Lisa Phillips, email me at cfrye (at) arkansasonline (dot) com to claim it! Or you can call at 399-3683.

One Christmas season, several years ago, my stepdaughter took Tootie to the Build-a-Bear at Park Plaza Mall. Tootie created an adorable reindeer with sparkly red shoes. It’s still one of her more cherished stuffed animals.

Today, I’m giving away a $10 gift card for Build-a-Bear.

To enter, leave a comment below describing your children’s beloved “lovies.”

I’ll announce a winner next Wednesday. Good luck!

Given my job as a reporter, and Hubs’ role as a photographer, our kids have been going on assignment with us since their baby days.

They’ve been to the aftermath of several tornadoes. Last week, they attended their first perp walk. They know that on Election Night, you get free pizza in the newsroom.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yes, they’re exposed to things that other children aren’t.

But as a result, they’ve learned compassion, integrity, tenacity, and what it means to put yourself out there for the benefit for others.

They are old enough now to understand many of the stories that Hubs and I bring home.

Photography fascinates the E-man. And Tootie — well, she’s filled dozens of  notebooks with her stories and journal entries.

Times have been tough lately for newspapers. And for journalists.

But after an invigorating weekend out of town, mingling with journalists from eight states, I came back rejuvenated.

I believe in what we do. I am proud of what we do.

And so are our children.

I love spring.

Because it’s a prelude to summer and sandals and sunny, lazy days. Because we’re this close to firefly season. Because it’s flip-flop time, baby!

Camping at Petit Jean State Park.

And now for the latest weirdness in the Frye household:

The duck.

It seems that Bandit, our big red Aussie, has developed a rather intense fondness for this ugly concrete doorstop. He curls up around it, pushes it around the deck when he chooses another spot in which to sun himself and even turns it over so that he can rest his chin on its head.

I’m still trying to capture a photo of Bandit AND the duck, but he apparently senses my intent to embarrass him.

So this week, I’m in Wynne, camped out in a hotel and covering a murder trial.

The first clue that something odd was occurring back home surfaced in an email from Moody Mom.

I had sent her a thank-you email for watching Tootie last night while Hubs worked late.

Moody Mom’s reply: You are welcome. She talked about Bigfoot and did research on where you can take her to find him.

???

Awhile ago, during my nightly phone call to Hubs,  he blurted: “Did you know Tootie thinks that Bigfoot is in Van Buren and she wants us to take her camping there next weekend so that she can catch him?”

???

“What’s with this sudden fascination with Bigfoot?” I asked after telling him about Moody Mom’s email.

“I don’t know!” Hubs said. “She wants to take a group of her friends and set a trap in the woods. She’s absolutely convinced that they’ll be able to catch him?”

“Um. Dare I ask how she proposes to do this?”

“She wants to set out some food and drop a cage over him. Do you know that tonight she told me that she knows what Bigfoot’s poop looks like?”

So.

More proof that when I leave town, strange things happen in my absence.

Of course, I may have mentioned, once upon a time, to the children that I have always believed there’s something lurking in the waters of Loch Ness.

Ahem.

So during my recent spring break jaunt down to my folks’ home in Texas, my sister told me about this new place she thought the kids would love: Jumpstreet, an indoor trampoline park.

“Sounds great!” I said.

So off we went.

Upon arriving, I was so impressed by the setup that I went ahead and got an wristband for myself too. I mean, why should my offspring have all the fun? And why would I pass up an opportunity to embarrass them?

My sister watched skeptically as I bounced.

And then she raced off to get her own wristband.

Jen and I had a blast. But we quickly learned that jumping on a trampoline as adults — and after a couple of pregnancies to boot — differs greatly from jumping on a trampoline during those limber days of childhood.

Not only were there a few near misses when it came to injuries, we experienced a most unpleasant realization …

You see, despite many potty breaks, we still found it necessary to bounce with our legs pressed together, for fear of embarrassing ourselves rather than the children.

Because after a couple of kids? Well, the internal organs just ain’t where they used to be.

And now, I present to you a video of my trampoline race with the E-man.

Because truly, I have no shame.

We had so much fun celebrating Tootie’s birthday in the mountains, we decided to go again for the E-man’s.

Hubs had to work, so it was just me and kids this time.

I highly recommend the Lost Valley Trail for children. It's only 2.5 miles and it boasts a cave, falls and a grapevine for swinging.

Tawanda!

This tiime, we had a picnic at the falls.

End result of hike.

Slumber party in the loft. The E-man is already asleep. Tootie and I sat up late reading.

*******************************

On March 12, the Girl Scouts organization celebrated its 100th anniversary. I took Tootie to the Birthday Bash at the Clinton Library, where we mingled with girls from all over the state.

There was quite a crowd!

Hanging with Juliette Low...

****************

We wrapped up cookie season with a booth sale in the rain…

Here, the girls are waiting to pounce on unsuspecting Lowe's customers.

**********************************

And then, this past weekend, I bravely agreed to let Tootie and the E-man have a sleepover on the same night.

Which is how I ended up with five kids roaming the hallway in the wee hours. I made it until 1:30 a.m. before calling it a night. Hubs says that around 4 a.m., they came into our room asking for ice cream.

I — allegedly — told them that was fine and to go help themselves.

Hubs claims that I was sleep-talking nonsense and that he wisely ushered them back to bed.

Outnumbered and outwitted.

****************

And in closing, here’s a picture of my two naughty dogs, who spent last night dragging out pots and pans and eating my bento lunchbox.

This time, I blame Bandit.

Happy Friday, everyone!

This week, I’m putting five of our hot-pink Little Rock Mamas t-shirts up for grabs.

To enter: Leave me a comment below in which you describe your mothering style in one word. Are you a free-range mom? A little helicoptery? Hippy? Traditional?

And now here’s a photo of the shirts:

Kristina, right, is wearing one.

We don’t wear party dresses.

You won’t see us in the high-society magazines.

Most of us could never afford that $500 or $200 or, hell, even a $100 ticket to a sparkly, champagne-laden fund-raising event.

No, we are the women in the trenches. We sport broken nails, paint-spattered arms, sore muscles.

We wear jeans, not sequined party frocks that cost as much as that donation we’re making to some charity or the other.

Makeup? Who has time?

And if we do have time? It comes from Walgreen’s. Not a cosmetics counter.

Some of us are single moms. Some of us work two jobs, just to get by. Some of us spend every weekend teaching and embracing and loving YOUR children.

Some of us suffer from chronic illnesses, like lupus.

Still, we plan, we work, we cherish every triumph.

We are the women who are teaching your girls how to be strong. How to be leaders. How to defy stereotypes and redefine the role of women in today’s society.

We are 3.2 million strong. Among our ranks:

The first female war correspondent. Two astronauts. Journalists. Singers. Athletes.

We are Girl Scouts.

We get our hands dirty.

We wear jeans. And sneakers.

We like going incognito.

We clean cemeteries and investigate and document the lives of those buried in these old, forgotten graveyards. We work in community gardens, organize bedding drives for homeless children.

We take care of our senior citizens. Our soldiers.

We recognize unsung heroes because we understand what it is to work and not be recognized.

So no, you will not see us at galas or balls or sweetheart dances.

Our daughters will never be debutantes. Because the work they do? Well, it’s not recognized in social circles.

But we are so proud of them.

You won’t see our pictures in high-society mags.

You won’t hear about the things we do or see the things we see.

But our mark? Its imprint is deep.

And our girls? They are tomorrow’s leaders.

And us?

We are the ones teaching them to be leaders.

Because we know a true leader does not need public recognition or praise or a glossy photo to prove her value.

We know that anonymous sacrifice and offerings are far more precious, far more gratifying than acts that are spoken of publicly.

We believe in what we do because we see the results every day.

We believe in the girls of tomorrow.

We believe in grubby clothes and dirty fingernails.

We believe in getting things done.

We are Girl Scouts.

And we are proud.