Yesterday was a lovely combination of remembering those who served our country, helping Jeremy plant flowers in our gardens, and hosting a meal for a bunch of friends. The photos were taken at the cemetery (where Liv and I placed a flag on my grandfather’s grave). And the recipes below show what I prepared for dinner and dessert last night.
I figure if Kristen can win moola via Blingo, then why not me? Check it out.
I tend to have unusual encounters with strangers while grocery shopping. I blogged about this once before and only made a brief mention of the experience that scarred me for life. Long story short, I was around 21 years old and a much older black dude kept pursuing me at a Schnucks in St. Louis. Didn’t matter that I was married, he followed me around the store and kept inviting me over for dinner. I was terrified and was shaking by the time I got home to Jeremy that night.
Today I’m much more amused than shaken, but kind of perplexed as well. Now 29 years old, with obvious wedding bands on the ring finger of my left hand, I was approached by yet another much older man. He flattered me, and oh so kindly offered to help my poor confused self find the groceries I was looking for. I told him I didn’t think my husband would appreciate that. He dropped some more flattery and said he didn’t want to be creepy, then walked away. We saw each other twice more in the store, and I was fully prepared to be direct in the rudest way possible if he bugged me again.
Picking up chicks in Walmart? For real, people. Match.com or something, but just leave me alone in the canned veggie aisle!
My one exception to this rule to is Dennis Haysbert. If he wants to help me locate diced olives, I suppose I’d let him.
Feeding: Wives (and kids) who were so generous as to lend their husbands to the hard work of tearing out concrete from our backyard.
Paying: Some dude to complete the above activity with the help of a Bobcat.
Watching: Our yard, not to mention the concrete, get torn to shreds.
Sleeping: Away a large chunk of Saturday in order to heal from strep.
Baking: Yummy chunky brownies from a box.
Glowing: In the light from a firepit at a final fun night with our friends who are moving this Friday.
Feeling: Very sad about the moving of the good friends.
Enjoying: Livia’s first times attending Sunday School and Children’s Church with big kids.
Wishing: All the best to Bethany as she prepares to marry Andrew H.
Tearing Up: At the sweet memories and prayers at Bethany’s bridal shower.
Plucking: Concrete chunks from our sidewalk-less, parking spot-less backyard.
Planting: Pots on our front porch with coleus, some kind of impatiens and some cute little blue flowers whose name I can’t recall.
Watching: 24! while…
Drinking: A Mike’s.
I have strep. Again.
Argh!
This stupid bacteria is not only making me a tired, sick woman, but it’s also costing us a bit of cash. There are the $10 copays for doctors’ visits (five times total now for the Tredways), the $10-$25 copays for antibiotics, replacement costs for toothbrushes and toothpaste, and, this is the one that really gets to me, replacement costs for my beloved Burt’s Bees chapsticks. I hoard that stuff like nobody’s business and I *just* purchased two new tubes — and used both because one has papaya in it and is a pink color and I’m the kind of girl who likes tinted chapstick.
So on one hand is the hard cash issue, on the other is the friend issue. Some dear friends of ours are moving in about nine days and it would be so great if I could help watch their kids this week while they prepare to leave Nebraska. Another family is moving across town as I write this post, and again, it would be such a blessing to them if I could watch their kids. Then again, I’ve never known a virus to ask permission regarding the timing of affliction. So why not this week?
The good news? Liv is strep-free. And as vivacious as ever. At least I have entertainment in the midst of feeling like crud.
You just never know who or what may be roaming the city streets of Lincoln, Nebraska. Photo taken from inside our garage last Saturday.
I love bubbles.
But I don’t love the mess that bubbles make.
I’ve recently discovered there are some moms out there who are fastidiously neat. As in, they are so tidy that they keep their children from any potentially messy situation. I’m not like that. If you looked around my house you’d know this due to innumerable dust bunnies, dirty/clean piles of merging laundry and overflowing bathroom trash. I don’t mind it when Liv tattoos herself with markers and it doesn’t bug me when she is covered in dirt from the garden. But a sticky bubble mess totally gets my goat.
So really, I wasn’t all that upset when two three year olds and one four year old dumped out ALL our bubbles on the front porch last Thursday. Because now when I’m asked to blow bubbles, I can just say, “No. We don’t have any.”
What a mean mom.
It’s a rare occasion where I say, Go read this! and send you to a friend’s blog. I figure I have a decent-sized list off to the right that anyone can access. But I think the quotes Jason posted today merit a Go read this! kind of remark.
The Wilhite and Meilaender quotations really touched me.
