It's Heating Up.

Truly.

Double digit temperatures are such a cheap (but capricious) drug! I cannot believe how beautiful it is out there.

And that means I am compelled to make it beautiful in here, as well.
If I weren't already motivated enough, this show would do it. "How Clean Is Your House?" Do watch the British Episodes before the American. They're further back. (I actually can't stand the American shows.)

After watching a few episodes, I tackled this on Friday.



I made up my own cleaning solution based on their advice: baking soda, mixed with enough dishwashing liquid to form a thickish paste and a drop of warm water. Wearing my rubber gloves, I just smeared it on.



Positively brilliant. No nasty fumes. No horrible skin-eating spray dribbling down my arms. In fact, it's so safe, I could even welcome this little helper; my nephew.



Cleaning the oven?
Child's play.
(sorry!)

A Spot for Beauty

The bug has hit me, hard.

I was even wasting time looking around at "crafty" blogs last night. I was brought up short. Take a look at this: Project Heidi. She's a homeschooling Mom of three young boys. She's not spending a ton of money. She's not particularly trendy--and I'm inspired.

I have let my own "spot for beauty" be a "spot for ugly" for far too long.


I'm not sure when I'll be able to get to it. We leave for the annual Homeschooling conference next weekend. But I'm hoping I can do something!

The Remains of Winter.

I had honestly thought it would all be gone by now.

I thought we'd be cleaning out the garage and building frames for raised beds and planning paths and chopping up left over tree trunks by now. You know.

Oh well.



It was minus 30 degrees for at least thirty days in this city this winter.
I guess we got the high efficiency furnace just at the right time!

Day 1

I finally did it.

I stopped waiting for the weather to improve (minus 21 C. at the moment).

I've been reading all kinds of "diet" books and I kept coming back, you guessed it, to exercise. Without it, once I'm putting healthy stuff into my body, what I eat, when I eat it, and how much I eat is never going to make one whit of difference to the size of my derriere. So, a bit of research, here and a request to the library there and it is done.

Let me just say I'd forgotten how wonderful endorphins truly are. And, even better, both kids did the one mile with me.

Twenty minutes.

That's all.

Lunch

1 largish whole wheat Tortilla spread with

1/2 tsp (or so) humus, covered in

fresh spinach leaves, smothered with

grated carrot, topped with

sliced green pepper and

mushroom and

roasted ham, drizzled with about

1/2tsp Newman's Own Italian Dressing, "Balsamic Vinigrette."

Roll it.

Eat it.

Don't let it go.

Wordless Wednesday

In a month, this will be all gone.

Change, perhaps.

Things here have been going fairly smoothly. My promise to myself "not to get upset" has had a great deal to do with that, I think. People may not be able to be trusted, all affection may be absent, discussing and listening reduced to matters of chores and the need for the vehicle, but life is just more pleasant without whining, complaining or screaming about one's dissappointments.

There's been the danger, though, of thinking "everything is fine." It looks fine (as long as one doesn't look too deep), it feels fine, (as long as one doesn't feel too deep)--so who wants to mess with the illusion? Doing so (accidentally and totally unprepared) is how I discovered the mess we were in.

So, I decided I wouldn't mess, but nothing would change until something changed.

But, the night before last, something did. He made me a sandwich. Not a sandwich, exactly, really, but a burritto. I'd just come home from my Bible study (Book of Esther with Beth Moore. Can't recommend her enough!) and the kids and he had just got in from their activities. The burrito could have been for anyone.

Sad to say, I don't think he's ever made me anything without my asking. In fact, he will often make himself a snack without saying a word to me about it, let alone offering to fix me something too. I railed on him for years about it.

So, there it was, all wrapped up in a soft disk of dough, dripping with melted sour cream, hot from the microwave--an offering. Exactly of what, I'm not sure. But I'm watching.