Quotes by Sterling and other news.

“Don’t ever throw Cheerios on the floor again, Charlotte. I don’t like picking them up.”

“Your sun tea is spicy, Momma, try it!” “Dude, you just spit in it. I don’t want any!”

“Sunburns don’t hurt, Momma. I don’t need sunscreen.” (Spoken by the dear son who once blistered his shoulder when I missed a spot. He would have disagreed with himself if that was still in his memory, I assure you.)

“Mom, I’m getting you wet on your arm.” “Don’t spit on me, Sterling.”

“Why is fire hot?” “Why do plants need water?” “Why did Daddy plant beans?” “Why are we going to the pool?” “Why does Charlie’s toy squeak when you push the nose?” (Continue for another 200 “why’s”. Per hour.)

“How old were you when you got married, Momma?” “18.” “How old was Daddy when he got married?” “25".” “He was bigger than you then too, Momma!” Sure thing.

“Good thing we watered the goats this morning, Momma! It’s hot today!” Yep, 98 and counting sounds hot to me. It’s only 90 in the house though, does that count? Thus, the pool…

Sterling learned to care for his own hygiene in the bathroom last week. This week, he’s trying to convince Ruby he can wipe her bottom too. She’s not convinced. Neither am I.

Not impressed with my SPF 30 water-resistant sunscreen. Sterling and Ruby, my two most active in the water, seem to have escaped the sunburn. Charlotte and I, not so much. We were in the shade most of the time. Really, I don’t know what to think on that one. Baby, I am so sorry. I turned that skin white with sunscreen just like everyone else. Grr.

My girls are coming home! Two days, can’t wait…

Well, then.

We switched cell phone providers a month and a half ago. My new cell phone drops calls constantly. The rest of the time people cannot hear me for the awful reception. Often I cannot dial out. I called to complain and they are sending me a new phone to see if that fixes the problem. Perfect.

Two hours later, an automated call asked me to push one if I was satisfied with their customer service, two if I was not. The reception was so fuzzy it wouldn’t recognize my selection. After three tries, I gave up and hung up. Fitting.

Don’t put all the eggs into one bucket…

…if Ruby’s carrying them to the house. “I won’t run, Momma. Can I carry the eggs?” We’ve been through this before. Running to the house with a bucket full of eggs makes for pre-scrambled eggs: dirty-style.

So I let her carry the eggs into the house from the chicken coop this morning.

One egg survived the trip.

But… she didn’t run.

Those clock hands are just so confusing. But I know what you mean anyway.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Ruby’s asleep, and Charlotte’s asleep and you’re asleep and I don’t want to sleep, So what can I do? Sorry for waking you up though. You can take another nap after you tell me what I can do if you want to.”

“Thank you, Sterling. How about coloring a picture?”

“Or you could get me lunch.”

“What time is it?”

“Umm… maybe it’s 6 o’clock, or maybe it’s two o’clock.”

“One-thirty. Perfect. How about lunch?”

Ruby’s covered in bug bites. Sleep has been sporadic around here these last few nights. Thus the naps before lunchtime. But this was by far the best conversation I had all day.

I like your perspective.

Back when I was single (in my teens, mind you) I had this perfect ideal for who my husband would be, I didn’t pick thin. Nope, I wanted one bigger than me – by a lot. I did not have any desire to rival my husband for size – or worse yet, beat him hands down. But personality and values and beliefs trumped size – thankfully – and I married a man who barely outweighed me. And then I got pregnant. Six times. He didn’t leave me a whole lot of growing room before the inevitable happened. But Sterling informed me yesterday (after he asked how much I weighed and I told him that he must never, never ask a lady that question. And then I had to explain what a lady was.) that Daddy weighs lots more than me, because he’s bigger. I agreed – that must certainly be true. Blaine walked in right then, caught the gist of the conversation, and agreed Sterling was most certainly right. Wise man.

Have I ever mentioned I was going to marry a redhead? That didn’t work out so well either. I’d planned for a bunch of redheaded babies. But these blond ones are awfully cute. Turns out, God had different plans than I did – better ones for sure. I’m so glad. So thankful for my blond, thin husband. So thankful.

Happy Birthday, Liberty Skye.

Photo compliments of my parents. She’s celebrating her birthday in South Dakota!

Liberty is 8 years old. Happy birthday, Baby Girl. I love you.

Sewing machine: 6. Me: 0.

So the skirts flopped. I’m blaming it on my machine’s bobbin tension with the elastic thread. Mom’s bringing her machine down next week; we’ll try it again. Then we’ll all know: is it the machine, or is it me??? Shirring has gotten the better of me every time I’ve tried on my machine. 6 projects later. Makes me crabby.

Next up: Magenta diaper covers. Ruby was PENNDOT Ruby with her neon orange covers; Charlotte is going to be well camouflaged - in the raspberry patch. I just can’t leave well enough alone and go with pastels. Got the PUL in the mail today. Trying to get the house cleaned up so I can go sew. That’s why I’m sitting here, you know. Oh, that makes such sense.

Blaine’s on his way home. After yesterday and the skirts and the kids whining because I was paying more attention to the sewing machine than them… it’s a good thing it’s Friday and this week is almost over.

Poison ivy got the better of me last week and it’s still spouting about it’s victory. Ruby’s taken to grabbing the anti itch cream and smearing it on my legs when she sees me itch. So funny. Yet not.

Time to mop. There’s calamine lotion spilled on the floor. Wonder where on earth that came from?