Celebratory

My daughter made the A honor roll, yes this one below.

Younger sister turns nine on Saturday, how quickly they grow!

Mornings begin with Barbies and Pollies, days end that way too.

So, two bowling parties for this weekend (Cole turns eleven!).

Followed soon after by Mr. seven, Dylan's fiesta.

It's party row.

Planning my dinners

Funny thing was, I also noted two pouches of albacore tuna, and one pouch for me of dried cranberries. Tuna just for Dylan...add celery salt, pepper, mayo and mix plenty of dill relish through it. Red grapes, 2 bunches of bananas (one's for banana bread...hoping for two loaves) and a cantaloupe for Lauren.

So I'm all set up to rearrange my freezer, which frightens me as freezer arranging always should. For god's sake I have like 20 fresh made meatballs, just needing an oven and a plan, perhaps I'll try the sweet-and-sour. And downstairs, pizza sauce galore with a side of too much not-so-sure I love it spaghetti sauce. Might pair this with ease.

Because when I totally haven't thought ahead yet, except to buy mozzerella in bulk from Sam's Club, or just bought the blocks from Target because it's tastier when you grate them. I have this pizza crust recipe that can be made at the last minute, or this one for when thoughts the night before occur.

Homemade everything

One in the bathtub

Three sick kids home being sick with their momma. And I'm here, deciding whether or not the 2 loaves of banana bread I'll make will convince me to choose them over the 2 baskets of laundry. Well 3, if you count the one in the basement, full of whites.

And my kid's in the bathtub (our favorite place) watching a movie, no Ben 10, and soaking up warmth to relax. She's actually not sick, just needed a down day after being overwhelmed by so much coarsing through her brain last night. "I'm so frustrated," she said.

I, on the other hand, am loving school...all that homework that comes through our door, the level of math my oldest daughter is learning. Multiplying fractions if you can imagine, I loved math, I loved the challenge of those lessons. She will too.

So anyway world, my mom called yesterday which was rare but yes, welcomed. A whole half-hour of chatting about everything and nothing. Felt good to be back in her grasp.

Missing winter mornings

Where the tasks of the a.m. are done, kids out the door and the couch suggests a snuggle, with or without knitting, no matter. And you say yes because the frost outside, the whiteness behind black trees...or just tv then. So the music videos begin, or maybe Regis and Kelly. A coffee held securely, one more later, kay I suppose.

And mornings like these when it's fall, brown leaves only now, so long reds, oranges and greens. The light is dimming, even in the morning, yet the comfort of the ground cover doesn't support as much as does snow.

Daughter calls and I lift off, up the stairs.

More organizing

All about September, that significant time of year when school just starts and you have to get used to it after a summer filled with laxness, a total absorption of freedom and cheer. Starting over each time with hopes of being better. More committed, awake, aware.

So September brings a number of means of expression, not all of them blogworthy OR normal. Just thoughts, intuitions, sudden insights I'll share. On here, among my women friends, just about any and everywhere.

Self-acceptance

There's a few shreds of me who defy the mature notion of deleting everything I've written over the past three years. Why, it would be a step forward into, "no longer defines me" land, however, those regrets.

Not of what I've written, but of letting other's definitions of "me" surpass the soulful spillings I've allowed myself back then. When I'm fifty years and older, won't I just LOVE to hark back to the period when I lost Cooper, to the steps and stumbles all before then?

Comparing and contrasting parts of myself with myself then, with my children and their accomplishments and feelings? I'd like to think I can keep this private package of rantings and railings, and simple ponderings that are so out of character, or in.

It hurts no one to hold onto this past, to slurp through it on occasion, to be different from everyone else in "I'd never, but you can." It's the you can I have trouble giving myself permission for, when sweeping it away produces more of an I am, and did.

Now, and back then.