Shavin'

Jonah discovered shaving cream.

Actually, it's that gel stuff. But anyway.

He calls it shaving jello.

Then he read the can and pronounced the 'g' like in "goat". Yeah, why don't they spell that right, huh? Gel and jello. Huh.

Anyway. He's cute!



Mom used to give us shaving cream to play with in the tub when we were little. One time she took the blades out of some old razors and let us play shaving. Not sure how wise that was from a never-ever-play-with-razors-teaching-standpoint, but she did. Dad came in and had a coronary when he saw us with razors.

It was funny. I remember Mom laughing, and Dad was relieved, but kinda mad, I think.

I'm not sure if that was before or after I sat under the kitchen table with a razor and sliced my bottom lip open...

Story Telling

Plinkety

Recently, we've heard of some violent break-ins around here. In our little rural area, a few is a lot. Of course, there's crime everywhere, but around here this kind of thing is rare. While I am not at all worried about it happening to us (wow, something I actually don't have anxiety about...) and we trust God to take care of us, we also know that preparation is never a bad thing. So since today was a beautiful day, and we had to go in that direction anyway, we decided to make a little side trip to a friend's shooting range for some target practice.

Now, even though I will say that everyone should know how to use a gun, and I come from a family of hunters, I, um, don't know much of anything about guns and the firing thereof. I remember going shooting a few times as a kid, but I always found it noisy, vaguely frightening and excessively tedious, so I eventually started looking for excuses. The guys are going to the gravel pits to shoot after Thanskgiving dinner? I, uh... have to, uh... help with the dishes. Yes, I'd rather do that than stand around with my fingers in my ears at the gravel pit. (Hey, I can see you rolling your eyes! Yeah, you, certain members of my family and circle of friends! You don't think I can see you, but I can.)

Yes, it's true. I found shooting to be boring, so I didn't do it.

Here's another confession: I never took a hunter's safety class. There. I said it.

I just always put it off, and... forgot... and... didn't... go. Oh, the class started last week? Oh, darn. Missed it again. Oh well, there's always next year.

Nathan and I have both agreed for, well, years, that I should be familiar with the guns we have in the house. But we don't have a nearby place to shoot (okay, so 20 minutes over to our friend's range isn't that far... but we're busy...) so it just hasn't happened.

But today we finally went and did it.

And you know, I discovered what I needed to motivate me to learn to shoot. Because it's a lot different when I have my strong, sweet husband to put his arms around me and show me how to hold the gun and patiently instruct me on how to use it properly. I admit that the extra attention is kinda... nice. Oh sure, all those years I had Grandpa, Dad, uncles. Not the same. This is almost... well... fun.

And when it turned out that he was quite impressed with my aim (and inch or so from the center of the target at 70 yards), well that helped. He was gracious about it, but next time I'll make sure to aim a little less carefully. Wouldn't want to show him up, or anything. Or worse, have him send me out hunting.

Entertainment

Chaos Follows the Bomb

In my last post, I detailed the condition of my kitchen. That was Saturday. This is Monday, and it's pretty much still like that, except I've run the dishwasher. And picked a turkey and started it into stock (but haven't finished it, mind you.). And made a pot of soup.

Sunday was busy. I did clean and vacuum the living room in the afternoon (and I usually can't be bothered to do any more than the absolute necessities on a Sunday) because otherwise my head might explode. But the kitchen only got dishwasher duty.

Today we left for town right after breakfast and then came home after lunchtime and promptly went outside for the entire afternoon. It was a beautiful day and I have lots to get done out there, and it's easier not to see the kitchen if I'm outside.

I came in and made supper, which we ate, and I nursed the baby, and then toasted my tooshie by the woodstove for a few minutes. (Still ignoring the kitchen... and now the living room was also a moshpit) So as I was just motivating myself to get outside to do the milking, there was a knock at the door. It was a neighboring Amish girl, asking if I would mix cake frosting for her. Enough to fill an ice cream bucket. I've done it for her before-- the Amish like the way an electric mixer makes the frosting so nice and fluffy (not to mention considerably easier than by hand!).

Now I know very well that people only stop by when the house is a mess. But seriously? Someone wanted to use my kitchen at the very exact moment of it's messiest ever? I felt a little faint. (To say nothing of the fact that every time I drop in at an Amish person's house, it's spick'n'span, even in the midst of some giant project like canning a vat of soup, or something.) And then there was the typical evening chaos-- I went out to get the milking and feeding done (Amish Girl and her brother waited in the messy living room) and when I came in, Evan was squalling. It was 8:00 and he had gotten up from his nap at 5, so he was beyond exhausted. Nathan was valiantly holding his ground. So I had this bucket of milk to take care of, and I couldn't even find a place to set it down. I cleared off a counter for Amish Girl to start measuring frosting ingredients into the mixing bowl while I filtered the milk and promptly spilled some all over the floor when I went to pour Jonah his customary cup of warm and fresh.

I pretty much just had to grin and bear it, keep it real, etc. This is me, sometimes I'm a slob, this is my house, often it's a mess. Now lets spatter frosting all over it, too. (Sweet Amish Girl cleaned up and washed the dishes that we used, though, so that helped!)

Life is too short to spend it all cleaning.

Ka-blooey

Right now, my kitchen looks like a bomb went off in it. It's a disaster-zone.

Currently:

~Cracked Wheat Dinner Rolls for the harvest/Reformation potluck at church tomorrow - rising

~Pickled jalapenos - waiting to be labled and put away

~Hard cider - brewing

~Cider vinegar, some awesome, some smelling vomitous, from last year - needing to be bottled/dumped accordingly

~Apple pie, also for potluck - baked

~Dishes - piling up

~Cyser "must" - waiting for more shaking to dissolve the honey

~Tomatoes - in various stages of ripeness and needing... something

~A box of buttercup squash - needing to find a place to live

~Jonah's bowl of potato salad from lunch - wasted

~A bowl of whey from draining yogurt - hanging around until I get around to dumping it on the garden

~Pecan cinnamon rolls, made by a dear friend who visited me yesterday - calling my name

~A gallon jar of raw, unfiltered honey from my next door Amish neighbors - sticky

~Two gallons of sauerkraut - fermenting

~A heaping bucket of compost - waiting for a certain boy to carry it out to the pile

~A bucket of jerusalem artichoke tubers - dug yesterday and needing to be taken to the root cellar

~Leftover Bierochs - for supper

~A cute little person in an ugly little chair - watching my every move and trying to get my attention with smiles and coos




Did I mention the mess? I'm trying to ignore it.

Sweetness

We been listening to the Kid's Folk music station on Pandora lately. As far as kid's music goes, this stuff is gold! I reallyreallyreally despise smarmy, repetitive, inane songs billed for kids. Children do not need dumbed-down music. The songs on this station are fun, silly, complex and just plain enjoyable.

Through this station I've discovered Woody Guthrie. His children's songs are really pretty great! I'm quite certain that only a father could write those kind of songs, because they just ring so true. We really like this one, and sing it to Evan all the time:







(I was a little confused about the whole "This Machine Kills Fascists" image at the beginning, until I looked him up on Wikipedia and found that he had that on his guitar. Oooookay.)