Jacob Turns Three

Photos of Jacob's Birthday Party....Finally!

Every birthday party has to have a birthday cake, but not every cake is as special as this one....

What's a birthday party without birthday presents?

...and more presents...

...and more presents.....

Where ya going, Jacob, and who is that guy in the cap and dark glasses???

A helping hand from Uncle Mike...

Pretty Donna and sweet, sweet baby Ellie...

.....And a good time was had by all...

Photos of the moment...

These were taken a few weeks ago but this is the first chance I've had to post themBaby Zack


Jacob and his little cousin, Zack.

Patsy's Diner...

My friend, Patsy, just bought a diner. It's on route 60 , on the way to Newport News from Richmond, Virginia. When the beach traffic on 64 east gets to be too much for you, jump over to route 60 and give it a try. She makes the best bacon and eggs and cheesy grits ever. Y'all come on down and try it out, ya hea?!

Spawn of who???

I only have time to post one photo this morning and I chose this one. Don't ask why?

You've come a long way, baby!

Happy Birthday Jacob. You are three today, and we knew you when...

The Back Forty...

Mom and Jacob on PopPop's back forty.

Moist

Can you tell how hot it was? The child is slick! Was it hot in Iowa? Yes!

Lean On Me...

Jacob with his grandpa in Iowa.

More Adventures In Iowa...

Well, there was green machinery everywhere out in Iowa. John Deer Country....that's what I'd call it. Jacob must have thought he'd died and gone to heaven when they went to the fair. He got to see a tractor pull with a big old tractor named ShagNasty. Now you know a place that names their tractors can't be all bad. Jacob loves green machinery, and in a land awash with giant sized machinery, he managed to find a little cart just his size.

You can't keep him away from the big stuff though. Jacob and big machinery are meant to go together... kind of like bread and butter, peaches and cream, Paris Hilton and the paparazzi. I know he was in heaven when he saw this bad boy. Maybe someday, Jacob....maybe someday. Little boys can dream!

Any tractor that needs a wheel this big qualifies as a big machine.


Jacob made friends at the zoo where he was allowed to feed the goats. This little guy seemed to like him. Finally, an animal that was just the right size.

I'm not sure who this guy was or where he was, but cool! Very cool!

"Hey, Ralph, have you seen that hare anywhere?"

"Sure, Gracie. All the time."

"Where, Ralph."

"Oh, hare, there, everywhere."


Jacob and his mom got to ride a camel named Choco at the zoo.

. Jacob got to ride two horses at the park. One was named Pokey and the other was named Candy. The one in the picture is Candy. Ride 'em, cowboy!


...and a trip to Iowa just wouldn't be complete without a trip to the rodeo. Look at all those white hats. That thar's how you can tell the good guys from the bad guys. This is a great shot, Bek. One of my favorites, I feel like I'm there with you guys. In Tombstone ~ As the sun slowly sets in the west ~ Wyatt Earp gathers his posse together, preparing to light out after his man. Can you pick out Doc Holliday? Luv it!

....and best of all....Jacob had a pretty girl to go on all these adventures with him. I ask ya, ain't she pretty now? Couldn't she just charm the husk right off the corn? Yep!

My, Oh My, Iowa!

Jacob and Bek went to Iowa to visit Bek's dad/Jacob's PopPop. They flew out of Reagan Airport on July 22 in a big airplane. Uncle Doug took them to the airport. It was the first time Jacob had ever flown. He talked about it for days before they left.

He had so very many small and big and large and huge adventures in this exotic, far away land, a land where corn grows in fields as far as the eye can see. A boy could get lost in there just as easily as the mall. Don't go too far, Jacob!

They had a birthday party for him and Emerson because he will turn 3 on August 3, and everybody knows a boy only turns 3 once in his lifetime.

He went fishing with his PopPop on a lake while he was in Iowa, and caught his first fish, but first he had to bait the hook. Hummm! A few night crawlers might be just the thing.

After being very patient the 'big one' finally bit, and Jacob was just the guy to reel him in. What a fine catch, Jacob!

Sometimes most of the fun of fishing is just sitting there with a buddy and talking 'bout life and stuff. Grandpa's are good at that.

Touchdown....

Bek and Jacob touched down on Virginia soil tonight after a week long visit with his PopPop. We arrived at the airport early, eager to see them, especially Ma'Maw.

They were very happy to be home again. The bird they flew in on had a tail like this one. When I was a kid my aunt used to tell me that if you could throw salt on a bird's tail you could catch him. I wonder what size salt shaker you would have to have to throw salt on this bird's tail.

Patsy and Herman perused a map of the airport, checking out all the restaurants and shops. It didn't do us any good. Everything was closed except Friday's. We ordered tea and water and waited. The waiter was not happy with us about that, and refused to take our money when we left. Oh, well!

Then we received a phone call from Bek telling us that the plane had landed and they would disembark in ten minutes. We walked down to wait where they would soon arrive, hardly able to stand the anticipation. We were dying to see them, each of us keeping our eyes on the exit, scanning each and every face, waiting to see the two precious faces that belonged to us......and finally.....there they were. The only two faces in a sea of faces that made our hearts go pitter patter. That first moment of eye contact after a seperation from those you love is simply delicious, even a short separation.

As they came closer, Jacob stretched out his arms and cried, Ma'Maw, Ma'Maw. Bek unbuckled his belt and freed him from the stroller. He literally flew into his Ma'Maw's arms and began to sob; he was so overwhelmed. She held him tightly and rubbed his back telling him of her deep and abiding love. When he finished loving on her, he reached for Herman and contentment slowly returned as we went down to baggage claim. As soon as Bek reclaimed her bag, right then and there she unzipped it and removed a long stuffed, fluffy, purple rattle snake named Orange. She said that Jacob had been asking for Orange for the past hour on the plane.

Herman carried him through the airport with Orange wrapped around his neck, and he was finally content and oh, so happy to be home and in the arms of those he loved. We got him situated in his car seat and began the drive home. For the first 45 minutes he regaled us with stories of his adventures in Iowa until he passed out from emotional and physical exhaustion. His stories were peppered with tall tales of creatures with exotic names like, Choco, Bingo, Poky, Candy and ShagNasty. The tales must wait for another day, but I can hardly stand the anticipation.

Life with Jacob continues. I can not offer any assurances about where it will lead, but I can promise that it will never be dull. Life was in black and white while he was away, but we have just been thrown back into living technicolor.

Oh, my God, we love that boy.


Welcome Home Bek and Jacob!

911 and foundation garments...

It all began with a phone call on Tuesday afternoon. There was a young voice on the other end of the phone, speaking in a very fast and garbled way. It was a young woman and she was speaking in that affected way that some teenagers speak. I could barely understand her, but I was able to get the gist when I heard the words 'Hair Perfection'. I realized she was making the 'reminder' phone call to make sure I would not miss my appointment the following day. I was only able to pluck a few recognizable words from her short spiel, 'Hair Perfection' and '9:30'. I answered her in the affirmative, thanked her and put the phone back on the receiver.

Wednesday morning I decided to check my calendar to see if my appointment was indeed at 9:30. I thought that seemed a little early. I checked and, sure enough, I had recorded 11:30 on my calendar. I wasn't sure if the girl had said 9:30 or if I had misunders tood and she had said 11:30. I didn't know if I had recorded the wrong time on my calendar or if she had misspoken. Now I was faced with a very small dilemma that would soon turn into a very large dilemma. I said to Herman, "I think my appointment is at 11:30. That's what's on my calendar, but I can't be sure. I'll call them and find out before I drive over there at 9:30 only to find out that my appointment is really at 11:30."

Now doesn't that seem like a reasonable thing to do? Yes.....I thought so too.

So, that's exactly what I did. Around 8:30 I made what would be the first of three phone calls.

On the first call there was no answer which did not surprise me. I did not expect them to open till 9:00. So promptly at 9:00 I made my second call.... still no answer. At 9:10 *this is where things get slightly complicated* I made my third and final call to Hair Perfection. I was sitting in the office at the desk, still in my jammies. Keep in mind that *in my jammies* means exactly that, my jammies and nothing else.....no support garments.....no robe......nothing but my jammies.

I have to interject here that I do not wear lovely PJs or nightgowns either. My pajamas consist of pajama bottoms that are two sizes too large because that's what I find to be comfortable, and tee shirts that have been worn and washed over the years till they are as soft as a bunny's fur. Not too attractive but I don't entertain in them, K. I sleeeep in them so I'm not going to apologize for my jammies. I love them and that's all that matters......well, it used to be.

Back to the story. As I'm sitting at the desk I reach over and hit the button on the office phone that puts it in speaker phone mode. I then glance at the rolodex that is turned to the phone number for Hair Perfection. The phone number is 3** -9111. I very quickly and inadvertently hit the last four numbers (9111) leaving off the first three numbers. Imagine my surprise when I heard a very polite voice, clearly and distinctly, asking me if I needed assistance. I immediately realized my error and began to stutter an apology. This is how the conversation went.

911 Lady ~ *polite and concerned* Do you need assistance?

Bonnie ~ *embarrassed and apologetic* Oh, no! I hit 911 accidentally. I didn't mean to do it. I'm sooo sorry.

911 Lady ~ *still concerned* Are you sure?

Bonnie ~ *still embarrassed - still apologetic* Yes, oh yes. I'm just fine. I'm so sorry! It was an accident.

911 Lady ~ *realizing she's dealing with a nut* That's ok ma'am. It happens. Do y ou live at 2343 Nut Case Lane (not really, she said the name of my street and the street number of my house) I guess they like to keep track of all the goof balls.

Bonnie ~ *still embarrassed - still apologetic* Yes, yes....that's where I live. I'm so sorry!

911 Lady ~ *patient beyond belief* That's okay, no problem. Is your phone number ***-****?

Bonnie ~ *still embarrassed - still apologetic* Yes, that's my phone number. I'm so sorry.

911 Lady ~ *still polite* It's okay. And your name?

Bonnie ~ *defeated* Bonnie ******

911 Lady ~ *cheerful* Okay, ma'am. You have a nice day now.

Bonnie ~ Thank you so much. You too.

In the middle of this conversation Herman came into the room. As soon as the conversation was over he said, "What have you done now?" Then I had to expl ain. He just shook his head and looked at me with an expression on his face of a tolerant and patient parent... looking at his not too bright child who has just flushed the family pet down the toilet.

After this exchange, there was nothing to do but call my friend, Patsy, whom I was certain would sympathize, if for no other reason than the fact that I know where all her skeletons are buried. I also knew this was good for a laugh and we would definitely have one over it. I told her what I had done and we did laugh. Then I said to her, "I bet I hear from them again, just to make sure that I'm okay. I bet they call me in a little while." She said, "No, I think it's okay. They probably won't contact you again."

A few minutes later, I was still on the phone with Patsy when I heard Herman call from downstairs in a very exaggerated and slightly amused voice, "OOOOh, Boonnieee. Someone wants to seeeeee you.." There is no way I was going to the door. Remember? I was s till in my pajamas, with no foundation garments. I will keep what little dignity I have left at this point and refrain from describing my *on the far side of 50's* body. When I did not respond immediately, Herman came upstairs to get me. He had this very smug look on his face, as if he were enjoying himself waay too much, as far as I'm concerned. He said, "Come on, there is someone downstairs that wants to meet you now." When I didn't budge he said, a little more seriously, "Come on. They have to see you to make sure you're okay"

*Yikes, Omigod, Jeeze, Good Grief, Darn, Darn, Darn, Shoot me now and get it over with.*

Patsy is on the other end of the phone, snickering. Yes, my best friend, after all my years of supporting her through every single crisis of her miserable little life, is snickering at me on the other end of the phone, knowing that I have no choice......knowing that I'm going to have to go down there and face the music without my.......<>OH MY GOODNESS.....foundation garment. Just like Herman, she was enjoying it too darned much.

I reluctantly got up and went to the top of the stairs. Two of Hanover's finest were standing at the bottom of my stairs, armed and ready. They were very handsome young men. I did notice that. Other than that, it's all a blur. (Are you kidding....every single second is engraved across my brain for eternity) The following conversation took place as I tightly held my arms cross my chest in a protective manner and began to blather. I could not shut my mouth no matter how hard I tried and Herman just stood by with a smug smile on his face. I would later learn that the officers had not been as, shall we say, sympathetic and kind with him as they were with me. This is how it went.

Bonnie ~ I'm soooo sorry, I'm sooooo embarrassed.....and on and on. I didn't mean to, I just hit the wrong...... *I simply couldn't stop*

Police Officer ~ *professional & concerned* "Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need assistance?"

Bonnie ~ *unable to stop blathering and still holding my arms across my chest* "Oh, no, I'm fine, and I'm soooo sorry. It was an accident. I just hit the wrong numbers and I didn't mean to. I can't believe I've put you to all this trouble and on and on and on and on........

Police Officer ~ *professional, concerned and sympathetic* That's okay, ma'am. Don't you worry about it. Happens all the time. We just want to make sure your okay.

Bonnie ~ *melted into a puddle of warm jelly at this point* Thank you, you're too kind. Thank you so much.

Police Officer ~ *wanting to get away from me, knowing full well that he is talking to a woman who is one taco short of a combination platter* You're welcome, ma'am. You have a nice day now.

*Fat chance of that*

Herman later told me that the police officers had been very professional with him also but were insistent and demanded to see me *in the flesh as it were* before they would leave. They wanted to make sure that there had been no domestic abuse.

Well, that's my story. I have no moral, no special ending, no lesson learned....just my story.

......and by the way......my appointment turned out to be at 11:30, just as I had thought. I arrived promptly and with a story.....

How to kill a fly...

I always seem to have one lone fly in my kitchen, and he taunts me for hours on end. The story is always the same. First I spy the fly, usually trying to land on food that I'm preparing. I've read all those statistics about flies pooping every time they land. Yes, I'm sure they do because they get a lot of fiber from eating my fruit and veggies.

Anyway, I don't want them landing on my food so I always lean over and open the cabinet door under the kitchen sink, and reach in for the fly swatter. It never fails; as soon as I'm armed and ready to do battle the fly disappears every single time. I'm left standing there, swatter in hand, tense look across my brow, usually saying bad things under my breath, and feeling a bit like a girl at a school dance who has been ditched by her date for a prettier girl.

At this point I usually lay the swatter down in an easy to reach place, trying to fool the fly into thinking I've given up. This usually works but it takes a few minutes. You have to be patient. Eventually the little nasty winged germ carrier gets hungry and comes looking for my food again, but this time I'm ready. This must be what duck hunters feel like when they're waiting in the duck blind.

I slowly retrieve my swatter and standing far away from the fly so he won't see me, I raise the swatter into my best swatting position, and ever so slowly I begin to stalk the fly. I move in a stealth like manner across the room until I'm within striking distance, and remember, the swatter is already raised in the striking position. This is crucial because if he sees any movement he will skedaddle.

Once I've crept close enough I watch the fly as he rubs his two front feeler thingies together. *that's a technical term* When he has them off the ground and is rubbing them together, then and only then, with one swift stroke, I strike with the cunning, speed and force of a cobra.

Slam!

And that, ladies and gents, is how you kill a fly!

We used to burn them but...

My generation burned them but I don't recall anyone hanging them on a tree by the side of the road for all to see. I went to the grocery store first thing this morning. After I returned and put the groceries away, I then followed Herman over to the garage so Larry could put the new tires on my car. Herman had bought them a few days ago. We left my car there and Herman drove us home. As we came around a curve on an old country road Herman spied this pink bra hanging from the limb of a tree. We were left to imagine the story behind it. Maybe it's better that we don't know. I know it's silly but I couldn't resist.

Herman is out mowing the lawn now, and I'm on my way downstairs to make a cake. I declare, we get more done before nine than the U.S. Army.

Fifth Disease

Jacob and Bek are visiting her dad in Iowa. They're having a great time. Big News! Jacob caught his very first fish. Bek took pictures and they will be posted as soon as I get my hands on them.

The other big news and not nearly as happy ~ Jacob has Fifth Disease. Rebekah had it when she was a little girl. It's a viral illness, and usually affects children between the ages of 5 and 15. Jacob is only 3. (early starter) It begins with a fever, headache and cold symptoms. A few days later a rash appears on the face. It's a very distinctive rash that looks as if the child has been slapped. The rash then moves to the trunk, arms and legs of the body. Most children recover quickly and with out any continuing problems.

I have another post to write about something funny that happened, but I have a lot to do today. First on my list, the grocery store. I'm off and running!

Bek Goes To Iowa....

I hear tell they grow farm boys in the corn fields of Iowa. You never know where a woman may find a good man. Just pick one and bring him home, Bek.


This will be Bek, in all her homespun beauty, when she gets to Iowa and all that good ole farm cookin'. Wish I could have some.
Nothing like corn on the cob, fresh from the fields! Yummmm! Imagine butter dripping all over that!

Off to the land of Oz.....

Bek and Jacob will fly away this morning, on a big silver bird. They will launch upon an adventure in the far away land of Iowa, where the corn grows higher than an elephant's eye and.....oops.....that's Oklahoma isn't it? Well, you get my drift. They will arrive in the land of Oz later today, and remain till next Saturday.

Have a wonderful time and don't forget all of us waiting back here for you in Kansas..... uh..... I mean Virginia. If you get homesick just close your eyes and click your heals together three times and say, "There's no place like home; there's no place like home."

We love you guys and can't wait to hear about your adventures. Have a wonderful trip and watch out for the monsters. We'll miss you.

The Deep End

Yesterday was Thursday and that means Patsy, Bek and Jacob came over for dinner. We're in the deep end of summer now, with August almost upon us, and that means it's long past time for the pool. So, Bek blew it up....as in blowing hot air into it.....not as in bombing it, but you knew that, didn't you? Bek turned the water on and filled up the pool. Jacob took a swim and seemed to enjoy it. I think we all would have been in there with him if the pool had been a little bigger.

It was their turn to cook and Patsy brought over some green beans, and a London Broil that she had slow baked. She thought it was dry but I thought it was good. I made some mashed potatoes with butter, sour cream and sharp shredded cheese, and frosted Patsy's incredible strawberry heaven cake, and *bam*, we had ourselves a nice supper, just perfect for the deep end of summer.

To share or not to share? That is the question.

Okay, here's a post for you that will reveal my true character. You don't get many of these, so pay attention.

There are a few things we truly love here in the South. We love our iced tea and you can get it in any restaurant all year long, and as many free refills as you like, unlike up north where you have to pay for each glass, and can't find it at all in a restaurant during winter. (What's up with that? I love it up there, especially New England, but no iced tea?) We love our smoked hams, blue crabs, barbecue and black-eyed-peas. We also love our pecans and our butter beans.

Now here's the thing about pecans and butter beans....they have to be shelled. Now, I'm not saying they aren't worth it. They damned well are. I'm just saying it's a bit of a chore.

My best friend used to have a garden. I can remember how she used to pick all those butter beans, and then shell them, and bring them to me all bagged up and ready to cook. I used to tell her that I couldn't believe that she did that for me. I told her that I would shell them myself, but I never refused them when she brought them to me. I loved them and I loved her for doing it.

I visited my father on Sunday and he took me into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door and said, "Now, Bonnie Ann, just you look at that." Well, I did, and my eyes got very, very big. *Gasp* I made the proper sounds of amazement and envy as my eyes feasted on the largest jar of, ..... and this is the important part.....already shelled.... pecans that I had ever seen in my entire life. The jar was positively huge. The kind in which kids can make a terrarium for a school project, the industrial size that school and hospital cafeterias get their mayonnaise in. You could fit a baby in one of those jars. I'm not suggesting that you should try...I'm just saying. (Photo: I tried placing an apple beside the jar for scale. It's still hard to tell how truly large the jar is, but I think you get the point.)

I said, "Dad, where on earth did you get those?" He said, "Well, I grew 'em, of course." When we moved into the house in which my father still lives, back in 1961, my father planted three pecan trees. These were pecans from those very trees, and my 89 year old father had shelled them himself.
.....and now the best part.....drum roll, please.......he then said, " You take 'em home with you now, when you leave. You hear me, don't cha forget 'em." **Hee, hee, not much freakin' chance of that**

I could not believe my luck. Both my sisters are coming to visit next week. He could have given them to either of them or divided them among us. Now, do you think I was going to suggest that to him? All together now.....nooooooo! My father didn't raise any idiots.

Now don't think for one minute that I don't know how long it takes to shell that many pecans and don't think I don't appreciate them. That's my whole point. I really, really do and that's why I'm the one who truly should get them. Right? Right? Isn't that right?

I'm even going to make a couple of pecan pies for my two sisters when they come next week.

How sweet am I? Sweeter'n shuuga!