Storytime

Angel loves to have a story told or read to her.  Before she will take a nap, she needs to have a story.  Before she will go to bed at night, she wants to have three stories.  Now the twins like to have stories, too.  Come to think of it, all my kidlets have loved to have someone read to them.  We're a family of readers.

Recently, we came up with the brilliant idea to have her "read" stories to the twins.  They all love it.  Score.

The end.

Number Five

Happy Anniversary to the man I chose (and still choose) to spend my life with.  It's been an adventure, hasn't it?

And I do.  Still.  Even though.

Time Flies

I haven't written much.  Partly because I got burned out during October.  But mostly because I've just been loving being a mom.  Being a mom takes time - lots of it.  Forgive me if I enjoy making these memories more than  writing them down.

Juice Anxiety

I got some grapes.  A kind neighbor brought two boxes of small but deliciously tart purple grapes over.  The kids were beside themselves with excitement - until they found out there were seeds involved.  They were less than impressed with the "yucky parts."  I wanted to juice them, and maybe make some jelly.

I went down into the dungeon storage room and lugged out my mom's old graniteware steamer juicer.  I'd show you a picture, but my camera is not at home, and I can't even find a picture of the old thing on the internet anywhere!  It's that old.  It's like a big canning pot, except that there are three sections: the bottom one holds boiling water, the top holds fruit, and the steamed juice drips into the middle.  You get the juice through plastic tubing hooked onto a spout in the bottom of the middle pan.  

I washed all the grapes (with a lot of help and six little hands splashing in the kitchen sink), and loaded the top pan.  I made sure to fill the bottom pan with enough water, stacked all the pans, and carefully lifted the whole, heavy monster to the stove.  After simmering for a while, a rich, syrupy smell floated through the house.  It was heavenly.  

When enough juice collected in the middle pan, I was ready to unkink the hose and fill quart bottles with fresh grape juice.  And then I was paralyzed with childhood memories.  

When I was a little girl, my mom was doing a load of fruit... apples maybe?  I don't remember.  I do remember that she carefully poured a bit of hot juice into a cup and let me taste it as soon as it had cooled enough to not burn.  My young mouth was delighted, and as soon as she left the room, I wanted more.

I had seen how she unhooked the hose - and yummy juice came out!  I could do it, too.  I don't think I need to paint in too much detail the picture that followed.  Boiling juice all over me, the counters, gushing out the hose, pooling on the floor, my mother upset, little me crying...   I remember that it was a disaster and I certainly learned my lesson.

Decades later, I can't unhook the hose without worrying that I'll make such a colossal mess.  Isn't it interesting how memories can come flooding (bad pun, sorry) back when you least expect it?  Today I miss my mom, but with a smile on my face.  Thanks for not killing me, Mom!

And I successfully got a few quarts of really tasty grape juice to enjoy later!

Of Souls and Sauce

I've been making applesauce today.  Actually, I've been making applesauce for the past week or so.  With all my little helpers, it's been quite a process to work around little fingers, sharp knives, and boiling pans.

I haven't been saucing Red Delicious.  It was just the only apple left when I was done.  

Trent and the boys picked unwanted apples from two trees and brought me home boxes of sweet red Jonathans and crunchy yellow Golden Delicious apples.  Yum.  I made a few batches of applesauce on the stove, and then a few of apple butter in my crock pots.  Have to say I'm converted to the crock.  Again (thanks for the tip, Heidi!).

The process is time-consuming.  These were not great apples, but were bruised and full of worm holes.  I spent hours at the sink, sorting and washing and cutting out bad parts.  While I worked, I had plenty of time to think and learn.  There are many similarities between apples and people.

I learned that while there are occasional "flesh wounds," most blemishes are actually larger than they appear. We never know how deep a hurt goes.

I learned many people would throw away a badly bruised apple, but most of them, upon closer inspection, are at least 2/3 good.  Don't underestimate how much good there may be.  And don't judge too quickly.

I learned that knives cut.  I need to be careful with sharp things (my tongue, maybe?).

I learned that nobody is perfect, but there are all kinds of good.

I learned that when I find a flaw, it is to my best interest to cut it out quickly, and completely.  Letting it sit just increases the damage, and infects all the neighbors.

No one wants to look at the garbage, but we all have it!

I learned that I'd rather deal with an apple with one large bruise than a pretty apple riddled with wormholes.

I learned that I work better when I am standing on a soft rug.  I need to keep my feet comfortably grounded in good things to allow the rest of me to work without tiring.

I learned that good results take work.  And time.  Sometimes lots of both.

I learned that I should not procrastinate.  That only makes the job worse.  And bad apples make my whole house smell bad.

I leaned that I like being home.  Home.  Not just in my house, but fully engaged at being home.

And I learned that when I am blessed to be in the company of a truly beautiful apple, I should take my time and savor it.  Make the most of now, and enjoy it.

And cooking spiced apple butter in crocks makes the house smell delicious!

Halloween '12

Not even going to apologize for bad pictures of the average costumes on the greatest people I'd love to stay with forever!

Ben was a "greaser" with his father's letterman's jacket.  (I took this picture when he dressed up for his "80's" choir concert, but his Halloween ensemble was similar - but with rolled-up jeans and a white t-shirt.)

Superman and Batman - we painted the logos on sweats that will keep them warm through the winter.  They didn't like the capes at first, but submitted after a while.

This is Eddie, the wizard.  He took an old ball-style light fixture to use as a crystal ball.

David's 6th grade class was studying Egypt, so they had to dress up as something related.  The black eyeliner was his idea, not mine.  He's a good sport!

Yeah, I'm the black widow.  The twins were a little wierded out by the plastic spider I stuck on my forehead, but all Angel would comment on was my red-painted nails.  She was an angel-butterfly-princess, because she couldn't decide between the three.

Angel wanted her picture taken with some friends at the elementary school costume parade.  These were the best costumes I saw, but I wish I had seen the ones my sister-in-law told me about: a guy dressed "gangnam style," dancing perfectly, with another guy in black mimicking his every move - his shadow!

I didn't get pictures of the superman shirt Trent wore, or the green velvet cape Chris sported to school.  My bad.  I wonder what Alec wore at college?  

I don't remember my first Halloween at college, but I know what I did for the second year.  I stuffed small pillows into the belly of a roomy jumper I had, and stuck a ball of yarn and some knitting in one of the pockets.  I made applesauce (really!) and "trick-or-treated" by going around to friends' apartments and giving out warm bottles of applesauce.  Barefoot, pregnant, knitting, and home-canning.  Somewhat domestic, no?

Toilet Paper

We were running low on toilet paper a while back (a long while back).  When Trent was at the store to pick up a few things, he spotted a great sale on cases of toilet paper.  It was too great to pass up.  So he bought a few.  It wasn't until he brought them home and installed a roll or two that we discovered it was thin one-ply.

Due to our pioneer heritage, we had to buck up and use it up.  We are tough enough to handle any difficulty. With some complaining, that is.  But we kept using it, and kept replacing the empty rolls with wonderfully transparent one-ply toilet paper.

We finally ran out.  And there was great rejoicing in the land.

The Angel carried a roll of toilet paper over to me (I didn't know she knew how to remove it from the holder!)  She help it close to her face.  In reverence she whispered, "Is this ours?"  Confused, I answered in the affirmative.  "Oh," she exclaimed, "I didn't know that!  I like it!"  She gently stroked her face with the new tissue's velvety two-ply softness, and solemnly sashayed back into the bathroom.

Lesson learned.  No more one-ply.