Warning: If you have a weak constitution and can’t stand the sight of blood, do not look at the pictures in this post. I don’t think they’re very bad, but I know I’m not everybody and I do want to be sensitive to my dear readers.

We live in the country, on five acres, so naturally my kids get their fair share of bumps and bruises. I do try my best to prevent them from getting injured. I mean, I have rules that are supposed to keep them (and our possessions) safe. For example:

*do not go in the barn,
*do not go out of the gate on to the road,
*do not go over/through the fences into the neighboring fields,
*do not go in the chicken coop,
*do not climb up on the grape arbor,
*do not go in the tool shed and open the trap door and climb down into the well,
*do not go in the basement,
*do not play around the clotheslines,
*and so on.

Our house is even strategically placed (not by our doing) in such a way that it sits up at the front of the property right by the road and from the kitchen windows (which are our doing—I envisioned and demanded them and Mr. Handsome installed them) I can see out over the whole five acres.

But the knocks still happen.

The other day The Baby Nickel took a fall.

He was climbing the ladder that led to Yo-Yo’s fort when the ladder tipped over and fell. (Thankfully, he did not hit the edge of the doghouse roof—he has already been injured on that thing.) The kids say he landed head first. On a rock. Ouch.

I washed him up and tied a diaper around his head as a makeshift do-rag.

He didn’t want to move around much (he probably had a whopper of a headache) and kept slumping over in the swivel chair, trying to fall asleep.

It was the perfect opportunity to take some close-up shots of him, something I don’t normally get to do because he’s always in motion.

If you’re looking for a moral to this tale, it would be this: If you ever want to get a non-blurry photo of your highly active kid, just bonk the kid on the head. JUST KIDDING! (I can’t believe I just said that. I’m kidding, really.)

Isn’t he a perfect picture of pathetic peacefulness?

He has fully recuperated now though he still winces when I wash his hair. I haven’t seen him on the ladder since then. Maybe that hard rock knocked a little sense, or at least caution, into him.

I made this salad yesterday, and I’ve been living off of it ever since. It is well-balanced (includes all the food groups) and quite filling. Also, it stores well, so just make a batch of it first thing in the week and your lunches for the rest of the week are all taken care of.

Greek Pasta Salad
From my recipe box

3 cups rotini, uncooked
2 tablespoons lemon juice
½ cup olive oil
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
1 clove garlic, crushed
1/4 cup green onions, chopped (or a couple tablespoons of finely diced onion)
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
radishes, sliced (I didn’t have any to add this time around)
6 ounces feta cheese
1 6-ounce can of black olives, sliced
1 green pepper, large dice
1 cucumber, quartered lengthwise and then sliced
1-2 cups cherry tomatoes

Cook the rotini, drain, and set aside.

In a small bowl, combine the lemon juice, olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, and garlic. Stir well and then add to the pasta.

Add the rest of the ingredients, toss gently, and serve.

The starter was so lusciously bubbly this morning that I couldn’t resist using it to make pancakes. We call these pancakes “Farmer Boy Pancakes” because I imagine they are a bit similar to the cakes that Almanzo’s mother made for their Sunday breakfast feasts. (At some point in the book they talk about how she kept her starter going, but I can’t find the spot now. Maybe it’s in one of Laura’s other books.)

When Almanzo trudged into the kitchen next morning with two brimming milk-pails, Mother was making stacked pancakes because this was Sunday.

The big blue platter on the stove’s hearth was full of plump sausage cakes; Eliza Jane was cutting apple pies and Alice was dishing up the oatmeal, as usual. But the little blue platter stood hot on the back of the stove, and ten stacks of pancakes rose in tall towers on it.

Ten pancakes cooked on the smoking griddle, and as fast as they were done Mother added another cake to each stack and buttered it lavishly and covered it with maple sugar. Butter and sugar melted together and soaked the fluffy pancakes and dripped all down their crisp edges.

That was stacked pancakes. Almanzo liked them better then any other kind of pancakes.

Mother kept on frying them till the others had eaten their oatmeal. She could never make too many stacked pancakes. They all ate pile after pile of them, and Almanzo was still eating when Mother pushed back her chair and said,

“Mercy on us! eight o’clock! I must fly!”

We don’t eat quite that many, though we did eat a lot this morning. I made a double batch of the following recipe, and Mr. Handsome wasn’t here and I only ate one-and-a-half pancakes and there were only three leftover. I may not have to feed my kids any lunch.

Once I bought maple sugar to better imitate Almanzo’s mother’s pancakes—I was trying to get the melted butter and sugar effect—and they were good, but too expensive and too much work. I prefer to make them big and serve them with just butter and syrup.

Farmer Boy Pancakes
Adapted from Breads from the La Brea Bakery by Nancy Silverton

2 cups white starter
2 tablespoons maple syrup
3 tablespoons canola oil
2 eggs, beaten
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder

Combine the wet ingredients and then add the dry. Heat up your griddle, grease it with some butter and proceed to fry up a big ol’ stack of pancakes.

Serve with maple syrup and butter.

Note: For how to make whole wheat Farmer Boy Pancakes, click here.