Kiddo. First Pyrex trade, ever.

I have been making things and spray painting things and going places and reading share-worthy stuff and photographing and mothering and working and gardening and loving and simplifying / collecting all at the same time, but it seems that I spend so much time doing all of that stuff, I don’t put it here, anymore. Every few weeks, I miss it. Life is good. Even with poison ivy.

Listening: Gillian Welch, drifting through sleeping Hazel’s doorway

Maple. New red. Laundry-basket-playing. Buck-naked-except-for-fairy-skirt-dancing.

Listening: John Prine
Reading: High Tide in Tucson by BK

Dishes. Outdoors. Seedlings. Wall projects.

Listening: The Wood Brothers
Reading: High Tide in Tucson by Barbara Kingsolver

- she’s crafty
- she’s hilarious
- she loves knock-knock jokes (little old lady who? / I didn’t know you know how to yodel!)
- she mothers ev.ery.thing.
- she loves blues clues, much to my dismay, but creating interesting developments in her drawing-confidence
- she still says “lellow” instead of “yellow”, but pronounces “Y” properly for most other words
- she still says “aksk” and “deksk” and I hope she never stops
- she writes amazing, epic songs
- she is madly in love with, and “requesting” (i.e. demanding), on repeat, this one (thanks again, pandora)

Years later I allow my adolescent girls – now the exact same age as those growing-up Energy Express kids – to get out their phones (strictly forbidden in middle school, yet every single one of them has a phone in their pocket instead of their locker) and play a song every now and then in group, when they are working on writing activities that aren’t super-serious and heavy. I require them to shuffle, so the ones who hate rap have as much of a chance for enjoyment as the ones who hate country. Even the ones who hate country know all the words to this song, and sing along with various levels of enthusiasm, while writing affirmations for each other and stuffing them into envelopes. A bunch of mini yearbook inscriptions on pink paper, in glitter pen, in red envelopes, that will maybe matter when they are feeling low, or after something horrific has happened to them, because horrific things happen to some of them on a regular basis. And I want to take them all home.

I have a lot of high school graduations to attend in a few years. Lucky me.

All within two weeks… a few cinderella bowls, a casserole, and two divided casseroles. Both promos from the spring of ’59. :) Yay!

Listening: The Wood Brothers

Also feeling grateful that I am allowed to sit on my couch and kill an entire pot of tea while doing paperwork, instead of at some desk somewhere (although I could do that, too, if I wanted.)

And thinking about how my budding love for Mumford & Sons came 50% from a funeral and 50% from a wedding, and how it really says something that this song is appropriate for either. Both. That’s talent.

And laughing at Hazel’s language. Having a heated debate with that three year old, trying to convince her that “Texas” is not a dirty word. Noticing her picking at her cat-printed underwear and asking if she has to pee or if she just has a wedgie… and her reply is to hold up a toy and say “I just have a wedgie, here it is!”

And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

These and more. :)

Listening: Mumford & Sons pandora station