The Stick Blender. Invaluable kitchen appliance.

http://www.lnt.com/product/index.jsp?productId=1988730

This little kitchen item is, in my opinion, simply priceless. It is inexpensive, extremely versatile, and shortens cleanup. I first came into contact with this little piece of kitchen equipment when my friend and culinary graduate, Marianne Pitts, gave me her Braun cast away. Since, I have upgraded to this Cuisinart version that also includes a wisk(not shown) and a food processor. I have basically ceased to use my standard blender (which sticks and sounds as if the engine might explode!) for this item. I just this morning used it to make peanut butter. I have used it to make the afore mentioned peanut butter, smoothies, whipped cream, pureed soups, any kind of baby food, mashed potatoes, soap, and the list goes on and on. I am constantly finding new uses for it.

remodeled the chicken coop.

before

after

Its that time again. Cadbury Cream egg time.

david knows my addiction to these candies and brought home two last night, which I promptly ate.

Wellies.

my new favorite shoe. I can't wait to get some. Great for mucking about in the backyard. I am so excited.

http://www.wellie-boots.com/usmofcart/coloured.html

subsequent musings on single girls settling.

Recently, a dear friend of mine was fallen prey to a modern day Mr. Willoughby. Jane Austen would be very proud at this projection of her character. This serial dater (as my sister so eloquently put it) struck gold. I find that this man or shall we say boy as he is a coward of the first rate, did not say anything ambiguous and made no promises. Does this free him from any obligation toward my friend? In this case, he, like Willoughby, made every implication towards his intention with action and yet never said anything untoward or "incriminating".

My friend was careful to allow him the pursuit of the relationship never stepping over the boundary, allowing her father to step in as a barrier and as a monitor of the relationship. I wonder in this case how the hurt could have been avoided due to the resultant fact that she behaved in a manner that would be described as nothing lower than above board. I think in this case, he used his ambiguity and lack of promise to his advantage; thinking that if he was to actually "say" anything, he would then be held accountable for what he "said". Consequently, I have to revise my statement considering single girls settling for men they have to conjure into a relationship. There is apparently another type.

The Willoughby factor hereto unrealized in my immediate circles has made himself known. So girls, beware of also the guy who makes no promises even though his actions state otherwise. The guy who never talks of marriage and yet calls all the time. The guy who pays for things and dates yet never talks of future plans that include you. In short, I think that the man who you can trust is the one who has put a ring on your finger. Who simultaneously speaks of dating for the purpose marriage but doesn't speak of it unless he knows you are "it" deep down.

Many girls that fall for this "dating for marriage or to find a wife" line are the ones that have the characteristics of a great Christian girl. The ones that are pretty, intelligent, godly, who more oftentimes than not come from great homes with wonderful parents, and are typically easy to get along with. Who wouldn't want to date someone like that? Who wouldn't want to marry someone like that? I think so often these girls allow themselves to be pursued by someone who wants these qualities but doesn't really care about who they actually are. The things that make them different from the next godly, pretty, intelligent girl from a great home?

I suppose in this way you actually have to know someone to find those things out, but why doesn't have to be under the label of dating? The more I think about these issues, the more I am convinced that dating (a product of the 20+ centuries) is a foolish venture. As my husband puts it, its preparation for divorce.

Wide margins. A great post from my friend.

Wide margins.. like making my bed or vacuuming while listening to a book on tape. working in the yard. Etc.. this is a great post happy at home

Newest Crisis averted

Roeland's newest near death experience,
a half eaten paper tag on a stuffed animal.
Guess who threw the animal in the playpen with him? anyone, anyone?

birthday.

a response to a friend as to what i did on my bday.

well. you know. once you have children ... birthdays become somewhat obsolete. no sleeping as late as you want and doing whatever you want... that is of course unless you are absolved of the responsibility by a mother who dearly loves you and sees the dark circles that makeup wont even cover. Unfortunately, the morning in question, I had all three children. One of which, you'll never guess who, came downstairs to the potty instead of using her own across the hall and lets just say, the pull up didn't work. In the midst of cleaning that mess up, Roeland wakes up with a ferocious appetite. The morning continues with a really bad breakfast of pound cake for all girls in the house, followed by a huge mess in the playroom, which will take me about three days to clean up or a lot of yelling and spanking the girls into submissive servitude. Guess which course of action I am taking. I did have a few moments of respite on the day in question. My mother did graciously take ALL THREE kids for about two hours, in which time, david and I, with a car ride of blissful absence of questions and screaming, took a meal to a newly delivered mom and went to lowes to get material for remodeling the chicken coop (the highlight of the day), then on to the mall for really bad chinese food. needless to say, it wasn't very exceptional but then I am alive, no one I love is dying or dead, and very happy in my life. so. it was a good birthday in its own way. Thanks for asking. :)

Valentines day.

Ok. so I don't want this blog to turn into a rant and want to be mindful that others besides myself are reading it. I realize that things I say could be construed as extreme but goodgrief, I am an extreme person. So, please, everyone... a grain of salt. That being said, I think that Valentines day has been so commercialized (for that matter, was created by commercialism at its finest) that we cannot think of anything to do that doesn't involve money.

What does it take to get us to live with each in the same world, something like cancer or death? Valentine day suggestions often include an activity like "vegetabling" out in front of a romance movie and watching someone else's love life instead of living out your own; oh, to be sure, that is exactly what I call romantic! Why do we give each other cards and candy and presents all to avoid actually talking to one another and sharing your soul with the other person. Cards that say things for us, instead of sitting down and actually thinking about what the other person means to us in particular, writing that out. Candy to satiate the desire to gorge ourselves on a drug that will make us fat and unhealthy in order to ignore the fact that our relationships are bankrupt. Its a cop out; and frankly, I could care less if I ever get another gift. I don't want things, or chocolate. Yes, its nice and my body might disagree with me. But what my soul longs for is decent communication of thought, the sharing of ideas and body, not stuff, not escapism. Suggestions:

1. walking in a park or laying in the grass on a blanket if the day is nice,
2. working on a project together,
3. spending time in bed,
4. make out
   
5. talk about your future,
6. tell the other person WHY you love them,
7. tell the other person What you love about them,
8. write them a letter telling them these things IN DETAIL in order that they may be able to read them in the future, thus reminding them of why and what (take notes from Song of Solomon
   
9. Tell them all your heart without fear of rejection or laughter.
10. make something and give it, something they'll appreciate.
11. serve the other person. do some chore that he or she doesn't want to do. It has to be something that is their responsibility
12. find out what the other person is stressed about or frustrated about. loves or hates.
    
13. ask them questions. about their opinion.

So, I am angry, in a way, at our culture again, because its they that have told and sold the lie that it isn't a decent valentines without stuff and we've bought it hook, line, and sinker.

disclaimer. not all candy is bad all the time. and movies can, from time to time encourage you to love your spouse more fully. but come on people, its mainly a crutch and our legs are broken.

crises averted. count 3.

1. Roeland was on a blanket in the backyard. I was working on the chicken coup and was distracted. Whilst I was not looking a certain 4 year old gifted him with a pile of leaves which he promptly began to chew or gum, rather. I was unaware of this potential deathly hazard until I heard a choking noise from his direction. Alarmed, I turned to see what could be causing this sound as, according to my recollection of thought, he had been placed in the center of a large quilt with nothing but a few very large inedible toys. Seeing the leaves or what was left of them, I dropped the power tools, snatched him up, and immediately put a nun to clean finger in his mouth, probing for remnants. He is still alive and well, if missing a couple of braincells due to 20 seconds without oxygen.

2. Bronwynne broke her snow globe given to her by her Nana. She had it about 5 minutes. I suppose I was a little naive to think that she wouldn't immediately begin banging it into the floor upon receiving it. no cuts in hands or feet. we are still missing a piece though. As things go, I am quite certain that it will be David who "finds" it .

3. Anice broke her snow globe too. She, however, was running and landed with the full force of her body onto the globe, causing it to shatter into a thousand bits. It should have cut her hand to pieces as she landed with it in her hand as it shattered, but in her usual manner, she miraculously escaped virtuously unscathed excepting a small cut on her palm.

Letting the night come.

I am sitting in my house, essentially alone. It is dusk. I have characteristically always been a lamp person, never failing to turn on the strategically placed lamp at the slightest provocation from the setting sun. Now, however; I find myself enjoying the darkness creep into the different corners of my home. Imagining the days before electricity enabled late night forays with the same amount of light as the daytime hours. there is a certain peace that comes with dusk. a lavender calm that passes over the house. No doubt enhanced by the absence of everyone but the sleeping baby, but regardless, I am enjoying it. I have been getting up at dawn lately because the baby has been waking for his morning feed. It is peaceful then too. I have a lot of respect for the celestial clock. the schedule it creates. I suppose it also has a lot to do with farm life. I can see how close relationships were formed by waking at dawn to work with your body all day alongside others and then to lay down at nightfall in the home, the family together during the long nights with no interruptions. no television to distract, no movies to escape to. just life. just now. I long for that.

stewardship of Gen X

stewardship. What kinds of stewards would our culture produce if there was work involved in every area of life? Would produce the kind of stewards my Gen X culture is notorious for producing? If I had to go through the process of laying the floor in their house, would I be so careless with scratching it? Better yet, what if I had to grow the tree, cut the tree, mill the boards, carve the grooves, and lay the floor?

Pondering quality of our culture.

I have currently been the recipient of a beautiful bed as a gift. It is iron wood, hand carved in Costa Rica, King sized, and very very beautiful. This gift has necessitated a new coverlet since the previous bed was a Queen size. I haven't written about this previously however, I do seek a simple existence, not necessarily only in things but in activity. That is an entry to itself which I will leave for another time. In searching for a coverlet, I found that there were so many choices. I was thinking about the fact that our culture has created so many possibilities for the purchase on one thing. "Technological advances", that make polyester bedding possible and cheaper than linen or cotton. This began the downward spiral, well, really I am not sure what direction, to asking the question I always end up asking, "If we didn't have so many choices, then would things be of a better quality?" and "If so, would that choice be cheaper than what it is now?"

If we didn't have polyblend sheets then would the cotton ones be the low end, and the higher thread count cotton be the higher end? Is what was then considered "LOW end" actually considered what is "high end" now?

These questions inevitably result in a disgust for the packaged processed culture in which we live. Where nothing is handmade, and if it is handmade its probably poor quality. (I am thinking crocheted toilet paper covers here) where are the artisans? The artisans who do take the time to learn the skill and do it correctly charge a ridiculous amount for those of us who know quality when we see or feel it. I know, I am one in some areas. The sad thing is that 100 years ago our entire culture consisted of people who created beautiful things, it wasnt just the artists who made things. God created man in His image. He is a creator. Why then, has man turned over creating to machines? There is something amazingly fulfilling about working with your hands. There was work in the garden before the fall. I recognize the validity of machines. If it werent for machines or the people who made them many people would die in hospitals or at a young age from hard manual labor. many things wouldn't be possible. at any rate, There is no conclusion to an entry like this. just a statement and admission of thought. I clearly haven't thought it through completely but like so many other musings, I can't really ever finish a complete thought without being interrupted a million times for something like juice in a sippy or a potty treat. so. leave comments if you happen upon this entry and perhaps a good debate will begin.

right of passage into yr. 29

I will be turning 29 this year. I had to pause and think before I actually wrote that sentence. I keep thinking that I am turning 28, the late twenties all being the same in my book. I might as well just get it over with and say that I am thirty. I don't have a problem with this. I feel I am well into the ebb and flow of my life with three kids and a six year marriage behind me. I have much to look forward to, but getting on to the situation that demanded an first entry on the blog. This morning as I was getting a head start on my daily grooming, which doesn't usually start until around 11:00 am or later. It also doesn't involve much more than a few hairpins and some under eye concealer. This morning however, I noticed that my eyebrows were seriously needing attention. Call me what you will, a flake, a priss, but I find that a finely plucked eyebrow covers a multitude of flaws. Lack of makeup and large nose not withstanding. In this particular foray into my habitual maintainence of my particular pair, I came across my first gray hair. Yes, it was an eyebrow hair but a hair nonetheless and it was white.