... and then they were 20

Last Monday, October 14th, our trio celebrated their second decade on planet earth.  

Twenty years old. 

To think that the kids are now the same age that I was when I met their father ... it is truly shocking. Was I really that young when I met the man that I would ultimately wind up marrying - having four children with - moving seven times all across the country with - complaining about body aches and increasing fiber content in our diet with .... and now be actively contemplating retirement with?  

Fact is, it's entirely possible that those people our children might date now, very well could be THE ONE that they wind up spending the rest of their lives with.  

(Yes, I think of that often.) 

This process of growing up is so gradual that it all kind of blends. But as I reflect, I can see clear chapters beginning and ending.  Obviously, their birth ... Chapter 1.  Spending six weeks in the NICU.  Coming home from the hospital and being on apnea monitors and requiring feedings that felt like round-the-clock. But gradually that transitioned to them sleeping through the night and eating solid foods.  

Crawling. Walking. Running. Talking. Potty training. Chapters 2, 3..... 9.  

Preschool.  Kindergarten.  Taking the bus. Being out of my sight for more than an hour a day.  Packing a lunch and eating it in a cafeteria with other kids.  Playdates. Sports Teams. Forming relationships with people that I don't know and might not ever meet.  More chapters.  

Driving. Applying for and receiving their first job. Work schedules. School schedules. Homecoming. PSATs. College visits. SATs. College applications. PROM. Graduation.  Life after high school....... moving in to the dorms, traveling around Europe for a year.  More and more and more chapters.  Some chapters I cannot even write anymore except in the context of sharing what their lives look like from my perspective, often received via text message.

After taking a gap year through the Congress-Bundestag Youth Exchange in Germany, William is in his freshman year at the University of Vermont and is having the time of his life.  

He is thrilled to be back in Vermont, living on campus, and meeting everyone.  He loves his classes and is particularly interested in environmental science and agro-ecology.  No surprise there as he spent the better part of a year working as lumberjack in Germany and has asked for a plot of garden next summer so he can test the quality of soil on vegetable growth.  In his free time, he likes to wake up before the dawn, drive to the mountains with groups of friends, and hike tall peaks in time to catch the sunrise.  The photo above was him with a group of kids from his dorm a few weeks ago atop Camel's Hump, and the photo below, was him last week atop Mt. Mansfield, the highest point in Vermont. 

Elizabeth is in her sophomore year at the University of Vermont and is also having the time of her life. 

She  lives on campus in a dorm that is a stone throw from the gym, where she spends the majority of her time training with the Track & Field team. Or, with physical trainers who are helping her with a bum knee that she informed me, today, will be undergoing surgery in November.  After having changed her major four times: environmental science to business ... to marketing ... to education ... she has decided that she really loves art.  She's always loved art and is now pursuing a degree in art education and hopes to one day earn her PhD in studio art so she can teach (and coach) at the university level.  She alerted me that her graduate education will likely happen somewhere in Europe. Maybe Greece or Italy.  TBD. Such fun stuff to contemplate when you're 20!  She has a boyfriend. But from what I understand, she doesn't like him as much as bunny. Yet. (Fingers crossed it stays that way.) 

Carolyn is in her sophomore year at the University of Vermont and is also (also) having the time of her life. Although she isn't the social butterfly that her brother and sister are, she has made a lot of friends across campus through ROTC and rowing.  

Nonetheless, she's more than happy to come home every single weekend and sleep in her own bed, eat home cooked food, and hang out with Mom, Dad, Henry and Ollie. I absolutely love having her at home with us - so no complaints there. Okay, there may be slight complaints when she ambushes my closet.  She is studying political science with the intent of attending law school.  This coming Friday, she will be swearing into the Army National Guard where she hopes to one day work with the Judge Advocate General.  I'm a mixed bag of nerves: proud, scared, impressed, apprehensive ... the state of the world is so crazy right now, the thought of MY BABY potentially being put in harm's way is terrifying. This morning, she sent me this picture of a sunrise drill with her cadre and I zoomed in closely to look at the faces while praying that they ALL remain safe.  

While I couldn't decipher Carolyn in the mob of cadets, I did happen to spot a face that looked familiar in the far back left corner.  It couldn't possibly be .....?  I sent Carolyn a note asking who that tall blonde kid was in the back and she sent me this zoomed in photo with a circle and these two words: 

Will. Me. 

It's her brother. OMG. IT'S HER BROTHER?  

MY OTHER BABY. 

And then, I suddenly felt a little better.  Safety in numbers? 

Twenty years in, and I get teary thinking about what an incredible privilege it has been to be a part of their lives and have front row seats to this awesome adventure.  We are so very grateful for all of it.  

As our precious children continue their trajectories into adulthood, I'm full of so much optimism - hope - faith - that they will continue to thrive in these next chapters of life that have yet to be written.   

Lord, please (please, please, please) hear my prayer.  

down the rabbit hole (literally)

It's been just over two weeks since William returned home from his 11-month exchange to Germany as an ambassador through the US Congress-Bundestag Exchange program.  

During this time, he spent the first 3-months in Bonn attending language school, and then traveled north to Kiel, where he served for the next several months as a lumberjack through the German Forestry Service.  

When the kids were younger, I used to play "Monty Python's Flying Circus" CD in the minivan, so it's no surprise that I immediately launched in to the Lumberjack Song when I heard of his assignment: 

Oh, he's a lumberjack and he's OK, he sleeps all night and he works all day!  

He assured me that he would not be skipping - jumping - pressing wildflowers - nor wearing high heels and women's undergarments. Although, as fall gave way to winter and colder weather rolled in, he quickly changed his tune and might have sported a bra if it helped warm his core. 

When we traveled to Europe over Christmas to visit him, I packed extra thermals - his bright red wool union suit (which he told me, no no no he would NOT need when he was packing in July; but then asked, please please please can you bring it when you come for the holidays; it's freezing here and mom - why must you always be right?) - and Darn Tough Socks to keep him cozy.  When out working in the elements day in and day out, William quickly learned how that damp winter air of the Baltic chills you to the bone. 

The entire European trip was a wonderful experience for him, but truth be told, I was especially excited about his lumberjack assignment because if I haven't mentioned it before - we have a sizable yard in Vermont that is FULL of gardens and immense trees that haven't been sufficiently maintained for decades.  All I could think about - beyond obviously, our linguistically German-fluent son returning home safely to us - is how wonderful it would be that he is learning how to operate a chainsaw and would be a tremendous asset once he got back to New England.  In fact, as I was transferring money to his account for his recent vacation around Europe: Stockholm, Prague, Vienna, Paris, Marseille, Venice, Interlaken ... and he was asking, "Mom, how will I ever pay this back to you?!" I told him don't worry about the money, he would be paying it back in spades (with a spade!) when he returned home and helped us in the gardens.  We'll have the Husqvarna gassed up and waiting for him.  

Funny how what I thought WOULD happen isn't exactly what HAS happened. 

The girls wrapped up their freshman year of UVM in early May and for several weeks - until Carolyn moved off to be a rowing instructor at a camp in the Northeast Kingdom, and Elizabeth started her day camp position at a local recreation center ... I had big plans for what they could do to help me each day. 

There has been some work in the garden, but there's a lot more to do.  (And I have a lot more to do with calibrating expectations of what work my kids will actually do around the house.)  I've told them that we could easily keep our kids busy all summer. AND, we'll pay them - because I'm desperate.  

The money William received in Europe was a gift. This money he would be earning in the yard, will help offset some of his school costs, when he starts UVM next month.  It's important to note, he and his brother are also planning to work with a contractor who has been doing some work at our house, and with a local landscaper - so they will have learned some incredibly valuable skills by the end of the summer. But, they aren't starting until next week. I hope. If we have one more week of boys hanging out at home, I might lose my ever living mind. 

Since William has been back, he has been sleeping and having the absolute best time of his life rough housing with his brother. At first it was like, "Ha! My little tiger cubs, so good to have them back together again!" But the novelty is wearing off and yesterday I threatened them with eviction to tents in the yard after William endured a body slam from his little brother and sprung a bloody nose on our white couch. 

Which part of this requires dissection first? 

Let's start with the body slam from his little brother - who is not so little anymore. Henry had vowed that he would be bigger than his brother when he returned from Europe. Here's a photo the day that William left, last July.  Henry has said this was the saddest day of his life. His brother is his best friend. 

When he realized he wasn't going to grow any taller and the likelihood of him surpassing a 6'3" William, without wearing stilts - he directed all of his extra energy in to working out. Every day for an hour, sometimes two ... Henry would be at the gym.  In March, he entered a power lifting competition and came in second place. He actually broke a state record for military press - and as of today, is dead lifting 435 pounds, and squatting 370.   Henry just turned 17 this week, and although he is shorter than William by 2 inches ... he is indeed bigger than his brother in circumference. He is all muscle. 

The gym membership paid for itself recently when he was (easily) able to help move a new double-sink vanity to the upstairs bathroom.  

It was immediately after this photo was taken that our contractor, Rob, hired him on the spot.  And the landscaper hired both boys when they were making a run to the dump and spotted these two strong young men who clearly knew how to drive a truck and use a shovel. My understanding is that they'll work for both the contractor and landscaper on alternating days because they really want to work together.  I've been assured this will be a fantastic arrangement, but we'll see how it goes. 

I am learning as my mother often says, "to say nothing...." Indeed, people figure things out a lot faster when you don't harp on them. 

In regards to the white couch, when we moved north, we left the majority of our furniture in Texas because the cost to move it was astronomical. Equally important, this was a great opportunity to get rid of (among other things) the two-ton brown suede couch that had been with our family since our four children were under the age of five. You can just imagine what was spilled on that couch over the past 12 years. It actually had a "crunch" when you sat down.  Kinda of crazy the new owners wanted it and asked that it be conveyed with the house. I can't help but think they must not have taken a very close look at it when they walked through and quickly put in that offer. Had they actually looked closely at it, I think they would have requested that it not only be removed, but that a HazMat team be engaged to ensure the area was clear. 

Alas, with a new fresh start in Vermont - and four children who weren't so little anymore .... we first bought a white sofa for our screened in porch. And then the triplets graduated from high school and we decided that we could finally replace the beanbag chairs and what had been our Texas poolside furniture, for a new couch.  We bought a white sectional for the basement, and then - an off-white sofa for our living room, which is the sofa that was bled upon, yesterday.   It was promptly soaked in Oxy Clean and while I launched in to a rant about why - why - WHY can we not have nice things?!  The boys quickly departed for ... of all places ... the gym.   

Don't even get me started on the new ceiling in the living room that leaked toilet water all over everything when the kids ignored a clogged toilet six months ago. Hence the reason that entire bathroom has since been gutted and in the process of being replaced. 

Henry is William's personal trainer and aside from having him weigh his food - to ensure he is ingesting the correct volume of protein each day - he is also advising him on weight lifting.  The first day they went to the gym together, Henry taught him how to lift until, "Failure."  William could barely lift his arms for the next five days. He was on Tylenol & Advil, and alternating ice and heat wraps around his biceps.  Suffice to say, he couldn't lift a toothbrush, let alone a chainsaw.  (This photo was taken the morning Gracie surprised us all with a quick trip home from camp so she could see her brother! Chosen to illustrate the icepacks on her brother's biceps. Poor kid...) 

Because I care that he not be miserable, I instead put him on lawn cutting and hauling duty. I mean, worst case - he could steer with his knees. 

It was only after he cut the lawn, when Charlie and I were walking the property, that we found what appeared to be a dead spot of lawn smack in the middle of our back yard / badminton - volleyball court.   When Charlie scuffed the grass a bit - he unearthed a rabbit burrow that was filled with tiny Eastern Cottontail bunnies. Right there! In the middle of our backyard!!   

The fact that they weren't sucked up in to the lawnmower is a complete miracle.  When we found them last week, their eyes were not yet open. From my internet research, I predicted they were approximately 7-10 days old. Likely born the same day William arrived home (June 19th).  If you look closely at this photo, below, you can see at least three of them burrowed in the tall grass. 

We immediately cordoned off the area and have been checking in on them every day (from a distance). 

They appear to be doing great, and are so tiny and adorable.  Elizabeth - the biggest bunny lover to ever live - is on Cloud Nine, especially when we were specking out the area for our croquet course and one hopped out and sat near her foot. 

She scooped it up and put it back inside, covering it gently with hay. 

I've been doing a lot of gardening in the area, but have been keeping my eye on the bunnies as they summon the courage to emerge and venture from their nest.  Today, I'll be digging out a slingshot to keep hawks away should they make a play for one of our bunnies.  

It's a very natural feeling this instinct I have to shelter and protect these little ones, even as they dig up the lawn and command a space in our yard.  (See the tiny bunny to the left??) 

It's all so temporary - they grow so fast and everything goes by much too quickly. They'll soon be mature and out in to the world, faring on their own.  They're welcome to stay here as long as need be.  (Please just don't bleed on the white couch.)

Yep, this feels very familiar to me. 

time just keeps rolling along

As we reflect over Memorial Day this weekend, we feel in our bones that the summer of 2024 has begun.

The girls wrapped up their freshman year last month, and have been reacclimatizing to life at home.  Our front door should be replaced with a revolving one, as their friends are coming in and out, all the time. It's actually pretty awesome.  

Henry, who earned his Eagle Scout last month, informed us this morning that he only has 12 days left of 10th grade.  I asked him if he could imagine what it must've been like for his siblings who had just wrapped up their sophomore year of high school when we suddenly moved to Vermont and he said, "Yes, I can imagine. I was there, too, and I'm so glad we moved. But let's not do it again, OK?" 

No worries there, this continues to be the most amazingly beautiful and peaceful place we've ever been. Charlie and I have no desire to live anywhere else and pinch ourselves daily this is home, and the view from our roof. 

William, who has been touring all over Europe the past few weeks and apparently dominating the croquet circuit in Norway, will be arriving home from his (almost) one-year German exchange in 3.5 weeks (572 hours, whose counting??). 

Next Sunday, Gracie will be leaving for summer camp two hours northeast of us, where she'll be the head rowing instructor (again), so I'm a little sad I won't have all the birds back in the nest until the third week of August for about two days before the girls - and William - head off to UVM. 

It really will be nice to have all the children under one roof again. But, I don't want to create any false pretenses that we're some perfectly-oiled family machine. While Charlie and I have a steady hand on the keel and we are immensely happy, teenagers can definitely throw some chop to the waves and can make us a little crazy at times.  This is life, right??

You'd think our children would all realize how incredibly lucky they are to have a great house and yard, cars available for use, refrigerators stocked full of food, and parents who are extremely laid back and cool - and only request that they clean up after themselves, pitch in and help around the house, get a part-time job, and not be glued to their phone.  Sometimes they need gentle reminders and mama needs religion, especially if they roll their eyes or say "whatever."   

It's a process! We're all growing and changing! This is transition!  Church really helps!

Seriously - it really helps. At least it does for me: it's always a grounding experience that recalibrates my heart and rejuvenates my spirit. 

It wasn't even three weeks ago the girls made the arduous 2.5-mile journey from UVM back to the house with all of the dorm supplies that we had purchased for them last year, which somehow seemed to expand by a factor of 10 and resemble a fledgling adult blob of treasured possessions: text books, notebooks, random college swag, microwaves, small refrigerators, coffee cups, can openers - bowls - spoons - posters - towels - pillows - stuffed animals, Ramen Noodles, Motts Gummies, bottles of Dawn dish soap, three jars of half eaten peanut butter, creatively painted pots with fragile little plants that are teetering between life and death.

Lucy, our quasi-adopted daughter who was in our scout troop in Houston, and moved to Vermont last year to attend UVM, was the first to move out. We had gone to the school on Sunday to collect her possessions which would be stored at our house over the summer while she returns to Texas.   When I went back to the dorm to pick her up for the airport two days later, she sheepishly apologized that there were a "few more things" that she needed to keep at our house, and then proceeded to fill up our GMC Yukon XL to the brim a second time.  Granted - she opted to keep all of her winter clothes and boots in Vermont, because why bring those things to Texas when the air temperature is likely to dip below 95 in the three months she'll be there?   After I dropped her off at the airport - a sense of urgency washed over me as I considered there would be TWO MORE girls coming home with at least as much gear.  So I rushed off to Home Depot and cleared them out of the largest totes that I could find in an effort to get everything neatly organized until it was needed again in the fall.  

Elizabeth and Carolyn moved home a few days later and my tote organization system was working great. All the knick knacks were secured away, the last lid was being snapped on for storage in the far back corner of our basement, when the doorbell rang. On the doorstep was Elizabeth's cross-country friend who was just about to begin her drive home to West Virginia but first needed to drop off a few things that Elizabeth said she could store at our house. 

Of course we were more than happy to help. 

But you better believe Elizabeth got the side-eye. 

spring break 2024

Last week, Liz and I took off for a few days to South Carolina to visit my mom.  It was UVM's spring break, and although Carolyn was traveling to Georgia with her rowing team - Liz didn't have any plans. I thought it would be a great opportunity for some one-on-one time with my girl, and a wonderful chance for her to spend time with our one and only Noni. 

After departing our house at 4:20 AM, we arrived in Greenville by 10:30 AM.  There was a slight snafu at the airport when luggage tags and identifying objects from someone else's suitcase, were placed on my suitcase, and I thought for sure someone had accidentally grabbed my bag (which looked identical to their bag - right down to the turquoise blue pipe cleaner I have wrapped around my handle) and departed the airport. For the next 90 minutes, Liz and I took turns calling the owner of the luggage tags no less than 70X.  When I sent Charlie a photo of the baggage tag - he also started calling them.  Seeing as this individual worked with Amazon, per the tag on the bag, I also sent an APB to several of my Amazon friends with the plea that they help me track down this person and implore them to return to the airport. Aside from needing my toothbrush, when we left Vermont it was 12 degrees, it was now 65 degrees warmer and I desperately needed to swap out my flannel for linen.  

See, I never check my bags for this very reason. But because we were flying in to Greenville on a regional jet with virtually no overhead space, everyone had to gate check their suitcases.  Suffice to say, it was only when I'd finally left the airport - and was nearly at my mother's house - that the person finally checked their messages and/or was tracked down by colleagues, they called to tell me that they had the correct suitcase and asked, "Did you open the suitcase to confirm it wasn't yours?" 

Uh, no.  Why would anyone ever do something logical like that? 

After driving all the way back to the airport to retrieve what actually was my bag, we had lunch with my mom and her friends in the lovely dining halls at Furman University.  Over the next few days, we accompanied mom to a doctor's appointment where she was diagnosed (and treated) for bursitis in her hip.  We lounged about watching movies (Cinderella, 2015 for the win!)... 

Visited my aunt Grace and numerous cousins... 

And made a fun event out of raking up 1,000,000 gum balls from Auntie's front lawn. This was the payment for Liz and Liz's hard efforts!  

We visited my sister, Marylou... 

And Liz got advanced lessons on knitting and crocheting from her grandmother and aunt. 

Before we left on Monday afternoon, we stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant near my mom's house where we played a raucous game of Crazy Bridge.  These days, I never leave home without a deck of cards in my purse; they're right next to my Altoids, First Aid Kit, multi-purpose tool and headlamp.  Scouting has clearly rubbed off on me, I'm almost always prepared. 

Not surprisingly, the Mexican food didn't sit well with me. Increasingly for the past few years, I've come to realize that I generally cannot eat out at restaurants without significant gastrointestinal upset.  Mom loaded me up with some Maalox and Tums and we bid adieu for the airport.  After landing in DC, Liz pointed out that because there are no Chic-Fil-A restaurants in Vermont, this would likely be our LAST CHANCE to have the world's best chicken nuggets for who knows how long?? The thought briefly crossed my mind, "I probably shouldn't...." but that didn't stop me from dashing in and adding an 8-count to her 12-count order before we boarded our final leg home.   

I was feeling great. 

We landed just before midnight, in the midst of a blizzard that was sweeping across Vermont. After dropping Liz back off at school, Charlie and I returned home and went to sleep.  A mere three hours later, I woke up with what felt like a rock in my stomach.  After getting up and moving about, the pain only intensified.  By 6:30 AM, Charlie awoke to my moaning and retching.  Expletives were issued when he asked what was wrong with me.  After pacing about the house for a while, by 8:30 AM in my pajamas and snow boots, and holding a bucket which I kept filling, my husband loaded his delirious wife in to the car for a trip to the Emergency Room.  I kept telling him I really thought it was just gas, but Charlie insisted that I be checked. 

God bless this man for staying by my side: in sickness, the worst of me most definitely comes out. I was cursing everything and everyone, including S. Truett Cathy, the founder of Chic-Fil-A.  He may have been a Christian man, but the devil is surely in those chicken nuggets.  

For the next two hours, as I literally writhed around in pain and cries, clutching and filling a disposable cardboard bowl the nurses gave me ... we waited in the lobby of the ER before being placed in a room.  They asked me what my pain level was on a scale of 1-10, and I gasped "12."  They gave me warm blankets and an IV with morphine and asked if there was anything else they could get me and I said, "A GUN."  The morphine didn't touch the pain. Nor did the oxycodone which they added to my regiment. They gave me even more morphine.  The only time I laid flat is when I had to for the CT scans and ultrasounds. The rest of the time, the most comfortable position I found was standing, with a slight bend over the gurney, with my head propped on a stack of pillows.  The painkillers didn't kill the pain - they just made me so groggy I couldn't complain as loudly. 

Charlie called to tell my mother I'd arrived home safely, but was now in the hospital. After 12 hours, my diagnosis was a splenic infarction.  We have no idea how or when this would have happened and visits to specialists are in my future.  But I remain unconvinced that my purportedly injured spleen had ANYTHING to do with the acute illness I experienced Tuesday.  Because it was ultimately determined to be a "nonsurgical" emergency, I opted to leave the hospital and return home where I would feel much more comfortable bending slightly over my own bed with my head propped on a stack of pillows. 

Although I was loaded up with prescriptions for Zofran and oxycodone, once home, I took two Dulcolax, and drank a hot cup of water with a capful of Miralax. Within two hours, like holy, glorious magic, I started to feel better.   I then downed two more Dulcolax and chased it with 119 grams of Miralax which were mixed into Gatorade, replicating the cleanse protocol that was required before the colonoscopy I'd had in 2022.  Wednesday was largely spent in the bathroom, but for the first time in 36 hours, I could stand upright and didn't feel like my body was possessed by dark forces.  Charlie took off his garlic necklace and extinguished the prayer candles.   

Laxatives did what morphine and codeine could not.   

Holy sh*t.  Gas is no laughing matter.  

I've already added Dulcolax and Miralax to my purse. 

yo - yo - yo, we're hooked on the dough

Last week was Henry's spring break from school, so we took a drive to Boston.  It was a great trip: we visited my sister, Beth and her son, Michael - and went out to dinner with my brother Wally and his spouse, Donna.  One of the days, I went in to my company's office to work - while Henry found a gym to work out for a few hours, and Charlie found a Starbucks to get some work of his own, done.  We had a chance to visit my Dad's younger sister, Peggy, who lives in Boston and spent the afternoon walking all around the city and to the New England Aquarium. 

On the drive back to Burlington, we stopped by King Arthur Baking Company which I'm so proud to announce: IS IN VERMONT.  OUR state: which I'm convinced is the coolest little state in the nation. 

There's a Bakery - A Cafe - A School - And A Store.  At the factory, just down the road a spell, you can buy all kinds of flour in bulk.  

Here I am with Henry...  he's 6'1 and still growing.  His goal was to be bigger than his brother before William returns home from Germany. While it's unlikely he'll surpass 6'4" in the next four months, he has become fanatical about working out and spends hours every day at the gym.  He'll be entering his first powerlifting competition next week and is very happy that he can lift insane amounts of weights. I've found this is very helpful for lugging bags of insanely heavy flour. 

Here's a picture of one of the classrooms, inside.  Look at all the pretty bright red matching Kitchen Aids!!!  This is now on my bucket list, to drive down and take a class @ KA with a KA!   

They have clothing! 

Hats! 

Beautiful baking sheets, bowls, and all kinds of gear that I didn't know what it was, but I'm sure would make cooking and baking so much BETTER. 

I'm happy to report we didn't go completely crazy. This was our haul. I bought the hat, Charlie and Henry both both shirts which they've been wearing this week.  Oh how we all love to bake!! 

Charlie and I have a pact that we will strive to not buy new gear and supplies for the kitchen until we redo our kitchen.  I'm not sure when exactly that'll happen: we're hoping for next year, but TBD.  Will admit, the one thing we *do* miss about Texas is our brand new gourmet kitchen which we had just finished remodeling before we left on vacation.  But, whenever I start to get weepy about the loss of our Wolf steam oven, I dream about our future kitchen. It might look something like this. 

Then I snap out of it and think about how blessed we are to have a functioning kitchen and although it is quite dated, I am reminded of our old appliances in Fairfax and how they lasted forever.   

(BTW: that oven fire didn't actually destroy our oven like I thought it would!) 

Here's my setup: ready for action - new scale and bread whisk - which has been great. 

Here's the sourdough I made earlier this week, which went went quite nicely with the corned beef and cabbage that Charlie had made for dinner.  It was delicious - but next time, I think we will cook it longer.  We read that you can cook corned beef for up to 24 hours in a slow cooker.  That sounds like a fun experiment we may have to test out for St. Patrick's Day. 

The "crumb" of the bread is the soft part within the crust.  Real sourdough bakers will say things like, "LOOK AT THIS CRUMB!"  LOOK AT IT!  Doesn't it look beautiful?  I still have a lot to learn with shapes and fun patterns, but appearance aside: this is the best tasting bread I've ever had. 

Another highlight of the week was receiving a case of wine from our niece, Alice, who lives in Northern California and works at Handley Cellar vineyards.  Charlie's brother, George (Alice's dad) had sent us a couple of bottles for Christmas, and Charlie thought they were so good - that very night, he went online, bought a case, and joined the wine of the month club. They'd been waiting to ship the wine since December because they wanted to make sure it wasn't at risk of freezing in transit. Since we had warmer weather this week - it was finally shipped and got here just before the storm that is currently dropping two-feet of snow on our mountains.  

So, we have a house full of yummy wine, and another batch of bread going in to the oven, today. 

AFTER TODAY, I've told Charlie that this was my prayer and intent for the REST OF THE WEEK. Even though I mostly wear wool and flannel, which are very stretchable, my friends have told me that if I'm going to lament going up a pant size, I must break up with King Arthur. 

This was Charlie's response, as he was awaiting his haircut. 

So it is, I've become quite the domestic: I cut hair AND bake bread.  

Now, if only I could just savor the smell of it without inhaling an entire loaf, I'd be all set.