk mail. Curious, I did a web search for it. Point-one-one seconds later, I'm staring at "Results 1-10 of about 148,000 for awesomesauce." One hundred forty-eight thousand results! Who knew? (Obviously not me...)

Anyway, here - courtesy of UrbanDictionary.com - are the definitions:

awesomesauce - 

     1. Something that is more awesome than awesome. It is

         a modifier of your basic awesome into a more 

         awesome version.

     2. It is the power within. It lets you feel great about 

       something and accomplish your goals.

    3. A more exaggerated word for awesome.

    4. Something or someone truly amazing. Usually: more 

        awesome than the word "awesome" can describe.

     5. noun, liquid cool; the opposite of weaksauce

Even better, on the page where "awesomesauce" is listed, they also have a ton of variations on the theme, including, but not limited to:awesomenizzleness, awesomesaucical, awesometacular, awesometown, and (my personal favorite) awesomepantyloonies.

Blogger's spell check is going totally bonkers with this post...but I don't care. I am reveling in my impromptu education. 

I hope the rest of your day is totally awesomesauce!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Note: If you decide to check out the site, please be aware: though all the definitions I've listed here are kid-friendly, Urban Dictionary (in general) is not not not a site for the little guys... definitely oriented toward the college+ crowd. I didn't enable any links there 'cause I know at least one semi-small fry who likes to read this blog...

Ode to Chocolate

I am a choc-o-holic. I love the smell! I love the taste! I love the texture - as long as it's not that waxy chocolate I sometimes run across. If you're unlucky enough to bite into that, you might as well be eating a crayon. (Hmmm, maybe that's why Handsome Boy ate crayons as a toddler...) 

Anyway, this extreme and unapologetic love of all things chocolate is exactly why I do not keep it in my house. If I did, before long I'd have to go out and buy all new (larger) clothes. Since I hate to shop almost as much as I love chocolate, it serves as a natural deterrent. But that doesn't mean I never have it in the house...

At Easter time, one of my favorites comes out: Cadbury Creme Eggs. I usually score a few from the Easter Bunny, and a few more from my parents. Once Easter passes, I can usually find these tasty morsels in the discount aisle at our grocery store. This year, between Easter and April 2, I managed to eat 15 of them. FIFTEEN! In my defense, they only come out once a year, so I gotta partake before they're gone for twelve long months.

A few years ago, right about the time Forrest Gump came out, my mom gave me two whole cookbooks devoted solely to chocolate recipes: candies, pies, cakes, cookies... you name it, and it can probably be found in those two cherished volumes. They have pride of place on my cookbook shelf.

My favorite movie snack is chocolate covered raisins. I get them every time I go, or I smuggle them in and save myself the small fortune they charge for them at the concession stand. My father noticed this particular habit of mine, and so now he gets me a big 'ol bag of them for Christmas every year, and sometimes even for my birthday, too! Once, he even gave me a huge crystal candy dish full to bursting with chocolate covered raisins. God bless 'im!

On the home front, Lovely Girl has wisely learned to hide her chocolate stash from me.  She's pretty good at it, too. I haven't managed to find it, yet, and it's not for lack of trying. (She's a chip off the 'ol chocolate-loving block, that one is...) Today, I tried once again to find her stash. And once again I came up empty-handed, as she smiled smugly at me from her bedroom doorway.

So, unable to satisfy my chocolate cravings tonight, I had to content myself with writing about it. To that end, I found some fun chocolate quotes on the web:

The Problem: How to get 2 pounds of chocolate home from the store in a hot car.

The Solution: Eat it in the parking lot. 

     - Anonymous

          I like the way Anonymous thinks!

My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far today, I have finished 2 bags of M&M's and a chocolate cake. I feel better already. 

     - Dave Barry

          Hmmmm...I gotta get the name of Dave's therapist...

Chocolate is a perfect food, as wholesome as it is delicious, a beneficent restorer of exhausted power...it is the best friend of those engaged in literary pursuits.

     - Baron Justus von Liebig, German chemist (1803-1873)

          Well, there ya go. I write; therefore I crave 

          chocolate. (Or, is it the other way around?)

And now, I will leave you with this well-said tidbit:

If you are not feeling well, if you have not slept, chocolate will revive you. But if you have no chocolate! I think of that again and again! My dear, how will you ever manage? 

     - French writer and lady of fashion, Marquise de Sevigne 

       (1677)

Excuses, Excuses

I am a writer.

There. I said it. It has taken me most of the past year to be comfortable uttering that sentence out loud when someone asks me what I do. Of course, right after that comes the inevitable, "Really! What have you published?" To which I must sheepishly reply, "Oh, I'm not published, unless you count my blog. Nor am I paid to write. Yet. But the process of getting there is fun."

Sort of.

See, my creative juices, if you will, come in fits and bursts, which is downright annoying. Like, last summer: I sat in my driveway, keeping an eye on the kiddos as they played outside, while hunched over my then ancient laptop, furiously typing away on this totally awesome novel for the 8-12 year old set. Seriously, the ideas came faster than I could type them, so I ended up ditching the computer entirely and scribbling just as furiously in a notebook. Later on, I would type it all in and do edits, then keep repeating the process the next day, and the next day, and the next. I had a good three to four weeks of that kind of energy. Then, WHAM! Hit with a great big wall of nuthin'. I was barely into the story - maybe six chapters or so, and then could not for the life of me coax the rest of the story out. I knew what I wanted to say (still do) but the words were holding out on me.

So, that story lurks in my subconscious, churning around while I work on manuscript number 2. This one also seems to have the right stuff, and my critique group has had great things to say so far. While I've had a better time of it this go 'round, it's still not the steady stream of creativity I keep hoping for. It's more like three or four days of furious scribbling and typing, then a week (or two) of nuthin'. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

However, the blogging is coming along fairly regularly, and I haven't yet run out of ideas, so perhaps my steady stream of creativity in the novel department is just a bit of a late bloomer. We shall see.

In the meantime, I have compiled a list for those like me who are riding the (hopefully) temporary Creative Roller Coaster. So, here ya go - a big 'ol list for you to pick and choose from, so you can finally have a name (or names) for what literarily ails ye:

Writer's Fears Excuse List: 

Plausible Explanations for One's (Temporary) Creative Deficits

Papyrophobia - fear of paper (Ahh - the ominous blank page...)

Bibliophobia - fear of books (Whoa! This may be quite a roadblock in your path to novel-dom.)

Ideophobia - fear of ideas ('nuff said...)

Phronemophobia - fear of thinking (I think a lot of us could use this one!)

Verbophobia - fear of words (Quite a hindrance for a writer.)

Graphophobia - fear of writing (The BIG one!)

Catagelophobia - fear of being ridiculed (Hey! It's like that time I dreamed I showed up at school in my undies, and then everybody laughed at me, and then - oh... nevermind...that was no dream...)

Neophobia - fear of anything new (Yeah...)

Atychiphobia - fear of failure (Oh, yeah...)

Prosophobia - fear of progress (Hmmmm)

Euphobia - fear of hearing good news (What? They like my story? Eeeeeek!)

Leukophobia - fear of the color white (Perhaps buying pink paper, instead? Oooh! Or how about baby blue? That's a nice, non-threatening color...)

Melanophobia - fear of the color black (Try the magenta font color, instead. Pretty, no?)

Mythophobia - fear of making false statements (The most unfortunate James Frey hullabaloo comes to mind...)

Rhabdophobia - fear of being severely criticized (...by Oprah. On LIVE TV...)

Catagelophobia - fear of being ridiculed (...by Oprah. On LIVE TV...)

Liticaphobia - fear of lawsuits (...and of watching your memoir author creds break up into A Million Little Pieces...)

 

Metrophobia - fear of poetry (Solution: switch to prose. Hey, it worked for Megan McDonald ...Well, she didn't have a fear of poetry - but her college prof did tell her to go home and rip up all her poetry, 'cause she was a prose writer... How's that for brutal honesty?)

I Wonder...

Some of you out there like to take a gander at the Wacky Holidays list in my sidebar. You just gotta wonder - since these are genuine, honest-to-goodness, on-the-books holidays - who makes these things up, and how on earth did they get to be official?

I mean, take a look at June 22, which was (among other things) Stupid Guy Thing Day. Now, before any of you guys get all bent out of shape, I don't make these holidays...I just list 'em as I find 'em. But back to my thought...

So, June 22 was Stupid Guy Thing Day. 

And what is today, June 23? Yes, yes, it's National Pink Day, but stay with me here. Focus! What really makes you go "Hmmmm..." is that it's also...

...Let It Go Day.

OK, OK, everybody say it with me: Hmmmmm... (Yeah, you've got that song in your head now, don't you? Things That Make You Go Hmmm... c'mon, I know there are some other C+C Music Factory fans lurking out there!)

And, then! Get this - tomorrow, June 24, is...

...drum roll please...

                ...National Forgiveness Day.

Coincidental?

Intentional? 

I wonder... 

Survivor: Kid-i-fied

You know how, on Survivor, there's almost always a challenge where the contestants have to eat something odd/gross/disgusting/revolting?

Well, Handsome Boy could never win Survivor - he's not crazy enough to eat stuff that looks and smells horrendous (so far...) But, he has eaten some questionable things in his few years on this earth. Here is a list of the more, umm, interesting ones:

• crayons (green only)
• marker tips (again, green only. Guess what his favorite color has turned out to be??)
• sand
• marshmallow he found on the floor under a chair in the JCPenney Photo Studio
• M&M he found under a clothes rounder in JCPenney (Hmm - I suppose now you know where I tend to shop when I'm forced to go...)
• Gummi Bears he found in between the cracks of the car seats 
• Skittles he found in between the cracks of the car seats
• chicken nugget he found under the couch (Now, that one I was fast enough to grab before he actually consumed it!)

The thing is, he never tried to hide any of it from me. It all started when we took him to the beach for the first time, and plopped him in the sand, then showed him how to play. He looked at us. He looked at the sand. He looked at us and grinned wide. He grabbed the sand. "Yes!" we encouraged. "Play with the funny sand!" He grinned even wider, opened his mouth... and shoved the whole handful right inside! Now, that one, he didn't particularly enjoy, and it was still showing up in his diaper for two days, but it was a sign of things to come.

After he learned to crawl, he would come zipping up to me, on hands and knees, from Lovely Girl's room, and give me a great big satisfied green smile. If it was crayon, the smile would be sort of pebbly with crayon bits, and if it was marker, the tip was gone, but he may as well have eaten food coloring for all the green that was painted around his lips and in his mouth. This happened more than once. So, I can tell you from experience that Crayola Crayons are not toxic.

When he found that marshmallow, I was sitting right there. Right there! He was crawling around under the chairs, as usual. Then I heard a pleasantly surprised, "Oh!" right before he emerged from beneath a chair, smiling at a not-so-white marshmallow before popping it in his mouth with lightning speed. He looked at me, said, "Mmmmm! Good, Mommy!" and disappeared again under the chairs. Then, as we were walking out of the store, he zips ahead and slips in between clothes on a rounder. By the time I caught up to him, he had come out, smiling at something colorful and tiny in his little fingers. "Yay!" he said. "An M&M." Shoop! Into the mouth it went.

He loves Gummi Bears and Skittles - pretty much anything chewy, sticky, and full of sugar. He also isn't very neat when he eats them. Which is why my car seats are always full of stragglers. He used to go exploring in the backseat when we'd be waiting in the car line to pick up Lovely Girl from school. I'd hear him back there, going, "Oooh! A Skittle!" Crunch-crunch-crunch! I knew where those came from, and any dirt on them came from us, so... I didn't sweat those too much.

I can't explain the chicken nugget. I know we brought home McDonald's one night that week, but I was sure he wolfed down all four of his Happy Meal nuggets. Yet, there he was, holding a who-knows-exactly-how-old chicken nugget, smiling at it with delight - until I swooped down and snatched it right before it passed his lips.  

"No!" I said. "We don't eat nuggets we find under the couch!" 

"Not ever?" 

"No, not ever." 

"Oh... well, why not?"

Oy. 

I'm sure he's eaten other stuff I never witnessed. I'm also sure that I probably don't want to know what else he's thrown down his gullet. All I know is, he must have Teflon lining his little stomach. Thank God for that!

Book Review: Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express, by Megan McDonald

     When they finally got unstuck, Stink looked at the Great Wall. He could not believe his eyes. The Great Wall was moving. The Great Wall was quaking. "Look!" he said, pointing.

     "Why is it moving?" asked Webster.

     "Maybe it's the wind," said Sophie.

     

     "Does the wind go wee, wee, wee, wee, wee?" asked Stink.

What do you get when you mix together one determined seven-year-old boy, his two best friends, a kind-hearted pet shop owner, and 101 rescued guinea pigs? A recipe for fun, that's what! Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express stars Stink Moody and his friends Sophie and Webster. Together with Mrs. Birdwistle, they embark on a fun-filled journey to Virginia Beach and back in "a rattle trap camper full of one hundred and one guinea pigs" which they dub Squeals on Wheels. Their mission: to find good homes for every one of those wiggly piggies.

Overview:

Just the right size to tuck in a backpack or take along for a car ride, this book's bright orange cover and colorful book jacket showing a camper full of guinea pigs will draw young readers to pull it off the shelf. Megan McDonald's imaginative prose, sprinkled here and there with trivia-like factoids that go along with the story, is perfectly complemented by Peter Reynolds' endearing black and white illustrations. As per usual in the Stink series, each chapter is punctuated by a graphic-novel-style comic at the end, giving the reader interesting, little known facts - this time, all about guinea pigs. 

The author also includes something of a public service announcement at the end of the book, directed right to the reader, explaining that pet adoption is a big responsibility. She directs them to the library to learn more about guinea pig care, and even includes a website to check out for those interested in learning more about guinea pig rescue. Kids will not only be entertained by the antics of the guinea pigs, they'll also be learning about them. But shhhhh! Don't tell them, and they'll never even realize they're having fun that's also educational...

For Teachers and Librarians:

This book lends itself well to several subjects: pet ownership and it's ensuing responsibilities; geography, history and interesting sights in Virginia; animal welfare; activism on a kid-sized scale. Have the kids mark a Virginia map at each place the gang visits. Let them research those places. Maybe they could create a care and feeding chart for guinea pigs, or a "How to Take Good Care of a Pet" booklet. How about discussing treatment of animals in general? Create "Save the Guinea Pigs" posters. There are so many ways to go with this. And of course, there's always reading for fun - and it is a fun book! Which one will you choose?

For Parents, Grandparents and Caregivers:

Considering getting a pet? This is a fun springboard to introduce the guinea pig option, and some of their behaviors, and a little about the time it takes to care for them. If you happen to be traveling to Virginia Beach this summer, you could map out the gang's route there, and stop at each place they stopped. If not, map out a route to wherever you may vacation or take a trip. Pick some spots to stop and explore. Have your own Stink-like adventure! Not traveling or getting a pet? Then lucky you, because the book is still fun to read just for the heck of it - and your little charges will learn a thing or two without even trying...

For the Kids:

Stink is a fun kid. He has crazy ideas that somehow manage to work out, and not always the way he thought they would. He has great friends. He has a sister who likes to tease him, but likes to hear his ideas, too. And somehow, Stink always manages to have these great adventures that are so fun to read about. This time, he travels in a guinea-pig-packed camper all the way to Virginia Beach in search of good homes for each one of those piggies. Will they be able to find homes for all those guinea pigs? Where will they go? What will they see? And, will there be any guinea pigs left over for Stink to adopt? Better go find the book, so you can find out, huh?

Wrapping Up:

Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express is a charming tale about the big things little kids can do with great ideas, a little elbow grease, and a some help from supportive adults. And, there's guinea pigs. What's not to like?

Title: Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express

Author: Megan McDonald

Illustrator: Peter H. Reynolds

Pages: 128

Reading Level: Ages 4-8

Publisher and Date: Candlewick, 2008

Edition: 1st

Language: English

Published In: United States

Price: $12.99

ISBN-10: 0763628352

ISBN-13: 978-0763628352

Author Spotlight: Megan McDonald

As the youngest of five sisters growing up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Megan McDonald often had trouble wedging in her own two cents' worth at the dinner table each evening. So, her mother gave her a notebook where she could write out everything she wanted to say, but couldn't get out. This notebook, plus a vivid imagination and great love of books, became the foundation of her writing career. It made her realize the importance of having her own voice in her writing. To date, she has churned out over 25 books for children and young adults which have won numerous awards.

Mrs. McDonald's first published work ran in a local newspaper when she was just ten years old. She wrote a story about the life of a pencil sharpener - from the sharpener's point of view, telling the reader all about "a life of eating pencil shavings all day."

When she began studies at Oberlin College, in Ohio, she intended to major in Creative Writing. However, the professor in her first writing class told her to go home and tear up all her poetry, because she was a prose writer. She didn't even know what that was, and went home to look it up. She ended up earning a BA in English, with a focus on Children's Literature, in 1981. She did her graduate work at the University of Pittsburgh, earning a Master of Library Science in 1986. It was also here where she met her future husband, Richard, whom she married in 1994.

Mrs. McDonald has held jobs as a park ranger, bookseller, museum guide, librarian and storyteller. But it wasn't until 1990 that her first book was published. Is This a House for Hermit Crab? received the Teacher's Choice Book Award from the International Reading Association, and was featured in an episode of Reading Rainbow. Since then, she has gone on to write many other books for both children and young adults, including the critically acclaimed Judy Moody series. In fact, it was due to request by fans of Judy Moody that she branched out with another series starring Judy's younger brother, Stink.

Megan McDonald believes any idea can be turned into a story:

"Story can come from memory or experience. It seems to come from everywhere, and out of nowhere. In everything there is as story - a leaf falling, the smell of cinnamon, a dog that looks both ways before crossing the street. The idea, the seed of a story, is implicit - but requires paying attention, watching, seeing, listening, smelling, eavesdropping...To be a writer for children, I continue to believe in the transformative power of story that connects children with books."

Sources:

McDonald, Megan

Megan McDonald (1959-) - Sidelights

Scholastic: Megan McDonald

Megan McDonald Official Site

Looking for Author Spotlight/Book Review?

With school out now, my posting times have gotten much later (like, after the kiddos go to bed). So, I will have today's Spotlight and Book Review up, as planned, and aim to have them posted by 11 PM EST.

Thanks for your patience...

An Understanding is Reached... for Now...

School has been out for a mere two days, but I feel like I've been running on a hamster wheel for a solid 48 hours. I am already exhausted, and we still have the whole summer to go!

In the past two days, the kiddos and I have shopped for just the right kind of water for Lovely Girl's newly arrived Grow-a-Frog. We have ensconced said Grow-a-Frog (dubbed Hopscotch, as we don't know the gender) in his/her new abode. We have played outside. We have played inside. We have read books, and colored, and written stories. We have played board games. We have created new board games. We have rented a couple of videos. We have baked our own homemade french fries. We have cleaned rooms, and practiced piano, and made snacks. We have written letters to friends. We have played Wii, and surfed the web. 

We have even attempted to visit the pool. Yes, I said attempted. See, yesterday, Handsome Boy had it in his head that a sky full of black clouds was the perfect day to go to the pool. No amount of rational explanation would convince him that this was a bad idea. It was clear that the only way to prove the point was to actually drive out there so he could see it for himself. (And I do love to prove a point.) So, we slathered on sunscreen, climbed into our swimsuits, packed our pool bag, and off we went. 

At the light in town (yes, the light, as in, only one exists), fat drops of rain splatted on my windshield. I turned to Handsome Boy. "I don't know, Buddy. Should we go home?" He begged to keep going. So, on we went. The raindrops ceased about a minute later. Crud! "See?" he said. "It stopped!" Handsome Boy was smiling in my rear view mirror. But the clouds were still there, and they were still very dark. Two minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot by the pool. The entry doors were closed. The lifeguards were stacking up chairs. The water was smooth as glass since no one was in it. 

I parked beside the closed-up pool. I turned to Handsome Boy. I fixed him with my "no-nonsense" stare. He looked back at me with huge eyes. "Now," I said. "You WILL listen the next time when I say it is a bad day to go to the pool. Understand?" He nodded vigorously. "I WILL NOT do this again. Do you understand?" Again, he nodded, and bit his lip. "Good." I turned back around, put the car in gear, and drove home, all the while pontificating about how much gas I had just wasted, how I would not tolerate his incessant arguing with me all summer long, and how lonely he would be spending his whole summer in his room if he couldn't listen to me. Handsome Boy was all eyes in the mirror as he endured my scolding. Lovely Girl struggled to hide her smug smiles. (She wanted to stay home in the first place.)

Back home, I felt better. (Nothing like a good 'ole car lecture to let off some steam...) We piled out of the car, unpacked the pool bag, peeled off our swimsuits, and washed off our sunscreen. We had dinner. We watched some TV. We read books at bedtime. We went to sleep.

Today was a lovely sunny day. We made plans to go to the pool. But first, the kiddos wanted to play outside. So we went out after lunch. Though it looked sunny and fabulous out there, it was actually chilly with the wind. My kids don't do well with "really chilly" and "pool water."

After a game of wiffle ball, and then what was shaping up to be a never-ending game of kick-the-ball-as-high-in-the-air-as-you-can, Handsome Boy came up to me. "So can we still go to the pool today?"

I looked him in the eye. 

He looked me in the eye.

"No, Buddy. It's not a good pool day."

He studied me with his big, brownish eyes for a moment longer.

I held my breath.

"OK," he said, and bopped away to play some more.

Round One: Mommy!

So far...

Our Hero

The kids and I have a tendency to develop strong attachments to certain items. That's fairly normal. The problem is that the items in question are usually quite small and easily lost. The solution is my husband, C. He has some sort of laser-guided-heat-seeking eye for finding stuff, and it is truly a life-saver for all of us.

When Handsome Boy was a teeny guy, he had a fondness for keys. Not wanting to give him our actual sets (we could and did lose them all on our own, thankyouverymuch), we found an old key fob from a car we no longer had, put a house key from a changed lock on it, and he was pleased as punch. For a while. Then, besides the "black keys," he developed an attachment to one of Lovely Girl's purple Hot Wheels cars. The minute he slobbered on it, she wanted nothing to do with it, and it became his. So he would toddle around the house, Black Keys in one hand and Purple Car in the other. (Yeah, he has creative names for his stuff.) 

We could not, I repeat, could not leave the house without Black Keys and Purple Car. And he never left them lying around in plain view, so they were easy to find. Oh, no. He stuffed them in any little hidey-hole he could find, for safekeeping. If we tried to leave the house without them, he became totally unconsolable, and I would dash around the house, poking around in every nook and cranny I could think of, desperate to find those blasted keys and car so we could go. Invariably, I would return to the car empty handed, but C would already be leaning into the backseat, handing over Black Keys and Purple Car to a sweaty, red-faced, but grateful Handsome Boy. I have no idea how he did it.

Lovely Girl only had one really teeny thing that I remember. It was an eensy weensy silver horse charm, and she kept it tucked in her little fist wherever we went for a while. Normally, she wasn't one to lose things. But there was that one time. We were at some kind of banquet for C's work, and she had it along, and everything was fine... until we were buckled in the car and ready to go back home. All of a sudden she was frantically patting herself down and searching all around her car seat. Then she wailed that her silver horse was gone, and promptly burst into hysterical tears. I stayed in the car and tried to calm her down while C headed back into the conference center. 

I had such small hope this time - the hall was huge, and every inch of the floor was covered in dark, paisley patterned carpet. Ten minutes went by, and Lovely Girl's little face was red, spotchy and tear-stained as I sat with her in my lap and tried without success to comfort her. Then Handsome Boy started bouncing in the backseat and singing out, "Daaaaddeeee!" When I turned around, C was walking towards us, head down and hands in his pockets. Uh oh. When he got to the car, he opened the door, got in, and sat down. He looked at Lovely Girl. He took her hand. Then he carefully placed that silver horse in her palm. I swear the man has laser vision.

But never was I more grateful for this most useful talent of his than last night. He called on his way home from work to see if we wanted to meet him for dinner, to celebrate the last day of school. We did. So, we met, we ate, we chatted - or rather, Lovely Girl and Handsome Boy circular breathed as they filled Daddy in on all the fantastic things they did on their last day, and C and I nodded and smiled a lot.

Then, when the marathon conversation and dinner came to a close, we paid and left. Handsome Boy wanted to ride home with C, so after I got Lovely Girl settled in my car, I went over to C's car to drop off the Boy's stuff ('cause they always have "stuff" wherever we go) and went merrily on home. All was still hunky-dory until I went to take out my earrings - and one was gone. Crud. They are a favorite pair - gold hoops, and no larger than a quarter. Well, I had resigned myself to the fact that it was gone for good, but when I told C about it, he put his shoes on and drove 15 minutes back to the restaurant to look for it. I didn't ask him to go. He just did.

Thirty minutes later, I heard his car pull into the garage. He came in the house and set my earring on the desk in front of me. He found it on the ground, under the door area of a van, in the totally full parking lot, with not a scratch on it.

I think I'm going to start calling him The Finder of Lost Things.

And no, I'm not sharing...

Nessie - Fact or Fiction?

Fact! At least, according to my English 12 high school term paper, it is...

The Loch Ness Monster first came to my attention in the 1970's, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. It kept my attention until the late 1980's, when I was much, much taller than that blasted grasshopper. In fact, it hung out in my consciousness so much, I centered my senior year term paper on the Nessie controversy. My thesis? 

The Loch Ness Monster...Exists!

Oh, yes! I said he was R-E-A-L real! I took pages and pages of notes. I filled out hundreds of index cards. I read teeny-tiny print in scientific-type tomes until my eyes crossed. That's right: notes on paper, index cards, and books. When I was in school, computers were still big boxes with black screens and green text with a blinking green block for a cursor. "Internet" was not in our vocabulary, nor was it invented yet. (Al Gore did that, remember??)

Anyway, I was absolutely convinced that Loch Ness in Scotland had a very big, very elusive creature in residence. No doubt. Then, in 1994, my hopes were dashed - only momentarily, but dashed just the same. 

It all had to do with the famous "Surgeon's Photograph:"

Supposedly taken in 1934 by Dr. Robert Wilson (a surgeon - hence the name "Surgeon's Photograph..."), it was the only photograph of Nessie bearing evidence of a head and neck - all others showed only humps or disturbances - and it sparked further interest in the creature.

But then, in 1994, enter the shocking deathbed confession of 90-year-old Christian Spurling. According to Spurling, this famous photo shows nothing more than a toy submarine, with a serpentine neck and head fashioned from wood clay. He claimed he made the contraption at the behest of his father-in-law, Marmaduke Wetherell, as part of a revenge-driven hoax. (You can read more about it here.)

What? The photo was faked? My long-held belief that Nessie lives was squashed by some clown who took a picture of a toy submarine with some clay stuck on it?? The fun was over? 

Luckily, I got hold of myself before panic set in too deeply. Since, by then, Al Gore's invention had taken hold, I raced to my computer and searched the internet for evidence to the contrary. Nessie had to be real. He just had to...

Well, I am relieved to say that this (and admittedly many other) hoaxes have not deterred the true believers. For every Nessie Naysayer site saying the Loch Ness Monster is all a buncha hooey, there are plenty of other sites listing all kinds of evidence that he (or she) is alive and well... if more than a teensy bit reclusive.

And so, the debate rages on. With luck, though, we'll never find the Loch Ness Monster... 

           ...'cause the search is the fun part, after all!

                                          - - -

I used these sources for my post, but if you do a Google search, you will be overwhelmed with tons of info both for and against the idea of the Loch Ness Monster's existence. Which side are you on?

The Surgeon's Hoax

Loch Ness Monster

Wikipedia: Loch Ness Monster

 

My Fudge-y Dilemma - Part II

Here we are, on National Fudge Day, and as I posted yesterday, my skills at making fudge are... shall we say... less than legendary. Well, Mommy C kindly came to my rescue, dropping me a comment with what sounds like a fail-proof recipe - even for me - and I'll let y'all in on the results. But, as Dav Pilkey says in his Captain Underpants books, "Before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story..."

Handsome Boy has a summer birthday. I always assumed that left me off the hook in the send-a-snack-to-school-for-my-birthday department, since he's never in school on or near his birthday. 

That bubble was burst the very first day of preschool: Handsome Boy came running up to me when I picked him up that day, all excited about the great time he had (despite the abysmal start - but that's another post for another day). So, he came running and tackled me with a big bear hug (which became a daily pick-up ritual). In amidst the animated babble about snack and play and stories and toys, he said, "And I get to cel'brate my birthday in pretty school, too! I got a paper in my backpack." Then he bopped on past me toward the exit as I scrambled after him. In the car, I riffled through his backpack until I found the usual start-of-school newsletter. Crud! It was true: "Our friends with summer birthdays may choose a day any time during the year and send in a snack as a birthday treat."

So, that No-Birthday-Snack Bubble having been burst way back when, I was expecting it this year. I started telling Handsome Boy about two weeks ago, "Ask your teacher when a good day is for your birthday snack." Every day I met him at the the bus stop - and didn't get tackled. (Sniff!). Every day I said, "Did you ask about a day for your birthday snack?" Every day he answered, "Oops! I forgot!" 

So here we are: Monday evening. School is out tomorrow, and as of yesterday he still hadn't brought up a desire for a birthday snack for the class. I didn't bring it up, either. The evening went great - no fighting, no loud thumps, no tears. We played a little Mario Kart. We watched a little TV. Everybody got along really well (yes, I pinched myself to be sure)... dinner went off without a hitch... baths went swimmingly... 

Then, at 8:30 PM, he shuffles down from his room and says, "Mommy, are you going to send in a birthday snack for me tomorrow?" 

Now, I can't say, "How about another day?" 'cause there are no other days. Tomorrow is the last one. Finis. 

So, as my inner self screams, "What are you, nuts?" I smile down at Handsome Boy and say, "Sure!" 

"Great!" he says. "Can you make brownies?"

Oy...

I check the pantry. Handsome Boy is right next to me, peering anxiously at the shelves. "Awww! We don't have a box!" (No snickers about my baking habits! I do make a few things from scratch, for your information. Besides, some of those box mixes are really good...) He gives me a pleading look and wrings his little hands. "Can you still make some?"

I look at the clock. I look at Handsome Boy. I can't possibly say no. 

I check my trusty Betty Crocker cookbook. 

There it is... a recipe for...

                       ...Fudge Brownies...

The universe is SO laughing at me tonight...

My Fudge-y Dilemma

June 16 is National Fudge Day, and I really, really, really want to celebrate it. 

I do. 

But I can't. 

Because I can't for the life of me make fudge. I have tried many many times, burning more pans than I care to discuss and filling my house with the stench of burnt chocolate so many times that I finally just gave up. My only recourse when I have a fudge craving is to: A. Buy some at the store, or B. Put in a call to Mom. 

I have to be honest - I never choose Option A. But this time I don't have the luxury of Option B. See, I forgot to call and ask her and now it's too late because she lives four hours away from me and National Fudge Day is tomorrow and it would never get here in time and besides all that she's out of town and I really prefer homemade... so I guess I'm stuck.  And I- What? Did you say fudge snob? Hmmm.... Yes. Well. Probably so. 

Aaaanyhoo, is there an Option C? Let's look... Why, yes, there is! Tomorrow is also... oh. Fresh Veggies Day. Yeeeeeah... I, uh, well... Here's the thing: I like vegetables and all, but they just don't stack up to fudge in the "Gee, I Really Want to Celebrate This" category.

Alrighty then. I'd better look for an Option D. Aaaahhh. There it is. Last on the list for tomorrow: No Orange Clothes Day. Well, it's not tasty, but it'll have to do. Option D it is, then.

(But man, I really did want that fudge! Oh, well... there's always next year...)

Book Review: The Tickle-Octopus, by Audrey Wood

One morning, about a million years ago, Ughmaw awakened with a bone in her nose and a frown on her grumpy face.

The Tickle-Octopus is a prehistoric romp through one cave family's hilarious journey of reconnection. Through the actions and courage of the parents' sole remaining offspring and his wiggly, pink discovery, this particularly grumpy cave family learns the cathartic and unexpected effects of participating in the lighter side of life. 

Overview:

Slightly larger that a standard sheet of paper, with an interesting peek-hole in the cover, The Tickle-Octopus is the perfect antidote for a case of the blah's.  A reader can't help but pick up this book. Everything from the thick, sturdy cover with way unusual edges, to the curiosity-inspiring title, to the delightfully primitive yet expressive illustrations just screams, "Read me!" And that's only the outside...

The team of Wood and Wood have created yet another book with all the stuff a kid loves: funny pictures full of wild-haired cave people, silly nonsense language (with translation), and a kid who teaches the grown-ups a thing or two. To extend the fun, they've even included some fold-put pages with great cut-out edging that follows the illustrations, giving the reader some extra, larger-than-life, three-panel views into Bup the Caveboy's world.

For Teachers and Librarians:

If your school year isn't over yet, The Tickle-Octopus is just the thing for a fun read-aloud/art project. Be sure to really ham up the cave-speak. Your little charges will just love it! After you read it, have your students create their own version of a tickle-octopus, and tell the class about it. What is it? What does it do? What does it look like? How does it help people? If you're lucky enough to be done for the summer, keep it in mind for next year. It's a great springboard for a discussion on feelings, family, and doing things together (instead of starting at the tube). And, you can still do the art project, too. I've done this one in my own classrooms, and it's always been a hit!

For Parents, Grandparents and Caregivers:

Are the kiddos squabbling a lot? Slumping around complaining there's nothing to do? Then this book is just what you need! Read it aloud to them, or hand it to them and let them go on their own. Either way, they will not be able to hold off the giggles! It's funny to read out loud, and it's funny to listen to, and best of all, by the time the book is over, they'll be in a much better mood...

For the Kids:

Don't you just love it when a book shows a kid being the smart one in the family? Bup the Caveboy is his grumpy parents' only child that's left, so they block the cave with a rock before they go out hunting, to make sure he doesn't disappear, too. While they're gone, he finds this pink, wiggly thing. When he finds out what it does, he knows exactly what he has to do. What does he find? What does the thing do? And will his parents ever not be grumpy? Hmmm. Guess you better go find the book so you can figure it all out...

For Everyone Else:

Silly is as silly does. This may be a kid's book, but I'll tell you, it is a hoot. And, it certainly makes you re-examine your priorities. 

Wrapping Up:

The Tickle-Octopus is one of those books everyone should have on their shelf at home. It's funny, it's cute, it's silly, it's family friendly, and it shows the power a determined kid can have in this sometimes gloomy world of ours.

Title: The Tickle-Octopus

Author: Audrey Wood

Illustrator: Don Wood

Pages: 48

Reading Level: Ages 4-8

Publisher and Date: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1994

Edition: 1st

Language: English

Published In: United States

Price: $14.95*

ISBN-10: 0152870008

ISBN-13: 978-0152870003

*Note: This is the price listed on my personal copy. I have yet to find a new copy for sale online, and suspect it may be out of print. I did find used versions on places like Amazon and Abebooks, but they ranged anywhere from $20 to $50 per copy, depending on condition.

Author Spotlight: Audrey Wood

Audrey Wood's love of storytelling has been a vital part of her life since childhood. Her art student father earned extra money at the winter headquarters of the Ringling Brothers Circus by re-painting the big top and side show art work. She remembers when she was very small: her mother took her there to watch her father work, and regaled her with stories about the people in the colorful circus murals her father painted.

Ms Wood, in turn, became storyteller to her two younger sisters, making up stories about the paintings in her parents' art books. By fourth grade, she says, "I had two burning ambitions: I wanted to live in Dr. Doolittle's house, and I wanted to write and illustrate children's books." In fact, Audrey Wood comes from a long line of artists dating back to the 15th century, and she has the distinction of being the only female artist in the family.

In the late 1960's, she moved to Berkeley, California, to pursue art on her own. By 1969, she was experimenting with art, teaching children's art, and writing stories. It was then that she met Don Wood, who became not only her husband, but also her collaborator. Both Woods believe a book should have a rhythm, and that children's books should be enjoyed by kids and adults alike.

Audrey Wood has written 46 books for children, many of which have won numerous awards, including: the ALA Notable Children's Book distinction for The Napping House (1984) and Piggies (1992), and a Caldecott Honor Medal for King Bidgood's in the Bathtub (1986).

Sources:

Audrey Wood Official Site

Scholastic - Audrey Wood

Audrey Wood: About the Author

Author Study: Audrey Wood

Wikipedia - Audrey Wood

A Most Unfortunate Day

Tomorrow, an estimated 20 to 67 million people will experience a fear so paralyzing, it may keep them from getting out of bed in the morning. They may refuse to travel, call in sick, or not complete business. They may experience anything from nervousness to panic attacks to even heart attacks. What is it that will cause such a large group of people to have such incapacitating experiences tomorrow? And what's so special about tomorrow, anyway?

Those tens of millions of people are suffering from paraskavedekatriaphobia: a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th. 

Any month that begins on a Sunday will contain a Friday the 13th. This day/date combo can happen anywhere from 1-3 times per year. But take heart, paraskavedekatriaphobes, as you'll have somewhat of a reprieve this year. 2008 has only one Friday the 13th, and tomorrow is it. 

Friday the 13th is considered a day of bad luck in much of Western Europe, North America, and Australia. It is a superstition born of two separate fears: fear of the number 13 (covered yesterday), and fear of Friday. In the British tradition, Friday was the usual day for public hangings. Christians believe Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Adam and Eve supposedly ate the forbidden fruit on a Friday. Some theologians hold that the Great Flood and the confusion of the Tower of Babel both fell on Fridays.

So, to have the 13th day of the month fall on a Friday is some bad juju, indeed. The spectre of Friday the 13th is enough to cause otherwise rational people and even organizations to do seemingly irrational things to avoid it. The US Navy will not launch a ship on any Friday the 13th. Lloyd's of London, in the 1800's, refused to insure any ship sailing on a Friday the 13th. Some ocean liner captains will go to great lengths to delay a planned Friday the 13th launch until just after midnight, when it is technically Saturday the 14th.

People point to past disasters to support their fear/superstition: During the 18th century, the HMS Friday was launched on a Friday the 13th - and was never heard from again. The Black Friday bushfires in Victoria, Australia happened on Friday, January 13, 1939. Hurricane Charley hit near Port Charlotte, Florida on Friday, August 13, 2004. The plane carrying the Uruguayan Rugby team crashed in the Andes mountains on Friday, October 13, 1972.

And yet, there are still those who defy convention: Black Sabbath's debut album (you know, those big, round discs that came before cd's, that came before MP3 files) was released in the UK on Friday, February 13th, 1970. The thirteenth installment in A Series of Unfortunate Events, by Lemony Snicket, was released on Friday, October 13, 2006. The Happening, M. Night Shyamalan's latest flick, is set to release tomorrow, Friday, June 13, 2008. And, a remake of the original Friday the 13th movie is planned for release on Friday, February 13, 2009.

Some believe whole-heartedly that tomorrow is a bad, bad day. Others believe it's all a buncha hooey. I fit somewhere in the middle, I think. So, for all my fellow fence-sitters, and for all those who plan to pull the covers over their heads and not come out 'til the 14th, I found some interesting things that may help you get through the day tomorrow, courtesy of Brownielocks.com:

• Walk around your house 13 times on Friday the 13th.
• Hang your shoes out the window. (Really. That's what it said. No explanation. Just "Hang your shoes out the window." Perhaps it gasses out the bad juju?)
• Sleep with a mirror under your pillow for the first 3 Fridays before Friday the 13th. Then, on Friday the 13th, you have to dream of your true love. (Well, it's a little late now for this one. Just file it away for the next one coming up in February 2009. You could still try the dreaming part tomorrow, though. It could work...)
• Walk around the block with your mouth full of water. If you don't swallow it, you'll be 100% safe on Friday the 13th.
• Wear and/or eat garlic.

At best, these rituals will save you from bad luck. At worst, it will give your neighbors one more reason to talk about you. 

Good luck!

My sources:

Brownielocks.com

Wikipedia

About.com

How Stuff Works

Infoplease.com

Corsinet.com

A Reversal of Fortune?

I am a collector. I love to collect things. At present, my collections include: 

• pens 
• children's books 
• blank journals - lined or unlined, they're all good 
• the kiddos' art masterpieces and school papers
  
• handbags (small, but growing - I do love a great bag!) 
• dust bunnies (unintentional, but there are so many, I figure I should call them a collection) 

With all these collections swirling around me, there is one - and only one - collection that seems to be saving me from certain disaster:

Yep, it's my frog collection - all 119 pieces of them. I've been collecting these mostly green lovelies since seventh grade. The bulk of them are right here in this case, but you can still find a few sprinkled in various places throughout my house. And there's about 20 or 30 more boxed up in the basement 'cause I ran out of places to set 'em out. (C put his foot down when I floated the idea of a dedicated "Frog Room.")

Well, as I said, it turns out my love of frogs is not only a source of personal enjoyment, but also a source of personal protection. Read on to find out why:

I was researching the origins of Friday the 13th, since this coming Friday marks the first Friday the 13th of the year. (Woo hoo! It's also Blame Someone Else Day - see my Wacky Holidays sidebar for details.) According to several websites - which I will list in tomorrow's post on this most unlucky day's origins - the fear of Friday the 13th stems from two separate fears: fear of the number thirteen (triskaidekaphobia), and fear of Friday. It was while reading about the fear of the number 13 that I came across the following information from Corsinet.com - Trivia:

• More than 80% of high-rise buildings lack a 13th floor.
  
• Many airports skip the 13th gate.
• Airplanes have no 13th aisle.
• Italians omit the number 13 from their national lottery.
• On streets in Florence, Italy, the house between number 12 and 14 is addressed as 12 and a half.
• Hospitals and hotels regularly have no room number 13.
• In France, socialites known as the quatorziens (fourteeners) once made themselves available as 14th guests to keep a dinner party from an unlucky fate.
• If you have thirteen letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck.

The devil's luck? Whoa! Morbidly curious, I counted the letters in my name: K-I-M-W-H-E-E... Oh, crud! And to make matters worse, I share this "devil's luck" with such pleasant company as Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, and Jeffrey Dahmer. 

Lovely.

But what was this? The next entry on the page was on frogs. And it said, "A frog brings good luck to the house it enters."

Whoopie! Disaster averted, all thanks to my froggy home invasion. (Maybe now C will let me have that Frog Room...)

So come on back tomorrow, and I'll spill everything I learned about Friday the 13th. (And for you paraskevidekatriaphobics, I'll share a list of "rituals and cures" I found to protect you on the day you fear most...)

Renewed Appreciation

Whew! Nothing like a power outage in the middle of a heat wave to make you truly appreciate your A/C...

Our power went out at 7 last night, when the temps were in the 90's, and stayed out until almost 3AM. Now, my house doesn't have the most efficient air conditioning, and during weather like we've had lately, we may as well seal off the upstairs and not use it, because the air never seems to cool up there. Plus, we keep the thermostat at 75 degrees in summer. So when the power goes out, my upstairs gets hot enough to bake cookies.  

That being said, here's a quick run-down of how our night went:

7:00 PM - Power goes off, right before I can hit "complete order" on a much-needed parachute for Handsome Boy's birthday party plans.

7:15 PM - Call to Mom, "PLEASE log in to my account and finish my order??" Phew! Crisis averted.

7:30 PM - The hard-wired fire alarm starts chirping to let me know the power has  gone out... Thanks. I hadn't noticed...

7:45 PM - "Mommy, what's that loud chirping noise?" "Try to ignore it, honey. I'm sure the power will be on soon."

8:00 PM - Bedtime for the kiddos. Pretty stuffy up there, but so far no complaints. And so far, no power, either.

8:20 PM - Remembering (not fondly) the disaster from early in our marriage, where a power spike destroyed every electronic item we owned (which was exactly four back then), I went around the house unplugging things.

8:30 PM - C calls from his comfy, air-conditioned office to see why I tried to call him 478 times at 7:00 PM (see above). "Hey," he says, "What's that chirping?" I explain. "Man, I would not be able to sleep with that noise." Yeah.

9:00 PM - Still no power. Lovely Girl tip-toes in to find me. She can't sleep. It's too hot. I make her a bed on the couch, since the main floor is still relatively cool.

9:15 PM - I check on Handsome Boy, who is still asleep, but whose hair feels like he just took a shower. I jog back downstairs, make him a bed out of a chair and ottoman, jog back upstairs, nearly throw my back out hauling his nearly 60 pound self out of the race car bed, carefully make my way back downstairs, and deposit him on the makeshift bed.

10:00 PM - Still no power, and no light left, so I make myself a bed on the couch in my office. 

10:15 PM - CHIRP........eyelids close.......CHIRP..........pillow over head.....CHIRP.......

10:20 PM - Check on kids. Chirping seems to have no effect on them. They sleep like babies (older babies, mind you... the ones who actually sleep through the night).

10:25 PM - Back to my couch. Eyelids close.....CHIRP........block it out, I just need to block it out......CHIRP.....oh, man, is this gonna be a long night....

11:00 PM - CHIRP.....errrrrrgggghhhhh!!!.....CHIRP......check on kids again.......CHIRP.... Still no power......CHIRP

Sometime after midnight - I think I actually fell asleep...

2:47 AM - Lights come on. I get up and flick them off, smiling as I hear the A/C  kick on. I smile more broadly at the blissful emptiness that is a night no longer filled with CHIRPing!

2:52 AM - A motorcycle seems to be roaring through my kitchen. What now? It's the fridge. Great. I stumble to the basement to find the manual, and Lovely Girl shows up. "Mommy, something's really wrong with the-" "I know! I know! I'm trying to fix it!" " 'kay. Should I go back to the couch?" "Yes."

2:57 AM - Unplug fridge. Wait two minutes. Plug back in. (Hey, it works for routers. Why not large kitchen   appliances??) WHHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHH. Well. That didn't work. Unplug. Take out ice maker, break up ice, put ice maker back in. Plug in. WHHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHH. 0 for 2. Fantastic. Unplug. Give up. Write note to self to call repairman. Mentally prepare self for shelling out $$$ for a new fridge. (I am a true pessimist at heart.)

5:30 AM - BUZZZZZZZ-Shut off alarm. Reset for 6:45. My shower will have to wait 'til after the bus leaves. The kiddos will just have to deal.

6:45 AM - Drag myself from the couch. Wake the kids - who had a blast, by the way, camping out in the living room. Stare at the fridge. Cross my fingers. Please! Please! Please! Let this be working...

6:50 AM - Plug in the fridge..... Hummmmmmm....

Hallelujah! Power, a cool house, no chirps, and a working refrigerator!

...And God bless the electric company workers, 'cause I'm sure their night was much longer than mine...

Of Fathers and Fatherhood

I watched August Rush for the first time last night. If you haven't seen it, get it and watch it. You will come away with a new appreciation for both childhood and parenthood, and all the ups and downs and twists and turns that go with both. 

With Father's Day coming up, that movie got me to thinking about fatherhood, and how sometimes a man chooses it, and sometimes a man stumbles upon it. Either way, what matters most is not how he came to be a father. What matters most is how he chooses to live up to that awesome responsibility. 

So, I did a little web surfing tonight, and found some other thoughts on fatherhood:

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was."

     - Anne Sexton

"Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance."

     - Ruth E. Renkel

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."

     - Clarence B. Kelland

"By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."

     - Charles Wadsworth

"What a father says to his children is not heard by the world, but it will be heard by posterity."

     - Jean Paul Richter

"It is a wise father that knows his own child."

     - William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

"It is a wise child that knows its own father, and an unusual one that unreservedly approves of him. 

     - Mark Twain

"My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person. He believed in me."

     - Jim Valvano

"Fatherhood is pretending the present you love the most is soap-on-a-rope."

     - Bill Cosby

"A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be."

     - Frank A. Clark

"To become a father is not hard. To be a father is, however."

     - Wilhelm Busch

"My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys."

     - Harmon Killebrew

"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."

     - Johann Schiller

Finally, I'll end with this bit of practical advice:

Quote from Jimmy Piersal, on how to diaper a baby, 1968:

"Spread the diaper in the position of the diamond with you at bat. Then fold second base down to home and set the baby on the pitcher's mound. Put first base and third together, bring up home plate and pin the three together. Of course, in case of rain, you gotta call the game and start all over again."

     

Book Review: Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm, by Jerdine Nolan

Harvey Potter was a very strange fellow indeed. He was a farmer, but he didn't farm like my daddy did. He farmed a genuine, U.S. Government Inspected Balloon Farm.

Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm is a delightful story that unravels the mysteries surrounding a strange farmer and his, shall we say, unusual crop. We learn all about Harvey Potter and his controversial balloon farm through the observations of a curious young girl. How did he do it? Was it magic, as some folks said? Or was it "real, actual balloons growing out of the plain ole ground?" There's only one way to find out...

Overview:

This book is an original tall tale, told in the tradition of good old front porch stories. Set in a southern rural farming area, the author gives authentic voice to the narrator, who chats with the reader in a right neighborly fashion. Given the remarkable story and breathtaking illustrations, it's no wonder Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm has won multiple awards, including a Notable Book citation from the American Library Association.

 

Roughly 11 inches tall and 9 inches across, the book is the perfect size for either a personal perusal or a raucous read-aloud. The pages are large and smooth and glossy, with just the right weight - not too sturdy, and not too flimsy. Nearly every page is drenched top to bottom and edge to edge with fantastic, full-color illustrations.

Illustrator Mark Buehner had done two other picture books previously, but this was the book that brought his work to the fore. Each page offers up story events from varying perspectives, pulling the reader right into the story - evoking an unmistakable feeling of actually being there. Color, light and shadow are all used to perfect dramatic effect, setting the mood of each scene and combining seamlessly with Jerdine Nolan's prose. And, look closely! He has hidden a rabbit, a t-rex, a cat, a chicken, a cow and a pig in each picture.

For Teachers and Librarians:

I can personally attest that the little guys just adore this book! I used it every year, in every grade I taught (K-3). It was frequently requested at read-aloud time, and the kids had a blast illustrating their own balloon farms as a follow-up activity. It fits well with units on nutrition (as a quirky aside on farming - and showing a bit of the planting process), fiction stories, fantasy stories, weather, magic... lots of possibilities here. But most of all, it is such a fun story. Without fail, the kids' favorite part was when the girl spied on Harvey Potter as he planted a new crop of balloons. I don't want to spoil the fun, so I'll just say that when you read this part aloud, really ham it up - and be sure to encourage them to join in!

For Parents, Grandparents and Caregivers:

Here's a book that will grab the attention of even the most fidgety of kids. It is fun to hear read aloud, but not too hard to read on their own. The author speaks directly to the reader through the girl telling the story. They can't help but be drawn in, and the pictures are truly the icing on the cake. Watch as their little eyes get round with wonder. Listen as they giggle and laugh at Harvey's planting method. You may want to buy your own copy - it is sure to be an absolute and frequently requested favorite!

For the Kids:

This book is fun, fun, fun! Can you imagine: a balloon farm! Can people really grow balloons right out of the ground? And with so many shapes and colors and faces? You're going to want to check this one out, for sure. Don't forget to really look at the pictures closely: the illustrator hid a rabbit, a t-rex, a cat, a chicken, a cow and a pig on every page. Can you find them?

For Everyone Else:

This is just such an entertaining book. The pictures alone are enough to make it worth your while. The story will make you suspend your disbelief. A balloon farm... wouldn't that be great? Go on, let yourself dream a little...

Wrapping Up:

Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm is one of those books that just grabs you and pulls you right into the story. The writing is excellent, and the pictures are a delight. I highly recommend it!

Title: Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm

Author: Jerdine Nolan

Illustrator: Mark Buehner

Pages: 32

Reading Level: Ages 4-8

Publisher and Date: Lothrup, Lee and Shepard Books, 1994

Edition: 1st

Language: English

Published In: United States

Price: $16.99

ISBN-10: 0688078877

ISBN-13: 978-0688078874

Author Spotlight: Jerdine Nolan

Jerdine Nolan infuses her strong Southern roots, sense of humor and big imagination into the stories she writes for children. 

She has had a love of words as far back as she can remember, always writing and collecting them, which was encouraged by her mother. She even kept a list of favorite words (cucumber, she recalls, was one of her most preferred). Ms Nolan sees writing as "fun work," emphasizing the importance of patience when trying to get the story right.

She was born in 1953 in Crystal Springs, Mississippi, where her mother was caring for her own mother, who was ill. Upon her grandmother's death four months later, her family moved to Chicago, Illinois, where the author grew up alongside her 5 sisters and two brothers. She received BA in special education from Northeastern Illinois University, and went on to earn her MEd in interdisciplinary arts education from Loyola University in Chicago. She has been a classroom teacher, curriculum writer, staff developer, family involvement specialist, and administrator.

While teaching a unit on money one year, she and her fellow teachers designed a culminating activity wherein each each classroom in their group was transformed into a store. One of those stores was a balloon farm. Then, that summer, as she scrubbed her shower, this line popped into her head: "Harvey Potter was a very strange fellow indeed." The idea grew and morphed. The result: Harvey Potter's Balloon Farm, her award-winning first book. Since then, she has continued to delight young readers with 10 more books, in addition to stories and readings contributed to other books. 

Jerdine Nolan enjoys presenting lectures on topics related to books and the writing process. She lives near Columbia, Maryland with her husband, two children, two cats, and "the occasional giant pumpkins that grow in the yard."

Sources:

Jerdine Nolan author site

Jerdine Nolan Sidelights

Jerdine Nolan (Answers.com)

Evidence

Today, I discovered definitive proof that my children have completed another growth spurt. How, you ask? 

Was it... reading a weight and measurement report from the doctor's office?

No.

Was it... noticing that I don't have to bend down anymore to kiss Lovely Girl on the top of her head?

Nope.

Was it... realizing that it is no longer good for my back to try and lift Handsome Boy?

Uh Uh.

Was it... finding that I wasn't eaten out of house and home for the first time in weeks?

No again.

So, just how did I come to the bittersweet conclusion that my sweet darlings are one step closer to someday leaving the nest?

...I found doughnut icing (with sprinkles) smeared on the doorknobs of the upper kitchen cabinets...

A Budding Humorist

My sense of humor is a little on the juvenile side...

...OK, so it's a lot on the juvenile side. Potty jokes never fail to make me laugh. Silly things, like if someone were to, say, run around the house with a small boy's underpants on his or her head (clean, of course - and if you read yesterday's post, yes, I'm sure) never fail to produce an uncontrollable giggle. Slapstick humor (a la Spongebob or Chowder cartoons) brings tears to my eyes and loud guffaws to my lips. I can't help it. I'm just wired that way.

Back in May, you will recall my post about the apple not falling far from the tree, regarding a particular exasperating behavior shared by Handsome Boy and my husband? 

Well, today the tables are turned, because Handsome Boy shares with me... you guessed it... a preference for juvenile humor. Granted, there's a bit more legitimacy to his love of all things childishly funny...

Aaaanyhoo, he also shares a love of writing - especially the comics genre. So today, he came home with a writing project that had me and Lovely Girl in stitches! You see, in his grade, they give the kids sheets of paper that have a big box at the top, and fat lines underneath. They compose and illustrate their story on these photocopied sheets, then staple them together into a book. But today, it seems the copier didn't do its job entirely properly, so Handsome Boy improvised. Here is the relevant excerpt:

Once there were two ninjas. They were in a fight.

"Ay!!!!!! What is going on??" shouted ninja. 

"The page!! The page is diagonal!"

"That's better. Now where were we? Oh yeah. Take that!"

Instructions

My husband, C, likes to help with the laundry. 

No, I am not making that up... 

Really...... 

OK, maybe likes is a bit of a strong word. "Wants-to-keep-me-from-going-insane-while-trying-to-keep-up-with-housework-and-school-schedules-and-piano-lessons-and-t-ball-practice-and-art-classes-and-Girl-Scout-meetings-all-while-trying-to-give-this-fledgling-writing-career-room-to-grow-and-maybe-even-flourish" is probably more accurate. (I know, this is every working mother's reality. But, I haven't had this reality since Lovely Girl was in diapers, so please bear with me.)

Back to laundry help. C isn't home much during the week, so on weekends he turns into a Laundry Finishing Machine... except when he runs into a speed bump: "Hey, Kim? Is this pile of clothes on the floor by the bed dirty or clean?" You would think the answer to this is obvious. You would be wrong. 

Here's why: I try to at least get the laundry sorted before he gets home, and sometimes I even manage to throw a few loads in the washer, in between revisions. This means sometimes my rough drafts are a bit smudged by splashes from wet towels. This also means that there are anywhere from three to six piles of sorted clothing (a conservative estimate, of course), in various stages of cleanliness, scattered around the house at any given time, depending on where I had to drop them when, for example, I remembered that piano lessons would start in 15 minutes - and the studio is 20 minutes away...

Then, you have to add this wrinkle into the mix: sometimes they're clean, but piled on the floor because I ran out of laundry baskets to transport them. Sometimes they're dirty, but still in a laundry basket because I ran out of time to dump them in the washer. Sometimes they're clean, and in a basket, but I ran out of energy to get them folded. You get the idea.

So, I've taken the time to write up a new Household Laundry System. I'll just type this up, print it out, hand it to C, and everything will be hunky-dory. 

I think.

Household Laundry System*

1. If clothes are in a laundry basket, then they're dirty... umm, well, not that one. Yeah, that one is the exception, see, 'cause it's right by the dryer, which means they're clean, and I got them out of the dryer, but forgot to fold them.

2. If clothes are on the floor in the kids rooms, they're dirty. ...Yeah, Yeah, I'm su- uh, well, they're dirty, unless certain small-type people, being the clothes-horses they are, tried on forty-two different outfits before finding one they were satisfied with this morning. In that case, they're clean, but those same small-type people developed the mysterious "Idonwannafoldit" virus, rendering them completely unable to fold them and put them back in the drawers. A visual inspection for dirt is advisable here.

3. If clothes are in a hamper, they're dirty. Right. No, I'm positive. Ooooohhh. Hmmm. Well, if it's my hamper, then they're definitely dirty. But, if it's a small-type person's hamper, then it could be that they're actually clean, but thrown in there because said small-type person developed a relapse of the mysterious "Idonwannafoldit" virus. Better do a smell check in that case.

4. If clothes are strewn on a couch or other seating surface, they're clean. It's just that I put them there to get them folded, then had to settle a dispute over who trespassed in whose room, then forgot what I was doing, and started to make dinner, instead. BUT, if said clothes belong to a small boy... well, again, better do a smell check.

5. If clothes are piled behind my big, comfy brown chair, they're dirty. Yes. I'm Positive. (See here for documentation, under section "Miraculously Appearing Clothes Pile.")

6. If clothes are sorted by color and type (dryer approved, or line dry only), and piled on my bedroom floor, they're dirty... No, that's it... Right... Yes, I'm sure... Well, if you wanna do another smell check, be my guest... Alright, then...

*System applies to unfolded clothing, only. All folded clothing should be assumed clean. Should you come upon folded clothing, do not do the smell test. Do not ask questions. Take it as a divine miracle, give thanks for the unexpected blessing, plop them in a drawer, and fogeddaboudit.        

G'Day, Mates!

So, I'm sitting here at my computer, and I have lots of ideas for posts scribbled down in fits of creative haste, but none of them are really speaking to me tonight. That's really too bad, 'cause some of them are fantastic. I have no idea why we're not on speaking terms this evening. I swear I never looked at any other ideas today, honest... but I digress. Anyway, take heart! Serendipity has stepped in, and a great idea has surfaced as a direct result of two eureka moments: One - I'm in a research mood, and Two - I noticed an increase in Australian readers of late. So, I looked up some Fun Facts About Australia, and there's a ton of information out there. Here are a few of the more interesting facts I dug up:

In 1832, three hundred female Convicts at the Cascade Female Factory mooned - yes, you read that right: mooned - the Governor of Tasmania during a chapel service. It has been said that in a "rare moment of collusion with the Convict women, the ladies in the Governor's party could not control their laughter."

There are more than 150 million sheep in Australia, but only about 20 million people.

The Great Barrier Reef has a mailbox. (Yes, an actual mailbox. Only one. And, you can ferry on out there and mail a postcard with the world's only Great Barrier Reef stamp.)

In 1838, it was declared illegal to swim at public beaches during the day. This law remained in effect until 1902.

Tasmania has the cleanest air in the world.

The second-largest population of Greeks in the world resides in Melbourne, Australia - second only to Athens, Greece.

Australia is the world's largest inhabited island AND the world's smallest and least populated continent - both at the same time!

It was an Australian meteorologist who first gave women's names to tropical storms, beginning in the late 19th century.

Australians from Queensland are called "banana benders," and those from Western Australia are referred to as "sand gropers."

Australia Day is celebrated on January 26, marking the anniversary of ships arriving in Sydney carrying a load of convicts.

On July 17, 1924, the world's first society of cartoonists, the Black and White Artists' Society, was formed in Sydney.

Emus and kangaroos appear on the Australian coat of arms precisely due to their inability to walk backward.

No part of Australia is more than 1000 km from the ocean and a beach. (That's about 621 miles or so.)

Well, that's all I have time for tonight. Here are my sources - check 'em out:

Outback Australia Travel Guide

Fun Facts About Australia

Australia: Trivia, Fun Facts and Recipes

Facts About Australia

Unusual Australian Facts

I'm sure there are lots of other totally cool and fun facts out there that I didn't find about Australia. Leave me a comment with any interesting tidbits you know of...

Ahhh, Spring! It Really, Really BUGS Me...

Spring is a lovely season, and is admittedly one of my favorites, but I have a love/hate relationship with it. Let me give you a few examples:

1. Spring brings an end to frigid temps - but the beginning of wardrobe uncertainties: Do I wear jeans and risk heat stroke when the temperatures unexpectedly reach summer-esque highs, or do I wear shorts and risk freezing my- yes, well you get the picture...

2. Spring brings the return of green leaves and colorful flowers - but also brings the return of that sinister substance known as pollen. The mere sight of that telltale green layer coating anything and everything either stationary or nearly so signals my nose and lungs to instantly rebel and refuse to allow sufficient passage of air.

3. Spring brings breezes carry the sweet melodies of birdsong after a long and music-less winter - which is welcome, except when the blasted things choose to twitter their melodies nice and loud right outside my bedroom window on the rare mornings I'm able to sleep in.

So, I do have some fairly contradictory feelings toward what many call the season of rebirth. But there is one part to spring that I dread most of all:

...the return

             ...of

                    ...BUGS!!!

Yes, I mourn the passing of winter most of all simply for the fact that in amongst all this love/hate rebirth stuff lurks all manner of undesirable creepy crawlies. And they all seem to think that my house is the perfect place to hang out. 

The biggest nuisance are the big, black flies that manage to weasel in one door or another despite my best efforts to keep them out. I can't stand that buzzing, and they taunt me - taunt me, I tell you: always zooming right by my head and just on the edge of my vision, then zipping out of sight. Then they bzzzt around behind the blinds or inside a light fixture, or behind a plant, double-dog-daring me to come get 'em. It creeps me out. I chase them down with a twirled up old hand towel - 'cause I can't stand having to clean up smashed fly guts off an icky, guts-crusted fly swatter - and manage to catch most of them. The hardest ones to get are the little suckers that haven't grown into full-grown, gross, big 'ol slow flies. Man, are they hard to towel-snap. And let me tell you, that stuff you read about the common housefly only living 24 hours? Well, my flies must be most uncommon, 'cause they sure hang on a lot longer than that in this house.

Next on the nuisance-o-meter are those teeny tiny ants that begin to parade over my main floor, without fail, just as the weather turns balmy. Last spring was the worst: they were boldly traipsing in looooong lines through my foyer, milling around, and going nowhere in particular. So, I declared war. Armed with a butter knife and some spackle, I followed those little soldiers to the source, and smugly plugged up the hole, then smashed the stragglers with the flat of the knife. Figuring that was that, I put away my arsenal. Later that afternoon: "Mooommmmy! Ants!" Crud. They found a new hidey-hole to come through. Out came the knife and the spackle. Plug, plug, smash, smash, smash. The next morning, they not only found a third hidey-hole to come through, but they had also managed to bust through the other two spots I spackled the day before! This continued to the point that I spent the entire time the kiddos were at school chasing teeny tiny ants and hastily spackling holes and crevices, until I realized they had fanned out to three rooms, and showed no signs of stopping. Admitting defeat, I bought a bunch of ant traps, set them by all the hidey-holes, and that finally did it. I hunched down and watched them crawl enthusiastically in and out of this new supermarket I seemingly installed just for their culinary delight, whispering with glee, "That's it, my pretties. Come and get some tasty goodies..." I have to say, though, I can't figure them out. Not one of those ants went anywhere near my kitchen. Go figure.

Here is an unwelcome visitor more creep than nuisance: a crunchy bug that skitters across my basement family room floor every once in a while, usually when I'm down there after dark, watching tv. I don't know what they're called, but they are these inch to inch-and-a-half long, hard-shelled, bullet-shaped, black, beetle-looking things. They're fast little suckers, and if you flick them, you hear the click as they bounce off the walls. You can't smash them by ordinary shoe-whacking, either. (And yes, I keep a spare heavy shoe down there for just such an occurrence.) You have to really slam down on them, and you can actually hear a sickening crunch when the whack actually works. Gross. I can't even bring myself to do it anymore. In fact, once, when C (my husband) was away on business, and one of them went scuttling on by the tv, I trapped it with an upside down glass, and stacked three thick books on top of the glass. Then I called C's cell phone, and told him I had a bug for him to kill when he got home. (You can imagine his response. He wasn't due back for two more days.) And do you know, when he came home and dutifully went down to dispose of the interloper, that bug was gone... with the glass still firmly held down by the big thick books. I didn't go back down there for a week.

Finally, another basement invader. This one is by far the most creepy: big, black, silver-dollar sized wolf spiders. Yep - thick hairy legs, huge bodies, and fast as anything. I get the willies just typing this. Ick. Even C doesn't like to smash these, and get this: they actually run toward you when you come after them! To this day, I won't put my feet on the floor when I watch tv after dark in the spring. I sit all coiled up on the couch, one eye on my show, the other scanning for big, black, scuttling spiders. And if I'm alone when one rips by, I just let it go. Listen: anything that willingly comes skittering right at something thousands of times its size that's wielding a big, heavy shoe to crush it, well, that is the definition of fierce, my friend. And I for one am unwilling to challenge guts like that. Uh uh. Nope. Not me. Besides, maybe it'll eat that *&%##@ fly I haven't caught yet...