Different Strokes...

I know my last post was a bit of a downer. I won't apologize for that. It's what I felt. And I'm really glad I posted it. I received encouraging feedback from others who helped take the guilt off my shoulders. I love it when people remind me of truths I know but temporarily forget or of which I lose sight. Thank you.

I forget that my younger nephew was a slow-poke to talk. And now that he has figured it out, he's making up for lost time! :) (Poor Matt & Kristin!)

As stupid as it sounds, I forget that kids are individuals, just like grown-ups are. I think because I am around Jackson all the time, I assume other kids have the same interests. When your child is your "normal," it's almost surprising when other children are different. I think that's why I'm so impressed when other kids talk. But I'm also surprised when they are more shy. Ok, so my kid won't talk. He makes sounds constantly. He makes up songs and dances. He likes to flip through books and pull things out of my kitchen drawers. He loves to put our hats on his head.

And this kid is so quick to smile, it's ridiculous. I mean, if there was a quick-draw competition with smiling, he's tops! He'll make a grumpy Gus in the grocery store smile. There's even a cashier at Wal-Mart who keeps his picture in her bag! She told me she looks at it every day and even shows it to her own kids. His personality is infectious and (I know I'm biased) fabulous.

He may not have words yet. But when he runs at me full speed and falls into me with giggles, I know he's happy. When he leans forward in the grocery cart to give me a hug, I know he loves me. (He's also adept at letting me know when he doesn't care for something, but that's another post.)

As my mother reminded me this morning, "He's his mother's child and will not be told when to do something! He'll talk when he's good and ready and has something to say." Oh, let him not be his mother's child! If he is, I'm in so much trouble. And I'll have lots of apologizing and explaining to do to my darling husband! But she's right. I was pretty independently-minded from an early age. And time hasn't done much to curb that.

I suppose there are worse things. I have a free-spirited, independent thinking, music-loving, creative, ball-throwing, dancing machine, cuddle bug. Tell me again why I was sad? I look in those deep, gorgeous eyes and I can't even remember. Other than that I want to protect him and give him the world...

I Have Guilt.

I think some level of guilt at some point in time is probably natural in parenthood. I'm guessing. I'm a first-timer, so I'm certainly no expert. But I think the desire to do well by one's child inevitably leads to guilt over something. Oftentimes, over things out of our control.

Right now, I am experiencing guilt that has not been brought on by anyone else. No one is telling me I'm a bad mommy. No one has chastised me or given me a dressing-down of things I should or shouldn't be doing. But I still have guilt and I don't know how to alleviate it. My kid is less than a month away from his second birthday. He still says very few words. I talk to him. I point things out. I try to take the sounds he does make and hone them into words upon command. (i.e. "What does a dog say?") But I don't know how to make him talk.

I see so many kids around us, many of them younger, speaking so many more words. I hear them speaking clearly and stringing together series of words. I see them respond appropriately to the situation or question asked. I get jealous when I hear parents have conversations and exchanges of ideas with their little ones. I feel like I'm not doing something right and I don't know what it is.

I try. I really do. I point out body parts during bath time, story time, diaper and clothes changing times. I tell him about the wind that's blowing through his hair and the trees. I tell him about the birds he hears in the morning and the pretty smell of flowers while we're on our walks. We listen to music and I sing the alphabet song to him. But he won't point to his nose if I ask him where his nose is. He won't tell me when he's hungry or thirsty or tired or just needs a hug. I know he knows these things. He'll point to a cow in a book. He'll do the puzzles pretty well. But I struggle, worrying that his lack of words is my lack of parenting.

It's not like he's growing up in a silent household where no one ever talks. Nor is he growing up without pauses and silence where he has the opportunity to talk. He makes noises all the time. He makes up tunes and jabbers with inflection. He dances and leads me places he wants to be. He'll bring me his shoes when he wants to go outside or leave the house. But he won't use words. And I don't know how to make him.

I know he's not an idiot. I know he's smart in certain things. I know he's social and fearless. But still, I wonder. Truth be told, tears are falling as I'm typing this. Tears of frustration. Tears of worry. And tears of guilt.

Klutz of the Highest Degree

If you ask my parents and brother, I'm sure they'd be happy to regale you with tales of my clumsiness from days gone by. I started off clumsy and haven't improved much with time. (I did manage to live almost 28 years prior to actually breaking a bone, though.) I find bruises I can't explain. I get scratches from walking into stationary objects that have been in the same place, in the same house, for years. Yet I still continually find them, with my thighs, elbows, arms, knees, and other random body parts.

Tonight, I achieved a new, strange way to hurt myself. I made the bed. I had washed the sheets today and was reassembling the bedding when I managed to, as I would tell my son, "give myself an owie." As I was snapping the topsheet to get it evenly distributed and less wrinkled, I snapped too hard. My left hand accidentally let the sheet go and was flung against our footboard. I now have a bruise on the middle knuckle of my pointer finger. And it hurts to bend it. I had to laugh at what a klutz I am.

The bruise got me to thinking (which is even more dangerous than bed-making!) I wonder if my knucklehead will be as clumsy as me. It terrifies me to think as such. You see, as a little kid, I was clumsy, but I was gunshy (which probably saved me many injuries.) I didn't become relatively fearless until I was older. My son, on the other hand, is currently utterly and completely fearless. Today, for example, he fell off a wall at a playground. (For the record, I was two steps away but he walked off the wall before I could grab him.) He landed on the woodchips below and I could instantly tell he wasn't physically injured. After a couple of stunned seconds, he began to whine. I think it was surprise as opposed to pain. I immediately picked him up, which instantly quieted him (thus proving me right that he wasn't hurt or in pain.) Then, he did the most fearless thing possible. He tried to squirm out of my arms in order to do it again! Needless to say, I kept him in my arms and we left.

Clumsy is bad (though often funny.) Fearless can be good, but can have it's downside as well. Clumsy plus Fearless only equals one possible solution: TROUBLE!

Favorite Parts of Parenthood

Ah, parenthood. There are so many joys. I will explore but a few this rambling night.

The first thing that surprises me is that things that would gross me out with pretty much any other person, including myself, don't phase me in the slightest with my son. I just do what needs doing. In infancy, he got every possible bodily fluid on me. Often multiple times a day. I shrugged it off. My kid's nose is drippy, I wipe it. It has a boog, I get it out. No biggie. Now mind you, on anyone else and I would cringe at any of those. But one thing I hate above any and every thing else, is throwing up. I hate doing it. I hate hearing it, seeing it, smelling it, even thinking about it! I remember babysitting once as a 15-year-old, one of my charges got sick and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. I called my mom, gagging and crying, asking her what to do and begging her to come over and help me. She didn't. I lived and managed to not get sick myself. Fast forward __ years. Yesterday, I went to pick up my son from his crib. At some point, he got sick. (it didn't seem to bother him in the least, as he was still happy, talkative, and playful. Not sure what caused it, but he was fine.) The aroma hit me when I opened the door. Instead of freaking, gagging, and crying, I stripped him down, got him in the tub, and cleaned him. I got the bed stripped, washed, and never cringed at carrying down the laundry. I wiped down his mattress and bear. I opened the window and turned on the fan. And all was well. Yep, there's just not much I can't handle when it's my own kid.

Except...the second of my favorite parts of parenting. Ok, this one's even more sarcastic than part 1. He's almost two. He enjoys playing independently. He likes being with me and with others. He's generally a very agreeable child who's a joy to be around. But he's almost two. He's learning to assert his independence in a less than desirable manner. The tantrums. If he wants to do something, or not do something, the crocodile tears instantly appear. The kicking and flailing kicks in. The screaming fit ensues. And this kid can literally turn it all off and on like a faucet. I think that's one of the things I find most frustrating. He can instantly stop, if he's so inclined. And restart if he changes his mind. The other thing that is probably frustrating for us both is his lack of communication. I don't know if he would have fewer fits if he had words. But it's so difficult for me to not always know specifically what he wants. I'm sure it's equally hard on him to feel like his mom just doesn't get what he's indicating. Argh! I know that "this, too, shall pass." And I know he's not as bad as he could be. And I'm pretty sure he's not as bad as he will be. I try to have patience and ignore it. But my gracious, can that child test my limit!

The third perk of parenthood I shall enumerate this evening is absolutely serious and in no way sarcastic. I adore the freedom to be silly and child-like with him with no embarrassment or shame. I can sing and dance in the kitchen without anyone thinking I'm nuts. I can chase my son up the sidewalk like a goofball and not worry. Or I can do what I did today. I went outside with my husband and my son and played in the rain. It was coming down pretty hard. We found a stream in the street and stomped and jumped. We ran around getting absolutely soaked to the bone. I threw him up in the air, without worrying about the ceiling, and laughed as he squealed with abandoned delight. Some of the neighbor kids were watching. I don't know if they thought I was stupid, crazy, and that my son had the coolest mom ever. And I didn't care. I had so much fun playing and splashing. And he had so much fun playing in the puddles with his parents. He may not remember this. But I'll never forget it. And that freedom of joy and laughter makes all the tantrums and body functions pale in comparison. Parenthood is delightful!

Visiting with Family

My husband and I are both transplants to middle America. (Seriously, I think we're in pretty much the geographical exact center of the country.) Being away from both of our families is hard. But there is one good perk. Being with them is a special treat!!!! We love visiting them, going "home", and seeing friends and extended family.

But it's also absolutely wonderful to have family visit us in middle America. And we are so thrilled some of Lino's family is coming here soon!!! It'll be fun for them to see our son in his "natural habitat." I think they'll get a big kick out of seeing him playing with his toys, his room, his silly quirky dance moves. We're looking forward to getting to share with them our home, our town, our life.

I'm also excited to have them come because that means I get to be a tourist in my own town! There are lots of cool things to see and do here that I think I forget about because it's always an option. So I'm going to get online and find fun things to do for all of us! With that being said, I'm asking for tips from Midwesterners, native or transplants. What's your highly recommended "don't miss?"

Visiting with Family

My husband and I are both transplants to middle America. (Seriously, I think we're in pretty much the geographical exact center of the country.) Being away from both of our families is hard. But there is one good perk. Being with them is a special treat!!!! We love visiting them, going "home", and seeing friends and extended family.

But it's also absolutely wonderful to have family visit us in middle America. And we are so thrilled some of Lino's family is coming here soon!!! It'll be fun for them to see our son in his "natural habitat." I think they'll get a big kick out of seeing him playing with his toys, his room, his silly quirky dance moves. We're looking forward to getting to share with them our home, our town, our life.

I'm also excited to have them come because that means I get to be a tourist in my own town! There are lots of cool things to see and do here that I think I forget about because it's always an option. So I'm going to get online and find fun things to do for all of us! With that being said, I'm asking for tips from Midwesterners, native or transplants. What's your highly recommended "don't miss?"

Rut-busting!

Today, I was a rut-buster and it felt great! I get stuck in culinary ruts more often than I'd care to admit. I make the same few things for supper. And I know my hard-working honey gets bored with the same-old same-old, too. And I know there are approximately 8.725 billion websites with recipes and ideas. Thus, there's no excuse for getting rut-stuck. Alas, I do. I fall back to the old stand-bys. I forget to look for recipes before I grocery shop. And my pantry, fridge, and freezer seem to generally contain the same batch of items. But today, I decided to be adventuresome.

It started when I stumbled upon a recipe that I already had all the ingredients for. (only one of which isn't a stand-by, but had from a previous recipe.) I ran it by the hubby to get his opinion and give him two options. He said the new one was fine. So I made it (with a couple of tweaks for personal taste.) As we ate (ahem, devoured) dinner, he told me he practically had the pizza place on speed dial after I told him the name of the dish because it initially didn't sound very good to him. (I had absolutely faith in it, having read the ingredients.) Instead of calling back-up, he told me it was probably one of my most successful dishes ever and he absolutely loved it! Yay, me! And double-yay for being able to make dinner with food we already had! (I'm trying really hard to stretch the budget, and space the shopping trips, as much as possible.)

This afternoon, what with all the cloud cover and drizzle, I also felt an overwhelming urge to bake. I haven't baked in a while. There weren't any "desserty" things in the house (although that's probably not a bad thing.) And I just wanted to make some cookies. The only cookies I really know by heart are chocolate chip cookies. And I'll admit, my cookies are pretty darn amazing. But I had no chocolate chips. So, in a fiscally responsible effort, I pillaged my cupboards to see what I had to work with. And I did something I very rarely do. I got creative in the kitchen. I can follow a recipe with the best of them. But culinary creativity doesn't come naturally to me.

To my basic chocolate chip recipe, I added a bit of almond extract and a little cinnamon. Then I divided the dough in half. In half the cookies, I added dried cranberries and glazed walnuts. In the second half, I added some sliced almonds and reconstituted dried mangoes. I was so proud of my brain! And my taste buds were delighted! Both turned out really well. I'm excited to have something new in my baking repertoire.

Yep, I got out of ruts in the kitchen. I may not have scaled Everest, but I feel like a conqueror today!

Colors of Spring

I absolutely love the colors of early Spring. When the first leaves start popping out on the trees, they are so bright and vibrant. I'm not a big fan of yellow, but I adore the first daffodils and have found myself picking them and enjoying them in my kitchen this year. I love the blossoms on the flowering trees that seem to send my allergies through the stratosphere. I love the dark ground right after my husband's watered where he sprinkled new grass seeds. I smile at the dark gray-blue sky right before the heavens burst forth with spring showers.

I even enjoy (well, laugh about) the colors my son turns in early spring. He's his own personal rainbow this year. (Last year at this time, he wasn't walking.) This year, how ever, he's walking, running, and any other mode of transport he can conjure. It's early March. Technically, it's not even spring yet. The colors he has turned thus far are as follows:

The first and most obvious is brown. Brown for the mud created by hubby watering the grass. Brown for the dirt he loves to play in. Brown eyes peering out from beneath a Titans baseball cap. And, I shudder to think, possibly brown from neighborhood dogs' "presents" (but I pretend that doesn't happen.) He turns green from rubbing his tush against the prickly bush by the car. Green from running and falling in the grass. He sports shades of blue. His legs are speckled blue from bruises of falling often because everything is a full-speed ahead adventure for this boy! Blue from putting a (thankfully, nontoxic!) magic marker in his mouth. Blue from running into a corner of something... (Red from running into the corner of something prior to it turning blue. And my little boy turns back into a blonde when he's been freshly scrubbed down after showering with Dad or playing in a bubble bath given by Mom.

It just feels to me like the entire outside world and my goofy little boy have been freshly and vibrantly painted by The Master this time of year. I'm so blessed to get to experience these amazing colors.

Why I'm Excited for St Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day is a celebratory day for lots of different people and for a myriad of reasons. It is, indeed, a religious holiday. For others, it's an excuse to add food coloring to alcohol and partake to excess. For me this year, it means a date night with my fantastic husband and another dear couple.

I cannot tell you how much I look forward to date nights (be they just the two of us or a larger group.) One of the reasons is that I feel free to get all decked out. It's more than slapping on some lip balm and mascara. It's more than wearing a dress or a cute top. It's spending time making myself feel lovely. It's carrying myself in such a way that I ACT like I feel lovely. It's knowing that my confidence makes me even more attractive in my husband's eyes.

It's getting his undivided attention and getting to give him mine in return. It's knowing our son is in good hands and focusing on the relationship of us. Marriage is harder than what most people expect it to be. But that doesn't mean it cannot also be more wonderful than what we anticipate. Or that it is not worth the work and effort. Date nights are about connecting as spouses so we still know one another once the kids are gone. It's about making sure we don't "grow apart."

Date nights, whether fancy and romantic and expensive, or low-key and casual and fun, are about keeping the love, keeping the spark, and keeping the attraction alive. So while others may be getting drunk tomorrow (PLEASE make sure you have a designated driver) I will be celebrating the fabulousness of friendship and marriage.

Asking for Help

Asking for help tends to go against our human nature. But weren't we made for relationships? Why, then, do we feel compelled to have a myriad of relationships in which we would willingly offer assistance, yet we shrink back in silent stubbornness when we require assistance? Why do we feel like asking for help is a sign of weakness?

And when did it become such a bad thing? I know my little boy willingly asks for help without hesitation a million times a day! And he asks with a smile on his face. He doesn't apologize for asking or make excuses as to why he really doesn't "need" it but it would be better for me to help. He needs help getting food and drink. He needs help staying clean and getting dressed. He wants to hold my hand when he walks up or down steps. He is getting to be more independent every day. But he still asks for help constantly. And I love it. I don't get exasperated or put out when he needs anything.

Asking for help does not indicate weakness, incompetency, ineptness, or stupidity. Whether it's needing an ear to bend, wanting an extra set of hands in the yard work, needing a meal when you're under the weather, or something more, there should be no shame in asking for help. Needing to pick someone's brain to sort out your own thoughts doesn't mean you're incapable of rational thought. Asking for assistance with a child who's not yet talking doesn't make me a bad or incompetent parent.

Look at heads of state, for example. They're never asked to know absolutely everything. They're not expected to make every decision by themselves. We wouldn't want them to! Rather, they surround themselves with people who have strengths the head of state does not. There's accountability in relationships. There's comfort in not having to know and be and do everything.

There's a blessing that comes with offering and extending assistance to our fellow man. When we refuse offered assistance or are too stubborn to ask when we need it, we deny others their blessings. When you think of it like that, by asking for help, you are offering others an opportunity to be blessed and bless you. It's truly a win-win.

So when you need help, be it big or little, ask. We were designed, created, made for relationships. Be someone who asks. Be someone who can be asked. Be vulnerable. Be approachable. Be in relationships. It makes you, in my opinion, a stronger and better person.

New Computer and Haircut

My computer had been acting somewhat wonky lately. (Yes, "wonky" is a technical term.) So this evening, I took it over to a computer repair shop. While there, discovered that it would be cheaper to just buy a new one. So, I did. Yippee!!! Too bad it took almost three hours. (Boo!) You may get tired of me. I love this thing so much right now, I might start blogging multiple times a day. About even more of nothing than I already do.

The new haircut is not mine. Rather, it is my adorable son's and was given by my adorable husband. Unfortunately, I haven't seen it yet. I even tried sneaking in while he was asleep to see my handsome boy. But hubby said it looks ridiculously awesome. I am chomping at the bit to see him! The only downside is that the bathroom is now covered in sandy blonde hair. If nothing else, I guess that's job security! ;) It'll give me something to do during nap time tomorrow (as if I had nothing better to do.)

Anywho, it's awfully nice to have a life with so little drama that one can get excited about small pleasantries such as new toys and haircuts on little boys. Will post a picture of him tomorrow.

Going for a Drive

I didn't get it while watching movies from the 50s. Why would anyone ask to "go for a drive" as a date? Parking, I get. But a drive? I get it now. Saturday was beautiful, weather wise, around here. Hubby, son, and I went to play at a local park. Had a delightful time. But the boy soon tired (which was fine) so we left.

As we were heading home, with the sun still shining warmly and the wind blowing through the cracked windows in the car, I asked if we could just keep going. The boy was content, with his sippy cup of milk. The radio kept playing good songs. And I just wasn't ready to give up the undivided attentive family time to the distractions of television, video games, or even reading.

I just wanted to go for a drive. Yes, gas is outlandishly expensive. But it was worth every cent. We headed out to the small towns in the surrounding area. We drove through the main drag of one "city" and laughed. We looked at the cows dotting the fields of the countryside. We admired the gigantic houses on acres of land. We smiled at the feed store, not too far from a well-kept trailer park.

We sang. We talked. We laughed. We tickled the knucklehead. We even enjoyed the silence. We didn't "park." (We did have the kid, after all.) We just drove. I don't even know how long or how far we "wasted" gas. But it wasn't wasted. It was gas and money well-spent. Because that's a memory I can always cherish. It's a moment in time with my son that exact age, with my fantastic husband, that can never be recaptured. And we spent that moment well.

It may seem silly to go for a drive with no place to go and no reason for going. But trust me when I say, I get it. And it's fantastic! So, if you find yourself on a lovely, sunny day with nothing to do, and maybe nothing to even say, go for a drive. You won't regret it.

A New Joy to Enjoy

I love the new things. I mean, my kiddo amazes me every day with something. But the new things, the first times, those make my heart melt, break, sing, or soar. Today, for the first REAL time, he gave me a kiss when I asked for one. He gave my husband one without prompt a couple of weeks ago. But I usually only get one if he has food in his mouth (which prevents him from opening wide and trying to slobber on me.)

Tonight, though, he was particularly sleepy, silly, and snuggly. He came in for a hug. I asked for a kiss as well. He closed his mouth and leaned towards me. I kissed his sweet face and he responded with a "Muh" sound as I kissed him. Yep, my heart broke, melted, sang, and soared! It was just beyond sweet. I love that he is affectionate towards us. I don't know how long this will last. I don't know if it'll come and go in fits and starts. But I'll enjoy it for as long as I can get it!

I know there's lots of debates and opinions as to kissing a child / parent on the mouth. I guess my feeling is, as long as both people are comfortable, there's nothing wrong or "icky" about a peck on the lips. So I will kiss my little boy, knowing it won't last forever. But I'll take a piece of advice from Mary (you know, Jesus' mommy?) I will hide this and treasure it in my heart always.

Breakfast, bumps, and bruises

My day in three words. It started off with a lovely time at breakfast with BOTH of my boys. Hubby worked the later shift today, so we went out for breakfast at the tres chic restaurant called Chick-fil-a. It really is a pleasant place to eat and we always enjoy it. The one thing that saddened me as we sat there eating was seeing a grown man and an adolescent (possibly father and son, but I won't presume) sitting across from one another, each on a technological gadget. Not talking to one another. Not making eye contact. Not even eating, at the moment. Made me so glad to know that, when we do make a point to sit down at a table as a family for a meal (whether home or in public) we have one another's attention. No phones, texting, or anything else at the table, with the exception of hubby's work. I fully intend for this habit to be perpetuated throughout our lives. I know our son's only two. But I want him to get into the early habit of knowing that when you're at the table, those people are your focus.

The bumps came today in two forms. The first was fist bumps. Just like Pops (his grandfather) taught him. The knucklehead was pretty good at giving high-fives. Now he has added fist bumping to his repertoire and insists on doing both. A lot. All day long. It's so fun and cute, though! The second kind of bump led into the last item. Bruises. He falls often, but more so when he's tired. He started falling a lot kind of early today. I didn't think too much of it. I figured he was just going too fast. But then he fell and actually bruised his cheek on the entertainment center. I've never bruised a cheek. But he has this lovely blue line that almost looks like a really cool scar on his poor little cheek. He actually reacted and fussed when he hit, so he had to have hit hard. But ten seconds later, he was back to bubbly.

The highlight of my night absolutely cracked me up and delighted my heart, though. We sat down in the dining room for dinner. (Which isn't an every night occurrence, but I'm trying to get better at that.) As soon as all three of us were down, my sweet son smiles widely and holds a hand out to each of his parents. To pray. He LOVES when we pray together. My prayer is that he'll eventually understand what it is we're doing, grow up continuing to love it, and continuing to do it. It was beyond precious. Such a sweet ending to a good day.

Wild at Heart

The title is a reference to an amazing book written by John Eldridge. But my little boy truly is wild at heart. In the most wonderful of ways. We went to a new park this morning to enjoy this sensational day. I know the calendar indicates it is Tuesday but, to quote Winnie-the-Pooh, it is WINDsday. There was a playground. Which he had absolutely no interest in. He wanted nothing more than to explore in the wind.

We ran through the picnic shelter, with giggles and smiles. We walked up a giant hill, hand in hand. He laughed every time the wind gusted and whipped his hair around. We found a tennis court, which he curiously walked into, just staring and taking it all in. We walked back out to the open fields where he found the greatest thing in the world to a little boy - a stick!

This just shows to me the innate boyness in him. Boys are wired by God to be boys. He started poking it through a chain link fence. Then he discovered he could make noise by whacking it on said fence. He dug around with the stick in the dead grass and dirt. He threw handfuls of grass. Always against the wind. Luckily his hair is still thin and fine, so the debris dusted off easily. After these moments of play, it suddenly occurred to him that sticks are not limited to being drumsticks and shovels. They can also be swords! Oh the sheer joy of waving it through the air with the wind whipping up a frenzy! I don't know that he's ever seen a sword. But he sure knew what to do with one!

He delighted in his stick for quite a while. The only thing that distracted him was a passing Westie, which he immediately wanted to pet. We got permission from the dog's owner, pet him for a moment, then the dog and master started walking away. Jackson desperately wanted to follow. My only way of convincing him otherwise was to turn him into the wind and begin a game of chase.

I am wholly convinced little boys were made for the outside. (I am also wholly convinced that little girls, daddies, and mommies are too! ) Such a simple thing but an absolutely delightful time. I know his dad is chomping at the bit to come home so he can also enjoy this beautiful day with our beautiful boy.

An Ordinary and Extraordinary Day

Today started off very ordinary, and that was fine. We ate our normal breakfast, drank our normal coffee, and played normal games. The weather, during this spell of "normalcy," however, was anything but. Yesterday, it was 73 degrees and most of Kansas City seemed to have congregated at one park to enjoy the day. Even hubby came to the park after a long day at work to hang out with our son. It was delightful!

Then this morning, it began to drizzle. The sky started spitting giant, wet snowflakes. Then it was back to rain. It was like the weather was playing a tennis match. Back and forth. The snowflakes finally declared game, set, and match. Suddenly it felt as if we were inside a snowglobe, watching the snow swirl, dance, and blow. But it never stuck.

We went on an ordinary shopping trip, once the sky stopped precipitating in all its forms and fashions. Afterwards, I caught the greatest show on earth. Nope, I did not go to the circus. My son picked up his play guitar, danced his little heart out, and sang made-up songs with no words. It was AWESOME!

Alas, dinner had to be made, so he took his final bow. He and his dad went off to play while I tried a new recipe for Shepherd's Pie I'd recently found online. I'd made my list of ingredients and bought them a few days ago. I pulled up the internet and went straight to my bookmarks. It wasn't there. No problem, I thought. I'll just search through my history. Not there either. For 20 minutes, I rack my brain and ransack my computer, looking for this @)*&%$@$! recipe!

I finally gave up and decided to wing it. I made it up as I went along, hoped and prayed for the best, then baked until bubbly. It actually turned out quite delicious! All three of us really enjoyed it and discussed small tweaks to make it even yummier (if that's a word.) I actually remembered this time to write it down as I went so I could replicate it if it was worth doing again. I couldn't decide what to call it when I was saving the document on the computer. So it is (at least temporarily) called "Not Shepherd's Pie." I kind of like the name. It's rather telling as to what it is and isn't.

Anyways, that is my extraordinarily ordinary and fantastic Friday.