My son turned twelve on Sunday, though we celebrated it on Saturday.

Next year he’ll turn thirteen, the start of a new age in our house: six years later and we’ll have four teenagers. The thought both excites and saddens me.

I’m not scared though. I don’t buy all that hoopla about the teen years being such a trial and tribulation. Those were the toddler years, in my opinion. I’ll take teenage sass and smarts over unverbal tots any day.

Not that it will be easy, of course. Nothing is.

The main reason I’m sad about the new age dawning is that it’s one more sign that I’m growing old. It’s one thing to talk about getting old when you’re twenty. It’s another thing to experience it, or the twinges of it, when you’re thirty-six. I don’t mind the internal part of getting old, the build up of experiences, the collected wisdom, the accumulated friends and family, but the physical part of getting old? That part scares me.

Is there any way to age gracefully? Does anyone walk into old age willingly, eager to embrace the wrinkles and sagging upper arms and achy joints? Or are humans programmed to fight it, to push against it, to grieve it?

This same time, years previous: buttermilk pancakes

I hardly cooked all week long. One night we had scrambled eggs and toast for supper. Another night there was a hot dog roast at a friend’s house. And yet another night we had a sit-down dinner of caramel popcorn and apples and peanut butter. So high end, we are.

Here’s the bowl of peanut butter. A small child could drown in it.

I was mixing a big tub of whole wheat peanut butter (meaning, all-natural) with a jar of sugary store-bought peanut butter (so the oil doesn’t separate out as much) when supper time swung around, so I just plunked the whole bowl down in the middle of the table. The kids ate it by the serving spoon full. And they finished off a good six to eight (maybe ten?) apples and all but two cups of the popcorn. They were so full that no one even made mention of a bedtime snack.

What are your favorite snacky suppers? Or, “silly suppers,” as my husband grew up calling them.

This same time, years previous: brown sugar syrup (our standard syrup recipe)

In case you haven’t noticed (Google readers, I’m talking to you), I’m in the process of revamping the blog. It all started because I wanted some tabs along the top, and then once I got going I couldn’t stop. I went to over to my brother’s house for a crash course in computer junk (I’m so illiterate it’s not even funny) (except it is funny—my brother is forever laugh-snorting at all the obvious stuff I don’t know), and then I went home and stayed up too late doing formatting type things. I dreamed in (or about—not sure what’s the difference) HTML format and woke up exhausted. And eager to get going again.

Except I got waylaid by my header, partly because I lost the picture and couldn’t find it anywhere, and partly because I was ready for a change. I played around with sunsets and blue skies and it was all just so-so. On a whim, I jotted down my blog title and quote, snapped a picture, and suddenly I was off and running. The kids helped hold mirrors and white papers to reflect the light, fetch rosemary and sprinkle cocoa, and peppered me with advice and opinions. We never did get around to math or piano that morning.

Now I’m spending lots of brain time thinking up little new headers. I might get inspired to break out the paint, or maybe even do paper cutouts or make “Mama’s Minutia” out of bread crusts.

I will be the next Carl Warner. Watch out.

This same time, years previous: a moment of silence, classic cheesecake, love, the Tooth Fairy, boy in a blue dress