Noah has a friendgirl.

He “calls” her on the phone frequently.

“hi dita. it’s noah.”

what you doing? i’m working.”

“bye bye dita. wuv you.”

Sweet, two year old Noah. Guard your heart, my boy.

And please, stay away from the cougars – no matter how cool they are.




Neglect doesn’t even begin to describe this little ol’ blog of mine. I won’t make excuses, we’d be here all day. However, this mama’s days as a working woman are soon drawing to a close (for now)… which means more times for the things that bring me joy. Time to cook. To read. To sew. To crochet. To play with a two year old before he turns three. To write. To hula hoop. To start my book. To volunteer. To love on my chickens. And my husband. To get my Dave Ramsey on. To dream about starting my own business (and then I’ll need to Dave Ramsey some more). To be.


And to hold you over a little longer, some photos of our recent(ish) happenings:

This kid turned two… I know, shut the front door.
Baby chicks were born… we’re not sure to which mama bird. They aren’t either. 
Who said chickens can’t fly?
Donuts (aka bagels) have been consumed in record number and Harry Potter scars have been worked on.
We’ve been honing in on our culinary skills – my sandwich, that he later finished, didn’t quite have the finishing touches it deserved.
Someone learned how to read a crochet pattern.
Camera strap orders – finisimo! (Order yours now if you would like one for Christmas!)
And remember this? We “decided” to give it another whirl. We’ve got plans for May 19(ish), 2012 – do you?

When It Rains

Turns out camping gear isn’t only for the wilderness – especially here lately.

“Roughing it” through the power outage…


The rain has been sporadic at best – say once every three weeks – but when it rains it pours. Quite literally. And with that rain comes a couple of power outages, usually for an hour or more at a time. But we aren’t worried – we’re prepared. Like boy scouts – minus the red socks and dorky shorts.

And I’m not complaining, for the record. I like when my rain barrel is full, my plants are watered, there are puddles to splash in, and the tomato plants grow a foot over night.

Sunday Best

I am a little tardy on the Easter family photos – but better late than never.

The first two of Noah are in no way, shape, or form posed, I promise.

Taking it old school – Olan Mills, anyone:

It’s sear- suckah!
Stud Mini-Muffin

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it must be a...

Stud Muffin
The littlest Fords.
Can’t take them anywhere…
A little post-nap Easter basket exploration.
Jelly bean treasures.
Jelly beans and jelly rolls.

Chicken Lady

Working on the coop and hanging out with the chickens is kind of like therapy for me – always something to work on where I can be busy with my hands, not think a whole lot, and get lost in what I’m doing. I like that. If I could only justify more hours spent out there and less, well, other places, life would be grand.

But then people might start calling me the Chicken Lady – and we already have one of those here. She’s buried on the front forty near the waterfront in the Union Star Cemetery. So maybe we should go on and get that goat – I could get behind being the Goat Lady….

(Give me a break – it’s late.)

I say all that to bring you this, something almost totally unrelated. My kid really loves his chickens – all the way down to raking out pine shavings and filling (and emptying) their feeders. He’ll be a good little farm boy yet.

Good afternoon, Agnes…
Toes do not equal worms, chicken.