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THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Stacey explained to Karley, 5, that a nectarine is a fruit that is
part peach and part plum. A few weeks went by and one day when they had
finished swimming Karley sat down on her beach towel and started eating a
nectarine. Karley was examining it carefuly. "Mommy, where is the plum?
Karley asked. "You said it was part peach and part plum and I''m looking
for the plum!" -- Stacey Lowery of Gatesville, Texas
After Sunday School, while escorting Chessie, 4, to her grandmother,
Sandra noticed Chessie was pulling at her tights. Sandra asked her what
was wrong and Chessie replied, "My ''fanny-hose'' are falling. I hate
''fanny-hose!''" -- Sandra Hester of Raymond, Mississippi
Maureen was helping with Vacation Bible School. The theme was "God''s
All-Star Champions" so they had sports-related activities. Sister Sharon
wanted the kids to get in the sports spirit, and since Denver has six
professional sports teams, she asked what the name of the place is where
the Colorado Avalanche (hockey) play (Pepsi Center), where the Denver
Broncos (football) play (Invesco Field at Mile High) and where the Colorado
Rockies (baseball) play (Coors Field). The kids were doing great until she
asked where the Nuggets (basketball) play. One first grader raised his
hand and said, "At McDonalds!" -- Maureen of Aurora, Colorado
Aimee, 2, was pretending to put her mother to bed. She covered her
mother up, went to shut the door and on the way out said, "Night, night,
Mommy, shreams." (Sweet dreams!) Then she said, "Later." -- Liz Serich of
Westland, Michigan
Also, when Aimee was 2 she walked around the house saying "Yep-sure."
Her parents couldn''t figure out what she was saying. Finally they realized
she was trying to say "Yes Sir!"
Ann has seven grandchildren. The two youngest live in Connecticut.
Last spring their parents took them to Scottsdale, Arizona, to a theme
park. Since they were so close they rented a car and drove about three
hours to the Grand Canyon. The boys would rather have been at the water
park. When they finally got there, Mike, 7, said, "You mean we drove all
this way just to see a hole in the ground?" -- Ann Resor of Spencerville,
Indiana
Last summer, Ann''s grandchildren were driving home from Connecticut.
They stopped for the night and went to a nearby restaurant to eat. It was
one of the places that serve peanuts on every table and the customers throw
the shells on the floor. After dinner, as they were leaving, Alex, 5,
announced, "THIS PLACE IS A DUMP!"
Here is another story from Ann. Many years ago her grandson Adam was
helping his sister do the dishes. There was a badly scorched pan and he
looked for scouring powder but couldn''t find any. He told his mom and she
said, "I guess you will just have to use elbow grease." A few minutes
later she found Adam searching under the sink for "elbow grease!" (Adam was
married a few weeks ago.)
Anthony, 5, was in church when some visitors from Germany came in. He
asked his mother if he could meet them. She said OK, and he went over and
had a nice conversation. "Were they nice?" his mother asked when he came
back. "Were they friends?" (His mother always tells him that people we
know are "friends" and people we don''t know are "strangers.") Anthony
replied, "No, they''re married." -- Pamela (mother of Anthony) of San
Francisco, California
Justin, 5, loves the breakfast crescent rolls that Lynn''s fiance''
sometimes makes. He puts cream cheese and cinnamon in them before baking.
The other day, Justin came running to his mother and said "Mom, you''ve got
to try one of these rolls -- they''re so good! These have extra crescent in
them!" (He thought crescent was the name of the filling.) -- Lynn Bowie
(mother of Justin) of Gonzales, Louisiana

SISSY BOYS
by Roger Dean Kiser
As we kids left the dining room at the orphanage, my friend David
"Freddie" Hutchins came running up to me.
"Roger, I got something that I want to show you," he stated.
"What is it?" I asked him.
"Can''t show you until tonight. But you have to cross your heart that
you will never tell anyone. NEVER! Ok?" he said.
"Ok," I replied.
I waited all the way until bedtime, but David never came to see me.
"Roger, wake up," said David, as he shook me awake.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Come with me. I want to show you something important," he told me.
I followed David, on my tip-toes, through the hallway. Down the
backstairs we went until we reached the large door next to the telephone
room. He unlocked the door very carefully and outside we went.
We made our way over to a fifteen foot tree which we always called
"The Christmas Tree." David got down on his knees and he began to dig.
Within a minute he retrieved a small tin box which he had buried. He sat
down on the ground and he pried off the lid. Then he took out the contents
of the box.
"Gosh! That''s only for girls," I told him.
"I know. But it''s something for us to do," he said.
What David said was true. We had no toys and there was nothing for us
kids to do, except work all the time. Every day was spent raking the large
grounds of the orphanage -- that, together with cleaning toilets, and
washing pots and pans.
Almost every night David and I would sneak out of the building and dig
up the small tin box. For about an hour we would play with the contents.
Almost every night David would remind me that we could never tell anyone
about what we were doing.
David and I were about thirteen, or fourteen, when the orphanage sent
the two of us off to the Florida School for Boys Reform School, at
Marianna.
When we arrived at the school we were sent to the main office, where
we sat for almost an hour. David and I were both scared and said not a
word to anyone.
"OK, you two follow me over to Mr. Curry''s office," said a large man
who only had one arm.
"Who''s Mr. Curry?" David asked the man.
"Curry is the school psychologist. He will make the decision on were
you boys will be assigned," he told us.
When we entered the small building we were instructed to stand with
our noses in the corner. About ten minutes later were were taken into Mr.
Curry''s office.
There sitting at a large wooden desk was a balding, heavy-set man in
his fifties. He was one mean looking man. He had big bushy eyebrows and
eyes that stuck out from their sockets. David and I just sat there staring
at him.
Are either of you two "sissy-boys?" asked Mr. Curry.
David and I just sat there looking at one another, wondering the
entire time what the heck it was that he was talking about. Neither one of
us said a word to him.
"Sissy-boys, sissy-boys," he said again. Still the both of us just
sat there staring at him.
He swung around in his large wooden chair and then he sat forward. He
picked up a pencil off his desk and he pointed it directly at us.
Have either one of you two ever wore girls clothing? Panties? Bra?
Anything like that?" he asked, as he raised his eyebrows.
"I rode a girl''s bicycle one time," I told him.
"I won''t count that," he responded.
All at once Mr. Curry got up from his desk and he walked out into the
outer office. I looked over at David and I said, "What about that tin
box?"
"You keep your mouth shut about that box," he said, as he shook his
balled up fist at me.
"But that would be telling a lie," I told him.
"You promised. Remember?" he said, still shaking his fist at me.
Within the hour, our interview was complete. David was assigned to
Cottage #1, Washington Cottage, and I was assigned to Cottage #12. Cottage
#12 was for children who were in need of further psychological evaluation.
Ten months later, David was released and returned to Jacksonville,
Florida. Several months later, I was released.
It was almost forty years before he and I saw one another again.
David had gone on to become a policeman and later became a private
investigator. As for me, I had made my way to prison.
After we finally met again it was less than a year before David
developed cancer. The day before he died I was standing beside his bed at
the hospital.
"Roger, I know that I am not going to make it much longer," he said to me.
I reached down and I took his hand. I did not say a word.
"Do you remember that tin box at the orphanage?" he asked me.
"I remember Mr. Curry at the reform school," I told him. David smiled.
"I wonder if that tin box was ever found?" he asked me.
"Don''t know. But it sure was nice to have something to do once in a
while," I replied.
The very next day David died.
Several days after his funeral I drove to Jacksonville and I once
again entered the orphanage grounds. I parked in front of our old
dormitory building. As I looked around, I did not see the large Christmas
tree which had once stood at the end of the cement walkway. I walked over
to where it had once been and found that the ground was flat and hard. I
could not tell for sure where it had been.
Yes, I will forever remember the times when we snuck out almost every
night for two years. We would dig down into the ground, about six or eight
inches to retrieve the small tin box.
Once the lid had been forced off, we would take out the long slender
rope -- with its two red handles -- and we would take turns jumping rope.
As I look back at how our lives turned out, it was probably best that
we did not say anything to Mr. Curry about us jumping.
After all, I cannot think of anything more ridiculous that an ex-cop
and an ex-con jumping rope together.
-- Roger Dean Kiser <trampolineone @ webtv.net>

THE HUGS PROJECT
by Karen Stark
People have been wondering, since the Iraq conflict began, what they
could do to help our US military people.
I was no different. But that changed when I opened an email that had
directions for making cooling ties that work through evaporation and can
lower body temperature by as much as 4 degrees.
Well, I thought, I can make a few of those, even though it''s been 30
years since I touched a sewing machine to make an apron for 4-H.
But, first I need to round up some friends to help me. I posted
messages on several Internet message boards trying to recruit others and
offering to send them the directions. I was so happy to receive many
replies and promises of help.
I quickly learned that Americans want to help and they have made me
aware of that over and over again. Some have mailed me fabric and polymer,
others have contributed to the postage costs and many, many more have
joined my husband (yes, he learned to sew just to help the Marines and
soldiers in Iraq) and myself at our sewing machines.
In just 7 weeks time, we have mailed out over 8,400 cooling ties to
our troops in the Middle East where the temperatures next month will soar
to over 135 degrees. Now 8,400 sounds like a lot, until you consider that
there are over 145,000 Americans serving us in the deserts of Iraq and
Afghanistan. WE NEED MORE HELP.
I met my husband, Ray, when he pulled my letter out of a stack of Any
Service Member letters in the morale office of the USS Independence during
Desert Shield in 1990. Now, after 11 years of marriage, he is in total
support of my "HUGS" project.
Ray says, "Your family has to love and support you, but when you are
in the military and receive a letter, or even just a stick of gum, from a
total stranger, you just can''t imagine the incredibly good feeling you
get."
He sits at our borrowed machine each night for 3-4 hours so as many
soldiers as possible can experience that wonderful feeling of love and
appreciation.
We place a label on each cooling tie (we call them "hugs") that says,
"Dear Military Person: We appreciate you for your service to your country
and so we want you to have this "hug" from home. When you place it around
your neck, please remember there is someone who made this by hand just for
you and who wishes they could actually give you a real hug. We want you to
know that we are praying for your safety."
I recently read about a 22-year-old young woman who collapsed and died
while standing guard duty. That haunts me. Could one of our "hugs" around
her neck have made a difference?
And so, we are recruiting once again -- trying to find even more
people who sew or can help us in this show of support. If you can sew, we
need your help. If you can''t sew, we need your help.
You can pair with someone who does sew and offer to do the other jobs
involved -- turning, ironing, packaging, etc.
My son has never had to go to war. This is possible because some
other mother''s son or daughter volunteered to go into harm''s way.
For that, I am eternally grateful and so I began the "Hugs Project" as
my way of saying thank you and to tell the overseas soldiers that "I
respect you and I appreciate you for the job you''re doing."
I consider it an honor to be able to help some of America''s finest
young men and women.
We can make a difference -- one "hug" at a time.
-- Karen Stark <thehugsproject @ cox.net>

The Strange Old Lady
When I woke up this morning,
I was happy as could be,
Until I saw this strange old lady,
In the mirror looking back at me,
I don''t know where she came from,
I must have left the door unlocked,
But when she caught a glimpse of me,
I could swear that she was shocked,
This poor old lady''s hair,
Was gray and getting thin,
And I couldn''t help but notice
Her sagging, wrinkly skin,
I went and got my glasses,
Then came back and looked again,
She was still waiting there for me,
And she just looked older then,
I''m afraid that this old lady,
Really intends to stay,
She glares at me in that mirror,
And just won''t go away,
It seems there''s nothing I can do,
But face up to the evidence,
That old lady has made my mirror
Her permanent residence.
-- by Anita Burney <neets7 @ aol.com>

COULDN''T DO BETTER BY HIM
by C. J. Mouser
Sam was the best dog ever. A great, heavy, blonde Lab -- intimidating
to those who didn''t know him and fiercely protective of the house and the
kids.
I never met a smarter dog. He would follow me when I hung clothes on
the line. He would retreive the clothespins I dropped, placing them
carefully in the laundry basket. He knew how to play hide and seek, and
would get between the kids if a squabble ensued that resulted in physical
combat. Sam wasn''t having any of that. Not on his watch.
I remember once I took him walking. I let his leash drop to the
ground so that he could roam a bit. We were close to home, he was safe.
He immediately went to the back of a neighbor''s car that sat parked in the
driveway and squatted.
"Uh uh, Sam.... not there." I said in a level voice. He stopped
instantly and moved to a bush nearby leaving his offering in a neat pile
out of harm''s way.
"Want me to get that?" I asked the neighbor who had come out to check
his mail.
"Nah." He waved away my concern casually. "No harm done." Sam sat
and scratched. Oblivious.
Sam had ear mites.
I suspected that he did. My suspicions were confirmed when I found
him one morning with an injury on his ear that had come from scratching too
vigorously. Not only that, he was covered with fleas -- almost as if there
were millions of starving fleas in the yard of the new house we''d moved in
to, just waiting for a dog to arrive so they could feast in earnest.
I checked into the once a month treatment for fleas. Sixty dollars.
That would almost pay the light bill. We were so poor. Three small mouths
to feed, doctor bills, diapers. I did the best I could by bathing him,
which did little more than dry out his lovely coat. I wanted to do better
by Sam but what could I do?
When the ear injury popped up I became desperate. The dog was in such
discomfort. Now he had this thing on his ear. We never once thought when
we took the dog in that one day we would not be able to afford to care for
him. I had no money to have him treated. I called the vet. Sixty dollar
examination fee, plus meds. I pictured this two hundred dollar vet bill
that I had no hope of paying.
"Do you guys ever... you know, take payments?"
"Sure", replied the voice on the phone, "we will finance fifty percent
of the balance."
"But how do I know how much that will be?"
"Well, you don''t."
I sat looking at Sam all day out the window. He wasn''t allowed
inside. He had never been in the house, so he was not house trained. By
that afternoon I reached a decision. I would either take Sam to the pound
where he could get the treatment he needed, and hope that he would find a
good home, or I would find him a home myself. I didn''t know anybody to
give him to. I didn''t know what to do.
That evening after dinner, and after agonizing over Sam for the final
time, I loaded Sam in the van, drove him to the local supermarket and tied
him to a post in the parking lot. Then I parked several rows away and
watched him. I knew someone would take him, so I sat there and sobbed
myself dry, even before the man walked up and squatted down next to him. I
could see the man''s mouth moving as he talked to Sam. Then I saw his
eyebrows go up when he noticed the scrap of paper tucked into Sam''s collar.
He unfolded it and read...
"My name is Sam. I need flea medication and I have ear mites, but my
owners cannot afford to take me to the vet, so if you decide to untie this
leash, you better be prepared to assume the expense for my treatment. I am
a damn fine dog. I can fetch and retreive and play hide and seek. I can
understand English almost as well as you, so you need to talk to me on
occasion. I love kids and I will love you too, as long as you love me."
The man paused and studied Sam for a moment and then he slowly slipped
the piece of paper back in Sam''s collar. Then he went into the store. I
didn''t know whether to laugh or cry. I had seen the man get out of an
expensive SUV, he was well dressed, clearly not poor. Why didn''t he take
Sam. Why? Was his resume not good enough? Had I left something out?
I sat there with my heart in my throat and had just about decided to
go get Sam and take him home and try something else, when the man returned.
He had a woman with him. Together they knelt down and the man handed the
woman the note. She read it and then stood and glanced around the parking
lot. Women. We know each other. She knew I was there. I sank down as
low in the driver''s seat as I could go and still be able to see. I
watched, bawling my eyes out as Sam was loaded into the SUV. He seemed a
little concerned, but went willingly enough. I watched them drive away and
then I drove home -- crying every single inch of the way.
I don''t know where Sam is now, but I do know that I did the best I
could to find him a good home, and in my mind, he''s stretched out on a nice
brick patio somewhere, in the shade, with healthy ears, and no fleas.
I hope that someday he thinks of us and remembers the good times we
had together, and doesn''t hold it against me that I couldn''t do better by
him.
-- C. J. Mouser <robomom39 @ aol.com>

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
When Louise''s granddaughter took her son to the first day of
kindergarten, they arrived a little early. Wil walked into his room and
started to put his supplies away and talk to his teacher. He told her, "I
was a little worried about coming to school today but a man has to do what
a man has to do, so here I am!" The teacher started laughing and said, "It
is ''men'' like you that make teaching so much fun!" -- Louise Carlson of
Duluth, Minnesota
Carol is the mother of four. Her "almost-perfect" husband''s travel
schedule didn''t include getting back by Sunday so she washed, dressed and
drove the children to church by herself. The organ cranked up one of her
favorite hymns, and she released her weariness in song. After the hymn was
finished, she sat down, feeling refreshed. Then she noticed her oldest
son''s puzzled look. In a loud whisper he turned to Carol and asked, "Hey,
Mom, what''s so big about Art?" -- Carol G Stratton of Grandville, Michigan
Margaret''s sister was talking to her daughter on the phone. She asked
if her grandson, Michael, 5, wanted to talk to her. Michael replied, "I''m
busy. Take a message!" -- Margaret Heise of Garrett, Indiana (Margaret''s
sister lives in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.)
Charlene''s granddaughter had never been in day care. On her first day
at preschool she was served a hot dog for lunch. The little girl looked at
her teacher and said very seriously, "Excuse me, but do you have another
source of protein I could have? I''m a vegetarian." -- Amy (friend of
Charlene) of Brunswick, Georgia
Beth''s 3-year-old granddaughter, Lydia, has been paying attention to
Beth''s menopausal complaints more than anyone realized. When they went on
a train ride last week, the train wasn''t air con***ioned. It was a warm
day. At one point during the trip, Lydia looked up at Beth and yelled,
"Hot flash!" -- Beth Fryer of Lebanon, Pennsylvania
My niece Sally, 4, was visiting her grandparents in Florida. "Cousin"
Simon had prepared a lovely chicken dinner with all the trimmings. "I
''wuv'' the chicken," Sally commented. "Yes, Simon is very good with
chicken," Sally''s 25-year-old cousin Dolly said. As she sampled each of
the side dishes, Sally commented that she loved it. But when she got to
the cabbage she said, "I don''t like the cabbage." Dolly (who used to be a
picky eater herself) said, "I understand, Sally. Cabbage is something that
you have to grow into." Sally thought a minute and then asked very
seriously, "Dolly, how do I grow into a cabbage?" -- from my oldest child,
Dolly
During the hot summer months, Barbara''s grandchildren come over to
play in the wading pool that she sets up for them. Barbara always uses the
sunscreen quite thoroughly and she reapplies it throughout the afternoon.
Sean, 6, knowing the routine, yelled, from about 4 feet away, "GAMMIE, TIME
FOR MORE SUN SCREAM!" -- Grandmother Barbara Gocus of Clackamas, Oregon
Patsy''s granddaughter, Becca, 4, was watching as they prepared to go
on a weekend trip to Jackson, which is a 2 1/2 hour drive. Becca is NOT a
very patient little girl. She was following Patsy from room to room asking
lots of questions especially wanting to know when they would be leaving.
Patsy explained that they were waiting on her dad who had gone to the
store. Finally she asked why they didn''t just go on and let her dad drive
his truck and meet them there. Again Patsy explained that it was a long
way and that they were all riding together. Becca asked how long they were
going to be in the car; Patsy told her a long, long time. Becca thought
about this and then with her hands on her hips she said, "You are going to
take a short cut aren''t you? I know you''re going to take a shortcut. You
do know a short cut, don''t you!" -- Patsy Campbell of Portland, Tennessee
Alex, 6, came out of the bathroom and asked his mom, "Do I smell
good?" Puzzled, she asked, "Why?" He replied, "Because I sprayed the air
freshener, and then I ran under it!" -- Krista Bayer (Alex''s aunt) of
Sandston, Virginia
One day at her daycare center, Deb was assigned to work with the
school age children. When they started a game of indoor kick ball, she had
to step in. She told them that the ball had been confiscated. Later the
children were walking to a nearby park. One of the boys said, "Oh, man.
We should have brought the ball with us." Megan, 8, said, "We couldn''t.
Don''t you remember that the ball''s been constipated?" -- Deb Nelson of
LaCrosse, Wisconsin

GOOD MORNING, CLASS
by Shelley Hussey
Good morning, class...
Welcome to Ancient History. Today we''re studying the 50s and 60s
school culture of your primitive, yet still living ancestors -- the baby
boomers.
As an aging boomer, I remember when school had enough sense to start
in September, lunch tickets cost 20 cents, kids had daily recess, and
school supplied the supplies.
This year, school begins when August is still tripping over July,
lunch tickets cost $1.65, kids have occasional PE instead of daily recess,
and parents -- not the school -- pay $100 for the average student''s school
supplies. (Thanks to my friend Mariellen for the 2004 school research.)
As I present my own historical research, I''ll share personal anecdotes
that are typical examples of 50s and 60s school life -- that is, typical if
you had the "cooties" -- a term I''ll explain later.
So let''s go way back to school.
I adored Kindergarten. I took naps on a big blue towel, made clay
ashtrays for my chain-smoking dad, and wrote my name left handed and
backward, as in "YELLEHS." To this day, I write and spell backwards as
easily as I do forwards. (.siht no em tsurT)
And that''s it for fond school memories, until 12th grade.
My problems began in 2nd grade, when I got glasses. I made the myopic
mistake of choosing white, rhinestone-studded frames that resembled fins
from a pimp''s 1958 Cadillac. Once I put on the glasses, my self-esteem
plummeted, triggering the "cooties" -- a chronic virus possibly limited to
northern Ohio, manifested by nervous habits and geeky behavior. Think
"emotional leprosy."
By 3rd grade I was used to being alone, and actually preferred the
company of my daydreams in an empty classroom over going outside for recess
to play with... no one. Our teacher, however, shooed us all out. Only a
parent''s note allowed a child to stay in. So, I painstakingly attempted to
copy my mother''s handwriting, and wrote a note to Mrs. Miller.
Dear Mrs. Miller,
Shelley has a cold and I would like her to stay in.
Sincerly,
Mrs. Juanita Harper
I was immediately sent to the principal''s office and charged with two
counts -- forgery, and impersonating a mother.
Junior high was awful, because I wore anklets with dress shoes to
school -- a fashion faux pas. "Normal" girls wore nylon stockings with
dress shoes. But at least I knew to sleep in hair rollers with bobby pins
stabbing my head all night. Straight hair was of the devil back then.
Equally as destructive as bad fashion sense were the "section" labels
our school administrators gave kids. Section one was for smart kids; up to
section nine for Special Ed. I was in section eight. Whenever anyone
asked my section, I lied: "Section seven."
By 9th grade, I was suffering from more than the cooties. I was the
only student among 1,200 to develop anorexia nervosa, an unheard of eating
disorder in 1965. Throughout 10th grade, I over-recovered from anorexia,
gaining 50 pounds. 11th grade was ruined, because now I was fat.
Thank God, I was finally freed from the cooties my senior year. Our
family moved out of state, and I became one of the most popular girls in
the senior class. No one "labeled" me, and I literally got a new spirit in
Spirit Lake, Iowa. As I forgave past hurts, emotional scars faded.
Class, our history lesson from the school of life is best summed up by
this quote from George Washington Carver:
How far you go in life depends on your being
tender with the young, compassionate with
the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and
tolerant of the weak and the strong. Because
some day in life you will have been all of these.
-- George Washington Carver
Class dismissed.
-- Shelley Hussey <shelleylhussey @ aol.com>

FRITZ''S MIRACLE
by Betty Jean Parker
From the time I was three years old until the present, there have been
only a few years that I was without a dog.
Beginning with a ****er Spaniel and running through five Dachshunds,
one Beagle, and now a Teacup Poodle, I know how much joy and sorrow can
come from owning or being owned by dogs.
When I was first married, it took us six weeks before we spent nearly
a week''s salary on our first Dachshund, Fritzer von Aufen Baurch (often
bark).
He was undoubtedly the most intelligent of all of our Dachshunds.
Being our first "baby", he was always special to us. He was also the only
one of our Dachshunds that ever suffered from the back paralysis for which
Dachshunds are well known. His third bout with this ailment came during
the birth of our very welcomed son who was born to us after nine years of
waiting for a "real" baby.
Fritz had been paralyzed for about two weeks when our son, Scott, was
born. Scott also had problems when he was born, so we had a double
dilemma. After spending more on Fritz''s vet bills than we could afford, my
father-in-law informed me that we were going to have to get rid of Fritz as
we couldn''t afford a sick baby and a sick dog.
I knew we couldn''t afford any more vet bills, but I couldn''t stand the
thought of losing Fritz, either.
I thought that praying for a dog was rather strange. But what other
option was there?
After two weeks of carrying him outside and holding him up to do "his
duty" periodically throughout the day and watching him lie on his pillow
and shiver the rest of the time, I felt prayer was the only choice.
Therefore, I prayed for his recovery.
The next day Fritz was the same. I prayed the following night, not
expecting too much of an answer.
The next day Fritz greeted us in the morning by jumping in the bed,
burrowing under the covers, and coming out to drown our faces in kisses!
Fritz became the loving companion and protector of our new son for
another two and a half years before he died on his 11th birthday. Since
then, I have never hesitated to pray for any of the dogs I have had. And
Fritz became my unending testimonial to the power of prayer.
-- Betty Jean Parker <LurayPa @ aol.com>

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Marcy''s grand-nephew had his tonsils removed last week. Before the
surgery the nurse explained that she was going to insert an IV into his
arm. She asked him if he knew what an IV is. He replied, "Sure, I know --
it is what grows on the walls at Wrigley Field (home of the Chicago Cubs)!"
-- Marcy of Chicago
Donna''s daughter''s art teacher brought her 3-year-old son to camp with
her when she was teaching. He fell down and skinned his knee and when she
asked him why he was crying, he said, "Mommy, my skin fell off!" --
Donna Lehr of Catonsville, Maryland
During snack time at Children''s Church, Tammie started to choke on a
cracker. She said to her teacher, "Miss Terri, I hate when it goes down
the wrong hose!" -- Terri Clum (Tammie''s teacher) of Queensbury, New
York
Colton, 6, was looking through the family photo album when he noticed
all his mother''s childhood pictures were in black and white. He said,
"Mom, how OLD are you? You are older than color!" -- KC Schneider
(mother of Colton) of Lewisville, Texas
Kate and Abby were watching an old episode of "Mr. Rogers''
Neighborhood" on TV. Impressed by a guest, Kate called to their mother,
"Mom, c''mere! There''s a man playing "Amazing Grace" on a saw!" Before
their mother could stand up, 7-year-old Abby chimed in, "Don''t worry, Mom!
It''s not a chainsaw!" -- Marti Suddarth (mother of Kate and Abby) of
Corydon, Indiana
When the Merth family got their guppies (small tropical fish), they
found out quite a few of the females were already pregnant. A few days
later they had 30 guppy fry in the tank. Summer and her husband tried to
explain to their son, Quillan, 2, that they were baby fish called fry. A
couple days later while Summer was on the phone with one of her co-workers,
Quillan said rather loudly while watching the fish, "Mommy, look! My french
frys!" -- Summer Merth, Oak Harbor, Washington
Lauren, 9, and Kaylee, 5, were visiting their "Mammer." It was
suggested that they all play "Old Maid." Kaylee asked what an "Old Maid"
was. Mammer replied that it was an older woman who had never married.
Lauren piped up, "Oh no, an old maid is an old lady who comes to clean your
house." -- Pat Martin (Mammer) of Chandler, Texas
Austin, 3, was galloping around the den. Suddenly he stopped and
said, "Somebody needs to to poo-poo." His mother asked, "Do you need to
go?" He replied, "No, it''s just a burp that came out of my bottom!" --
Gina (mother of Austin) of Granada Hills, California
Four-year-old Peter couldn''t wait to tell his big sister that Mommy
had bought the family suction cups. What he really meant was sundae cups!
-- Lisa Cooper of Lawrenceville, New Jersey
Nuvan, 4, came running from his bedroom. "Mama, please give me a
glass of water," he said. "I got a pick up (hiccup)." -- Vasugi (mother
of Nuvan) of Singapore
Lauren, 5, was upset with Bethany, 11, because Bethany didn''t want
Lauren in her room alone. Tamara told Lauren she doesn''t want Bethany in
her room alone either. Lauren said, "She can be in my room without me if
she washes my windows!" -- Tamara of Lancaster, Pennsylvania