She sews.

A sweet little coat from Esther. She loves it. I love that I bound it in fleece from her old baby blanket. How sweet is that. Hmm, I may have enough fleece for a pair of mittens!

Oh, it still needs toggle buttons. I haven't found the perfect ones yet. If you find any, let me know.

Nine Years and three days ago

I found myself trying to squeeze into a booth at Denny's. "Auugh<" I said to the waiter. "I don't think I can fit." Which was the truth, and a great embarrassing shame. I had recently gained 77 pounds and was fatter than fat could even be. My poor feet were pouring themselves out of the only pair of househoes I could find to fit.
The waitress moved us to a table, which was good because I could scoot the chair back. Way back, in order to fit.

Just a few hours later and I found myself in the hospital; victim of labor induced pre-eclampsia. It was a good day to be expecting a child. Sept 21st, my sister-inlaw's birthday. My water broke and we began to expect the birth of our first child.

Sept. 22nd. It would be a good day for this little boy to be born. On Sept 22,, 1990, I decided to follow Christ. It was, in a sense, my re-birthday. What a lovely day to give birth to my first child- a boy I had already named Marcus.

Sept. 23rd. All I can remember thinking was that, if this child was waiting to be born on his father's birthday just three days more- I would KILL him. And speaking of KILL. Dustan thought day three of labor would be a good time to munch down on donuts. And the doctor finally decided that a c-section would be an option. And he and Dustan quarreled. I had not, afterall, according to the father of this ever patient baby, been in labor for three days just to have the baby cut out of me. I had pushed for EIGHT hours, and all I could think of was strangling the both of them.

Everything else was a blur. The bad kind of blur. The unconscious kind of blur. But. We made it. Both of us. A very wounded mother soon was holding her almost grown 10 pound son. He was so serious. So old, even in those first few moments. And as I held him, as I snuggled him into my breast and smelled his newborn self, I could never have imagined the years that would follow.

I could have never imagined the stress, the joy, the weeping, the call to Social services to pick him up because I "had HAD it", the eventual diagnosis of aspbergers. I could have never imagined that that child would one day have the heart of a poet. passionate, and quiet, Stewing about the world and all it's contents. I could have never imagined that he would struggle to speak and then write songs and stories that would bring my heart to it's knees. I never would have thought that he would be so quick to anger, so slow to say sorry, so afraid to look others in the eyes.

And just a few years later, as he began to grow, and emerge into the child he was becoming, I would have never imagined that at nine years old, I would have a fellow worker in the early morn. Someone to clear the dishwasher as I loaded it up, someone to chatter with me about what would happen "if". "If". The word of his life. Everything in his mind, begins with, "What if."

And his eventual answers thrill my spirit. They come out through his fingers, and his thoughts. Answers beautiful.



Nine years ago today, as I held Marcus Wade King for the very first time, I could not have even imagined what Sept 23rd, 2008 would be like. Beautiful, joyful, and still so very serious.


By the way: This child, who in the past has shunned public exposure, begged for a birthday dinner at Chevy's. He practically fell over with giddyness when they came out singing and placed a sombrero on his head. When we asked him if the reason he chose Chevy's was the hat, he responded, that he just wanted everyone to look at him and know it was his birthday.

I'm kind of proud of him. I can't help it.

New

I have alluded to it before, but not made an official announcement.

The Toasty Toes Mansion is moving.

To Ecuador.

Yep. I am not sure Ecuador is ready for us, but we are super excited, and if you want to be part of our journey, you will have to add my new blog to you read list. Don't complain. I read over seventy-five blogs.

Anyhow Go over here to read of our adventures.

How to make a million meals out of one canceled Sunday School Fellowship

Step 1: Boldy declare to your Sunday School that in an effort to learn hospitality (a much needed skill on the mission field of Ecuador), you will now have a standing invitation for Sunday meal.
Step 2: Freak out. What will you fix? How will you keep it ready? You will be at church all Sunday, not at home able to spend all day cooking.
Step 3: Make a plan. First meal will be taco salad.
Step 4: Prepare enough taco meat, and all the taco salad fixings to feed a small army of college and career age young people. (Don't forget those young men can eat their weight in chips)

I had it under control. I was patting myself on the back. "Good job, Becka. This is not so hard." Everything was done and it was time to leave for church.

And we had to take an alternate route out of our neighborhood. The road was emerged in water.

Step 5: Turn on the radio and realize that Ike made it's way through your town and you slept through the whole thing. Feel rather sorry for the people in U-city who were not sleeping through anything, but, were, in fact, being rescued from their neighborhoods by BOAT.

Step 6: Worry about your friends on the West side of the Mississippi who do not have power. Are they having to leave their homes by boats too? Begin to worry about you own home when your friends calls to let you know about water coming into her basement. After all, there is a CREEK running through your backyard.

Step 6: Cancel fellowship, in anticipation of spending the afternoon hauling water out of your basement.

Step 6: After realizing that Ike pretty much left you alone, look in your fridge and wonder what you will ever do with all that food.

(Hahahahahaha- I just realized I had THREE step 6's) (I TOLD you I was bad with numbers- and I have decided to leave it, because the fact that their are THREE 6's has me cracking up)

Anyhow, we have made use of all the leftover.
Meal number 1:
Taco Salad (of course)

Meal number 2: Taco Pie
Layer the following ingredients and cook at 35o until hot and cheese is melted.
Strip of corn tortillas
taco meat
salsa
cheese sauce
tomatoes
onions
REPEAT and top with cheddar cheese

Meal number 3: Nachos (you know how to make these, right?)

Meal number 4: Taco Soup
Put all ingredients in a soup pot and heat until hot:
Taco meat
Onions
Canned of diced tomatoes
Can of chili beans
Top with shredded cheese and sour cream. Eat with corn chips- which make a nice substitute for crackers when you can't have wheat.

Cookies and Chex Mix

Gluten Free Oatmeal Cookies (Bob's red Mill)



INGREDIENTS:


1-1/2 cups Gluten Free All Purpose Baking Flour
3 cups Gluten Free Rolled Oats
1 cup Butter (softened)
1 cup Brown Sugar
1/2 cup Granulated Sugar
1 tsp Vanilla
1 tsp Baking Soda
1/2 tsp Sea Salt
1 tsp Cinnamon
2 large Eggs*
1 tsp Xanthan Gum
1 cup Raisins (Unsulfured)

Preheat oven to 350�F. Beat butter and sugars together until smooth. Add vanilla and eggs; beat well. In a separate bowl, blend flour, cinnamon, baking soda, salt and Xanthan Gum. Stir flour blend into wet ingredients. Add oats and raisins and mix well. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto un-greased cookie sheet. Bake for 10 � 12 minutes, or until golden brown. Cool one minutes then transfer to wire rack. Makes about 4 dozen cookies.

Eggless Option: Mix together 2 Tb. Flaxseed Meal with 6 Tb. of water and let sit for a minute. Add to recipe as you would the eggs.

But, I used chocolate chips instead of raisins. Dustan abhors raisins. And I was feeling kindly towards him, so I added chocolate chips instead. These turned out wonderfully and I was glad I made two recipes worth, as I had plenty to put in the freezer. If you make these, watch them CAREFULLY. I burned a TON of them. And I ate them anyway, because the burned ones have no calories. It's a fact.


Chex Mix, as made by Weston Hilarious King (no, his middle name is not hilarious- but it should have been.

9 cups of rice chex (gluten free)
a handful or three of walnuts
the rest of the bag of raisins (I wasn't feeling kindly towards Dustan)
Most of the rest of the bag of pecans
1 1/2 sticks of butter
3/4 cup of brown sugar

Mix chex, nuts, and fruits into a large bowl. Melt the brown sugar and butter, bring to a boil for three minutes (or until you get sick of standing there) and pour over chex mix. Pile onto a baking pan and bake at 350 degrees for however long you want to. I cooked mine about 10 minutes, but I should have stirred halfway through. The bottom pieces were overdone, which worked out well, because I ate all the burnt ones, and since they are calorie free, I actually weigh LESS today.

Anyhow, take them out, let them cool (this takes forever) and then, if you feel very extra super loving to your kids, add some chocolate chips. I did not feel extra super loving towards my kids, and so, I waited until they had theirs, and had gone to bed before adding chocolate chips. I was feeling evilish.

I was tagged. Like half a year ago. I'm a procrastinator.

Murali tagged me. It was so long ago that I don't even remember the rules. But. i think I am supposed to name six quirky things about me, and then tag six of my friends. Ha! Like I have six friends. I do, however have at least six family members, who we will pretend are my friends.

Quirky things about me:
1. I am the ultra conservative daughter of a Baptist preacher who has a decent start in covering her body in art (tattoo). I also have some socialist leanings, but unlike the rest of Christian America, I blame that on the Bible.

2. I shut down when politics are discussed. Which makes me a bit of a recluse at the moment. I have a really awesome theory that God is in charge of the universe, and that there are far more exciting things happening in the world than this election for me to both worry and get worked up over. This is a very freeing theory (although- I happen to hold it as fact)

4. I am really bad with numbers. My parents used to joke that my brain would shut off when they read me the story of the Three Little Bears...as soon as the number three was mentioned. However, I have an uncanny memory for telephone numbers and addresses that are not my own.

5. I always have to be doing something with my hands. Preferably rolling tape between my fingers.

6. I like to sneeze. I think it's fun. Oh, and I like to fart too. When I was a child, my mother washed my mouth out for saying the word fart. Now I fart as often as possible, just for an excuse to announce to the world, "I farted." My two little guys are frequently delighted by my skills. And, as if I was seen as the most talented mom on the planet for my awesome air passing skills, I can also say my name, or any other name, in BURPS. How awesome is that? I was a hit as a preschool teacher when I sang "Row Row Row your boat" all in burps.

I tag:
Carrie who has a lovely and very inspirational blog
My Mom, who cracks me up. Oh. and I love her.
My childhood friendJerusalem (yes that is really her name), who I think has been tagged way recently, but what can I say? My friends are few, I am desperate, and go to her blog anyway, cause she has really neato stuff. You will want to move into her house. Trust me.
hmmm, How bout- Sara because I like to pretend she is my twin, separated by birth. Have you seen her art work?
My sister, who has the funniest kids on the planet.

And Brittany Who I do not know. It's a random blog. But, it appears she is in highschool, and likes to play basketball. I told you I was hard up for friends.

I have a lot of stuff to tell you. And show you.

But, right now, it's hard to breathe and type at the same time.

Be back later with lots of stuff including a tag from Murali (and a link for her later), a recipe for GF choco oatmeal cookies, and something else that my snotty brain has already forgotten about.

Oh, wait, the snot cleared momentarily. I made something. Wintery. For Esther.

Wanna hear a dirty Joke?

Once upon a time, there was a family





And they all fell into the mud. Even the dog.

We went hiking today. Followed a creek. Swam in the creek. Watched the minnows and the crawdads. Got lost. Talked to a stanger who let us know we were way lost. Way way lost. Followed the creek back. Found a skunk. I mean, Heidi found a skunk. And now the whole house smells. Yuck.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Okay, so it's another post about my kids. Sue me. Ever since we put the house on the market, it has completely disinterested me. Who wants to write a post about decorating walls in white paint? Not me.

"Today I painted my walls white. Then I wiped down the bathroom mirror and made sure the garbage cans were empty. Oh, and I made sure the medicines in the medicine cabinet were obsessively lined up, just in case some nosey buyer opens it up to see what ails our family. Midrin, Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, Relepax. Hmmm. It's a headachey sort of family."

See. THAT was BORING. And my kids aren't. Maybe I should change the subtitle of my blog to "Toasty Toes: the adventures of surviving the insanely insane antics of my insane children"

Case in point: Weston just brought me this really cool picture. "Stop typing." he says. "Stop typing and look what I drew."
I took a blogging break and looked. He may need a shrink. I saw airplanes. And people. Very dead, very bloody people. All shot down by the firey rockets that were exploding from the belly of the planes.

How do you even respond to something like that???? "Very cool" just does not seem to do it justice.

Anyhow. That bit of insanity was just an interruption. The real insanity started this morning.

Marcus: What makes the fog?
Me: I don't know.
Marcus: Well can't you look it up? Get off your message board and find out what makes the fog.


Marcus: Wow, it sure rained suddenly. I wonder why? Oh, and what is salt made of?
Me: Sodium.
Marcus: What's sodium?
Me: Salt.
Marcus: You are unreasonable.
Me: ummmm.
Marcus: What does unreasonable mean?

Marcus: What is this? (he hold up a spoon)
Me: (cocking my eyebrow) A spoon.
Marcus: No I mean, it's metal. What kind.
Me: sil... (and the I realize I'm not sure I have even SEEN a real piece of silverware, much less OWNED one). It's just metal.
Marcus: I KNOW. Metal. yeah, Yeah. What kind?

Marcus: Why do we need to know how to write. And what makes the moon look white? And what is dog hair made of? And if I chew this piece of wood up can I make paper out of it? And does farts count as wind? What would happen if I drank pee? When will I die? What would happen if I dropped my pillow out of the window? What would happen if I droped Weston out of the window? What would happen if I rode on the roof of a car? Why do cars have roofs? What would happen if I rode on the roof of a car that did not have a roof?
Me: ummmmm.

Marcus: You are a bad teacher. Good teachers know stuff, or at least want to find stuff out. You are just lazy and don't care what stuff is.
Me: ummmm
Marcus: (Through peals of laughter.) Did I drive you nuts? Did I? Did I? I was trying to drive you nuts with all my questions. Did it work? Did it work?


We will be holding a memorial service for Marcus later this evening. All are welcome.

Oh so random.

I have a jumbledness of thoughts today. Let me vomit them out at you.

We have a new housemate. My cousin Lindsey has moved in after my oh so very successful attempt at matchmaking was oh so very successful. Since she lived two states away from the oh so successful match, she has moved into the toasty toes mansion. It smells in our house, very much like a young lady in love. Which, in case you didn't know, smells like room fragrance and perfume. Add in some hairspray and you have the smell of love. Or, maybe that is just the general smell of teenage/young adulthood.

I have rediscovered the joy of peanut butter balls. The food rage of 1980 government issue food has now arrived at my house. Equal amounts of peanut butter, powdered milk, and honey. Yummy. I was going to take a picture, but my kids ate them all, and besides that, I was feeling to lazy to find my camera.

I have two good friends who are grieving loved ones. Tara lost her doggy, Stan, yesterday to what was most likely a brain tumor. It was heartbreaking.

And my friend Becki, who coordinates the TeenMops group has lost her daughter. Kari was young. My age. With two young boys. It is a sobering thought and my heart aches for Becki, as well as those two little boys. I would ask the question, "Why"? But the answer seems to futile, so I don;t even bother asking.

Esther wants to know when our Heidi dog will die. Weston wants to know if we can wave a magic wand over Stan and make him come back alive. All of them are now worried that I will up and die at any moment.

Homeschooling has resumed, and is no fun at all for anyone at all. I already want to quit. Marcus already has quit. He is a third grade drop-out. I keep reminding myself how many times I was a third grade drop-out myself. And how many times my own mother wanted to quit teaching me. And yet, here I am, with a great education (bad spelling and penchant for sentence fragments not withstanding...) and there my mother is, sitting in Ohio, looking at her vegetable garden and sipping hot tea.
I bet she does not miss the yelling, the constant search for the ever-lost pencils, or the chewed up erasers. I bet she is relived that she will never have to argue the value of multiplication tables or clear steady handwriting again.
Which is reassuring. I am only going to be a teacher for so long. One day I will have my own garden to sit in. one day I will never again have to hear two hours of whining about what would amount to thirty seconds of work.

And when I think of Becki, whose daughter has just gone to be the Lord. i feel guilty for wanting to speed along time. I think about all these random moments of peanut butter balls, new housemates, screaming and crying and ripping out of hair over the requirement of writing two sentences...and I decide to relish them.

At least for right now. At least for as long as I write this post.

Why didn't I think of that?

Remember the "I'm not touching you" game?

Come on, you remember it.
You're in the back seat of a volkswagon rabbit. There's three of you. Far too many to be squashed into such a small backseat. It's summer time and air conditioning either has not been invented yet, or your dad thinks he can save money by not running it.

It's so hot that your legs are slippery and your sister's slippery legs are rubbing up against yours. It's gross, and you realize that she has a millimeter more space than you do.

"MOM" you yell. "She's TOUCHING me."
Mom looks in the rearview mirror and sighs. "Stop touching her." she says.
And your sister gets revenge. She gets so close to your face you can smell her peanut butter breath and she pokes her finger- just almost touching you.
"I'm not touching you." she taunts, just under her breath. "I'm not touching you."

Last time you brought attention to her evil ways, mom took a mad swipe with her backhand, towards the back seat. When mom did that, there was no target. Her backseat handswipe was not punishment- just a point maker. It meant she had all she could take.
In this case, you realize that you would be the closest target and so you keep your mouth shut and ride the rest of the drive home from Mega Market with your sister's finger just a centimeter away from your face, and her continuing to taunt you.
"I'm not touching you." "I'm not touching you."

You remember now, don't you?

Anyhow. This scene played itself out in my van. Weston pokes at Esther's face. "I'm not touching you," he says to her.
I glanced into my rearview mirror, ready to scold him for aggravating his sister.
But she was already past the point of aggravation. I think she has a short fuse.
She walloped him. BAM, BAM, BAM.
All the while, screaming...
WELL, I AM TOUCHING YOU!
WELL, I AM TOUCHING YOU!

Anyhow, I am pretty sure no one is going to play the "I'm not touching you" game with Esther again.

The meaning of compassion.

While at our missionary training, the idea of beggars came up. It's a hard subject. No one really wants to deal with it. No one really wants to talk about it. There are no real answers, only difficult questions, and so, everyone avoids it. Or speaks about it in vague language.
I can speak. I have no fear. Beggars. No matter who they are, are humans. Created, just as I am, in the image of the Creator. Even the ones who are scams. Even the ones who trade their pennies and dollars in for liqueur and cigarettes.

When I became a child of Christ, I became a new creation- with new eyes.

For so long I have not been able to explain why the talk of beggars as scum makes me so angry with my brothers and sisters in the Lord. No one wants to be a doormat. No one wants to be ripped off. Everyone has better things to do than to waste time thinking about the man at the end of the exit ramp holding up a sign. Everyone would rather focus on the fact that he is wearing name brand tennis shoes, and that he looks like he belongs on sexual offender list.

But. Christ himself was not afraid to talk about this issue. He was not afraid to see it for what it is, and not afraid to do something about it.
Matthew 25:41-45
"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
but the righteous to eternal life."

My friend Val posted this video on her blog. My heart leaped for joy, because it illustrated so perfectly what I hold to be truth.


HISTORIA DE UN LETRERO (THE STORY OF A SIGN)

The way we see things can change the world.
Who is a beggar?
Just a chance. For us to practice our new vision.



It's a beautiful day. And I can see it.

Blackberry Communication

We set off to pick peaches. I try to freeze enough every summer to last us all winter. It never works.
So this year I started early.
"Sure" they said. "Peaches are perfect right now."
So, I pushed my luck with blackberries.
"Well, ummm" they murmered. "You can pick if'n you want, but they ain't quite ready yet."

They obviously didn't have a clue. It was far too early for the peaches. They were massive in size, but hard as rocks. Anything that was ripe had been picked by people who had arrived with the first glint of the sun.
We barely picked enough to make it through the day.

But the blackberries! Oh my! They were black as tar and literally bursting with sweet/tart juiciness. There was no one else picking and so the kids and I had the run of the vines. We ate blackberries until our teeth were full of seeds. I think the whites of my eyes took on a purple glaze.

I don't freeze the blackberries. We enjoy blackberry jam FAR too much. So we came home and spent the morning canning.
Like my arrangement of jars? I was out of canning jars and made do with what I had. Since it was freezer jam, I could do this. They don't look pretty on the outside, but I am pretty sure no one is going to care.

How to make dinner from nothing: and a side of whine

Actually, I went to the store, but didn't plan out tonight's dinner before I went so I was left scrambling last minute to figure out what to feed the family. What I actually wanted to feed them was dogfood. Why?
a. It a kazillion billion degrees hot in St Louis and I didn't want to cook
b. It's not like they would actually APPRECIATE whatever I decided to make.
c. I am grumpy. see points A and B.

Some kind woman gave me a link to THIS WONDERFUL LIFE SAVING SITE and I was able to type in everything I had on hand, and it pulled up recipes for me.

Here is what I landed on. I would have gotten a picture but:
a. It was too hot to hang a camera strap around my neck
b. It was eaten far to quickly to even locate my camera
c. blog readers should not be so picky about pictures, and learn to use their imaginations. Imagine this: Shredded chicken, can of corn, ranch dressing, and cheese. Rolled up in a corn tortilla. Oh, I added to the recipe. It seemed a bit plain.

The dog ate one. He loved it. The kids ate three. Without complaining. Until after dinner. After dinner the griping ensued.
"I want to play wii"
"Can I have ice cream?"
"Why can't I have icecream?"
"You are the meanest ever mommy in the widest whole world."
"Why do the adults get to be in charge and make all the decisions?"
"Can I have a piece of bubblegum?"
"WHY can't I have a piece of bubblegum?"
"Why do YOU get a piece of bubblegum?"
"Marcus hit me!"
"Esther hit me"
"Weston hit me."
"Mommy, why do you look like you want to hit me."
"Esther is picking her nose. It's gross. make her stop."
"It's so boring. SOOOOOOO boring. There is NOTHING to do. Life is the most boring thing in the world ever."
"Can't I pleeeeaaaassseeee have icecream?"


Auuuuuuuggggghhhhhh.

I have yet to duct tape the kids to a wall, with a sock in their mouths. Though, I have threatened it. Bedtime will be here in a mere 60 minutes. And I am going to play wii. While eating and icecream. And chewing bubblegum.

Eleventy

1 Computer geek who is serious and shy + 1 drama queen who can't keep her mouth shut
1 neat freak who loves order and schedules + 1 messy woman who flies, always, by the seat of her pants
1 lover of finance who ENJOYS getting bills + 1 crazy mad woman who loses interest as soon as a number is even mentioned
1 man driven by duty and responsibility + 1 girl who follows the sound of fun and the noise of change

=
eleven years of crazy happiness.
eleven interesting years... for sure. You just can't be all that boring with that kind of a pair.

So, Dustan. Would you do it again? Why the raised eyebrow? You better say yes or I will put snot in all your socks.

BLT...gluten free style.

Sometimes you just need a BLT.
Really.
Sonic sells BLT's.
With bread.
That I can't have.
Phooey on Sonic. Who needs bread? Not me. I kept wanting to add things. Like olives and cheese. But I kept it simple. Lettuce, Tomatoes, and a TON of bacon. Who doesn't love a TON of bacon? Oh, and Ranch dressing.

Meet Albert

Albert came to our VBS block party. He has Alzheimer's Disease. The reason I want you to meet him is because my children were enamored by him. My kids are shy. And unsocialable (they are homeschooled- what can I say?) It took them all of 0.02 seconds to see Albert's unbrella and decide to make friends.

Weston: Wow! Where did you get you umbrella?
Esther: Your cane is very nice. Did you get it for Christmas.
Weston: I wish you had an extra umbrella so I could use one.
Esther: Why do you have an umbrella? It's not raining.

both kids take a breath and Albert speaks!
Albert: I have an umbrella to make me cool.

(Weston of course misunderstands his meaning of cool and says...) Oh, Yeah, it is cool!

Esther: I want to stand under here. (and she proceeds to scootch her way under the umbrella to where she is practically in mister Albert's lap.

I decide to intervene.
Me: Kids, why don't you go play some games and stop bothering Mr Albert.

Mr Albert looks confused and says, "Who's bothering me?" It isn't a question to let me know he is having fun. It is a question of forgetfulness. He has forgotten how annoying my kids have been. I decide to let things be. Next thing I know, my middle child is melting my heart. And I suppose God's as well.

Weston: Mr Albert, I don't even know any 71 year old men but you. Do you even know anyone who is 71?
Albert: Yes. I suppose I do.
Weston: I mean at church. Do you know anyone at church who is 71?
Albert: (who does not attend church and is not a Christian) No. I don't suppose I do.
Weston: Oh. Well then. I think you should come to Sunday School. There are probably TONS of 71 year olds people there. You would meet them if you came. And you would learn about God too.

Don't worry. The child didn't stay all cute and serious for very long. As I was setting up my booth, I heard this very random nugget:

"Mr Albert, I don't really want to talk about cheerleaders or dead people today."

Tale of a Dad's Day

It was a rough and long day. Started off with a guest preacher who read two scripture verses and then proceeded to yell at us for forty minutes. Oh wait. First I was late for Sunday School. I hate being late. I am not sure there is anything I hate worse than being late. It ruins an entire day. I think today was a bit proofy. (no- proofy is not in a dictionary. I imagine myself a writer, and as such, I get to make up words. if you don't believe, ask Theodore Geisel).

After being late we had to make a run to St Louis for our milk. I do not normally run this errand. A friend usually picks it up for me but this week she was out of town and I needed to pick up both our orders of yummylicious (another made up word) raw milk- straight from the udder. Yum.

Anyhow, I thought we needed to be there at 1. I thought we were terribly late on account of all the yelling running so very wrong. So we rushed. And almost had a million wrecks. Only to find out that pick up time was at 1:30.

We were still late. On account of us getting utterly and horribly lost.

Next on the crazy list was Trader Joe's. Those who are not blessed with a Trader Joes have my sincere condolences. THose who don't even know what it is- it's just the mostest, bestest, coolest grocery store on the planet.

We never made it. Weston threw up in the car. An entire puke buckets worth. Vile smelly stuff. I feel bad for the apartment complex we pulled into and from whom we borrowed their dumpster. Hopefully, for their sake, garbage pickup is tomorrow.

Since it was just a simple case of car sickness, we went on and ate a nice big lunch at TGIF. The day started to turn and we decided to nix the grocery store and take a park day.

It started to thunder. We checked the weather report. Severe thuderstorm watch. BLASTED STINKIN' BAD DAY.






I bet you didn't realize that Thunderstorm watch means to go outside and watch the thunderstorms. We ignored the thunder and played anyway. It never did rain. We had a blast, Dustan felt loved on, and the fresh almost rainy air did us all a world of good.


We came home and had Root beer floats. In case you are wondering- Root Beer floats make a bad day all better. It's true. Try it.

Broken People

Sigh. It seems our world is falling apart. let's break this up into small chewable pieces shall we?

• Dustan breaks his finger. Badly. it is still not healed.
  
• Our basement springs a leak. When we are trying to sell out house.
  
• Dustan's car breaks down. 600.00 later and it is fixed.
  
• A good friend accidentally rams his mini van (which was incidentally JUST repaired because of a previous accident (not his fault)) into our van.
  
• Our dryer breaks.
  
• our camping trip becomes a soggy mess, with hundreds of ticks and a case of poison ivy.
  
• our van begins to smoke like an old man addicted to cigars.
  
• Poor Esther. She broke her arm last night. Poor Esther. poor us.
  

She thinks she is a princess and she is bossing us around like crazy. What do you do for a bossy girl who broke her dominant arm which is now strapped down flat against her body?
You buy her presents. Of course.

Which she can't open. Of course. This will tick her off (which is slightly humorous, because Marcus found yet ANOTHER tick on his head).
But her brother will come to her rescue.

It is going to be a hard few weeks for us. Hopefully she will adjust quickly, because right now, she is driving us all bat crazy. She can't play with any of her toys. No legos. No Leapster. No Webkinz. Life stinks for Esther. She can't even unzip her pants or eat with a fork. Like stinks for us to, as she calls on us to fulfill her every wish and command. She was already a monster. This is going to make her worse.

PS. I made bullets. Heehee. Sometimes I just have to pat myself on the back.

Toasty Toes: At Camp

Little known fact: THe name of my blog came from a camping trip. It's true. I am well known for burning myself every single time I try to cook. Well. Once, at camp, I was cooking barefoot...
not a good idea. Anyhow, I burned my toes, and hence my nickname- toasty toes. Every year, I take that same trip. Same spot, Same friends. We adore it, and long for it each time it rolls around. I am already finding myself thinking of next year.

Only, next year, we will likely be a million miles away and my friends will be telling stories around a campfire- without me. I savored this year. Every second, every smell, every laugh, every diet dr pepper. Every RAINDROP, LIGHTENING STRIKE, AND THUNDERCLAP. It was a very wet trip.

and yet we found time for fun. We found several geo caches out in the middle of the woods. Tick territory. The ticks were angry at us for invading their sanctuary and took revenge by sucking our blood. We stopped counting ticks- oh, somewhere around fifty. But we had eleven kids, so divide that up...

Oh, the cuteness of the kids. I don't have permission to post pictures of other people's babies, so I tease you with this picture of baby Oak. Okie dokey to his friends. He loves me. His cup says so.

I hope your memorial weekend was as memorable as mine. Minus the the panicy trips to a covered shelter, tick picking, and midnight runs to an insect-owned bathhouse. including of course, a million verses of Fried Ham-Fried Ham, stories in the round that start with a princess and end with everyone dead, and always, always in which Darth Vador must make an appearance (and who, I guess, loves to give wet willies via the force). Also including laughter, hugs, smiles, and the twinkle of your child's eyes as the discover the beauty of God's world.

Toasty Toes News

Actually there is no news. The house has only shown twice and no one wants it. Except me. I love it. Despite the deep cleaning (even the ceiling fans), prettying up the bathrooms, and putting out fresh flowers, no one cares to buy my home.

In other news, I am going camping today. To my favorite place, with my favorite friends. We had planned an adventure, but gas is keeping us close to home, which is fine, because I love our little camping spot.


So, are you bored yet? So am I. I am waiting for a gazillion pictures to load from my camera. All taken at Weston's karate tournament, in which Weston placed third in both events. Don;t get too excited, he was third out of three competitors. And he was disqualified after the sparring match! Wait. Don't get excited again. He was disqualified because the judge noticed he wasn't wearing a mouth guard. His evil mother didn't bother to make sure it was in the bag. He still hasn't forgiven me. Which is a shame, because I easily forgave him when he used crayolas on all my windows,

I created

She likes it


But she likes this get up better.


(I am not sure what the pattern is. I moved all my sewing supplies over to a friend's house and can't just run upstairs to look anymore.)

Someone else's house

I have been busy. Way to busy to blog, but I owe some family members some pictures, and so, as I sit, in someone else's house waiting our first showing, I will update a bit. These pictures are horrible, and I am ashamed to post them because they are so grainy. THat is what I get for taking them at 5 in the morning.
Anyhow, all my stuff is gone. The house isn't much mine anymore. There isn't much left that says "this home belongs to that crazy lady, with crazy taste". Which is the point, I guess.
The house does now, rather resemble the personality of Dustan- who states that he would like very much to live like this forever. Ugh. Man. But men like him buy homes, which I am banking on. And praying for.

Thanks mom. And Lindsey. And Renee. And Jesse. And Dwight. For all the hard work you put into this.