Nourishment...

Food is a wonderful medium for bonding. The smells and presentation of a meal set the mood at the table. Growing up the only time we really sat at the table was for holidays or when we had company. On the average day, though, dinner was eaten on the couch in front of the TV. I recall mindlessly shoveling the food in and suddenly realizing I'd consumed the entire meal without even hardly tasting it.

As my children have grown we've chosen to make a rule of eating together and at the table as often as possible. The TV is turned off, and the meal is prayed over every time. We talk about how the food tastes, who likes what and how the day was. My husband and I learn of new friends that our boys have made at school, who the substitute teacher was and which books they are reading at school. So often I am amazed at my children, and when I look around the table at their round little faces I find my self imprinting this time in my memory. Taking a moment to really appreciate today, instead of rushing around for the ever illusive dreams of tomorrow. Even when they spill their milk, fight over someone taking their fork, or wrinkle their little noses at some veggies or sauce that they don't care for, I am blessed to have them at my table. When we all sit down for a meal together not only is our body nourished, but our spirits are fed as well.

One of our favorite food traditions began as a way to bring Christmas back to the true reason for the season. We eat cake for breakfast! Specifically, a birthday cake. Because Christmas is really about celebrating the birth of the saviour, we make a birthday cake for Jesus every year and that serves as Christmas breakfast. The kids love it (what kid would love cake for breakfast!) and it starts the holiday out in a manner that honors our faith, reminding us what it's all about.

Crochet is a Community

Crochet is a community that is held together with yarns, hooks and love. We thrive on the obsession that pushes us to hook another row before bed, and sometimes wakes us in the middle of the night calling to be advanced one more square. There are men and women, young and old, who can't get enough! We used anything pliable: yarn, string, thread, strips of fabric, fishing line, wire, even plastic grocery bags! We embellish with beads, buttons, bells. There are those who dabble and those who live and breathe crochet. We learn from each other, validate each other, inspire each other. A crocheter is not content without their hook. We can't wait to try a new texture, a new stitch, a new technique. Time is irrelevant when we've got hook in hand, just so long as we're creating.
I learned to crochet from my mother-in-law when I was pregnant with my first child. My first project was a baby blanket, which I brought my new little one home from the hospital in. My other two children also came home wrapped in a blanky made by Mommy. As a new mom, and somewhat of an introvert, I became obsessed with crocheting and made everything from dishcloths to afghans to doilies.
As a new student I don't have much time for crocheting. Christmastime, usually filled with handmade gifts to disperse to my many nieces, sister-in-laws, grandmas, etc., saw only two simple scarves. I miss my crochet community, the sharing secrets and lifting one another's spirits through praising the creativity and patience of each others projects. My hooks have been put away for some time and I don't see them coming out again anytime soon. Yet I look back fondly on this hobby, which seems such a trite term for something that was once a lifeline amidst the monotony of housework that seemed to envelope me in the early years of marriage and childbearing. Priorities for my family took over and I stepped up to the honorable task of raising the babies I bore and bettering myself academically. I feel almost selfish yearning for the hours I spent with hook in hand. On the other hand, it seems as if a part of myself was abandoned in the past. Perhaps, some day, that part of me with come alive again and the satisfaction of placing the last stitch in an afghan will be mine once again.

My Purse Tells All

Well, if you check my purse on any given day you will find that I am not, by nature, a neat person. You may or may not find my sun glasses. If they are there, they're not in their case, just crammed next to it. If they're not there, then they are either in my truck, on top of my jewelry box, on my desk, in my coat pocket, on the nightstand, next to the bathroom sink, on top of the microwave on the in table in the living room, under one of my sons' homework or on my head. If it's the latter, then I don't know that they are there and I'm running around my house checking the other places mentioned.
You will also find in my purse about two hundred dollars in change. This is because I'm always in such a hurry that when I shop I just shove some bills at the cashier and cram the change into one of the many pockets, none of which is actually designated for anything in particular. I only remove the excess change when it has weighted the purse to the point of causing lower back pain.
Also, you can find every receipt I've every gotten for anything except for the one I've torn my entire house apart looking for. You could determine from my punch cards, receipts and coupons for various stores that I'm a bargain shopper. Buying stuff that's not on sale or that I don't have a coupon for is actually physically painful for me. Mingled with these are grocery lists from last June, gum which should be examined thoroughly before chewing, and of course hard, butterscotch candies with lint stuck where the wrapper opens (Grandma started the tradition, who am I to break it). Do you feel that you know me better now?

Hello!

Just checking to make sure I'm set up!!!