Neal LOVES pinto beans and cornbread. I also have a fondness for the culinary delicacy, but for some reason, I seldom make this meal. Maybe it's 'cause I know the effect it has on Neal's digestive system...if you know what I mean. And it's hard enough to get a good night's sleep without having to stay in a semi-wakefulness state in order to keep the covers tucked in tight around my neck. Last night, I made the best pot of beans EVER. I added a meaty ham bone and fresh garlic and the results were tres magnifique! However, I can't even hear the word "beans" without memories flooding in from the distant past. When the boys were little, Neal (the cultural enthusiast that he is) introduced them to the classic poem "Beans, beans, the wonderful fruit...the more you eat....." ...well...you know the rest.
On a visit to my grandmother's, with my parents present, we sat down to a meal and what did Grandma set on the table? That's right. A huge pot of beans. Neal and I both did the old "head jerk" and saw the boys' eyes light up in joy and anticipation. As Jeremy opened his mouth and began..."Dad! Beans, beans.." Neal, with fear in his eyes seemed to be in slow motion with his lips forming the word "NOOOOOOO" but the voice not cooperating. Ahhh. Good times!
There was a bit of confusion this morning. Due to some appointments I had last Tuesday, our routine changed and I didn't have Lauren for the day. So today when I arrived, no one was home. I tracked Jeremy down at the corner store and luckily I had a couple of diapers in my car and we headed straight for Bible Study...without the usual matching bow in the hair. Didn't bother me, but I'm sure Trista cringes just thinking about it. Lauren was excited to be back at Bible Study and literally skipped from the car to the building. I just walked fast. It was cold. When we got to her class, she wanted to put money in the offering jar. I had no bills, but dug out a quarter for her. Peering into my wallet, she saw I had more, so I gave her two. "One more," she said...I hope she ate her 75 cents worth of snacks today.
She loves to pretend she's a grown-up. I guess it's a girl thing, 'cause I don't remember Jacob doing this so much. She always wants one of my purses and fills it with pictures, cards, keys and "wipies." Today's purse of choice had a shoulder strap and the purse dragged the ground, but she didn't care. As she was flipping through the pictures, naming each one, she came to Jeff's and said, "That's you Jeff. He's pwetty." I'm sure Jeff is duly flattered.
Before naptime, I read her a book, then let her choose another. I sat back down in the rocking chair and she scolded, "Git dayon (that's southern drawl for "get down")." She proceeded to read the book herself.
I didn't notice until I uploaded the pictures that she had the book upside down the whole time.
She gets very animated when she reads.
And this is the pitiful look I get when I say it's naptime. No, I did not give in.
I'm not an animal lover. Pets are usually a pain in the behind. When it comes to animals in the house--not a big fan. Most of you know that we have inherited Jeff's basset hound...at least until Jeff is out of training and settled in his new job, new territory, own house. I may not profess to love dogs, but Gracie is a heart-stealer. And I AM compassionate. The temperature has dropped down into the single digits the last two nights and Gracie has accomplished the unimaginable. Not only was she allowed in the house, but at her insistence, she has also managed to claim one of the living room chairs as her very own. The first night, she milled around the house looking for a good spot, even though I had strategically placed a rug and blanket on the spot I thought would be perfect. Next morning, I found her on the chair. So this has been her perch ever since. Last night she went straight for the chair when Neal started getting ready for bed.
Browsing through some of my favorite blogs, I noticed that I hadn't posted in FIVE days. It's pretty sad when I've been too busy to post, yet the very things keeping me busy were way too boring to write about. But since my last post ended with a very unflattering picture that in a moment of weakness I inserted, only to find it showing up again a few days later on Facebook, I felt it necessary to update.
Sunday night I was looking for something--which is one of the things that keeps me busy...
Can I get an "Amen?"
...when I came across my old Glamour Shots. I had them done for Neal for our 15th Anniversary--you do the math. But the underlying reason I really did this, was much more morbid. A friend had recently died of cancer, and they had the most beautiful picture of her (done by Glamour Shots) at the funeral. And I thought, "If I were to die, they would have a really hard time finding a good picture of me to put on my closed casket." Yeah, I'm shallow like that. But really, y'all, don't you think of things like that? Then yesterday a friend (who shall remain anonymous) was telling the funniest story about having his Glamour Shots taken. Okay, it was Terry Rush. So, anyway, I thought all the signs were pointing to me posting these beauties.
Does everyone look like Barbara Mandrell in their Glamour Shots, or is it just me?
Where DID I get all that hair?
Yeah, that would look good on my casket.
Oh mama! Jeremy, I dare ya to post this one on Facebook! (although the "psych ward escape" caption might still be appropriate!)
I challenge all my blogger friends, who will admit to sinking to this level, to post their Glamour Shots. I wanna see if you all look like country singers.
Yesterday morning the live trap was shut. Okaaaaay..... I picked it up, but really wasn't sure by its weight if there was a mouse inside. I think this can wait until Neal gets home. Yeah. That's a good idea.
I know after a 10 hour work day, this is the first thing my husband wants to do when he walks through the door. He picked up the trap and shook it. Sure 'nuf, we think there's a mouse trapped inside. I said, "What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?" This phrase kept spewing out of my mouth at a higher pitch with each repetition. "WHAT DO WE DO?" His solution--"Tomorrow I'll take him out in the pasture, let him go and shoot him with my pellet gun!" (He's just been dying to try out his new Christmas present.)
He lives for this stuff.
Gotta shake him up and get him real good and dizzy.
The moment of truth.
And it's over in one shot.
Now just in case you still don't think we're hick enough....Neal took a picture of me, the photo journalist, in my pj's, robe and work boots....
I'm sure I've spoiled all my readers' romantic, idealistic views that I always have it "together." Get over it. This is life on the farm.
I've decided just to add this little chore to my morning ritual. Make the coffee, feed the dog, feed the mouse, do my Bible study, eat breakfast. At the first sign of mice, we set traps under the sinks, both in the bathroom and in the kitchen. First night was successful in the bathroom. I hadn't even fallen asleep yet when I heard the trap. Next morning Neal tried to be sneaky and hide the dead mouse in the bathroom waste basket, but I know him too well and saw the little pink feet sticking up in the air underneath an Arbonne bag. Can't pull a fast one like that on this country girl. But the mouse in the kitchen is smarter and more agile than we anticipated. And may I say, after this morning's experience, MORE BOLD...or just gluttonous. The last two mornings I have found the trap, still in position, but minus the bait (peanut butter). This morning I re-baited, then sat down to eat breakfast and work on my BSF homework. It's very quiet in the house when I'm alone and I thought I heard some faint scratching noises. When I had finished eating, I checked the trap and, would you believe it? The dadgum mouse had finished his breakfast, too! Grrrrrrr! Then I checked the "Live Trap" that's supposed to be foolproof. Sure enough, the bait at the end of this little tunnel was gone too, WITHOUT TRAPPING THE MOUSE. Oh. He's good.
Jacob came down with the dreaded stomach virus this week. MeMe got the privilege of cleaning up vomit, while I swept Lauren away from the house of puke for a play day.
Since I didn't have any daughters, I'm really having fun watching Lauren grow and repeat so many of the playtime roles that I remember playing with my sisters. She's really into "princesses" right now and last night took the clothes off her life-size Barbie and put them on herself. After she found her wings and wand she proceeded to ballet dance around the living room. Adorable.
Here are some pictures of the play day at my house. Notice the freshly polished finger nails--our first order of business for the day.
Miss Priss complete with purse, keys, phone and baby. How DO these mothers do it?