There have been a lot of beer bottles decorating our house lately.

Actually, I think it’s only two but it feels like more since they’re always sitting around. My brother bought some bottles when he came this weekend (this is my brother—

the kids adore him), and I think we managed to collectively drank one with our soft pretzel supper.

But then I made beer cupcakes (the cake part was luscious, but the icing was a little too boozy for my tastes) and that was another bottle.

And then Sweetsie got the brilliant idea to rinse them out and top them off with water and walk around the house taking swigs of brown-bottled water. It was a little disconcerting, but I didn’t say too much.

Though now that I think of it, Miss Beccaboo walked into the kitchen the other day smoking a straw (or was it a stick?) so maybe I ought to be concerned?

Miss Beccaboo is still sewing. Though the other day I think she spent most of her sewing time taking apart the machine—as long as she cleans it all up (and doesn’t break anything), I stay mum.

Oh yes, and here’s the sock monkey she made.

Isn’t it darling?

Even though I can’t finish it off all the way (because I don’t know how), I’m done with my scarf.

To keep my hands occupied during evening reading, I picked up Yo-Yo’s cast-off knitting project and set to. I sat on the floor and knitted while Nickel quietly filled a couple feet of my yarn with slipknots, sneaky kid. (I’ve found him putting slipknots in electrical cords, too.)

Most mornings, over our breakfast of granola and yogurt, I read to the kids from this book.

It’s a collection of short stories about real-life peacemakers.

I crave stories like these—the stories stand out in stark contrast to the teachings of retaliation and me-me-me-isms that our culture would have us believe—and am always on the lookout for more. (Suggestions, anyone?)

Recently, we’ve been introduced to Professor Noggin, a card fact game.

I bought four games, but there are loads of others to choose from. How we play it is this: I read each kid a question and if they get the answer right, they get to keep the card. Simple, no? Questions are divided into easy and hard categories, so all four kids can play.

I like The Human Body game best, but the kids love Creatures of Myth and Legend—they kick my butt at that game.

This same time, years previous: oatmeal pancakes

I’m reading Jane Eyre to the older two kids. They drag their feet when it comes time to read—the book is filled with highfalutin language—but they follow the story well enough and seem to mostly enjoy it once I get going. And now that we’re getting deeper into the book, the spooky stuff is starting up, hehehehe.

The other night, here’s how it went down. (Jane is the one talking.)

…I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious, which sounded, I thought, just above me.

I slowed my reading and my voice dropped a couple notches.

I wished I had kept my candle burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed. I rose and sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed.

A weighty pause, and then:

I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inward tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down the hall, struck two.

Miss Beccaboo shot up from her spot on the hearth, dived onto the sofa next to me, and burrowed her head into my rib cage. I roared with laughter and had to take several deep breaths to steady my voice before I could continue.

Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept the panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside. I said, “Who is there?” Nothing answered. I was chilled with fear.

Then, in the next paragraph, Jane remembered that the dog sometimes comes upstairs. This new thought much relieved her and she relaxed. But,

A dream had scarcely approached my ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incident enough.

This was a demoniac laugh—low, suppressed, and deep—

And here I laughed as low and demoniac as possible—

Uttered, as it seemed, at the very key-hole of my chamber-door. The head of my bed was near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laughter stood at my bedside—or rather, crouched by my pillow—

Yo-Yo grabbed the skin under his eyes and pulled down on it while simultaneously rolling his eyeballs back in his head. “Look at this, guys! Like this? Mwah-ha-ha!” Miss Beccaboo plunged deeper into the cushions and I burst out laughing all over again. “Cut that out!” I scolded, and then tried, unsuccessfully, to rout Miss Beccaboo out of my underarm.

But I rose, looked round, and could see nothing: while as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next again, to cry out, “Who is there?”

Something gurgled and moaned.

Later, when I read this to my husband, his eyes got all big. “Good grief! You’re reading that to the kids? It’s a wonder they can sleep at all!”

So now I’m wondering: am I the only one who takes a perverse delight in scaring the pants off my kids?

It really is glorious fun. Maybe you’d like to break out the Jane Eyre and try it sometime? Give them some toast and milk, curl up by the fire for a little beddy-bye story, and then kiss them sweetly and send them, teeth chattering, off to bed. (Mwah-ha-ha-ha.)

*Pictures taken during a movie, not when I was reading Jane Eyre, but you get the idea.

This same time, years previous: a religious education and butterscotch pudding

This is the pie I made for Pi Day.

It rocked some serious deliciousness. We ate all but one piece, and my husband took that last piece in his lunch today.

So I was left with no other recourse but to make a cherry cobbler for our lunch. We ate all but this much (after finishing off the last of the chicken curry):

Those of you who have Cherry Envy? You should! It might be cruel to say it, but these cherries are so fabulous that if you aren’t firmly mired in the camp of We Sure Would Like Some Cherries, then something is seriously wrong with you.

I’m just kidding.

(Kind of.)

My kids didn’t used to like sour cherries. In fact, only one of them was a fan, and even my husband didn’t think they were all that hot. But someone, over the years, they’ve all turned into cherry fanatics. Which is good, because that’s all we’ll be eating for the next several months.

Neat thing is, nobody’s complaining.

Cherry Pie
Adapted from a Gourmet recipe I found on the web somewhere

This method of using tapioca to thicken a fruit pie? I dig it. It’s so easy to do, and it gives the pie filling a pleasing texture.

I think a cream cheese pastry might go well with this pie. Next time…

1 recipe rich butter pastry (2 disks, chilled)
6 cups pitted sour cherries
3 tablespoons quick-cooking tapioca
2 tablespoons cornstarch
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla
milk and sugar, for brushing on crust

Mix together the tapioca, cornstarch, cinnamon, salt, and sugar. Toss with the cherries. Sprinkle with the vanilla and toss again. Allow the fruit to rest at room temperature for 1-4 hours, stirring occasionally.

Line a 9-inch pie plate with one of the rolled-out disks of dough. Fill with the fruit. Top with the second rolled-out disk of dough (cut a decorative design into it before laying it atop the pie). Crimp to seal the edges. Brush the top crust with milk and sprinkle liberally with sugar.

Set the pie on a foil-lined baking sheet (cherries are notorious for bubbling over) and set the pan on a lower oven rack in a 425 degree oven. After 20 minutes, reduce the temperature to 375 degrees and bake for another 40-60 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and the juices are bubbling happily. (Line the edges of the pie crust with a foil shield, if necessary.)

Allow the pie to cool for 3 or 4 hours before serving with vanilla ice cream.