Due to Technical Difficulties

I had a plan . . . it was a great plan. Totally switch around the rec room, take the computer desk out and move it into the boys' room, put the computer elsewhere in the rec room, move the couch back, open the room up.

Behind the computer there was a nest of colored wires . . . red, blue, black, white, cream, yellow, grey . . . thick, thread-skinny . . . all twisted together, braided up. How hard could this be? They're just wires. I executed this puzzle brilliantly. Everything taken apart, put right back as it should be. Mmmm-hmmm.

The assumption was, then, that the computer should now recognize my hard work, my flawless deconstruction and reconstruction of wires and connections, my total conscientiousness in remembering all its intricacies.

Reality is, in fact, that although the wireless connection is working brilliantly, putting out a strong signal, doing its best, there's not an electronic device in the household that can access or communicate with or connect to the DSL's nice, strong signal . . . no desktop, no Ipod, no cell phone, no laptop. Nothing. The wireless might just as well be speaking in Mandarin Chinese and the devices decoding in the Castillian dialect of Spain. There is no communication.

Apparently I don't know as much about technology as I thought/wished I did.

So, I am now posting from the library computer, with 5 children playing Runescape and a squalling baby to my left. Geek Squad, how quickly can you get here???

Peanut Butter Ice Cream

Wow, I haven't had this little jewel out in a while . . . like, about, 15 years!! But it just so happens that several weeks ago I saw Pioneer Woman had made homemade ice cream. And you know how it is when you're around those strong-willed types. You think you don't want to make homemade ice cream, and the next thing you know you're stirring together milk and sugar and grabbing a box of rock salt.

I did put my foot down on one item, however. Pioneer Woman was NOT going to convince me to heat half and half, temper egg yolks, cook over medium-low heat, or stir constantly. No, I did the no-cook variety. Sometimes a woman has just got to assert her independence.

I made peanut butter ice cream, topped it with chocolate syrup, and it was divine!! The Man of the House loved it, and kids loved it, and I loved everybody loving it.

"We should make this every day; it's totally quick and cheap," chirped the 13 year-old, who neither purchased the bag full of ingredients nor prepared the ice cream he was sucking down rapidly.

Well, maybe not every day but certainly not every 15 years either!! This is an easy summer treat that's too good to miss out on.

Peanut Butter Ice Cream - for a 4 quart ice cream freezer

Using an electric mixer or stand mixer, combine the following ingredients:

4 eggs

2 cups sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

4 cans evaporated milk

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 can Eagle sweetened, condensed milk

2/3 of 15 oz. jar of peanut butter (sorry for the vague amount . . . I adapted this from a 6 quart recipe!)

Fill container of ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacturer's directions.

The Letdown

Oldest Daughter is home from camp.



For 6 days straight she made new friends, screamed herself hoarse with camp cheers, laughed at hilarious skits, slid down giant lake slides, climbed rock walls, whispered in the dark after lights out, got up early, and went to bed late. Six exciting, exhilarating, adrenalin-pumping days.


And now she is home and life is just slightly dull. The summer stretches out before her . . . very drab and brown after the technicolor week she just had. She e-mails her new friends, downloads new praise and worship learned at camp, wears new camp shirts . . . but it's not the same. Unbelievably, she still has to empty the dishwasher, do poop pickup, babysit her little sister, clean her bathroom. Ahhh, the injustice.

Tonight she looked at me with doleful eyes. "Mom," she said, "I think I'm having post-partum depression from leaving camp."

Oh, Honey, I understand. Man, do I understand! And we cuddled a little longer at bedtime, as she learns that life ebbs and flows, thrills and bores, always changes, never stands still. And under it all is the hand of our God who always stays the same and is, Himself, the giver of all good gifts.

If You Can't Live On a Farm . . .

I dream of living on a farm. My dream is totally unrealistic. My dream is romantically idealistic. I know this.

In truth, I'm not gifted for farm life and the Man of the House has no desire for farm life. It's just not going to happen.

But the dream persists. ::sigh::

So, if you can't live on a farm, if you don't live on a farm, if you won't ever live on a farm but wish you could, did and would, I have discovered the next best thing to being there!!

Oh, this game is fun with a capital F-U-N!!

Look at the adorable game markers . . . John Deere hats! Even a pink one for idealistic, unrealistic, wannabe farm girls.





Here's the family farm I inherited in this game. I was glad to see that even though I'm out in the sticks of farm country, I still have quite a nice back deck and pool . . . with a giant John Deere tractor backing right up to it.

Youngest Son was the "banker," and I was loving, loving, loving the mental math skills the game required.

By the time the game was over, I had purchased seed, plowed my land, been mercilessly attacked by rootworm, had my soil inspected by the Department of Ecology, narrowly missed a flood, sold my crop, and bought a lottery ticket at the farmer's supply store (just as much of a waste of money in a board game as in real life . . . I really should have known better!)

For a one-hour period I was a farm owner, with all its accompanying joys and struggles, victories and disappointments. I got to strategize, analyze, plot and plan for the success of my farm, all without coming into contact with dirt, large machinery, or demanding livestock. Ah, it was sweet!

I think playing this game once a week should keep my farm cravings satisfied . . . for now.

Winning!

Oh, it is sweet to be a "winner" once in a while; isn't it!! Yesterday I got to be a winner in a giveaway done by the very fun and creative Erin at her blog, Rare and Beautiful Treasures. Erin's blog is a decorator's dream. Always inspiring.

The giveaway was for a print from Craft Therapea. Here are some examples of Kelly's work:

I think I'm going to get the starfish print and another 2 starfish prints that you can see at Craft Therapea and put them together on a wall in my half bath. This will, of course, necessitate a complete redo of that bathroom. What fun!

Missing My Girl

Camp has stolen away another of my precious kids for a week ::sigh::!

This time it took my oldest . . . my steady rock . . . my stabilizing force.

(She's on the right. This is all paint . . . trust me!!)

This child is a gift . . . like all children. We're so totally different . . . and that makes her such a blessing.

My head is usually somewhere in the clouds, dreaming, planning future plans. She is practical, sensible, no nonsense. She finds lost library books, obeys instructions to the letter, reminds me to put on my seatbelt, gets us out the door on time.

She watches sports with the Man of the House and laughs at me when I try to make an intelligent comment. She adores her friends. She plays Barbies and Polly Pockets by the hour with her little sister.

Is she perfect? No. No way. But she's loved. And she's becoming. Becoming more Christlike every day. Becoming more and more the woman He made her to be. Becoming more patient and gracious and kind. And that's exciting.

And, by the way, I got all these pictures off her camera, and she's going to kill me. KILL me!! Well dear, you know, when the cat's away . . .

Emotions of a Garage Sale

1. Anticipation as the children and I clean, pile and price our items, merchandising them "just so" on the tables, and close the garage . . . waiting for morning.



2. Irritation upon hearing the alarm clock buzz at 6:30 on a Saturday morning and knowing I am going to be haggling over the $2 price I'm charging for the $55 shoes my child had to have and never wore.



3. Amusement at watching the Man of the House try so hard to be a supportive mate and help me with the sale . . . and have to leave after a mere 20 minutes because he just can't stand the garage sale scene.

4. Joy at seeing a little boy clutching my son's Nerf gun, grinning ear to ear, and raining foam ammunition down upon himself as he walks back up the road.

5. Melancholy in observing a stack of wooden "peg" puzzles that Youngest Daughter has outgrown and remembering the hours of fun we had during puzzle time right before bed.

6. Happiness as we meet strangers, swap stories, encourage purchases, share smiles, and chat with neighbors.

7. Freedom in seeing the "stuff" cluttering up our home being whisked away.

8. Pride in watching the children's faces as they pocket their earnings and squirrel the money away for a new Lego set . . . or a prop for a magic trick . . . or a CD . . . or . . .

9. Relief while folding up tables and bagging up the "leftovers" for charity . . . and knowing Garage Sale Day, with all its accompanying emotions, is over for another year.