Something very funny was just said.
I’m pretty sure this next shot is crooked because I was laughing.
When you put five old friends (and a baby!) in one room, there’s lots of laughter. Want to see the baby?
Look at this kid. Isn’t she beautiful? I can see where she gets the good looks from.
Haley, Autumn, Bryonie and Charity, I love you. Thanks for loving me through the past 15 or so years.
I read political commentary on blogs and news sites last night before bed. Not a good idea. Perhaps these bloggers were more deranged than others (the medium allows you to be a wallflower in real life but completely outspoken online, so I imagine it brings out the crazy in otherwise normal individuals), but oh man did I feel like puking from the insanity. Why is there so much hate and dysfunction in political discussions? Here’s my theory: we’re looking for a Savior, not simply a President.
Newsflash, peeps. The future president is a human being. And as such, the future president will not lead us into the Promised Land of stellar healthcare, perfectly educated children, and peace, love and happiness in general.
We could talk until we’re blue in the face about these candidates, but the truth is that each one is a human being who has made both good and bad decisions in the past. And surely the candidates, as human beings, will make good and bad decisions in the future. So feel free to rip them apart with derision and hatred from the laptop in your living room, but face reality. We have two major candidates to choose from in November, neither of them are Saviors (and neither are the Devil incarnate either).
**I have strong opinions pertaining to this election and I know who will receive my vote come November. Don’t misunderstand this blog post; I believe we all need to be informed about each candidate. I am concerned, however, with the vehemence contained within many political discussions.
I just returned from a fabulous weekend at the lake with the Horn Creek girls. Our last morning at the cabin Autumn commented, “Who knew resting could be so tiring?” and I fully agree. Between time with the girls and the great discussions with Joie on our roadtrip to Minneapolis (which, I must note, made Iowa’s landscape zoom by and deepened my relationship with my dear friend), I find myself back at home physically tired but emotionally renewed.
Being away for four days also made my daughter magically grow faster and become more articulate, and magnified my love for my husband. It is so good to be back with my family. And it was so good to be refreshed. More photos coming soon.
If you’re patient and can wade through the following photos, then you’ll be rewarded with my Aunt Ruthie’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. She recorded it for me on an old grocery list and the title read exactly as it’s listed above. I’ve made the cookies so many times in the last few weeks that I could do without them for some time (and that’s saying something because I love me some cookies).
Prior to becoming a mother I romanticized the notion of cooking with my small child. What I didn’t foresee was the reality of kid fingers double-dipping in the dough, a little mouth eating straight from the mixing bowl when Mommy’s back was turned, and copious amounts of flour dusting the kitchen floor. Note to future mothers: cooking with your child also takes a lot more time than cooking by yourself! However, when Liv and I do cook together, I’m always rewarded by two things. One, the chance for a decent photo opp. And two, the opportunity for me to get better, with clear boundaries and more patience, at instructing and oftentimes disciplining my child. Apparently human beings aren’t born with the knowledge that they should never double dip! Imagine that.
After lots of baking with Liv by my side, I learned that she likes flour. Here’s my little helper with her very own pile:
And here’s my little helper patting it into just the right shape for…
licking off the counter.
Now, doesn’t that look yummy? I mean really, who WOULD’NT want to eat straight flour?
Ah, my goofy girl. And just so you know, I’m sparing you the photos with Liv’s tongue stuck out. She’s into that kind of thing these days, the tongue-sticking out thing. Will that phase be ending anytime soon?
You’ve been patient. So without further ado, I give you my Aunt Ruthie’s cookie recipe.
Buying groceries.
Watching Bambi.
Creating websites.
Attending preschool.
Feeling nostalgic.
Ignoring dust bunnies.
Preparing community dinner.
Getting hair cut.
Creating church bulletin.
Wanting a nap.
Getting to clean house.
Enjoying cool breezes.
Installing new carseat.
Loving each other.
Death has visited the Prairie Box this week. (Hang in there with me, I’m being dramatic.) First off was a mama squirrel out front. Ew. Boy, am I glad that my husband took care of the carcass–dead critters totally gross me out after one incident with maggots. Ew again [shudder]. Evidently mama squirrel was actively nursing a little one, who I almost stepped on a few days later. Fortunately, baby squirrel is no longer in the yard. I’ll assume Jeremy took care of that one, too.
And then there’s Betta. Rest in peace, dear blue fish. There is a great chance that we caused his death as we weren’t feeding him very often. In my own defense I’ll say that Betta wasn’t eating well so I wasn’t very routine in the feeding of a fish who wouldn’t eat. Then again, all living creatures must die someday, so perhaps Betta died from natural causes… Or perhaps Livia’s little hand in his bowl one too many times caused him to have a heart attack. Alas, at least he didn’t stroke out and live half-heartedly for months on end (like his predecessor, Goldfish, another blue betta). Now we welcome to the family Geoff. Geoff was almost named Greg, as in Greg Wiggle, but then Liv decided to name him after the purple Wiggle instead. I’m rebelling against the whole thing by spelling Jeff with a G. Somehow that makes the name more bearable. Livia is a phenomenal namer; really, she has a gift. But naming the fish after a Wiggle? G. E. O. F. F. Geoff is a fine red betta, fast and animated. I foresee a long, enjoyable future for him, complete with regular feedings.
Finally, the human Tredways cheated death this week. Okay, not so much. (I said I was being dramatic.) But we did have a little adventure after discovering the odor of gas in the house. A stove burner had been left on, no flame to be seen, probably by yours truly. With that common-sense mind of his, Jeremy cleared out the fumes by opening doors and windows and letting the lovely night air in. Add a little sense of panic to common sense and you have me calling the gas company at midnight and then promptly turning the small event into a Big Event. “Do NOT turn on a fan, a light, anything. LEAVE the house immediately. WAIT until the company inspects the leak to re-enter your home.” In a heartbeat I had Liv wrapped in a quilt and out the front door. And so the three human Tredways sat on their front steps in the quiet, dark night, blinded only by headlights periodically coming down the street. Twenty minutes turned into 30, which turned into 40. Finally, a kind and sleepy man from the gas company walked through the Prairie Box and declared everything okay. Livia enjoyed the midnight adventure. Jeremy knew we didn’t really need to call the gas company. And I felt sheepish but slept well knowing we wouldn’t perish in our beds that night.
That’s it, our week in a nutshell. Death, life, and enough drama to keep it real.
Geoff says hello.
I’ve been excited all day long thinking about kids starting their very first days of school today. There’s Jesse with his new short haircut, and Dawson and Ava and Cadence (far away in Ohio, so I don’t know when her first day really is). In another year I’ll be the parent of a kindergarten student and so I can’t help but wonder how the mamas—Heidi, Christine, Tara and Julie–are all doing. I’m pretty sure I’ll be the parent who returns to the safety of her car for a good cry, but who knows, perhaps I’ll grow more stoic in the next year. ; )
Happy first day to all the students returning to LPS today!
When one leaves a dirty training toilet on one’s back porch, then one should not be surprised when it gets used.
In the broad daylight.
By a particular four year old.
Who then said, “I just teasing, Mom.”
Clearly, someone needs to put that potty away.
in the evening and over the land that looks like a sea
she sings her sweet familiar song to me
she’s always singing, if you listen carefully
you can hear her sing
she calls me home
she calls me here
i call her home
this is her song, her prairie song
miles of fresh plowed soil holds hope for the year
rich and somber but always silent to a stranger’s ear
but to her people, she sings of possibilities
you can hear her sing
she calls me home
she calls me here
i call her home
this is her song, her prairie song
growing wheat and growing weeds and toiling horses
these tired men and the sunlight fades into the vast horizon
sullen fires of sunset splash the eternal sky
and still she sings
against all this youthful flames
like wild roses and flash of starlight
in the night, its fierce necessity, sharp desire
it’s singing, and singing, and always singing
and she calls to me
she calls me home
she calls me here
i call her home
this is her song, her prairie song
music & lyrics by kate venable
based off of willa cather’s “prairie spring”
Hi, I'm Rebecca Tredway. View from the Prairie Box is my blog about my life, my family, and more…
