Monday, April 30, 2012
Pinterest Party: Fail-Proof Pizza Dough
Fat Tuesday (oh darn)
Anyone interested in doing Fat Tuesday again with me? Does anyone remember Fat Tuesday? Is anyone even reading this?
Blogging. Not for the paranoid.
Well, here's the sitch. I am feeling like I need to get fit. Because, hello? I've never really been "fit," per say. A long time ago, I started Fat Tuesday on this blog and people could check in on Tuesdays to see if they were meeting their goals. Anywho, I was thinking of starting something up again. And since misery loves company, I thought I would see if any of you would like to join me.
My plan is to set some goals and try with all my might to stick to something . . . anything . . . for one full month.
You may proclaim: "Taylor! One full month?! There's no way you can do it!"
True, readers. True.
But perhaps this time I shall.
So. Here's the deal. I will post some fitness/eating goals tomorrow for my first Fat Tuesday post. I shall try my best to also be trying out healthy recipes and posting them on here. You can join me if you'd like. Or you can tune in on Tuesdays and giggle as each week I post things such as:
"Shoot! I totally forgot I was supposed to be exercising all week!"
"Oops! Ate three scoops of ice cream . . . twice."
"Oh! Is it Tuesday already?! I gained weight. Again."
Come on. You can't deny that I am inspiring. Perhaps I shall be the next Jillian Micheals?
One can only hope.
But I would love it if you would like to join me!
Also, I am in need of some advice:
Shall I:
1) Try running?
2) Do the 30 day shred (oh for humanity!)?
3) Do my eliptical trainer?
4) Zumba it up?
Fun Fact: I've had 5 knee surgeries. So bear that in mind.
Okie dokes! Let me know if you are in.
Or not.
The choice is yours.
Z is for The Zoo
To cheer the kids up, we got Lucy.
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Oh, don't let that cute puppy face fool you. That dog turned into nothing but trouble. She quickly earned the nickname: "LucyFur." Do you get it? Do you get it?
LucyFur was a wild beast that could not be tamed. She was running around the "neighborhood" (and I use the term "neighborhood" quite loosely) chasing horses and cows and all sorts of large, expensive animals that owners tend to get a bit sensitive about. We had to find a new home for Lucy before she got shot.
So, in short, we used to be a one pet family. Not quite sure how this happened, but we currently have 70-80 animals.
Let us take a tour of Le Zoo Maliblahblah, shall we?
First, we have rabbits. And lots of them. Currently, we have 40, but at one point we had around 120. Because, have you met my husband? He is insane.
The kids and I have gotten to loathe the rabbits.
Rabbits are freaky. If you think rabbits are all sweet, kind, and innocent, well, you have been misinformed my friend.
You have been misinformed.
The dads eat the babies.
The moms will eat the babies if the baby has a problem.
If the mom is hungry, cold, or scared, she will abandon her litter.
And then eat them.
They rip their hair out to create nests, sometimes drawing blood.
I'm telling you. It's horrifying over here.
Plus, we are plum sick of them.
But for some reason, my husband dreams of being a rabbit farmer. Because, haven't you heard? Farming rabbits brings you great wealth and prestige. The problem is that our rabbits aren't breeding.
?
We are simply at a loss as to how to encourage such amorous activities between rabbits. Perhaps we need to play some Marvin Gaye songs to help set the stage?
But don't worry. We take good care of our rabbits, even though we loathe them.
Oh, and we totes don't eat them. We sell them. Did you really think I could eat rabbit? Hmmm?
Hmmm?
Next up is chickens.
I kind of like the chickens. They are pretty low maintenance. I have yet to touch one, however, as I find their wing-flapping to be a bit unsettling.
They do leave me lovely presents everyday.
Of which I am too disturbed to eat, because, have you heard? I was never meant for country life.
We had turkeys for about a week.
But they were disturbing, to say the least. They are in the freezer, which is better than their previous position of guarding the eggs and threatening us with instant death, what with their freaky, blue heads and slimy, dangly things.
Of course, I won't be able to eat the turkeys. But I am sure someone will.
And what is a farm without your trusty dogs?
We have the world's laziest dogs-a nice change from LucyFur.
Tank
Miley
And don't forget Peter the Cat!
We also have a goldfish but this post has gone on long enough and I have no ambition to find a picture.
So, there you have it. A zoo.
How many animals do you have?
Happy Monday!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Y is for Yesteryear
I have been working outside all day with my husband. My leg muscles (yes! I have leg muscles! Who knew?!) are tingly and my arms feel like Jello. I have tilled no less than 4,000 pounds of rabbit poo into my future garden. My shoes are stinky.
Building fences and tilling gardens. Not for the faint of heart.
I was just about to fall asleep when I remembered my dumb, needy blog and the letter "Y" post that had yet to be written. Darn it all. So, I made my husband fetch the computer because I did, afterall, dig trenches and the like today and he hardly lifted a finger.
I kid! I jest! He is the muscles behind all of the goings on here.
I also forced him to basically come up with today's post. Because he cares a lot about blogging, didn't you know?
A few days ago, I posted a list about how my husband has changed from when I first met him. Lisa commented:
I think you should have the LJ do 10 points on how you’ve changed . . . it’d be mighty interesting!
Brilliant idea, Lisa! So, without further ado, here is a list of how David says I have changed since when he first met me:
1. She digs ditches and does more physical labor outside.
2. She doesn't shop at Abercrombie and Fitch of Gap anymore.
3. She owns rabbits and chickens.
4. She knows how to drive a 4-wheel drive vehicle.
5. She knows what a fertilized egg is.
6. She now knows the difference between a cow, bull, and a steer.
I used to, but I forgot. But we'll let him think I remembered. I think a steer is "less of a man" than a bull. But who really cares? Honestly.
7. She lives in Ruralville and not in a subdivision.
8. Her hair is darker.
9. She knows how to can food.
10. She makes her own bread.
So, there you have it. A most exciting post on a Saturday night if there ever was one.
I am absolutely exhausted and have a cold something fierce. I need to get some beauty sleep so the fun can continue tomorrow.
Goodnight, all!
Friday, April 27, 2012
X is for eXasperating
I am feeling cranky today . . . eXasperated, if you will. Here is a list of all the irksome things that are irking me today.
1. I haven't been sleeping well. I blame Peter the Cat. He has been attacking my head in the night, because, apparently, my head is a ferocious beast.
Have you ever been sound asleep and have a kitten, who imagines himself to be a fierce lion, pounce on your head?
It's a treat. Please experience it immediately.
2. I cannot be certain, but we all might be getting sick. This is never fun.
3. Somebody stole the lawn mower from our rental house.
Hooligans.
4. I have to drive the truck into town tonight. This is always stressful for me. Remember the last time I had to take the truck?
5. The chickens keep getting out. I find this quite vexing. I wouldn't care, but Tank and Miley, our faithful dogs, find it to be their duty to slaughter all chickens.
One chicken has died, two have been saved, albeit slightly chewed on.
6. I have been cleaning our rental. Cleaning up after other people in a house that used to be your own is always disconcerting. I found some "questionable paraphernalia."
And we'll just leave it at that.
7) The kids keep closing the door to the bathroom where the kitten's litter box is. Thusly (is thusly a word? I care not), the kitten has been leaving me special presents around the house.
You know what's fun? I found poop on the floor by the toilet and I had to try and ascertain whether it was:
A) Little Dude
B) Handsome Dude
C) Tank
D) Miley
E) Peter
That was quite the investigation, let me tell you.
So. I am going to make some tea with honey to soothe my poor, scratchy throat and show you some pictures.
Please try and feign interest.
Pop Quiz Hot Shots: How many items can you find in this picture that AREN'T put away? Which is odd since the children assured me all their messes had been cleaned up.
Fun Fact: Little Dude walks around the house repeat/shouting:
"Children (except it sounds like "Trilldren") obey your parents in da Lord."
And, yet, he does not. Ever. Nope.
Daisy Mae and I are trying out a new curriculum for grammar, as if her life could not be any more exciting. She begged and begged all morning to do it.
So, we did it. And at one point she had to use a dictionary and I don't think her day could have gotten much better.
< >
Me: Why are you so happy?
Daisy Mae: I just LOVE dictionaries!
I know, I know. It's probably because she is homeschooled. Note to self: need to get the child out more.
Alright. That's all I got. Aren't you glad you made the trip over to my blog today? I didn't waste your time at all, did I?
Tell me, dear readers:
1) Got any plans for the weekend? We are (surprise, surprise) working on more fencing.
2) Do dictionaries rock your world?
3) Have you ever had a kitten attack you at 2am?
4) Do you like driving ginormous, fickle trucks with a manual transmission and four "spirited" children?
Later gators.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
W is for Where's Waldo
Pinterest!
In May, I am joining a group of bloggers who will be trying out things from Pinterest and posting the results on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
If anyone else would like to participate, you can read all about it on Mindee's blog.
Thanks!
I'll be back later today with a "W" post. Although I have NO idea what "W" will be for . . .
Here's to hoping that something "W"-ish will happen in the next couple of hours!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
V is for Vent
***
I was a stupid new mom.
You might think I am a stupid old mom, too, but keep that to yourself. I had no idea what was coming when my daughter was born.I had no clue what the meaning of the word "tired" was, until she came along.This child completely had her days and nights mixed up.
She was up ALL NIGHT LONG.
And each day I was growing more and more deliriously tired.
My mom called me one afternoon: "Hi! How's it going over there?"
"Horrible!" I snapped. "I got 1 1/2 hours of sleep. I am never having any more kids. Never. Why do people do this again? Are they STUPID?"
Never having any more kids. Ha!
I began to loathe the Lumberjack each night around 10pm.
He would happily brush his teeth and then come into the living room where I was imprisoned by this fussy and very awake newborn.
"Goodnight!" he would smile.
Oh. I would just want to throw my Boppy pillow at him.
He made it sound so easy.
Goodnight.
"Hope we're not too loud for you." I would say.
"Nope!"
And off he would go . . . to bed . . . to sleep . . . for 8 hours solid.
Traitor.
He would stumble out of the bedroom at 6am, and there I would be, either nursing or rocking the child, and fuming that I had not EVEN been to bed yet.
And then HE would take a nice, long, hot, uninterrupted shower, get dressed and head off to work with adults.
And there I would still be.
On the couch.
With a baby.
No shower.
No sleep.
No adults.
Not dressed.
And the most annoying part was that people kept making comments to me like:
"Your poor husband. He is so tired. He needs more sleep."
What?!
Yes.
Let's feel bad for the guy who gets 8 hours of sleep and gets to LEAVE.
Never mind the tired new mom.
Remember her?
The gal who had to spend 22 hours in labor before giving birth to this screaming creature?
The same gal who now has to breastfeed (and she HATES breastfeeding) around the clock?
Remember her?
Anyone?
Please.
I did not like this new arrangement in life. I found it quite unfair.
So, I told him we needed a new arrangement.
He agreed and said that he would go to bed at 10pm and then if at 2am, I was still up, we would switch.
Fine, I said.
So, that is what I did.
At 2am, I went and woke him up.
And on that night, I discovered something about my Lumberjack that I had not yet known in our 2 1/2 years of marriage:
The Lumberjack is INSANE.
It's 2 am and his turn.
I wake him up.
He does not understand what is going on.
He does not know where he is.
He might not even be sure of who I am.
He makes weird grunting noises, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.
I do not find this cute.
I attempt to wake him up again:
"Hello! You said you would take her at 2am so I could sleep!"
"HHHMMMPPPHHHH."
He dramatically threw all the blankets off of himself and stomped out of the room, and then he went into the bathroom.
And just sat on the toilet.
With the toilet lid down.
Fully clothed.
Just sat there.
"Ahem! Can you take her?"
Still sitting.
The baby was extremely fussy at this point in the evening.
Knowing what I know now, the child just needed to be laid down in her crib, cry for 2.5 minutes, and she would be off to lala land.
But I was a stupid new mom and was sure she needed to be held every second of every cry.
So, while Mr. Lumberjack was taking a moment to "reflect" while sitting on a toilet, I was trying everything I could think of to calm the baby down.
Finally, LJ let's out a big sigh, and walks over to me:
"Give her to me," he says in a very sassy voice.
This was also new to me.
Now I hear it often: LJ's too tired and insane SASSY voice.
It is quite annoying.
But I have come to realize, that if he is using the sassy voice, it isn't the real LJ.
It is the insane LJ.
And I should just ignore it and let him go back to sleep. Because he truly is not himself.
And he will not remember one bit of this the next day.
He's not a bad guy.
He's actually quite wonderful. And handsome, I might add.
He's just insane in the middle of the night.
"What are you going to do with her?" I am not sure of this new, sassy husband of mine.
"Fix her."
"How?"
"Just give her to me."
"I want to know what you are going to do first."
"Give me the super glue."
"Are you serious?"
"Huh?"
"You can't superglue a baby!"
"She'll stop crying, won't she?"
It is at this point that I now fear for my child's life.
He snatches her from me and says,
"Go get some sleep."
Right.
I watch him for awhile.
He lays down on the couch with her on his chest.
She is furious.
He begins to hum extremely loudly and just kind of move her up and down with his arm.
And then he falls asleep . . . while she is flailing and screaming.
I am not okay with this. This is not safe.
So, I go and wake him up:
"You are doing this wrong! You can't sleep with her awake on top of you! What if she falls?"
He finds me to be quite annoying at this hour.
He is mad that I am up and he is up.
Somebody needs to be asleep.
So, he banished me to our room.
For the life of me, I could not go to sleep.
You can understand why, can't you?
Well, about 30 minutes later, he came back into the room, alone, and got into bed.
"Where is the baby?"
"You know where she is."
"No, I don't."
"Yes."
"No. Where is she?"
"Where she always is!" the sassy voice was very much back.
"And where is that!?" this poor newborn was sleeping somewhere new every night: bassinet, swing, car seat, crib, wherever. We just wanted sleep!
"Uh!" he is quite annoyed with me. And sassy. "She is in the vent."
At this news, I jump out of bed and frantically search the house to find my precious baby who I mistakenly left in the care of her insane father.
Checked the swing: no baby.
Checked the car seat: no baby.
Checked the bassinet: no baby.
Checked the vent: no baby.
Checked the crib: sleeping baby!
Kind of sad that an insane, sassy father can get a newborn to sleep in her crib in the middle of the night . . . something I could not accomplish yet as a stupid, new mom.
From then on, I did not ask the Lumberjack to help me in the middle of the night.
I did not ask him to help with each subsequent child, either.
Our marriage would never survive it.
But when he is awake and alert, he is very loving, very helpful, and very attentive.
And not one bit sassy . . . most of the time.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
U is for Underpants. Captain Underpants.
Fortunately, we don't live near "people."
So, it was no surprise to me to see Little Dude outside chasing loose chickens, wearing just a shirt, his underpants, and rubber boots.
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Pants. Who needs them?
Chasing chickens. It's the boys' new favorite pastime. Did you know chickens dig holes and sneak under fences? Because I have nothing better to do than run around filling holes with dirt.
Did you know that filling in holes with dirt makes a gal ueber sweaty?
Ask me how I know.
Little Dude is one with the animals. He will oft sneak into the coop, forgoing pants of course, and visit the chickens.
Word on the street is the rooster did not appreciate his visit and kicked Little Dude in the hiney.
Roosters. Not ones to be messed with.
In OTHER animal news (have you heard? we have a zoo), Peter the kitten is still alive. I have declared it a rule that Little Dude may not hold Peter without adult supervision.
Sure. Peter looks calm. But inside he is screaming:
"Save me! Oh, the horror! The horror!"
***
"B" left this comment and I thought it was time for a little step back in time:
Did you and David have any of these discussions before you married (she is referring to the fact that David "takes care of turkeys" and I can't hardly stand the thought of meat anymore)….how long did you date?
Did you know he wanted to be the farmer in the dell? Do your children know that little ditty? Do they think it is your family?
Well, dear readers. The David of today is not the same David of yesteryear. Here are some fun facts about the David I dated:
1) He went to tanning salons. For to tan.
2) He highlighted his hair. Actually, he had ME highlight his hair. And my grandmother walked into the kitchen while I was playing beauty parlor with my fiance and grumbled:
"I didn't know my granddaughter was marrying a sissy."
True story.
3) He thought it was "uncool" to listen to country music.
4) We planned day trips to the nearest Old Navy . . . which was 3 hours away at that time. And we both loved to shop there.
5) We also shopped at The Gap and Abercrombie and Fitch. Now, we shop and feed and farm stores. So, yeah. Be jealous of that.
6) He did not hunt.
7) He did not drive a truck.
8) He owned nothing Carhartt.
9) He took swing dance class with me in college.
10) His ebay username contained the name "JCrew" in it. Because he was such a fan. Of JCrew.
I know none of you will believe any of this. But I speak the truth.
We dated for two years before we wed.
So, yeah. That's why I am generally in a state of confusion over here.
And, because I am so good at remembering this, let's do a COW.
Deb wrote this after I posted on David's reckless free chicken spree, when we were not yet ready for chickens.
Good gravy, Taylor.
I mean, really.
I hope that man knows how lucky he is.
Holla, Deb! Holla!
I showed it to David. He seemed unimpressed. But I think it should be framed.
Yes. Yes, I do.
PS-He knows. Trust me. No sane woman would have moved to Ruralville. And the locals know exactly what I am talking about.
PPS-Lest there be any confusion, I love my husband a great deal. And although I oft joke about my life, I am very lucky and blessed.
Later, dudes.
Kendra Update
Click here to read that post.
Thank you!
Monday, April 23, 2012
T is for Toodle-oo, Tom!
On Friday, the girls came into the house and happily announced that Tom (the turkey of course . . . please, try to keep up) had turned a new leaf.
Sweet Pea: Mom! He didn't even yell at us! He just sat there and let us get the eggs!
Me: Huh? Maybe he just needed time to get used to us?
So, we were full of warm fuzzies for our new-found friend, Tom. Although, to be fair, if someone were to call from The Craigslist, I would have made them quite the deal right then and there.
Over our camping trip, the girls shared this exciting news with my parents.
Me: David! Did I tell you? The turkey was nice today!
David: Yeah. I think his legs are broken.
Me and the girls: *gasp!* Oh, no!
Because, remember? He was our new friend. For five minutes.
Well, folks. Tom was fat. He was a certain type of turkey that was bred for his large-ness. Turns out they are so heavy, they can no longer reproduce naturally and the only way to get babies is to take them to a vet for a little "artificial insemination."
And who has time for that nonsense?
But, anyways. Tom's girth ended up being his demise and his legs could no longer handle it.
Ok, even though I loathed Tom, isn't that kind of sad? Poor Tom. So, my husband left the camp site and, allow me to put this delicately, "took care of Tom."
I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm married to someone who "takes care of things." Oh, to live in the city.
Tom is in our freezer, now adding turkey to the list of foods I cannot stomach to eat any longer.
Folks, country life is killing me. I can't hardly eat meat anymore. I was a fan of chicken, but now I have chickens. And they are so . . . winged.
I was ok with eggs. But, oh the poo-poo on the eggs.
David was making a joke about getting a cow.
Me: A beef cow or a dairy cow?
David: Beef.
Me: Oh, good. I'm not ready to give up milk yet. It's my only source of protein these days.
Oh! And my main man is taking all the rabbit poop and dumping it in the garden site because, apparently, rabbit poop makes your vegetables sing.
So, now I can't eat stuff out of my garden.
I'm just going to live off of Cheetos or something.
***
Camping.
Camping was fun and lovely. We totally don't "rough it," so please don't feel too badly for me. We went to a site where we could just plug our trailers in. Plus, while David went home to "take care of Tom" (shudder), the rest of us went to a nearby town to do a little shopping!
Camping shopping! Try it! It's all the rage!
We even popped some corn and watched a DVD in my parents' trailer. So, yeah. Not so rough.
Here are some pictures of our trip. You know. To delight you.
Me: David. Could you please try and attempt to look like you somewhat enjoy your life?
As you can see, it was a gorgeous weekend.
***
And, finally, I would like to leave you with the following convo between my mother and I. My purpose in sharing this with you is to show you my roots and to give you a better understanding as to why I sometimes have a hard time with the country life and all the glory it entails.
Me: I want to get rid of our rooster.
Mom: Why?
Me: I'm a bit weirded out by the whole fertilized eggs thing.
Mom: That makes no sense to me.
Me: Well, since there is a rooster, the eggs are fertilized.
Mom: Don't get it.
So, now I get to try and explain the birds and bees to mother. Which is an odd turn of events, don't you think? Plus, I have four children running around, so I need to put things "delicately."
Me: Well, mom . . . the rooster . . . he's the boy . . . ?
Mom: Ok?
Me: So, if we let a hen sit on that egg for awhile it will turn into a baby.
Mom: And wouldn't that always happen?
Me: No. You need the rooster . . .
Mom: Are you telling me that hens lay eggs no matter what?!
Me: Yes! They will lay an egg with or without a rooster.
Mom: I did not know that!
Me: So, if you don't have a rooster, you won't get a baby chicken.
Mom: Huh!?
And there you have it. A little glimpse into why I am that way that I am.
Happy Monday!
Friday, April 20, 2012
Ridiculous and Sweet
I HAVE to go camping this weekend. And blogging is generally frowned upon when one is trying to "rough it" out in the wilderness. Although I am totes bringing my hair dryer, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
Let us all sing praises of thanksgiving that my husband, David Maliblahblah, bought a trailer with a generator. And don't judge me for bringing a hairdryer. Its probably going to be about 40 degrees tomorrow morning and a gal can't have wet hair whilst being in the 40 degree weather. And don't judge me for showering either. Or bringing my coffee pot.
Not everyone can "rough it" like we can.
I know what you are thinking. "Taylor! How exactly will you be 'roughing it?'"
Well. My curling iron shall be left behind. Feel badly for me.
The astute reader might recall that we had to go camping last April for my dad's birthday. I wrote about it in a post aptly named:
"Camping in April."
As if I could not be any more creative with the titles of my posts.
The astute reader might also recall that we had some trouble last year with getting our trailer hauled out of the spring muck. Well, we had the same problem this year.
So. This was my husband's plan.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Q is for Quietness
One such friend is Kendra. She and I have been visiting each other's blogs for over two years now. She, like me, homeschools four children, although she seems to have things a bit more under control that I do. She also shares many wonderful recipes and has a warm, kind heart.
Kendra is now fighting for her life. I have copied this from an update I received from someone else:
"On Sunday, April 15th, Kendra had an adverse reaction to a medication.
She is now in a hospital far, far away from her four children, fighting hard to recover.
Will you join me in praying for my friend? I am going to print this post out and mail it to her. If any of you would like to leave a comment of encouragement or a verse for her, I am sure she would appreciate it.
Before I go, I wanted to share with you something that Kendra wrote when she was a contributing author for a website called Those with Young.
(this is being posted with permission by the owner of Those with Young)
Recently, I found myself getting grumpy and out of sorts over mundane tasks. and chores around my home.
I was wiping a very sticky table down for the 147th time that day. Well, maybe the 5th time, but who's counting...
In the midst of my grumpiness, I realized the history of that table was something that should bring me joy.
My husband and I bought that table in the early years of our marriage. I wanted a small 4 seater. He wanted a 6 seater. His reason was, "One day we are going to fill those chairs."
I laughed at him.
A few years later, I was told we would never conceive children "on our own". That table became a sore spot for me. I prayed to fill just one more seat at the table. I begged, cried, and eventually bent to God's will. I thought the table would seat 2 forever.
13 years (and 4 children) after we bought that table, it had become a sore spot because it was always a mess. It was full, overflowing to be precise, and it was always sticky, chunky, and a plain ol' disaster.
Then, I realized that table should be a source of praise for me. Each time I clean the sticky chunks off of the table, I need to offer praises and thanks for two things: 1- the children that make the sticky mess and 2- the food that the children use to make that sticky mess.
It humbled me to address my grumbling spirit and put it to rights.
I found these verses:
2 Kings 25:28-30 (NIV)
He spoke kindly to him and gave him a seat of honor higher than those of the other kings who were with him in Babylon. 29So Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes and for the rest of his life ate regularly at the king's table. 30Day by day the king gave Jehoiachin a regular allowance as long as he lived.
Now, I am not in prison, but I was treating my table as if it were a punishment. I want to be like Jehoiachin and put aside my grumbling. I am eating a table provided by, and filled to overflowing by THE KING. For that, I am going to choose to be thankful. My "allowance" is the joy that God has given my heart, should I choose to accept thankfulness over grumpiness...
...even when I have to figure out how to wipe crayon, glue, syrup, and dried rice off of the top of the table!!
Is there a spot in your home that brings you grief?
Please join me this week as I travel around the home, trying to find Joy in the items/places I see each and every mundane day.