Fright Night is upon us...

Welcome...

Come inside and take a peek at my frightfully fun and fiendish home decor this Halloween season.


This is Belladonna, my witch dog.

Every witch needs the correct ingredients to cast the perfect spell. On my spice rack I have owl egg, scale of dragon, chicken pox, things that go bump in the night, sparkle of moon, wool of bat...
...eye of frog, salted lizard, witch hazel, spider legs, evil powder and lust dust. I also have the remains of the little girl down the lane and a picture of My Pretty, which makes me cackle every time I look at her.


It doesn't really show up in the photo but the back wall is a huge spider web that has some vintage Halloween postcards clipped to it with clothes pins.



And of course, there's Mortimer, the Head Waiter.

I just love this little display!




Looks like something's brewing!

Hope everyone has a Happy Fright Night!!

October Buzz Article "Those Without Passion Need Not Apply" by Carissa Mason

It’s 3 a.m. and a voice echoes through the static of a scanner in a dark room.

“Standby for medical/fire.”

A few seconds later, a loud piercing tone pummels its way through hallways and shut bedroom doors into the ears of sleeping firemen and EMTs.

This sound is what they know as a desperate cry for help and hearts instantly begin to race. Chris Haworth, a Durant Fireman states, “When our alarms go off, someone is losing or has lost something very important to them.” To which Chase Condor quickly adds, “And we may be the only ones who can save it for them.”

To us, as civilians, the men and women who choose to follow a career path that leads them to EMS, Fire Departments, Police Departments and Highway Patrol are our heroes, our lifelines, and even our last hope. But when asked how they feel about being considered a hero, their response is much more meek and humble than their job description. Collin Gordon, a local Firefighter and Paramedic makes the point, “What if the trash man didn’t do what he is paid to do for us? Someone’s got to do it. This is just another job”, and he shrugs his shoulders.

However, they all agree on one thing in regards to their career of choice, whether it be firefighter, police officer, EMT, or highway patrol, “You can’t do this job if you don’t love it. The pay certainly doesn’t keep you coming back. It’s the love of the work you do that kicks you out of bed in the mornings.” John Vietta, another local fireman and EMT says, “Having someone run up to you in public and give you the biggest hug you’ve ever gotten because they recognized you as the one who helped save them or their family member is worth every penny you lack in salary.”

Sacrifices of all kinds, not just monetary, are made in these fields every day. On July 26^th, Dan Lyday was at work at the firehouse. It was his normal shift day. However, it was also his granddaughter’s b-day and he was missing her birthday party. “When your work schedule is 24 hours long at a time, you’re bound to miss meals, holidays, family events, sleep.”

Despite these unpleasant and inconvenient sacrifices, when asked what his favorite part of the job is Terry Courtney, a 13 year paramedic, says “7 a.m. - when I come to work.”

“The job is different everyday”, adds Mindy Gerard. “Working at EMS means I may get to see or treat or deal with something I’ve never seen before. I love that.”

David McCutcheon, an Oklahoma State Trooper, says his favorite part of Highway Patrol is keeping the people in this county safe.

It is a rigorous job that requires someone to work 24 hours at a time or throughout an entire night when most others they know are tucked safely in their beds. Sure, there are days/nights when the tones and pagers are silent. No one needs help. No one needs saving. Those times are overshadowed by others that are filled non-stop with emergency calls. Jay Bergner, 36 year old EMT and firefighter who has been fighting fires since the age of 18 comments, “There are nights when we don’t sleep at all. That can be very dangerous, not only to us and our partner, but to a patient as well.”

The absolute toughest part of the job and what takes the most toll on them, they will all tell you unanimously, is dealing with death. Death of any kind is hard, but especially that of children and infants. John Vietta, a 6’4” 265 lb. self-proclaimed ‘teddy bear’, says of facing death: “It’s always hard. I’m a little soft around the edges and when I’ve dealt with something especially traumatic, you may very well see me sitting on the back of the truck crying after it’s all over.”

It is because of those trying times, the harsh realities hitting so close to home, the moments of sheer joy when a life is saved, the close calls, the tokens of gratitude from individuals who have been touched by these unsung hometown heroes that are what have molded these individuals into who they are today. Trooper Mike Green states simply, “I’ve learned compassion towards others.” While preparing to wash his patrol car one evening before his shift began, an elderly man approached Trooper Green with $3 worth of quarters and said, “Here’s a little token of my appreciation for the work you do. Thank you.” And the gentleman hobbled away. It was a small gesture, but appreciated immensely by the recipient. “It’s those little moments of surprise that make my job great!”

Don’t be fooled if you ever walk into the Fire Station or EMS building here in town and see the crew watching television, or when you see a group of officers or troopers having dinner and cutting up together. They’re not on break for the ump-teenth time. That may have been the only time they’ve been able to sit down all day. Their pagers are always beeping. Their radios are always turned on and tuned in to the quiet static that is their constant reminder that someone is always in need of his or her expertise and is relying on them to be ready and waiting for our emergency calls.

September Buzz article: "The Heart of the Matter" by Carissa Mason

It was a warm Saturday evening of July in a dimly lit turnabout in Nicaragua of 2007 when Jeff Hamblin and Raquel Aburto, the translator who was traveling with him, were mugged. On their way back to their hotel after a long week of missionary work and a final dinner of authentic local Nicaraguan cuisine, they found themselves in a shady side of town. Jeff had phoned his wife back in the States to tell her of his morning flight arrangements when two young boys approached them, one from the side and one from behind. The translator looked at Jeff and said in a slightly frantic tone of voice, ‘Jeff, hang up the phone!’ He looked down to see a gun at his waist and immediately flipped it closed.

When Jeff obediently hung up and handed the cellphone he was talking on over to the two teenagers, he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his lovely wife. The barely 15 year old thieves then ripped off the phone he was carrying conveniently on his belt. A taxi driver just down the block happened to catch a glimpse of the commotion and drove over to the scene to help. The two boys fled leaving Jeff and the translator in shock and disbelief. Did that really just happen?

From there, they filed a police report on the stolen items. His flight back home was in less than 12 hours. The local police were as cooperative as donkeys on a rocky uphill slope and 3 hours later he was finally making his way back to the hotel.

Meanwhile, back in the States, his wife, Laura, who heard Raquel tell Jeff to hang up the phone, paced frantically in her home praying for a return call and fighting off thoughts of the worst kind. 10 minutes passed and panic turned to all out fear. The slight clap of the phone being hung up on her was still screaming in her ear. She kept remembering the unmistakable sound of Raquel’s ghostly words “Jeff, hang up the phone” and intuition whispered to her all was not well. She managed to find a way to call the hotel where Jeff was staying only to hear from his traveling companions that he had not returned. It was all becoming very overwhelming and Laura couldn’t handle it all on her own anymore. She called her family over for moral support and mighty prayer.

2009 marks Jeff Hamblin’s 12^th mission trip to Nicaragua with anywhere from 10-20 others from the Durant Church of Christ and 15-20 more from the Chisolm Trail Church of Christ in Duncan. Since he started going in February of 1997, he and other missionaries have focused on acute family health care, meaning they do all they can with the limited equipment and medical supplies they are allowed to carry over. Vitamins are administered to the deficient; amoxicillin to those with ear infections; minor surgery is performed when necessary; even glasses are given to those who are suffering with vision induced headaches.

They’ve even helped establish an orphanage called Los Ninos Del Ray or Children of the King, where at one time they housed more than 50 needy children.

“Imagine how difficult it would be if you had to come to me and ask me to take your baby into my orphanage because you’re 30 years old, you have 4 children, your husband is dead or ran off on you, and you know in your heart that you cannot take proper care of your baby or she’ll die.” Jeff’s eyes turn red around the edges as he describes the scenario that unfolds in my mind like a pop-up book and I can’t help but envision myself in that situation. My heart creeps up in my throat. I am 30 and have 4 children of my own.

However, the orphanage struggles under the jurisdiction of the government for the simple fact that if an abusive and/or drug addicted parent wants their child back all they have to do is tell a judge and their wish is granted. Because of this fault in the Nicaraguan political society, the orphanage is down to less than 10 children now. The others have been returned to their dysfunctional and sometimes dangerous previous home lives.

Despite the fact that for 12 years Jeff and The Church of Christ Medical Brigade have donated their time, money and professional services to the people of Nicaragua, he doesn’t consider what they’re doing as “health care”, but rather “soul care”. The purpose of the missions they serve is two-fold: To provide quality healthcare service to those that would otherwise not receive it and to provide the spiritual nourishment to those that may be spiritually starving. The gospel message Jeff and the other missionaries administer is just as important to those people as the healthcare they are receiving, and neither is taken lightly.

One of his fondest memories originates from his 2004 mission trip. A brand new mother comes in to the clinic with her husband and their 3 month old baby. The baby boy is ill and has been born with a deformity. His face is only half developed. With only one eye, half a jaw, and an ear lobe that connects nearly to his chin, the parents plead for Jeff to fix him. He is gray in color, not the vibrant pink color associated with healthy newborn babies. Jeff takes his stethoscope and listens to the boy’s heart. He hears what sounds like “a washing machine running in the boy’s chest.” The heart is a mess of holes and murmurs. Jeff sighs deeply and shakes his head, looks up into the mother’s hopeful eyes and says drearily, but as compassionately as possible as Raquel translates for him, “I can fix him for his funeral.” The parents nod, lower their eyes to look at their baby boy and the mother says something in Spanish as Raquel repeats in English, “That’s all they want.”

He performed a primitive plastic surgery on the boy and removed part of his earlobe and remedied various other abnormalities before handing the bundle of very sick little boy back to his disheartened parents.

Last year, as Jeff was walking in downtown Nicaragua, a man called at him from across the street. “Is your name Jeff?” the man asked. Befuddled, Jeff nodded. The man continued in broken English, “You perform surgery on my nephew. You remember?” Jeff coaxed more detail from the man before the memory of a small deformed little boy, gray in color, came back to his mind. “Yes, I remember. How is the family?” Jeff asked respectfully. “My nephew is alive”, said the man. Jeff felt his jaw disconnect and fall to the floor.

He got to see the man’s nephew, his former patient, shortly thereafter. What he saw amazed him. This was not the same boy. 4 years old and smiling from ear to ear. His skin was no longer gray. Jeff couldn’t resist. He took his stethoscope and listened to the boy’s heart. He then gave the stethoscope to his colleagues and demanded they listen. The “washing machine heart” had miraculously transformed into a smooth and clear rhythm.

As I listened to Jeff tell this heartwarming story I realized my eyes were bulging in disbelief and my mouth was hanging open. I couldn’t help but ask, “How did his heart fix itself?” Jeff’s response without delay: “God is good.” I mentally reprimanded myself for such a silly question and commended his simple, yet profound answer.

God IS good. He takes care of those who take care of His children. The situation in 2007 could have been as detrimental to Jeff and Raquel as the “washing machine heart” could have been to the 3 month old little boy. Instead, both walked away with their lives. The old saying, ‘What goes around comes around’ resonates in my head right now.

Jeff was able to call his wife that horrific night about 3 hours after his ordeal and put her mind at ease about her husband’s welfare. The scary situation in the turnabout has obviously not deterred him or others from going on their mission trips and he plans on many more in the future. Jeff’s whole attitude concerning his experience stands up and says without any form of shame, ‘Anything is possible with a little faith, hope and heart’

Delusions of the Desperate Kind

Conversation between myself and a much older man in Wal-Mart today:

Man: "Hello."

Me: being the polite individual I am I reply, "Hi, how are you?"

Man: "I'm doing well, thank you. Good-Lookin'!"

At this point, shock has completely taken over my motor skills and has sharply turned my head to look at the man who looks to be in his late 40s. I catch him looking me up and down. Now, a nervous yet unamused laugh escapes me and I turn my face away. Again, my motor skills have still got me in manual override mode and I grab 2 rolls of toilet paper, which I didn't need, to make myself look busy.

As I begin making my escape down the aisle the man calls after me, "I'm single, by the way."

Me: instinctively and without delay or any form of diplomacy, I reply, "Well, I'm not!" and I grab something else I don't need. (Don't ask me why THAT was my defense mechanism of choice.)

Man: "I kinda figured you weren't, as gorgeous as you are. Well, have a nice day!" he yells as I turn the corner of the aisle where I can breathe again.
I begin looking for a place to stash the items I involuntarily placed in my basket.

Seriously, did he just expect me to come running back down the aisle, fall at his feet and exclaim, "Take me, Big Daddy! I'm yours!" ??

Where's the cork that stops his brain matter from flooding the outer regions of Delusional Valley?

Can I have a rain check on that reality check?

Picture it, the Mason household, August 2, 2009:

All 4 Mason children and a Mason mother are dressed and ready for church. Breakfast has been devoured by those not fasting this particular Sunday (as evidenced by the explosion of cheerios and milk in the kitchen). Hair bows have been pinned and primped. Even dress shoes have been rediscovered on lands far, far away.

The morning has gone exceptionally well for the Mason household on this particular Sabbath. You see, not once did Mason mother have to yell or threaten anyone with their lives to make sure tardiness was avoided. Today the sun is shining a little brighter over Prestonwood Estates.

So, with scriptures in hand and a smile on her face, Mason mother escorts happy little Mason children outside to the perfect little Mason family car. Birds are singing, crickets are chirping, butterflies are abundant. (I would say deer are frolicking in the near distance, but that's pushing it).

When all at once, little Mason boy asks mother, "Mom, is today Fast Sunday?"
"It sure is!" says Mason mother.
Replies little Mason boy, "Well, it sure doesn't seem very fast."

*sigh*
Butterflies bolt, crickets crawl away and the birds have all but choked to death on their songs.
Is that a cloud I see forming overhead?
Well, in all reality, we were all thinking it anyway!

Problematic Prefixes and the Preliminary Test

I have decided to become an EMT.

That's right.

And before you ask - yes, I am in my right mind and no, I'm not on any mind-altering medications.

I say that not to be derogatory towards the EMS staff in any way, but in all reality those who know me know that statement is coming from a woman who can't stand even the simple thought of throw up within 100 yards of my general vicinity. I gag when my children gag. While they're standing there looking helplessly into their mother's eyes begging for some kind of empathy and relief, I'm giving the same look right back.

But I've been riding out with EMS because I'm writing an article on them (and the Police Department, the Highway Patrol and the Fire and Rescue Team) educating the citizens of Durant on just how much these people in these particular professional fields sacrifice on a daily basis to keep us safe while we're tucked in our beds at night. (*whew* Talk about a run-on sentence).

After a rather intriguing call to help save a man who was having a heart attack on the side of the road 2 weeks ago, I have become quite addicted to what EMTs do and therefore enrolled myself in the course 2 days ago.

HOWEVER, there is a little preliminary test I have to take before class starts to see at what level I should be placed for the course.

Tests unnerve me. Especially tests that I am not prepared for. Teachers used to say "Pop Quiz" in high school and I'd break out into a cold sweat and would pray for some natural disaster to occur or for the sudden onset of uncontrollable diarrhea, for the teacher or myself, I didn't care.

Hindsight is always 20/20 and although no bowel movements of the squirty kind ever interrupted a dreaded last minute torture drill, I've come to realize that because of those pop quizzes, I've become really good at functioning above average under pressure.

I just like to be prepared. I'm not comfortable when I'm not prepared or at least somewhat thought out beforehand.

So, I think. How could I prepare myself for a test I know absolutely nothing about?

*Lightbulb*

I remember my friend Gary Akin has just completed his EMT course and is now working on the paramedic course! Gary probably knows what's on that stinkin' exam!

So, last night at around 8:00 pm I text Gary:

"Hey, this is Carissa. Do you remember what's on the preliminary test for the EMT class?"

He did not immediately respond. No biggie.

At 9:17 pm however, I receive a reply:

"I don't know you and I don't know that."

I laugh. Gary is such a dork!

And then...I see the number I've texted. Instead of a 916 prefix, I've texted to a 380 prefix. Frantically, I reply: "OMG! I am sooooo sorry!"

About 2 hours later at 11:37 pm I receive another text from Mystery Texter. "Who are you trying to send that to?"

I'm thinking 'Well, that's really none of your business, now is it?' But instead I politely reply, "916 not 380. My bad!"

At approximately 12:25 this morning, THIS is the text I receive:

"Ya, your bad and I'm only 11, so ya."

Did you just mouth off to me you little twirp?! You better hope I don't ever find out who you are or where you live because if I ever have to come save your life you little pint-sized ego trip on a tricycle, you're getting a catheter whether you need it or not! And just what in the crap are you doing out of your crib at that hour anyway?

Houdini Hopes...

My son has recently been exploring the world of card magic.
"Pick a card, mom, any card!" he'll say with a sparse worn out deck of mixed blue and red bicycle cards in his hand and a suave stage smile. I grab the one that's sticking out the furthest and relief comes over his face and his smile widens.
"Now look at it and put it back on top."
I look. It's the 3 of clubs. I put it back as instructed.
He attempts a false shuffle which, if done correctly, would land my card back on top. Instead, he jumbles them up into one big some-cards-are-face-up mess. He grimaces slightly and glances at me.
I am staring at him in amazed wonderment. He smiles again and slaps the deck twice, closes his eyes and flips the top card over.
"Is this your card?" He's holding his breath.
"Oh. My. Gosh. HOW did you do that?" His eyes widen at his own amazingness and he himself has to look at the card.
"I can't tell you," he says matter-of-factly, "it's magic."
It was the 5 of diamonds.

The last few attempts at things mystical has been his experiments with hypnosis and mind-control, Julia being his main subject of experiment.
While doing their chores the other day, which consisted of hanging their clean clothes up that were on my bedroom floor, I overhear Garrett gently saying to Julia, "Empty your mind. Empty your mind."
Julia, not as amused with his attempts to wipe her mind clean again says, "It's already empty, Garrett."
Garrett sighs heavily. "Juuliaaa...", he whines.
"Oh , alright." she says and she lays down on the floor and begins to chant while passing her hands slowly across her forehead.
"Empty my mind. Empty my mind. Empty my..."
"Hey, Julia!" Garrett interrupts her.
She sits up.
Garrett leans in and whispers, "Why don't we try to get mom to empty her mind so she'll let us watch TV all day!"
Enter mom, stage left, to break up the fiendish plan and let her little Houdini children know that moms have all power over mind-control and that attempts to hypnotize a female parental figure are indefinitely futile.
However, the male parental figure is completely intolerant when it comes to mind-control. Their bodies are especially influenced by it during the later evening hours.
Just ask them anything as long as they have a certain hand held controller and are staring blank-faced at a TV screen. They'll give you anything you want.

The Rescue Mission

There's nothing like witnessing the genuine care and compassion from one of God's living creatures to another.

My children never cease to amaze me or make me more proud than my smile alone can show.
Ok, so this may seem trivial to some, but to me it's a crowning moment in the history of my journey through motherhood thus far.

After we arrive home from a little post T-ball game snack at Braum's and are heading inside, my kids get distracted (as usual) and wander off to the left of the house. It's nearly dark outside and time for their bath and bedtime. After a few minutes pass, I contemplate calling for them to come inside when they all simultaneously collide into and eventually through the front door. Abby is a nose ahead of Daphne with Garrett and Julia bringing up the rear.

Abby has her hand closed as she approaches me and instinctively I draw back. She is not afraid of anything and has often come to me with creepy crawlies that she has given pet names and begs to keep.

"What?" I ask cautiously.
"It's a lightning bug, Mom. It was stuck in a spider's web."

She opens her hand. The little fella is still wrapped up in the vicious web sack and is blinking a frantic SOS.
All the kids have drawn faces and sappy eyes as they stare at the little bug with such unprecedented pity.

"Can we try to pull the sack off, Mom?" Abby asks as she stares at him, (probably already thinking of a name to give him), and raises a finger to begin the rescue process.

"You can sure try, baby." Although, I was doubtful he'd survive even that.

With all the gentleness a new mother gives to her first newborn, Abby and the others gently scraped their tiny fingernails over the sticky death sack until it disintegrated and freed the bug.
He was wobbly at first and stretched his wings for a while, but soon regained some energy and began making random flight attempts. We took him outside and he took to the night air as we all watched and smiled.

I don't know, but the fact that they saw this tiny helpless creation and decided it needed a second chance and were willing to come to its aid instead of walking away without a second thought, only helps me continue to realize what awesome children I have.

An Enlightening Moment

My youngest daughter Julia saw a spider on the wall today.

 

"Mommy, how do spiders climb walls?" she asked. 

"They have sticky legs", came my ingenious reply.

I could almost hear the question mark in her head get deleted and replaced with a bold exclamation point as she profoundly stated, "Ooohh, so that's why our hands are always so sticky!"

Let the Summer Games begin!

Garrett is in T-ball this summer. This is our first encounter with little league sports and all I have to say is....
Why didn't we do this sooner!?
What fun we had!!
Take a look at all the excitement:

A little pep talk and they're off! GO DODGERS!

GO #3!!

Batter up!
The swing...

...the connection. Houston, we have liftoff!

Safe at first.

Just making sure home plate is secured, Coach!

Don't you know you have to wear your hat backwards when you play center field?

Good game!
Best buds, Eli and Garrett after a tough first game! (Is daddy flexing in the back?)
And a chest bump to celebrate right!
Little man's #1 Fan!

Nothing like a fist bump from dad to end the game right.

An Aesop Lesson Remembered

"The Hawk and The Pigeons"

Some pigeons had long lived in fear of a hawk, but since they had always kept on the alert and stayed near their dovecote, they had consistently managed to escape their enemies attacks. Finding his sallies unsuccessful, the hawk now sought to use cunning to trick the pigeons. 

"Why," he once asked, "do you prefer this life of constant anxiety when I could keep you safe from any conceivable attack by the kites and falcons? All you have to do is to make me your king and I won't bother you anymore."

Trusting his claims, the pigeons elected him to their throne, but no sooner was he installed than he began exercising his royal prerogative by devouring a pigeon a day.

"It serves us right," said one poor pigeon whose turn was yet to come. 

Moral of the story: Some remedies are worse than the disease itself.

Found this little fable ironically fitting for our current times.

Doomed...

I was doomed to gray early.
Both my sisters and my father grayed early and I have obviously been no exception.
My hair started turning shades of silver in my early 20s.
I tried to embrace it at first but then, got sucked into the whole dye thing and now I don't want to quit.
For instance, it's been almost 3 months since I last refreshed my natural color.
I now have so many gray hairs on the top of my head that sometimes even the dog doesn't recognize me.
People ask to see my ID and have to look twice.
My kids have called me 'Nana' by mistake.
Enough is enough.
So, yesterday I sat indian-style on the counter in front of our bathroom mirror plucking out gray hairs with a pair of tweezers...all while whispering through clinched teeth a very avid "Die!" to each individual hair. (I was trying to warn all the others to pay attention by making an example out of the naughty follicles. If they don't get with the program I might just go crazy enough to pull a Britney stunt).
I did this for about 30 minutes. That is, until Mr. Simpleton came in, quizzically pondering the situation then, bravely asked "What are you doing?"
"Oh nothing..." I said. "...just die-ing my hair."

Nephew-Schmephew!

Ok, so I'm only posting these sickly adorable pictures because...
well, because...
!because this is the most adorable little nephew on the face of the planet, gosh darn it!
*tied with Brendan and Liam, of course. ;)*

Eat your heart out!




He's so scrumptious, I could eat him for breakfast!

Partly Lazy, Mostly Brilliant.

Our daughter Abby just recently turned 9...well, about 3 weeks ago she did. Recent enough, eh?
Thing have been pretty crazy at our house since January and trying to find time to plan a birthday party for a bunch of crazy hyper little girls was requiring much more momentum than muscle and therefore, invitations weren't even made. I ALWAYS make the invitations.
And the thank you cards.
And the favors.
Anyhow, with little time and even less energy to spare in planning this shindig I came up with the most brilliant idea ever known to the world of mothers...
A Do-It-Yourself Party!
It's beyond brilliant! It's ingenious, (*ahem* if I do say so myself), and this is why:

YOU don't do any of the work. The kids do! I didn't even have to buy a cake! The only things I put myself in charge of were the presents and buying all the supplies. That. was. it! And at the end of the day I still had energy and sanity to spare.
Here's the rundown and budget summary. You're gonna love it!

11 a.m.: Kids arrive and make their own sandwiches with choices of breads, meats, peanut butter, jams, mayo, mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, chips, kool-aids, juices, etc., all of which I had in stock. (Thank goodness for a large family with diverse tastes in the culinary world of sandwiches and potato chips).
Out-of-pocket expense: $0

11:30 a.m.: Girls begin making their own hair accessories and necklaces and most adorable hand puppets, courtesy of Martha Stewart crafts.
Out-of-pocket expense - $15
*note: this could be done with little to no out-of-pocket expense by Google-ing 'easy crafts for kids' and using your own leftover craft supplies that are just taking up space in your house.

12 p.m.: I gave each girl 2 cupcakes and lined the dining room table with individual icing packets and sprinkles and sugared glitters. They made individualized cupcakes, then we put them on a silver platter in the shape of a nine and had Abby blow out the candles.


Out-of-pocket expense: $10 for the icing and cake mix. You could make your own icings and cupcakes from scratch and save even more!

12:30 p.m.: Opening gifts.
12:45 p.m.: Make your own trail mix! I had some things in the pantry that needed to be used (simply because if they hadn't been used soon I would've devoured them all!). I laid out small bowls and filled them with things like raisins, mini chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, peanut butter chocolate chips, dried fruit, sesame crackers, and sunflower seeds. Each girl got a clear cellophane bag and a twist tie and was allowed to make her own individual trail mix to go!
Out-of-pocket expense: $3 (for the cellophane bags).

1 p.m.: End of party and clean-up! I have never had less to do and clean up after a party because I was able to clean as the party progressed while the girls were busy with the activities.
So....whadaya think??