The first time I watched this part of the movie Joseph King of Dreams, I scared my kids by blubbering like a toddler through the whole song. I have behaved in a similar fashion every single time I've watched it since... but it doesn't scare the kids anymore. They know these are good tears.
Yesterday I was able to toddle into the kitchen and do a whole heapin' sink full of dishes. I even broke out some of my splurge-y Mrs. Meyer's dish soap for the occasion. The Iowa Pine scent was so delicious... I coulda washed dishes all day long (if I could have remained vertical that long.) Yep, it was par-tay time for this old gal.
Hmmm, maybe I'll scrap that carefully thought out gift plan and just give every gal on my Christmas list a bottle of dish soap instead...
Hot spicy cider in thick jadeite mugs, soft almost-worn-out holiday table linens, an old favorite movie and a plate full of sweet homemade treats...
It's a wonderful life, oh yes it is.
Yes indeedy ladies, that is me... looking quite a bit worse for the wear no doubt, but vertical and in my semi-right mind. This past week has been a bit of a wild and woolly ride; I've been to the doctor's and home, to the hospital where I discovered the sheer bliss of those thick cotton flannel heated blankets, and back home once again to find that nothing is more wonderful than your own little boy tucking the blankets and pillows from his own bed 'round you. Was it a virus? an infection? a (God forbid) stroke? It seems no one quite knows at this point. I am however feeling a bit better day by day... yesterday I made it to the kitchen (which Amelia has been presiding over with remarkable ease and grace.) Today I made it to the computer chair... who knows what victories tomorrow will bring? I can hardly wait.
Oh yeah, and Happy Birthday to me!
This morning I noticed that my ears felt strangely plugged, as if I were underwater. Then they began ringing and then I realized that my balance was off. Very very off. I feel just fine except for the fact that I can barely stand. I feel like I used to when I was five years old and would twirl and twirl and twirl until I fell down with a thump onto the soft green grass of my parents' front lawn. It was so much fun back then and quite a bit less so now.
Doctor's appointment at 8:15am.. your prayers and whatevers most humbly requested.
Sunday mornings sorely try my no-drive-thru resolve. To help forestall temptation, I've started making these homemade breakfast sandwiches. Whole wheat bread toasted on the griddle, an omelet-y sort of egg melted with cheese and a couple of slices of bacon; including the strawberry-apple juice it works out to less than two dollars a serving. And at under fifteen minutes in the kitchen, I even have time to blog about it.
Just don't ask about the breakfast dishes. Yeah.
Since we have determined that cocoa most definitely does not count as breakfast and can therefore be consumed during morning devotional, Noah has gotten very attached to his morning cuppa. Bleary eyed, he stumbles downstairs and makes his way to the microwave where he uses one of those instant cocoa packets and milk to make the brew to his very meticulous and exacting specifications. O yeah.
Now, I am all for independence, and far be it from me to ever stand between a man and his cocoa, but I have to admit that those individual packets are a bit of a stretch for my food budget. And I am thinking that there is likely a homemade "instant" cocoa mixture that would surpass it for taste as well as frugality. Sadly, I do not have such a recipe. I suppose I could just do the google, but I instead I thought I'd consult all of the real experts on such things: you ladies, my sister-mamas. So give me your best gals... your own personal family cocoa recipe if you have one. And if you don't, well then maybe you can point me in the direction of someone who does. I know there just have to be goodles of yummy and convenient cocoa concoctions out there.
These internets are a beautiful thing.
Hey, I like to read just as much as the next homeschoolin' mama, but I'll freely admit it; for me half the charm of older books is their cover art. These dust jackets are just too much fun altogether for sliding away in a bookcase somewhere unseen and unappreciated. Lined up in neat rows, stacked in lumpy piles in odd corners of the house, or carefully displayed as are these (mostly) Grace Livingston Hill novels, any technique that appeals to you works just fine.
Be forewarned however, once you free your books from the confines of the bookcase, anything can happen. You might find your teenage daughter reading the memoirs of Eleanor Roosevelt, or your self-confessed-book-phobic-son poring over Aesop's Fables. You just might find some time in your own harried schedule for a sweet and uplifting story or two. You just never know... stranger things have happened. Mmhmm.
That's what my Grampa Frank used to say, and time has proven him right. Case in point: the beautiful 100 year old arbor which has provided a winter haven for my precious birds has fallen under the weight of the roses that grow there. It's sagging in a most unattractive manner, and the birds are missing the feeders that were nestled amongst the branches.
I will be re-attaching the arbor once I am able to trim back the roses... or should I say I will be using my muffin skilz to bribe some strong and hammer-handy gentleman to re-attach the arbor once I am able to trim back the roses. And speaking of those roses, waiting for them to die back sufficiently to be trimmed is quite the exercise in patience. I want my arbor back. I want my birdfeeders. I miss the flocks of birds that descended on my back porch in search of their daily bread.
Some of the birds still come and search for the seeds that have fallen. I can see them so clearly now that the branches are few and far between. The top of the arbor now sways in the breeze just outside of my kitchen window, in perfect dishwashing view. While the hot water is steaming over my hands, the birds twitter around on the other side of the panes, looking in at me. They fly away with a great dramatic fluttering of wings when they realize I am watching them too.
