It is Finished

   This July I have been participating in an online writing camp. The King's Daughters Writing Camp, to be specific. It's been a wonderful experience and such an encouragement to meet likeminded ladies who share my belief and trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. He was the One who gave me my talent and love for writing, and it has been so nice to make new friends who feel the same way. 

   I have had the pleasure of being in this camp for about a month, and what an adventure it's been! 

   And now I am very excited to announce that I met both my goals for the writing camp! And I look forward to joining this lovely group again in the future, God willing!

  

   But all good things --even this writing camp-- must come to an end, right? Well, yes, this camp is, sadly, drawing to a close today, along with the end of this month. However, not all good things come to an end! And the focus of this camp has been on that unending joy we have. It's been on that blessed hope we have that will never draw to an end, never expire, and never dim.

   And that hope is in Jesus Christ. The One who cried "It is finished" on the cross (John 19:30) as He took the price for all our sins upon Himself (Isaiah 53:5) and provided a way of salvation to all those who would believe, turn from those sins they no longer need to be enslaved by, and put their trust and hope in Him (Romans 10:9). What a wonderful message! And this hope does not change.

   This is the One who had gifted me with my ability to write, and I will use my talents for His glory!

Signed,

Martha

Favorite Authors & Books #2

   Hey! I'm back, and this time I'm bearing a recommendation for a kids' book. And as a note, even though it is geared for younger kids, I still like this book a lot! 

It's Mr. Popper's Penguins!

Sensitive content: none

Age recommendation: all ages

My rating: 4 star

   Among others, this is probably one of the most fun kids' books I've ever read. It's very enjoyable, funny, and simple. Even little kiddos can understand and enjoy it. It also has delightful illustrations . . . and we all know how little kids love that! 

I would recommend this to anyone who wants a clean, fun story to read to kiddos . . . or even to themselves!

Signed,

Martha

Behind the Blogger Tag

    I'm very excited about this! I have never done a tag before, but they look like fun, so I guess I'll give it a try! Well, here goes!

                                       Behind the Blogger Tag!

The Rules:

1) Thank the person who nominated you. Thanks, Ellen! 

2) Answer the questions.

3) Ping back to the creator. I had to look on Ellen's blog to see who is was. So . . .Ellyn of Allonsythornraxx 

4) Nominate 5+ bloggers to do the tag!

And now, the questions: 

Why did you start blogging, and why have you kept blogging?

I started blogging because I thought it sounded like a lot of fun . . . and, well, I've kept blogging because as it turns out, it is a lot of fun! 

What is your favorite type of blog post to write?

Hmm. I'd say probably my story snippets. Oh, yes, and the Favorite Books and Authors recommendations! I love to share a good book with other people. I'd say tags, too, but besides this one, I haven't done any others, so I'm not sure it counts.

What are your top three favorite blog posts?

Oh my. I just started my blog about a month ago, and I don't have many posts. Well, well! I guess that means this should be easy! Probably Story Snippet #4,

Salute to Our Country, and Baking Endeavors.

What are some of your favorite things to do to relax?

Curl up on the couch with a good book, have an interesting conversation with my friends, cuddle babies, write, look at old photos of my family and me, go through the neighborhood in December looking at Christmas lights, eat ice cream, and lay in a tent listening to the early-morning rustling noises.

What are three of your favorite things?

Only three?? Hmm. How about a good book, a newborn baby, and the wonderfully refreshing ocean breeze?

What are your proudest blogging moments?

When I first launched my blog, when I published my first post, and when I got my first comment. *grins in remembrance*

What are your hobbies outside of blogging?

Oh, that's a handful. Writing, reading, singing, camping, hiking, country/square dancing (like the Virginia Reel), taking to friends, teasing cats (if you can call that a hobby), holding babies, and helping put up Christmas decorations (though that only comes once a year).

Describe your personality in three words.

Uhhh. I'd need someone else's opinion for this. I don't want to be inaccurate . . . or sound prideful! *hurries off to ask a sister* Okay, got it. I had to mix multiple answers and came up with this: friendly, sensitive, and creative. That's pretty accurate.

What are your top three pet peeves?

Ooooh. Hmm. I'll keep this simple. When my clean folded pile of clothes somehow gets knocked off my bed onto the floor; cats shedding their hair on my clean pillow; and when our bowls get put in the cupboard haphazardly (I like to stack them up strategically, by height).

What is something your followers don't know about you?

Only one?? Okay, I guess I'll have to make this good. Let's see . . . I absolutely love the smell of clothes that come out of a certain closet of ours.

   Whew! I made it through my first tag without messing up (I hope)! Alrighty, now to the people I'm nominating! I know the rules say "5+" people, but so many of my fellow bloggers have already been tagged for this. (Plus, I don't know many bloggers-- I'm new to this.) Also, a random wonderful person informed me that I don't actually have to do that exact amount. (You know who you are. Thanks!) So I tag simply anyone who wants to do it! Any of you who read this blog, that applies to you, if you want it! 

Got another tag lined up for the future, so stay around! 

Signed,

Martha

A Poem

Hello all! I am doing a fairly short post this time. I am simply sharing a poem I just wrote . . . literally, like five or ten minutes ago. I love to write poetry, and ones with true Biblical themes are wonderful! With that said, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please do not copy it without my permission. *smile*

The Ocean’s Master

      (Job 38:10-12) 

What on earth has the eye seen 

That is more vast can sight can tell,  

And mightier than the ocean’s fury, 

With its every wave and swell?

Who measures the water’s limits

And sets boundaries for its place?

What one can fathom the size

Of its every occupied space?

What being can prevent its reach

And set against it bars and doors?

Who bids its proud waves stop, 

Unfazed by the sea’s roars?

There can only be one answer,

Only one capable of such might;

That One is the same being 

Who commands the day and night.

The One who stretches out the heavens,

Who teaches the dawn to know its place;

And commands the sun to reveal itself

And pour its rays on the earthen face.

This Master has unfathomable power ,

And commands all with His rod,

For He is the Creator of everything,

The one and only God.

I hope to post again soon about . . . well, you'll see what it is when I post it.

Signed,

Martha

Baking Endeavors

Okay, this one is about, as the title suggests, my "baking endeavors." Call them what you will, they are the adventures I have had while trying to expand my talents to include baked treats . . . namely, cake. While my decorating skills aren't always working how I'd like them to, I am too stubborn to make a cake and then let someone else frost it because I'm having a hard time. *grin* That habit --coupled with the fact that I tend to forget that if you use a bag of decorator frosting nonstop for too long, your hands will warm it until it turns into decorator slush-- makes for some very interesting cakes. I can't tell you how many times I have had to improvise when my frosting turned to liquid. 

   Anyway, today will be featuring my sugary culinary talents. So if you'd care to take a trip down Bakery Lane with me, here they are:

                          A birthday bumblebee cake.

              A randomly colorful cake... rainbow?

A heart cake with butterfly. 

And these are pictures of swirls I made in the batter before it was baking. Playing with colors on a cake is so much fun!

There's been more, but that's all that I'm sharing for now. Stay tuned; I've been getting more of my story written. A snippet might be just around the corner!   

 

Which cake was your favorite?                                                                 

Signed,                                                                                                    

Martha                                                                                                                                                   

Favorite Authors & Books #1

   Alright, this post is the very beginning of what I hope will turn into an interesting chain of book and author recommendation posts. I won't be posting this every day, of course, but I will try to keep this "Favorite Authors & Books" chain alive by posting at least every once in a while (or more often, if I feel like it *smile*).

I've seen others do posts on new books they've read and liked, and I thought, "Why not me?" I certainly have plenty of books to recommend. 

With that introduction in mind, let the recommending commence!

As of yet, I have not found many a book series that have been able to match or steal this series's spot in my top favorites. . . . 

The Viking Quest Series!

 

   I love this series! Intriguing, well-written, and definitely worth every hour I spent reading them. They are clean, Christian books that I would recommend to anyone (if you know me very well, you can attest to this!). Lois Walfrid Johnson does an amazing job of drawing the reader in and making them feel as if they are really there. One can almost smell the salt of the sea, feel the wind in their face, see the vast glittering fjords, and behold the fierce Viking ships. 

All of the books I don't have any caution for, but I will note that some mild romance officially enters the picture in the 4th and 5th books, Heart of Courage and The Raider's Promise. But they are very mild and appropriate. There is no kissing or anything. The most "romantic" thing that happens in any of the books is a young man put an arm around a young lady's shoulder briefly (and maybe briefly holds her hand a few times).

Sensitive content: none 

Age recommendation: 10+

My rating: 5 stars

   This is the starting book of the series. It follows Bree O'Toole and her capture by the dreaded Norwegian Vikings. 

Sensitive content: none

Age recommendation: 10+

My rating: 5 stars

   Bree is aboard the Viking ship and bound for Norway, the home of her young, proud captor, Mikkel. Tensions heighten between not only Bree and Mikkel, but a new enemy is introduced: someone who wants revenge on the young ship captain (also Mikkel).

   

Sensitive content: none

Age recommendation: 10+

My rating: 5 stars

   Bree arrives at Norway, and finds herself a slave to Mikkel's mother. She longs to be free, but is bound by her promise to not run away. While there, she is reunited with someone she thought she'd never seen again. Her brother, Devin, arrives with a ransom for her, but will they accept it? 

Sensitive content: some (very) mild romance

Age recommendation: 10+

My rating: 5 stars

   Bree and Dev, in exchange for Bree's freedom, agree to go with Mikkel on adventures to distant lands. They face an enemy within the ship's own crew and other dangers of the seas. Will Bree win her freedom after all, or will she always be a slave?

Sensitive content: some (very) mild romance

Age recommendation: 10+

My rating: 5 stars

   Bree, who once longed to returned to Ireland and resume the life she had, has changed. She finds herself excited to go on expeditions with Lief Erikson and explore new lands.

   Mikkel, with his newfound Christian faith, has changed, too. He made a promise to Bree to return her to her home in Ireland after the voyage . . . but will he keep his promise? 

   Okay, first. of. all. I love, love, love the character development in these books. Bree grows stronger in God. Dev grows wiser. And Mikkel . . . ! He goes through a tremendous amount of change. They all grow and learn so much. 

   Also . . . Mikkel is an amazing character. So is Dev. And Keely. And . . . yeah, I pretty much adore 95% of the characters in all the books. Of course, there are people who get on my nerves. But what would a book be with no antagonists?

   Honestly, these books are right up there at the top of my favorites list. I can read them over and over again and it doesn't lessen the enjoyment or anticipation. However, I won't refrain from pointing out that while I like each of these, book 5, The Raider's Promise, has got to be my favorite out of all of them. Book 3 is really good too, though . . . nope, book 5 is definitely the best!

And there's a lot of Christian content throughout the series!

Have you read any of these?

Signed,

Martha

Story Snippet #4

   And now the time has come for the last part of the last full chapter in Going Ballistic to be revealed. Alas, I have no other full chapters written as of yet, so this is the last I'll be sharing of this story for a bit. Don't worry, though, I'll find something else to post about. (Hmmm. How does a book series recommendation sound? Well, I'll think on it. Sounds like fun, and trust me, I've got plenty of good books to recommend!) Anyway, please enjoy this last Going Ballistic snippet.

Previously:

She returned holding a small red container. She pulled out a thin glass stick. “You need to take your temperature.” She handed the thermometer to me.

  I took it gingerly. Well, here goes.

To be continued:

   A few minutes later, the thermometer was back in Mom’s hands. Holding it up to the light, she examined it. Her eyebrow rose an inch and she turned to me with a slightly worried expression. “One hundred point nine degrees.” She looked at me searchingly. “Were you around anyone sick at school?”

   “I try not to be,” I said. “If they were, I didn’t know.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is one hundred point nine bad?”

   “Well, it’s enough for me to send you back to bed,” she replied, giving me a gentle push. “Go on then. I’ll be there in a bit.”

   I might feel lousy, but I don’t want to be cooped up in bed on a Saturday! I opened my mouth to protest, but then I heard Ballistic making noise in Emm’s bedroom doorway. Suddenly bed sounded like a wonderful safe haven. “Okay,” I agreed quickly, hurrying down the hall. 

   I passed Emm, who was standing in her doorway with Ballistic sitting on one shoulder. She took one look at me and asked, “What’s wrong, Jimmy?”

   I didn’t say anything. I just pressed myself up against the wall and squeezed past the two of them, avoiding the monkey in particular. When I reached my door, I swung it open and slipped inside. Not bothering to change my clothes, I fell into my bed. My head raged in protest when it smacked into the pillow. I winced and shifted so that I was lying on my side. The closet door loomed up in front of me. What if Emm came through the closet? I did not want some crazy animal screeching in my face when I woke up next. I felt terrible enough. 

   I eased myself out of bed and crept to the closet door. I moved my padded chair in front of it and returned to bed. The pounding in my head lessened a bit when it touched the pillow, and I instantly relaxed. Closing my eyes, I willed sleep to come and take me away . . . and hearing the far-away monkey sounds, I wished it would take Ballistic away too.

                 

                                     * * *

   A small clicking sound roused me from a deep and troubled sleep. I cracked an open and rolled onto my back. The noise ceased. 

   Puzzled, I rose up on one elbow and forced my other heavy eyelid open. Moving like that was a mistake, and I immediately began to pay for it with a twisting in my stomach and a throbbing between my eyes. Rubbing my forehead gently, I eased myself back down so that I was lying flat on my back once again. Letting out a sigh, I closed my eyes.

   The scratching sound that erupted a few seconds later was most definitely real. As sick as I was, I had assumed it was my imagination. But as I jerked upright and looked around frantically, I knew it was real. Someone was creeping around in my room.

   The noise stopped once again. This frightened me even more, as I swiveled my head in every direction, searching for the culprit. A feeling of dread rose in my throat and threatened to cut off my breath. I couldn’t see anyone!

   Finally I mustered up enough courage to speak. “Who’s there?” The question came out as a high, quivering squeak. When I received no response, I gingerly pushed myself up farther and began searching the ceiling. Maybe I was just hearing creaks from inside the attic. Maybe Dad was getting something from up there. That’s probably all it was. 

   It’s okay. You’re okay, I told myself, easing back under the covers. There’s no-

   Just then, my lamp flew off my nightstand and landed on the floor with a crash. Heart thumping, I tore off my covers and leapt from my bed. I winced as my bare feet touched the ground off balance, sending me tumbling to the ground. My whole body ached. It was as if someone had strapped me down to the road and had people step all over me. Groaning, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. Just above the spot where I had been laying only moments before, I could see a small dark something lurking on my shelf above my headboard. Because I couldn’t think straight, it cued all images of my childhood fears. Monsters that crept through my window and stole my prized baseball. Strange creatures that were full of foreign diseases. 

   Stop it! I mentally hissed. I didn’t want to feel like an overreacting baby, but honestly, I wanted my mother. My mother had always told me that my fears were only scary because I thought of them that way. I was the one who made them frightening. So I stood up on my wobbly legs and faced the creature boldly. “What-”

   The next second, the thing launched itself off my shelf, revealing its true monkey colors. Letting out a happy screech, it reached out its arms toward me. 

   But Ballistic’s screech was drowned out by another sound. It only took me about two seconds to figure out what the louder, bone-chilling scream was coming from. And as the monkey reached me and threw his long, hairy arms around my neck, the horrifying sound rose to become one of the most high-pitched shrieks I’ve ever heard come from my own mouth. 

   “Mom!”

Signed,

Martha

Story Snippet #3

   Hello, hello, hello! I am back, with the third snippet I'll be sharing from Going Ballistic. This time, it is beginning at the second chapter. As usual, please don't copy any of it. Enjoy!!

Chapter Two

   I woke the following morning with a headache. At first, I figured it was because I’d just woken up and had a stuffy head from sleeping. But as I sat up, I realized it was much worse than that. The dull ache exploded into an all-out war inside my skull. I felt like someone had dropped a nuclear bomb on my head and somehow my brain absorbed all its energy. 

   Groaning, I rolled out of bed and hurried to my bathroom. Leaning into the mirror, I pressed a hand to my forehead. Not only did my face look warm and flushed, but I also felt hot. I quickly drew my palm away from my head and stared at the short, quivering brown-haired boy staring back at me. I just knew it. I’m allergic to monkeys.

   That must be it. I felt fine yesterday. But last night, I had started to feel a bit queasy whenever I was forced to be around Ballistic. I had brushed off my growing concern, telling myself I probably just had a mild case of food poisoning or maybe dehydration. But when I crept into bed last night, the queasiness had settled in my stomach and slowly morphed into a horrible gnawing on the inside of my belly. Never had it occurred to me that I just might be allergic to the very thing we --well, Mom, Dad, and Emm, that is, not me-- had welcomed into our home.

   Now I took one look into my mirror and began to panic. I was overheating due to an allergic reaction to Ballistic! Hurriedly switching my faucet on to its coldest, I cupped my hands under the stream of water and gulped it down, not caring that I wasn’t drinking filtered tap water from the kitchen. The only result I got was shortness of breath and a strange clogging in my throat. Gasping, I yanked my head back up and allowed the excess water to spew from my mouth into the bathroom sink. I examined my face in the mirror and found, to my horror, that the flush in my cheeks had not gone away. I slapped a dripping wet hand to my forehead. I planned to feel it to see if it was still hot and was rewarded instead with a heavenly coolness that radiated from my hand all the way down to my neck. Oh wait . . that was because the water was sliding down my face to my chest in little rivulets, soaking my nightshirt.

   Swiping at the water, I rushed back into my bedroom and began to dress. 

   I’d better tell Mom about my allergy to Ballistic as soon as possible. Maybe we can get him out of the house today . . . before I get so bad I can’t breathe or something, I told myself, pulling on the lightest T-shirt I owned. Then I meticulously combed my hair off to the side before dashing out of the bedroom and closing the door with a bang. By this time, I was breathing hard, and I felt hotter than ever. Plus, now I could feel my sweat mixing with the water still on my damp neck. 

   “Slow down,” I chided myself, remembering my tendency to hyperventilate. “You wouldn’t want to pass out before you have a chance to tell Mom about the issue.” But the thought of me fainting increased my pace, and also my heart rate.

   I hurried into the kitchen, where Mom was slapping the traditional Saturday morning pancakes onto the hot griddle. “Mom!” I croaked.

   She turned to see what was the matter, and as soon as she caught sight of her distraught, quivering son, her jaw dropped. Plunking the spatula onto the counter, she rushed over to me. “What on earth?”

   Grabbing my arm, she propelled me to the dining table and forced me to sit down in one of the chairs. “Jimmy, what in the world is wrong?” She raised her pleasantly cool hand to my burning forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

   “No!” I garbled, shaking my sweaty head. “I’m al-geric to Bastillic!”

   Mom looked like she’d swallowed a frog. “You’re what?”

   “I’m allergic to Ballistic!” I said, clearly this time. “I woke up with a headache and I was hot, and I’m sure it is from Ballistic. I should’ve known I was allergic to monkeys!”

   A smile crept across Mom’s face. She turned away, apparently trying to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh at me. Of course. Only Mom took me seriously, but occasionally, it seemed she would forget my sensitivity to . . . well, everything.

   “Mom, it’s not funny!” I exclaimed, slapping a hand onto the table. “Do you think I’m making it up?”

  Mom whirled back around, a grin playing on her lips. “Jimmy,” she said gently, sliding an arm around my back and making me stand up, “You are right. You might be sick. But I doubt it is from an allergy to Ballistic. Why would you be allergic to monkeys?”

   Her common sense helped me to calm down. I took a deep breath. “If it’s not Ballistic, then why have I suddenly gotten sick the day after he moved in?” 

   “I don’t know. You probably picked it up from school,” she replied, massaging my back with her knuckles. “If you really are that bad, you’d better go back to bed.” 

   Now that I was out of bed, I didn’t want to get back in! Maybe . . . maybe I wasn’t sick after all? 

“Actually,” I said, trying to forget the fact that a few seconds ago I was in hysterics, “maybe I’m okay. You’re right; it’s probably not the monkey.”

   “Oh no, you don’t,” Mom answered, serious again. “You’re not sick from the monkey, but you’ve caught something, nonetheless.” She pressed her hand to my forehead, cheeks, and then neck. Then she turned and scurried down the hall. “Watch the pancakes!” She called over her shoulder. 

   She returned holding a small red container. She pulled out a thin glass stick. “You need to take your temperature.” She handed the thermometer to me.

  I took it gingerly. Well, here goes.

Signed,

Martha

Salute to Our Country

Sorry for being a day late, but I couldn't very well make a post of this if I had no pictures . . thus, the belated post. Oh, and as another note, these pictures are all mine. Please do not take any of them. Thanks! Now please enjoy this extra-long post!  

   Hello, friends! Well! If yesterday wasn't exciting, I don't know what is! The games, prizes, expectation hanging thick in the air, and, of course, those beautiful colors of our national flag--red, white, and blue! And I could go on and on about it, but, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. And while I love to write words, I feel that cutting down each thousand-word description into a picture is much more efficient . . . and fun! So with that, enjoy these descriptions of the:

Decorations!! Because what party would the 4th of July be with no decorations, right?

                                                                              

                                                                               

                                                                                                           

Furry guest! Meet the sweet, silly little girl that, I am sure, was pleased as punch to be present at the festivities!

                                                                               

Activities! I haven't room to describe all of them, but I will mention the especially important ones!

Who doesn't love a good water balloon war?

                                                                               

    And, of course, the beloved campfire! 

                                                                               

And . . this thing! Our own homemade piñata!

                                                                               

Before I go any further, I must clarify a few things. The credit for the creation of that piñata goes to my older sister. While I would love to take some credit for it, I cannot. I merely stuck the tissue paper "stars" on it and gave my big sis the pieces of tape she needed. *rubs the tip of my finger in remembrance* She did an amazing job! I must admit, it was kind of sad to watch others beat up that work of art. *grin* With that, on to the next thing. . . .

Those awe-inspiring bombs of sky-glitter we like to call . . . *cues drumroll* . . . fireworks! And let me tell you, they were causing the sky to be covered with brilliant lights, the air to be covered with the unmistakeable scent of smoke, and my ears to be covered with earmuffs! But oh! They made me dash madly all over the place, desperately trying to snap some good pictures. And to my delight, my racing around crazily resulted in photos that turned out better then I'd expected! So here they are, so you can see them, too. Stand back and enjoy the show!

                                                                               

.                                                                              

                                                                               

                                                                               

This one came out strange, but when I actually looked at it, I realized I liked it.

                                                        

Well, that's all of the virtual journey. All that's left for me to do is wish you all a Happy Independence Day and give a heartfelt salute to our country. As I said yesterday to one of my siblings,

"As long as there is breath in me, God is my King, the USA is my country, and I am still a patriot!"

Signed,

Martha

Story Snippet to be Continued

   Hello all! Well, today's post will be featuring the second part of the previous story snippet, as promised. This will be finishing Chapter One of Going Ballistic. Enjoy!

Previously. . . 

I cowered in my room while Emm got her new pet settled. Upon hearing his chattering in the room next to me, I crossed my arms over my chest and fervently hoped that monkeys can't break through walls.

To be continued. . .

When I next came out of my room, Ballistic was nowhere in sight and Emm was setting the table and talking at one hundred miles per hour. 

   “Ballistic is just wonderful, Mommy,” Emm was saying, “and I showed him my room, and he just loved it; he climbed up to my dresser, right on top of my dresser, and he grinned, Mommy, actually grinned, like a person, and I could tell he was so happy he couldn’t even-”

   I just rolled my eyes and gingerly took my seat at the table, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of monkey business. Then Mom called out, “Honey, supper’s on the table!” and Dad came sauntering down the hall.

   When we were all seated, Dad said the blessing and Mom reached for the food. 

   “Emm, sweetie, why don’t you tell Dad about how Ballistic is settling in?” Mom suggested, taking my outstretched plate and heaping it with noodles and alfredo sauce.

   Emm perked up immediately at Mom’s words and turned to Dad, setting her plate back down with a plunk. “Oh, yes, Dad. Ballistic is wonderful. I love him so much, and he’s like a baby doll, only more furry and alive.”

   And more terrifying, I added silently, scooping myself some cherries.

   “I kind of wish I could dress him up pretty and name him Princess, like I did to my last hamster, but I can’t because Ballistic is a boy and you don’t name boys Princess.” Emm sighed. “But then I thought maybe I could buy him britches, little boys’s britches, and put a little shirt and bow tie on him, and then he’d be a little gentleman instead of a little lady.” She turned to Mom pleadingly. “You do have old baby clothes from when Jimmy was a baby, right?” She sent me a concerned look, as if she was afraid she’d offended me by mentioning that I was once a baby.

   I gave a nonchalant shrug and turned back to my meal.

   Mom looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Yes, I still have Jimmy’s baby clothes, but you may not have them to put on your monkey. While Ballistic would probably look very smart in a bow tie, I don’t think it would be a good idea to dress up an animal like that.”

   Emm’s lower lip formed a pout. “Oh,” she murmured, disappointed, “But I don’t want a naked monkey.”

   I nearly choked on my glass of milk. Snatching up my napkin, I held it to my face and began to cough and sputter into it. A naked monkey?

   Dad’s face also registered his amusement. “He’s not naked, baby,” he assured Emm, his lip twitching, “Monkeys have fur, so they don’t need to wear clothes. He can, however, wear a halter.”

   “What’s that, Dad?” Emm asked.

   “It’s kind of like a collar that circles the animal’s chest and you can attach a leash to it,” Dad explained.

   “That’s a good idea,” Mom approved, holding out her hand to take Emm’s empty plate. “That way we won’t have Ballistic going wherever he wants with no way to catch him.”

   “And that way, we can drag him out of my bedroom if he comes into it and ruins it,” I added helpfully. 

   Emm turned to me with a frown. “He wouldn’t do such a thing. You’re such a pestimiss, Jimmy.”

   “It’s ‘pessimist’, Emm,” Mom corrected her, “and you don’t need to be rude to your brother. He’s making a valid point. If Ballistic goes somewhere he isn’t supposed to, we need a way to get him out.”

   “I guess,” Emm reluctantly agreed, taking her now-full plate from Mom. “But I’m sure he’d listen to me. I bet I could get him out easy enough . . . even without a halter.”

   “Still,” Dad said with finality, “I want that monkey to have a halter with a leash. I’ll pick up one tomorrow on the way home.”

   Thank goodness, I thought, finishing my lump of noodles. If we were going to have such a wild and unpredictable animal in the house, we would definitely need a way to control it . . . and most importantly, to keep it out of my bedroom!

I'm planning on posting about the Fourth, so stay around, and I'll put something up in a few days!

Signed,

Martha