Why I Would Never Force my Kids to go to Church

This is just so great I had to repost it. There are some awesome bloggers out there!

TruthNotes

My parents forced me to eat three times a day growing up.  No joke.  Three times.  Every.  Single.  Day.  And it wasn’t always stuff I liked, either.  Matter of fact, I complained a lot about what my mom made.  “Ewww, gross!  Sauteed zucchini?  Seriously?  Mom, you know we hate this stuff!”  So as I approached adulthood I made an important decision.  Since my parents forced me to eat while I was growing up, I decided I was done with meals.  Oh, here and there I’ll eat out of obligation.  I mean, family traditions like Thanksgiving and Christmas, yeah, I’m there.  But daily eating?  No way.  I’m done.

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Greenhouse Going Up

Fresh veggies!!  Robust and beautiful flowers! Aching back and dirt-filled nails!  Oh, yes!  Yes!!  Bring it on!

veggies

veggies

My sweet husband is once again laboring away on something that I have wanted for a long time.  The gift he gave me for Christmas.  My coveted greenhouse.  Which went along with the round, tumble compost maker.  Good rich dirt is one of my favorite things.

the making of a greenhouse

the making of a greenhouse

The weather was gorgeous, so the flower beds got cleaned, and all the new buds coming up were exclaimed over with lots of oohing and excited squealing.  I love spring.

a peony coming up

a peony coming up

baby's breath getting ready to breath!!

baby’s breath getting ready to breath!!

 

The greenhouse has our gardening juices flowing.  Not only will we have things growing in that, we will also have things for the small orchard we are planning.  We went through Stark Brothers catalog and ordered fruit trees and asparagus and strawberries and blueberries and blackberries and… I am just so excited.

Did I mention I love spring?

spring

spring

We have sat here and watched youtube videos on gardening in  raised beds, growing  in the garden plot, making compost, how to plant certain plants, all sorts of things.  Here are a few of them just in case you find a plant catalog lying around somewhere.  I’ll warn you now.  If you look through the catalog and watch the videos, it will change your life.

HAPPY GARDENING!!!!

My Momma, the Amazing Foodie

My mom was a great cook. She cooked for a hungry husband, an even hungrier boy, a pudgy very healthy girl, and another skinny little unhealthy girl.  They were good, stick-to-your-ribs and thighs and butt meals.  Meals like this one I made tonight.

goulash

goulash

She never made things like this salad I made the other night.IMG_7957And she never would have used the “china” that I used for the salad.  She had two dishwashers:  Darla and me.  She could get all kinds of dishes dirty.

dirty dishes

dirty dishes

If it was my turn to wash, I diligently washed all those dirty dishes — just like you see above — and after rinsing a couple of plates, Darla had to go to the “bathroom.”  She would use the “bathroom” until the dishes were all clean and piled in her sink to rinse.  Only they never got rinsed — because Darla was in the “bathroom” — until Mom came in the kitchen and got all over me for not rinsing them since Darla had to go to the “bathroom.”  Of course, Dar only was finished using the “bathroom” after I got all the dishes washed and rinsed.

That’s probably why I use paper china quite often now.

But I digress.  The reason for this blog tonight is not to tell you how good a cook Mom was or how many dishes Dar bathroomed out of doing, but the fact that Mom could cook without leftovers.  She didn’t like leftovers, so she could cook for all these starving stomachs and have nothing left over and fill us full to bursting.

But even that wasn’t the greatest feat.  If we did on the rare occasion have food left over, she would get out the just-right container for them.  Never too big.  Never too small.

And now I have accomplished what I have heretofore been unable to do:  Get the just right container for the leftovers.

Here is the proof!

perfect fit

perfect fit

Ah, the leftover food fantasy has become remaining food reality!

Goat Girl

As a youngster growing up on the hill — well, in my case halfway up the hill — I was the youngest of the group.

 Of course, I’m not counting the non-people:  my little sister and her friend, Nancy.

Nancy and Darla with their babies

Nancy and Darla with their babies

 At the time I thought they were ridiculous: everywhere they went carrying their baby dolls with their diaper bags thrown over their shoulders; spending hours on end playing with Barbie dolls; pretending to be the Beatles.  Actually, that’s one of my best memories now.  One of them would stand on the bed and sing and play the guitar, eyes closed, head shaking.  The other one would stand at the end of the bed screaming like a fool, grabbing their hair, then eventually passing out in the floor.  I used to stand in the hallway and watch them.

I was, of course, so superior to those goofballs.

On the other hand, my friends were cool and exotic.  They rode horses and had goats .  Well, Gail had  goats.

Gail and her goat

Gail and her goat

This picture was taken back in 1960 when our little town was having a celebration for our sesquicentennial year.  There were parades and all sorts of activities.  Gail and her goat won first place.

Her love of goats began with the Goat Man who came to town about once a year back then.  Today he can be found on the internet.  I googled “goat man” and got all sorts of interesting information.

the goat man

the goat man

I’m hoping Gail doesn’t decide to get herself a passel of goats in her later years.