Don't Get Run Over

So it is snowing here again.

The roads are slick.

Our driveway has a bit of a slope that can give difficulty when the conditions are bad.

Today they were bad.

Kids hollered that Dad was home but could not get up the drive so I start getting ready to go out to help him. (I was planning on shoveling a path through the 1/8 inch of snow to give his tires a bit more traction)
Danny asks, "Are you going to push him"?
I inform him noway I don't want to get run over.

As I get my coat out of the closet I look out and see he made it up. I open up the door and greet him and say I was preparing to help him.

Then the car slides down our drive into the street.
Jesse runs along side his "baby" as it drives away leaving him behind.
I am yelling," Don't get run over" again and again.

She (the car) stopped partway in the street and managed not to get hit or run anyone over.

I went out and scraped the 1/8 inch of snow, sleet stuff off the drive and Jesse made it up without problems and the car has managed to stay put for a while now.

Jesse now agrees with me that our next house will have a less steep drive.
(not that this one is excessively steep)


Now if I could just stop checking the driveway to see if out car is still there.

A Partial Before and After

The top of my microwave was a clutter magnet.
The shame of my shortcomings is so great you will not see a before picture of my sins.

So I cleaned it up.
Unfortunately the pillar of plastic containers holding the honey, butter, and Cinnamon was unsightly.

I needed a box or a basket to gather they together in.

Behold the box... from the recycle bin in the garage.

Before



After

Of course this project was free with stuff I had on hand, I went digging through the trash for goodness sake. Just took a bit of elbow grease to clean up the mess and craftiness to prettify the box.

I think I have a bit of touching up to get the handles the right color but for now I am satisfied.

Pull up a chair

Grab a cup of tea, coffee, or beverage of choice and enjoy a Morgan house chat with Karist.

Some of you have heard of the "Pink House", if you haven't or want more info about it just ask Karist she will talk non stop and entertain you to your hearts content.

What exactly is the Pink House? It is a magical place in Karist's imagination (don't tell her, she thinks it is real)It is a part of her daily life.
She is always relating to things by saying "that's me" in movies she sees, games she plays, stories she hears, same thing with the house. You have a horse so she lets you know that she has a horse at her Pink House. Most likely it is a pink horse.

Here are a couple of samples of the Pink House phenomenon.

On Monday I spent the day baking.
I made: Butterhorn rolls
Bran Muffins
Pumpkin Bread and Muffins
Peanut Butter Cookies
And a 3 layer Cake with one pan...what a pain, I mean lesson in patience.

You can guess I was busy and using my mixer a lot.
As I was wrapping up I notice someone had taken the bread hook out and it was on the counter... with the enamel chipped off!!!
Tired Momma hollers across the house "Who broke my mixer"?
What kid in their right mind would confess that one.
No one did at first but I used my magical Mommy skills to discover that is was Karist.
Faced with the Magical, All-Knowing Mom she confessed and said she was sorry.
I gave her a hug and let her know that I forgave her but I was still sad that it was broken. I did not stay sad long.

She goes on after she says she is sorry to say:
" I got a mixer in my Pink House. It's a pink mixer." (that's a shock)
" My mixer is not broken"
She cracks me up.


Today I was prepping a Turkey to put in the oven for dinner. I called the kids in to show them the gizzards and talk about where meat comes from. Karist hung around after the other kids left asking "where is its leg?" for the third time. I show her again then put the turkey in the oven.
Here it comes the part you are waiting for:
Karist- "I have a pink turkey in my Pink House. I cut off its tail".

So if Karist ever acts shy around you or she is just nodding to every question you ask her on the phone just as her about her Pink House, she will talk.

Getting things done

There are not before pictures but this is what it looks like now.


I tried to find a solution to targeted mess/problem areas.
Coat closet fix: another organizer.



Living room was dark and uninviting.
Fix: a hanging lamp from Ikea for 12.00 and hanging my favorite quilt on the wall for some color.
It was free also- I stole it from my Mom,
who got it from my Aunt Brenda,
who got it from the animal shelter, who got it from a donation from someone who thought it would make good kennel bedding.

New curtains also free but I had not hung them because they need a room darkening backing, tired of waiting I put them over the old green ones with clothes pins.
It makes me feel better, and after all that is what matters most in decorating.

Devonae's desk was cluttered with school books and papers. Simple fix a magazine holder to put them in when she is not using them.

Jesse's desk was worse but a couple of magazine boxes quickly store his clutter where it is out of my sight but in his reach.

Fluffing my Nest

Since my sister is getting ready to fly away to Ecuador I figure I will be spending more time at my computer. For the next two years till she migrates back blogging and Skype are how we will be keeping in touch.

So I decided to touch up my computer area with a bit of art.

The additions are free.

The pictures were intended to be in color and may be someday soon but my printer won the battle of the ink.








I had the letter stickers and scrapbook paper in my craft closet and the painters tape in the garage.

The art is from http://indiefixx.com/Feed_your_soul/index.html

Here is a not so widely known fact: Becka collected birds when she was younger.

Dance Recital

When: last month
Theme: Who-ville
Why now? because I am a procrastinator that is why.






So why the stark background and the costume disarray?

Well did I mention a procrastinator earlier?
I put off getting new batteries in the camera until the last minute and then wardrobe malfunctions occupied me till the last minute so I had to toss the task to my sometimes reliable procrastinator-in-chief.

Batteries seemed like his kind of thing but in retrospect I should of had him braid hair on a wire while I did the batteries.

So we arrive and the recital begins, the camera turns on them shuts down. I turn to my partner and ask the obvious question with the also obvious answer.

"Did you get new batteries for the camera?"
"No"
Followed by either "I did not know it needed new batteries", or " I thought you did".

At this late date I can't remember which it was. Perhaps I should take a poll to determine the historical fact so that it can be recorded properly.

So there were no pictures or videos of the recital or the charming background.

You will have to live with the mugshot like post-recital photos in my kitchen.

Happy Birthday and other thoughts

Happy Birthday Weston.
I missed being at your entrance.
I have missed every birthday since.
But I love you and think about you on your special day even if I can't be there.

Oh by the way thanks for sharing your day with Elli.
She is 5 now. She had a birthday she says. Weston's.

5 is now her lucky number.



Now on to "what is in a name".

So I was holding it together at the commissioning service for my Sister and her family, who are leaving in a few weeks for Ecuador, just fine until a name broke down my walls of emotional restraint.

I have pretty tough walls too.

So when Dustan's Dad was laying hands on the family and talking to God he called his son "Dusty".
I have heard him called this before but the way it was said, who it was said to, and the context it was said in, that tore me up.

Who knew "Dusty" was the weak link in my wall.

So what I heard was a Daddy praying and giving his little boy into the hands of God.
Dustan was not a man in his father's eyes at that moment...
he was young...
about Weston's age...
or perhaps little Samuel in the Bible.


I guess you can say it was the picture of the immense love of a father for his child that moved me so.


So "Dusty" if you read this in a way it was you, not Becka, that broke me down to crying in public.

I am pretty sure that what I saw and heard was the way it was seen from heaven.