Ice Cream Sandwich Cake (a.k.a. Premarital Counseling Cake)

A box of ice cream sandwiches
Your favorite ice cream (preferably one that complements the chocolate in the i.c. sandwiches)
Cool Whip
Hershey's chocolate syrup


You can make this in a 13 x 9 or an 8x 8 depending on how many you're serving.

Take ice cream out to thaw for just a few minutes.
Lay the ice cream sandwiches side-by-side in bottom of pan. Usually there's a half leftover (aww, what to DO with it?).
Scoop and plop ice cream all over the layer of sandwiches. Press to make an even layer, as thick as you like.
Spread Cool Whip over that in an even layer, as much as desired.
Squeeze chocoloate syrup over the Cool Whip, in either a modern, random design, a geometric design, or write a message such as "Welcome Home, Baby" (which can either go to your spouse after a hard day's work, or a newborn, whichever is suitable for the occasion).

Freeze it till ready to serve. This dessert takes all of 5 minutes to put together and always gets rave reviews.

Yike Ben

Joel at age three looks up (and up and up) at his six-foot-six, 17-year-old brother Ben (who never wears a belt except in public). Joel notices all the details and wants to copy them. Mostly in the hair and wardrobe departments. Here are some live examples from our household:

1) Every time I put Joel's shorts on him up to his waistline, he shoves them down a few inches so that the top of his Pull-up or underwear shows. "Yike Ben, " he insists.

2) Before he went to his visit Pappaw and Ima last week, he climbed up on the toilet, ran tap water on his fingers, and slicked his hair down. "Yike Ben," he told me.

3) He wants to have "pikey hair yike Ben's." (The front spikes forward.)

4) He likes to go shirtless but never shortless.

5) Muscle shirts (tank tops) yike Ben's are "weally cool."

6) He "works out" yike Ben. He takes a cup of ice water down to the basement and sets it on a high shelf. Then he turns up the music , picks up the two heaviest objects he can lift, raises them over his head, puffing and blowing out rhythmically for a few reps. After this little imitation of Ben, he walks around with hands on his hips, sometimes wiping sweat off his brow.
When he's finished, he reaches for a 32 oz Gatorade in the fridge and tries to guzzle it before anyone notices he hasn't asked and isn't using a glass.

7) He loves to wear Ben's lacrosse gear. Never mind that the helmet rests like an inverted Colisseum on his little shoulders or that the gloves skim his armpits or that the size 14 cleats smell like...well, size 14 cleats.

As a mother who has watched her first son grow up so incredibly fast, I can only say, "Slow down, Joel. Please slow down. You'll be as big as Ben before I know it."

A Big Bit

Somethings are just so cute when said by a young'un. Today I was lying next to Joel, reading a book for naptime. Normally he takes his nap in my queen size bed, but today we opted for Stephen's twin bed since all Joel's new library books were in there in that room. I began to read a hilarious book called "The Web Files" (which you must read even if you don't have kids) and Joel said, "Pwease 'coot over a yittle bit--or a big bit."

Is it just me, or is that not adorable?

Bloggers' Brunch

To Laurie, Karen, Briana, Amanda, Abby, Libby, and Danielle--
I want to invite you all over for a Bloggers' Brunch at my house one day in July (NOT the 10th or 13th). I am wanting to do it on a day when most of you could make it. If you would like to come, please leave a comment saying whether a Saturday or a Tuesday (like 11 a.m) would work better for you. I realize there probably isn't a day that'll shine for everyone, but when I get a majority vote, I'll be sending out official invites. I'm thinking of making it a salad luncheon where everyone brings a different kind for everyone else to try, and we can exchange recipes.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

You Know You've Been Blogging Too Long When...

Yesterday I was thrumbing through the book of Matthew en route to the first chapter, when my eyes landed on the bold headings of one of the passages.

The passage was "Lame Beggar Healed" but my mind read it as "Lame Blogger Healed."

"God, heal my lame blogs," I said. I think I heard Him chuckling, too.

Am I Gonna Die?

It was just after noon on a late May day a few years ago. My younger sister Jill was scheduled to graduate from UMBC (summa cum laude in English!!) and the ceremony was about to take place at an arena on Howard Street. My dad was driving his car, and the passengers were my three children and me. We were making good time (for a change) and had maybe 25 minutes to find a parking space.

We were on Howard Street, a one-way street with three or four lanes. We were in the next-to-the-right-hand lane. Traffic was thick but steady. The sun was blinding overhead and the Baltimore air was typically hot and humid.

As we crept along, there was a tan SUV to our right, and we were both about 50 yards from the intersection. Jsut then I saw a group of black kids horsing around on the curb. In a split second I saw one boy step into the street and then I heard a squeal and a thud.

"Daddy, stop the car! I think that boy just got hit! Pull over!" My dad complied without question. I jumped out of the car and ran around the stopped SUV to witness a young black boy lying on his back in the street, next to the curb. He was conscious and talking. The driver and her passenger were clearly shaken, saying something about not seeing him, it happened so fast.

Immediately I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit.

"Hi, honey," I said to the stricken boy (hoping my voice wasn't shaking). I felt calm but yet there was a sense of urgency about his possible injuries. He was moaning and holding his abdomen. Bits of gravel stuck to his palms.

"Am I gonna die?" he asked me.

"No, honey. You're going to be okay. What's your name?"

"Terrell," he said. "What's yours?"

"My name is Miss Zo and I'm here to help you."

"Are you an angel?"

"No, I'm not an angel, but God has sent me to you to tell you He loves you."

" Am I gonna die?"

I repeated, "No, you're okay, just hurt. May I pray for you?"

"I can't see!" he said. "I can't see you!" My immediate thought was that he had a concussion from hitting the pavement so hard, and that it was affecting his vision. Then I observed again that the sun was directly overhead so I blocked it with my body.

"Now I can see!" he said, relieved. "You wanna pray for me?"

"Yes I do. Will you hold my hand?" I wiped the gravel away gently and prayed out loud. By this time a small crowd had gathered and I could hear sirens approaching. I prayed a simple prayer asking God that Terrell would feel better soon, that He would give peace to him and his brothers, peace to the driver, and wisdom to the paramedics.

One of the bystanders was a white man in his 50s, I'd say, and he was hovering over the boy. The man's hair was silvery white.

Again Terrell asked, "Am I gonna die?"

Holding a lock of white hair away from his head, the man said, "No, you won't die till your hair turns white." The crowd giggled and the boy smiled. I guess Terrell figured that he had years as a black man ahead of him till his hair turned white. The man sort of took over as conversationalist while I gathered the phone number of his mother from a brother and a cell phone to call her.(I didn't succeed except to leave a message that her son had been in an accident and gave her the name of the hospital.) Then I put my arm around the older brother who kept saying, "It's all my fault. I dared him! It's all my fault." I assured him we all understood it was an accident and that Terrell was going to be okay. He let out a few sobs and I kept my arm around him until he was calm.

"Terrell, I called your mom. The paramedics are going to take you the hospital and the doctors are going to check you out, okay?"


Then he said words I'll never forget: "Will you go with me?"

I paused. For a moment I wondered, "CAN I go with him?" Then I remembered the graduation, which seemed so trivial at the moment.

"Well, I might be able to visit you, but they won't let me go in the ambulance. They'll take good care of you. And," I added, "God will go with you."

"Okay," he said, weakly. My heart was ripped open. I wanted to climb into the back of the ambulance with him and hold his dirty, bloodstained hand all the way to the hospital until his mother could get there.

But I had peace as the pros took over. God's presence was with both of us--all of us--on Howard Street.

Merry Maids?

This week in our house we've been steadily working away preparing for out-of-town guests. For those who excel at housekeeping and keeping their cool at the same time, this blog is not for you.

For the rest of you, or for those who need a little more levity today, read on.

Yesterday was Wash Laundry Day, Clean the First Level Day, and Scrub Two-out-of-Three Bathrooms Day. The evening was Wash the Vehicles Inside and Out Time. I pulled a Tom Sawyer, actually, when it came time to assign the vehicle washing. One of Stephen's friends came over to hang out, but I was enjoying my porch swing and felt like watching others work. I was exhausted from cleaning. So I said, "Hey, Andy, how would you like to help Stephen wash the van?" He smiled a half smile and didn't answer, which means, "not really," but I said Stephen couldn't play till it was done. "And I'll buy you a snowball." He grabbed the hose. Stephen grabbed the car soap and began lathering the van with white suds. Lots of white suds.

About that time, Joel returned from Chuck E. Cheese where my parents had taken him. (A Las Vegas daycare, right?) He jumped into the action of getting wetter than the van. Together the three of them did such a good job that I didn't recognize it when I came out of Klein's today. Shining emerald is not what I am used to. I have grown accustomed to thinking of my van as Dusty Sage.

This morning I was trying to have a serious, uninterrupted phone call with the pastor. At one point Joel came into my bedroom, proceeded into the bathroom, and then made a little noise. No biggie. It wasn't till he was quiet for too long that I was concerned. I excused myself momentarily to check on him.

I walked into my bathroom that yesterday I had scrubbed, scoured, sprayed and declared a work of art. There I discovered Joel shaking baby powder
all over something on the bathroom counter.

"What are you DOING?" I exclaimed. I could barely see the outline of a green matchbox car under the avalanche.

"I'm washing my car," he said matter-of-factly, "yike we did yestuhday."

I was torn by the maternal decision: laugh or spank him. Well, since it wasn't the first baby-powder-on-everything incident, he got the spanking. I returned to my phone call, and Jason was laughing. "Grace, grace," was all he said. I'm wondering if I would've shown less restraint had he not been able to hear me in the background?

"Hot Together Wormy" Lyrics Get New Twist

If you haven't read Laurie's blog called "Quotable Kids," click on Ordinary Mother link in the sidebar, do read the post called "Hot Together Wormy" before reading this. (It'll make you laugh AND understand the following better.)

Maggie's lyrics made me laugh again as I was gardening this week--except there was a little twist to them.

Here was the scene: 120 degrees outside, wind gusts at zero, no shade, and out of town company coming in six days. Garden's a priority. I had been gardening since 9:30 and had only stopped for lunch and two short trips to Home Depot. At quarter till four, I was preparing the soil for petunias and mulch. Naturally I had to extricate a lot of weeds first, and was using a handy-dandy tool I call the claw. It's not THE CLAW as advertised on QVC, but it's a hand tool with three thick, sharp prongs on one end (for chopping thru hard clods) and a thick, sharp blade on the other (which makes quick work of tough weeds and digs small holes quite well).

So there I was, hacking and digging, hacking and digging, in a rather rhythmic, sadistic way with this vicious claw, when lo and behold I saw an earthworm wriggling and writhing six inches from the blade. Call me anthropomorphic, but I really do think I heard the worm scream,"Mercy! Mercy!" and, "Please let me rest in peace, not in pieces!"

I stopped my swing in mid-air as Maggie's lyrics rushed to my mind. But instead of "hot together wormy," the words I heard in my head were about keeping this "hot wormy together." I knew I'd be the worm if I split him, even if he could regenerate body parts.

I started chuckling, then snorting, then wheezing. And no one was around.The funny thing was it wasn't THAT funny, but I couldn't stop honking. That's when you know it's time to get out of the sun, hang up your tools, and hope your neighbors haven't already started dialing 1-800-WACK-0.

Deez'you

I have four kids, three of whom are teens, and one who is three. When Joel, the three-year-old, began to say the names of his siblings, I understood "Sa" (Sarah) and liked "Babbaw" (his name for Stephen), but I was mystified as to why he called Ben (his oldest brother) "Deez'you."

That is, until one day I was calling down the stairs to Ben who was in the basement. (I hoped he was doing schoolwork as it was 10 a.m. on a weekday.) I asked, "Ben, did you switch the clothes over to the dryer?" He answered that he had. "Did you put that dark load into the washer?" Eureka! Before he could answer, I had figured out how Joel thought his brother's name was "Deez'you." He had heard me say many times to his siblings, "Did you do this, did you do that?"

How humbling! It made me stop and think how often I communicate with my kids based on what they've done or should be doing rather than about what they're thinking or how they're feeling.

But we got a good laugh out of Joel's nomenclature.

Old Friend, New Blogger

Hey, everyone--
Please say hi to my friend, Barb. We've known each other since third grade when I was a PK in Kansas. I just visited her and convinced her to start blogging. Stop by www.imjustasmalltowngirl.blogspot.com

Thanks!

I, E, Take U, O

Paul and I attended a family wedding this evening. It was a lovely outdoor wedding. Hot, but lovely. As we were sitting there waiting for the ceremony to start, guests were reading the wedding program. My sister-in-law who was seated near me chuckled. At first it was a polite little snicker, but when she nearly snorted, I knew something had tickled her. She leaned over to us and pointed out a funny typo: "Exchanging of Vowels."

Donna says to me, "What are they gonna say, 'I'll trade you an A for an E'?"

"Creative" Memories for Sure

You'd think after practically raising three kids that I would stop asking that rhetorical and ridiculous question, "Why'd you DO that?" I tried it on my three- year-old today (it slipped out during a mini-crisis) -- and I got a hilarious answer that defused the bomb. Here was the scene:

I had left one of my Creative Memories markers on the kitchen table in the middle of the night. (Couldn't sleep, so I graded papers till 4:15.) While I was clearing away breakfast dishes and paying no attention to Joel, he got ahold of the marker and began to tattoo his left arm with multiple brown swirls, jagged lines, and other graffiti. When I finally noticed (that is, by the time he had a veritable spider web drawn from wrist to elbow, I gasped.

"Joel! Why'd you DO that?!"

He chirped, "Sorrrrrryy. I was bored."