Smell of Mud

There is something about the smell of damp earth that energizes me. I'm not a great gardener, yet. But it is in my genes to grow things. I used to have quite a green thumb with houseplants, though my thumb is more of a pale lime right now. I managed to keep herbs growing all winter in my windowsill, the first time in two years of trying.

And right now, I have peas, beans, and radish seeds germinating, thick and strong (unlike the thin, spindly seedlings I was warned would grow in a windowsill.)

Last year, my garden was decimated by snails or slugs. I finally beat them, but it was too late for my garden to completely recover. I only got a few potent tomatoes, a few tiny jalapenos, and some onions. But I have onions still, garlic coming, and maybe some sage will come back.

This year, I plan pumpkins, sunflowers (courtesy of my 2-year-old,) and some beautiful purple, pink, and white flowers whose name escapes me at the moment, because my 5-year-old wanted to grow something beautiful.

I'm also planning to attack the weedfest that is my back yard. Hopefully, I can clear out some dead wood and the Japanese Beetles with it. Watch out, pests! I'm coming!!!

Good Girl

Ria loves to get up early. Even though their wake time is 6 a.m., she is usually up by 5:45 a.m., trying to help me make lunches, put on makeup, or whatever I'm doing at the moment.

She especially loves it when I put lotion on my face and "forget" to rub some of it in.

This morning, I was just done showering when she woke up. She knocked on the door (a minor miracle, itself) and when I responded, she promptly went over to the couch, tucked herself in, and read stories to herself.

As soon as I got out, she said, "I laid on the couch, Mama!"

I responded, "yes, I can see that! What a good girl, just laying quietly on the couch and reading instead of waking up your sister. Thank you!"

Perfectly satisfied, she put down her book and followed me into the kitchen to help make lunches for the day.

Cooking Someone

I was walking around the house, picking up various items and putting them away while the girls played in their room. As I walked by, I heard the distressed little voice of my eldest, "Don't! Don't put them in there. You know, you are cooking someone in there!"

Naturally, I had to stick my head in to see what was going on.

The youngest was diligently trying to put her My Little Ponies "to bed" in the play kitchen's microwave.

The altercation ended when Ely (the eldest) said, "Fine, go ahead and cook them! They're YOUR babies."