Seasons.

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I love the changing of the seasons.  I love preparing for the onslaught of the cold, biting wind.  I love filling my kitchen with the warm, toasty aromas of autumn.  I love everything about this time of year.  Almost.

It’s that daRn calendar again.  That whole hiding-from-my-calendar trick didn’t work.  (See:  Hiding)  It got me.  And I swear I am officially saying NO to everything else.  Everything. 

Please, don’t peek into my laundry room.  Or my kitchen.  If you happen to drop by, you will be blindfolded and hastily escorted to my lovely dining room for a steamy cup of coffee and some sort of gooey baked goodness.  Because at the moment, my dining room is the only room that is remotely presentable.  And I am still blaming my calendar.  

I find myself relishing every sacred moment of the cool autumn air that has at last made a radiant appearance.  The trees are in full color and my coffee pot is working overtime.

Perfect.

However, in addition to my suffocating schedule, I have spent the bulk of my free time weather-proofing the house.  As anyone who has ever lived in a turn-of-the-century home can vouch for, there are old windows to be cloaked in plastic, doors to be wrangled with weather stripping, holes to be perfectly patched, and on and on and on.  And the windows… are gargantuan.  Lovely and grand and so entirely huge!  Just when I think I am almost done, I remember all the rooms I forgot.  

My sweet hubby and I tackled a few of them together one evening.  He measures.  And measures.  And measures.  I eyeball.  And estimate.  And eyeball.  And estimate.  I appreciate his precision.  He appreciates my free spirit.  And we both agreed we could better express our appreciation for each other by not working together on the windows.  Moving on.

My darling husband has been just as busy keeping up with the outside of the house and teh acreage despite the dwindling daylight hours.  He’s a rock star.  

And tomorrow is field trip Friday.  One whole day to go exploring with my sweet angels, including the aforementioned hubby.  There will be brownies and coffee and hiking along the river.  (And my calendar is not invited.)

Love & Coffee.

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C is for Cookie.

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It’s National Homemade Cookie Day!  

It seems like there is a national holiday for just about everything these days, but I’m not necessarily complaining.  Life is short.  Why not celebrate the simple pleasures of life?  

(And while I am at it, I should probably address the fact that National Coffee Day occurred just this past Saturday, September 29.  I didn’t forget.  I didn’t miss it.  In fact, I was celebrating and cavorting lavishly on a beautiful weekend away with good friends, good music, and good food.  And of course… the coffee was flowing freely all weekend long.  It was good to unplug and disconnect for nearly three days.)

Today is a breathtakingly beautiful beginning to October.  The colors are just starting to turn, the country breeze is hardy, and I am watching legions of leaves flitter and float by the bay window.  I could only wish the temperatures were a bit cooler and the days a bit shorter, but all in good time.  All in good time.

The kitchen is positively crying out to be fired up and filled with the aroma of a warm, buttery cookie on such a day as this.  I can think of nothing better than my Grammy’s Sugar Cookies, cut into pumpkins, leaves, and apples with a fine dusting of sugar.  

So I am off to craft some sweet kitchen magic with my three sweeties.  Enjoy the day.  Grab a coffee.  And be sure to eat a cookie or two.  After all, it is a national holiday… 

Grammy’s Sugar Cookies

Sift together:

2 ½ c. flour
½ tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt

Add:

½ c. butter
1 c. sugar
2 eggs (unbeaten)
1 tsp. vanilla or ½ tsp. nutmeg
1 T. milk

1.  Beat together on medium speed until well-blended (about 2 minutes). 

2.  Wrap in waxed paper and chill for about 2 hours.

3.  Roll to ½ in thickness on lightly floured board.  Use cookie cutters to cut.  Sprinkle with sugar.

4.  Bake at 425 degrees for about 5 minutes.

Song for a Monday…

   

Love & Coffee.

 

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Hiding.

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Pssssst.  

Please, don’t tell my calendar I am here.  It scares me.  

I am officially in hiding.  I have gone a little AWOL as of late.  And every precious moment of down time I can wrangle has been devoted to my sweet angels.  (That would also include my hubby.) 

How did September get like this?  October isn’t shaping up to be any better.  So I embrace the fullness of life and make the most of every moment.  Sans caffeinated coffee.

I would also like to take this moment to state that my hubby is a rock star.  Numero uno:  He has resigned himself to decaf coffee for the duration of this pregnancy.  He claims it’s for health reasons, but I think he secretly loves me.  A lot.  Point #2:  After 4 days without hot water, that smokin’ hunk of a man fixed the water heater.  Fact three:  He bought me ice cream.

He.  Is.  My.  Hero.

Peanut is way too smart for her britches (she has bested me in science, but please, don’t tell her that), Ladybug lost her second tooth (popped right out onto the table at breakfast last week), and Lovey continues to eat my deodorant (I stumbled onto her secret stash hidden behind the futon in the spare bedroom today).  *sigh* 

In the meantime, I am thoroughly enjoying the cooler fall temperatures and feeling especially inspired to whip up all kinds of tasty food.  I have a whole slew of new recipes to post soon.

I also have a freezer full of deer meat and nary an idea what to do with it.  I am open to suggestions, should anyone have some.

Love & Coffee.

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All gassed up.

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As in fuel.  The 10% ethanol kind.  And a heck of a lot poorer, too.

So this whole livin’-in-the-country-drivin-20-minutes-to-town-every-time-I-turn-around-thing has seriously been causing me to have a mild coronary each time I pull into the filling station.  Add to that all the baby doctor visits I get to make to the big city that is just over 70 minutes away and I am in a bad way. 

$3.82?  For ONE gallon?  

I remember when Dad could flip me a twenty in high school and I was good for a full tank with enough spare change to score a box of Junior Mints besides.  (See Days Like This.)

I put in a twenty these days and can not even make it halfway there.  Bummer.

Please, don’t take this as the pregnant-lady-who-hasn’t-had-her-Dairy-Queen-fix rant (although, it sure would be nice if one of these sweet little towns around here would oblige me by building one).   It could also be the fact that I’m still subsisting on decaf, but I digress…

I am saying all this to say… I am about to eat crow.  

Most of the people who are anywhere remotely close to me know that I am probably one of Walmart’s biggest anti-fans.  I just really dislike the entire experience.  The lackluster customer service, the missing shelf prices, the mis-labeled aisles, and my personal favorite… waiting twenty minutes (or more) to check out with my shampoo and razor blades because they choose to have two out of their twenty-something cash registers actually open.  I just don’t get it.  And I will go anywhere else I can in town to get what I need before I resort to old W.  Unfortunately, in a small town such as this, there often isn’t much of a choice.

But then…  I heard something.  In truth, I don’t even remember it’s source.  A commercial?  A print ad?  A friend?

Regardless, I stumbled onto the fact that when you use a Walmart gift card (which are awesomely reloadable) to pay for your gas at Murphy USA (the Walmart-affiliated gas station), you get $.10 off every gallon.  

Ten.  Cents.  Off.

True story.  No fees.  Nothing.  It’s a straight up deal.

I raced to Walmart to pick out the prettiest card I could find.  Mine has mums (my favorite flower).  Hubby’s is about as uninteresting can be.  Orange with a grocery cart.  (Boo.)

So for now, Walmart, you have won a little piece of my heart.  

Well played, Wally World.

I am fully aware that the jig is up on December 24.  There only forty-five minutes between me and Target.  I hope you have some other fancy trick up your sleeve by then or the love may be lost for good.  

Love & Coffee.

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Eleven.

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Patriot Day.

I am out of words really.  Tears speak louder these days.  Still so fresh.  I cried all morning as I watched the news footage.  Again.  

I cried all yesterday as I searched for some sort of age-appropriate activity or video to help my little ones commemorate this day.  In the end, it was better to just speak from my heart.  And show them a few photos.  And honor the heroes of the day.  

And, of course, squeeze them tightly with lots of kisses.

Peanut asked, “Were there children on those planes?”  Ladybug bravely stated, “If I saw a terrorist, I would beat them up and kick them in an important place.”  Lovey just kept coloring.

My heart is sad, yet full of hope for the future.  

I do not think I can recount the rush of emotion from that day any better than I did in last year’s post.  (I Remember.)  Still feels like yesterday.

So undeniably proud to be an American. 

Love & Coffee.

To view last year’s Patriot Day post click on this link:  (I Remember.)  


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Has it been…

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40 weeks yet?  *sigh*  No?

I admit this pregnancy is positively crawling along.  

I’m tired.  Dog tired.  Pregnant at 33 is a heck of a lot different than pregnant at 25.  Perhaps it’s my age or perhaps it’s simply the fact that I have three lovelies to chase around all day long.  Any way you slice it, I’m tired.  

Or it could be that I have successfully (well, mostly) kicked my caffeine habit for the time being.  (Except a couple of nights ago when I absolutely went crazy and had a lovely cup of coffee with dinner and found myself still wide awake playing Yahtzee on my Kindle at 2:30 am.  Bad choice.)  

 New rule.  If I must cave to the caffeine, it must occur before noon.  Period.  No exceptions.  End of story.

I have been waiting for that mythical second trimester energy boost to kick in.   

Still waiting.   

Mythical, I tell you.  

The good news is that after eight days of a nasty virus making the rounds here at home, we are finally well.  Finally.  

And I am nesting.  Early, I know, but nesting just the same.  I cleaned the rugs, scrubbed and polished the wood floors, reorganized the utility room and the pantry, and formulated a plan of attack for the rest of the house.

Come to think of it… maybe that’s why I’m so tired.

Either way. 

I’m tired.   

Love & Coffee.

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School Days.

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It begins.

Monday was the first day of school.  I am a home school mom and there are countless things I love about our school. 
In so many ways I am ready.  In others, not so much.  I am ready in the sense that I vehemently crave the routine that goes into a school day after a carefree summer.  It’s funny how that school routine seems to carry over into other areas of my life.  Everything is on a schedule.  I plan meals more carefully.  Laundry actually gets put away.  Dishes are done.  Order is restored. 

I am not ready when I think about the fact that summer is essentially done and my girlies are now a full grade ahead of themselves.

Third grade.  First grade.  Preschool.
My sweet babies are… older.  How does this happen? 

As with most families this time of year, we have been riddled with doctor appointments.  Well checks, immunizations, dentist appointments, not to mention the slew of baby doctor visits I have since added to my schedule.  

It’s been an amazingly healthy year for our family.  Until now.  

Funny how perfectly healthy people make visits to do the doctor to confirm they are healthy and two days later, the entire family is chilling with fever, subsisting on Tylenol, and overfilling every available trash receptacle with spent tissues.

It seems that everyone is now well.  Except me, of course.

No rest for the wicked, however.  The cupboards are bare and they won’t fill themselves.  Off to the grocery I go….

Wish me coffee!

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Guilty.

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For a long time I was one of those people with loads of good intentions, purchasing hoards of healthy stuff at the grocery store only to discover by the end of a busy week that it was rotten beyond belief.  And into the trash it would go.

Guilty.

Apparently, I’m not alone.  A recent study showed that 39% of Americans feel the most green guilt over wasting food.  Not to mention…  money down the drain. 

Guilty.

Last week our family was pleasantly surprised (blessed!) with a small heap of fresh peaches from good friends.  I knew there was no earthly way we could eat them before they were bad.  What’s a girl to do?  Peach crisp was the first thing that came to mind.  I made three.  And even after all my girlies’ afternoon peach snacks, we were still drowning in peaches.  I cut and sliced until I was dreaming of peaches, and froze every last bit by the quart. 

And then, our sweet friends dropped by another round.  Oh, sweet peaches, how do I love thee?  Let me count the ways:  Crisp.  Cobbler.  Pie.  A la mode.  Shall I go on?

Mom called.  Her kitchen was overflowing with fresh, garden tomatoes.  Did I want some?  (Ha.  Is the Pope Catholic?)

I bartered a bit.  Peaches for tomatoes.  A fair trade.

I spent the better part of the weekend cooking down those lovely, red fruits into a savory sauce, which immediately fulfilled their destiny in a delectable veggie lasagna.  The rest went the way of the peaches, frozen by quarts.

No waste.  And a freezer full of summer goodness to be enjoyed well into the throes of autumn. 


Squeezing the daylights out of a ripe tomato.  Therapeutic.

Crayons in the Fridge.

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The house was still quiet.  The children all snug.  First light was barely streaming through the vintage lace curtains in the dining room. 
I opened the refrigerator, searching for inspiration for the morning’s nourishment.  
And there they were.  
Crayons.   
In the fridge.
Sitting atop the lettuce and aside of the bagels. 
How could this be, you ask?  For anyone already acquainted with my life (or this blog), there can be only one explanation… 3-year-old, Lovey.  Like they were heaven-dropped, just for me.  I could do nothing but smile.  Surely, this was a love message from my sleeping angel, meant to be stumbled upon at this precise moment in time.
Just for me. 
I like to think God does something similar.  Dropping love messages in completely unexpected packages at the most appropriate of times.

Just for me.

I really thought we had this figured out.  I thought I had a plan.  But there He was, right in the center of life, making it all a little more interesting.  
Come early March (or hopefully February), there will be one more of us.  If I have still left you guessing (and possibly because I am still wrapping my head around the idea and having trouble putting it all into words), this means… baby.  
Another one.
And believe me, no one could possibly be more surprised (or undeniably thrilled) than us.  (I get to decorate a nursery.  Happy dance.)
For me that also translates into massive coffee withdrawal.  I’m basically dying.  My 4-a-day habit has waned into a 1/3-cup-a-day-fill-the-rest-of-the-cup-with-skim-milk-routine that just isn’t cutting it.  
I need a good decaf, preferably water-processed and chemical-free, so I can psychologically fake out my brain for the next 18 months or so.  
Taking recommendations now.  
Ready.  
Set.  
Go.

Love & coffee. 
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Upon Returning…

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The house was clean.  And intact.  My world did not implode without me here. I couldn’t have been more impressed.
Amazing.
I didn’t doubt my sweet hubby.  It’s just that this has never happened before.  Me… leaving.  And I’m pretty sure it won’t be happening anytime again soon.  Ladybug and Lovey didn’t seem to mind so much, but Peanut melted into a puddle of tears as I and my traveling companions drove away.  I couldn’t look.  
Like, I said… not happening again anytime soon. 
I had a great trip and now I am feverishly scrambling to catch up on life.  School begins in little more than a week.  There are lessons to plan, papers to file, and supplies to organize.  
I look forward to this time of year.  The temperature is already cooling and I am itching to entertain friends with a cozy bonfire and good coffee.  
So much to love.  
And there is one more thing I should probably share… but I’ll save that for tomorrow.  
Love and coffee. 
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