The Eighties Called

Remember when corduroy was in? Yeah, me too. Remember how the corduroy pants would make a fwit-fwit sound when you walked 'just so'?

Well, about a year ago my mom passed on to me a corduroy suit that my brother wore when he was a young, lanky lad. It brings me no end of delight to see my dear Campers struttin' around in style. Long live the eighties!

Campers Turns Nine

My baby boy is now nine. Which is odd, because in the nine years he's aged, I've gotten older by just two. Huh! Mom Math!

He wanted his personal logo on his birthday cake this year. Why does he have a logo? Well, because his daddy is a graphic designer and therefore, Campers knows how to design graphics. He created the logo himself and uses it on his notes and artwork. Pa's boy.

I, on the other hand, have massive arm-bending skills that cannot be surpassed. Try that, Campers!

But guess who's excited to turn nine?

And guess who was hogging the ice cream while said nine-year-old was hogging the attention?

Happy ninth birthday, Campers!

Annual Calendar: Campers

I'll get around to posting some Christmas pics, I know, I know. But first I'm going to give you a little taste of the annual calendar that Pa puts together each year.

For three of the pages, Pa had the kids make one crazy face after another. I assure you. THAT was an easy request. Somehow being doofy is within their skill set but smiling is not.

I digress.

Campers. He's got a face made for the stage.

I see those faces and so many more every day on that boy. He's a walkin' crazy person, with about 873 different moods and personalities. But I don't know anything about that. No.

Brother and sister pics to come.

The Cam: Age Eight

Eight. Campers is so "eight." And doggone it, he's just as conscientious and self-aware and goofy as I was at that age. You'll notice he seems to have his performance all planned out, too. No surprise there. Nooooo surprise.

Tall And Lanky

How, I ask you, HOW did I get a kid this tall and skinny?

Officially, Not My Gene Pool.

Course, on the other hand, he is kind, funny, brilliant, and obsessed with bossing the universe into submission. You're welcome, world.

*smile*

Campers Turns Eight

Oh, people. Time is flying by. The older my kids get the faster times goes, and MY WORD, WHY DIDN'T I BELIEVE Y'ALL WHEN YOU TOLD ME THAT EIGHT YEARS AGO.

So Campers is eight now. And he got some Wikki Stix, which are these awesome wax-coated yarn-type bendable thingys that can be used again and again to fiddle around and build stuff with.

And lo, we have entered the age of the "science set:"

My brother had a circuit set when we were kids, and I'm tellin' ya, it was a whole lot cooler than most of the girly junk on the shelves. Then again, I wasn't exactly your "pony heart flower" kind of girl.

On to the cake.

It was a chocolate volcano, from the book "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" that Pa just finished reading to the kids.

Mmm-hmm. That's FONDANT, people. Homemade fondant. A first in the snippets and sagas household.

And--because you care--underneath was a four-layer chocolate cake with a jar of black raspberry "simply fruit" in between. The frosting was made with cool whip, and that lava you see is a double bag of chocolate chips. Plus gummy candies, jelly bellies and junior mints on top. Mmm. Sugar overload!

Speaking of sweetness personified:

What a couple of goofs.

(Suz was hiding out in the background. Begging for cake.)

Happy 8th birthday, Campers.

Getting New Teeth Is Old News Around Here

Campers lost another tooth a couple weeks back. He and the Zig were wrestling around, and it quickly got bumped out. Frankly, that's my favorite method of tooth extraction, as it spares us all from the Hours Of Tooth Drama Done In Front Of The Mirror.

This time around, Campers had specific instructions for the "Tooth Fairy" (who he has known from the start is his Ma). So he said to me, "Mom? The last several times the Tooth Fairy has brought me a pack of gum. Do you think you could tell her to give me something different this time?"

My.

Someone's getting mighty bossy these days.

I have no idea where he gets it from.

So the Tooth Fairy gave him a candy bar, because she had a hankering for some peanut butter and chocolate.

(Next blog post: "The Tooth Fairy Gets A Root Canal.")

Love Of My Mommy Life: Part 1

No one ever told me I would love my boy this much.

That young man and I have spent seven-and-a-half years together now, and oddly enough--I spend more time with him than I do with the Pa.

Now, don't get all sermony on me and tell me to get my priorities straight. Pa works "away" from the home and I work "in" the home. Where the kids are. ALL. THE. TIME. Just do the math.

And like any relationship that's lasted seven years, the one I have with my son has grown right along side his tall, lanky body.

I loved him the moment he was born, but I didn't know him.

The thing I never understood about love is that it grows with the knowing. I always thought love came in equal proportion to that which was lovable.

What I didn't know was that every part was lovable.

Especially when seen through the eyes of a Ma.

Puzzling

The kids have been into doing puzzles lately. And by "the kids," I mean "me."

Campers has said on more than one occasion, "Mom! *I* got to do only three pieces of that puzzle!"

Sorry, boy. "He who hesitates is lost."

(Thanks for the quote, Dad.)

Goodwill is a Gold Mine for puzzles. The Stuff Marts charge $7+ for a brand new puzzle, but at Goodwill?

NINETY-NINE CENTS!

CHA-CHING!

And all the pieces are there, too! Usually!

During my most recent trip to Goodwill, I heard a 3-D globe puzzle calling my name:

Oh, I hear the "oooh's" and "aaahhh's."

Don't be impressed.

The pieces were numbered on the back side. Thus making the puzzle nothing more than a simple sequencing exercise.

Which I counted as "school," I might add.

For the three pieces than Campers got to do.

Can He Bake A Colored Cake?

Campers has reached the age where he wants to help out in the kitchen.

I told him that when *I* learned to cook, 85 years ago, that *I* started with desserts for two reasons.

1. They tasted good
2. They tasted good

I was a kid. What did you expect?

So Campers begged, oh did he beg and beg for me to gotothestorerightnow and pick up a cake mix and frosting.

And, being the sugar-loving, obedient mother that I am, I complied.

I didn't get any pictures of the actual mixing, baking, and decorating because, oh how shall I say it?

THERE WAS A LOT OF "DISCUSSION" GOING ON.

But look at the end result:

Didn't both boys do a great job?

Cake Making 101. Let me know if I passed.

Why Having A Sister Is So Much Fun

Subtitled: Campers Will Hate These Pictures In Approximately Six Years.

The Suz got some new hair accessories for Christmas.

And since the Suz has approximate three stands of hair and won't sit still for a grooming session anyway, the boys dolled up their own 'dos.

(Although, only Campers' bands would stay in. Zig's hair was too thick. As if there IS such a thing, but alas, THERE IS.)

Lest you think Campers was embarrassed by all this, think again. He ran right outside to play with his friends, his hairstyle in full view of the entire neighborhood.

Guess we're still at the state where HE embarrasses ME.

Bu wa ha ha, THAT WILL ALL CHANGE SOON ENOUGH.

Until then, you can all rest in knowing that the hair-bobs have been put away and the MEN in the family have not touched them since.

Now the pom-poms...

Secret Breakfast Man

Campers was on a real "make breakfast for Mommy" kick for a couple of weeks. He'd make me some toast, complete with a load of butter and cinnamon sugar. Then he'd slice an apple (apple slicer, you safety people!), wash some grapes, or (barely) peel an orange.

After doing all that, his imagination kicked in and he started decorating bananas with Nerds, bubble gum, and jelly beans.

Oh! One time he made me freshly squeezed orange juice. One orange equals a tablespoonful of juice (in the cup), in case you wanted to know.

But even though the meals were a little "creative," in the name of Good Motherhood I ate every last bite.

Of all the breakfast menus, the candy-coated banana was the sweetest. But THIS was even sweeter:

No breakfast item could compete with that.

Pa Junior

Campers took the digital camera (kid version) outside the other day on a "photo shoot."

Ohhhhh, glory.

You never realize you're reproducing yourself until you see pictures like this:

Did Pa's boy take pictures of people?

Noooo.

He took pictures of interesting things, and then went to the photo editing program and fixed up the shots. And told me I could put them on the blog if I wanted to.

I. Love. My. Son.

Reminds me of that phrase...so much of parenting is not was is taught, but what is caught.

Way to go, Pa. Way to go, Little Man.

All I Wanted For Christmas Was That Front Tooth OUT

I've come to the conclusion that Campers likes having a loose tooth around. He also knows that I don't like him having a loose tooth around, which makes his joy utterly complete.

Take a look. Christmas Day, circa 2008. Loose tooth. Hanging on for dear life.

Well today...Zig, BLESS HIS EVER-LOVING HEART, got to wrestling with Campers and accidentally bumped him in the mouth.

OH PRAISE YOU JESUS.

And although I was glad for the "injury," I WASN'T able to look at that mouth.

Ew.

But it got better.

Much better.

Handsome devil of a baby boy.

Hope you enjoyed the gore.

Merry Christmas.

(Also. It's good to see that it's one year later AND I HAVEN'T CHANGED A BIT. Although my baby sure has.)

Oh. It's The Mother-In-Law Thing Again.

Pa said to me tonight at dinner, "You'll be the worst mother-in-law in all of history."

As if.

As if he has met every mother-in-law there is.

Pffffttt.

Five Down, Fifteen To Go

I suppose we could start singing, "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth," and be sorta right. It's just not the front middle teeth.

Here Campers is minutes before the tooth (top, to his right of the gap) came out...

And minutes after the tooth came out...

I'm telling you. Each tooth is fraught with such drama, I nearly have to leave town. Lots of wiggling, mirror-looking, mom-and-dad-showing.

You know...

Exactly what *I* used to do to *my* parents.

I have no idea if the other two (three) (four) kids are going to be like this.

Probably not a good sign that I'm already counting down the teeth. "All I want for Christmas is a sedative...a sedative...see the sedate Ma?"

Campers would want you to know that the tooth came out while he was jumping on Pa and Ma's bed. Other parents: take note. Bed jumping has its place. Especially fifteen or so hours into the drama. See? Five teeth down and I'm already an expert. But by the last child, I'm using the string-tied-to-the-tooth-and-door method. You just wait.

Kid Dictionary: Seven

If you look up "Age Seven" in the dictionary, this is what you'll see:

Hubs and I just shake our heads at this emerging creature.

Our reserved little boy has morphed into a full-fledged goof.

We simply call him, "Seven."

But every once in a while, he hides his crazy mouth full of mixed-up teeth, and I see the baby that once was.

And the man that he's going to be.

Project Manager

First of all, Handsome Devil, hallooo:

Emphasis on the "handsome," not so much on the "devil."

(Truly, Age Seven is something to behold.)

In our effort to label and permanently ruin our children, Pa came up with the best name for Campers the other day:

Project Manager.

A chip off the ol' block, shall we say.

Not three nanoseconds after we give Campers a chore, he starts doling out the tasks to the rest of the crew. Bark, bark, bark. You do this, you do that. Go!

It is no coincidence that Pa gave me the nickname "boss" so many moons ago.

I mean, some husbands use the terms, "honey," or "sweetie," or "koochie-koochie-koo."

Me?

"BOSS."

And then I went out and cloned myself, to the delight of the whole Western Hemisphere.

Watch out, world. There's a young man just waiting to tell you what to do.

Cake! E'buddy Like Cake!

I like to call this hairstyle, "Maybe I should think about getting it cut."

But this post isn't about me. (It isn't?)

It's about the cake.

For Campers' 77th birthday.

Didn't Pa (and sons) do a faaaabulous job with the cake?

We invited the neighbor boys (ages 7, 6, 5) over to help celebrate and eat the cake.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the din, I realized...

My baby is seven.

S-E-V-E-N.

(In case you couldn't spell.)

Boys And Their Toys

Campers was super excited to get an erector set for his birthday:

Pa and the boys spent an entire afternoon building this thing and that.

I gave Pa the Fatherhood Medal of Honor for spending so much time in "play."

This might surprise you, but I don't usually describe myself as someone who likes to "play."

Zig was close by the action, providing a little "atmosphere" for the event.

And yes, he's covering his nose for the VERY REASON you THINK he's covering his nose.

Boys.

Speaking of, I've got two words to say about this picture:

"Uncle Jared."

The boys finished building their Very Special Helicopter, and shortly after their great sigh of satisfaction, the Suz came along and destroyed it.

Building character. We're aaaaaaaaaalways building character.