When I asked my son to vacuum the floor the other day, the roar of the vacuum must’ve loosened his tongue because, as he jerked the sucker-thingy back and forth across the kitchen tiles, this is what came out of his mouth:

“I have one question above all else: how did it all start?”

“How did we invent things?”

“How did people get started?”

“Is the Bible real or was it all made up by children?”

“Is God real?”

Then he switched from question spouting to whistling and I, having never made a single peep, scurried to my desk and jotted it all down.

Several days ago we had an awful morning that involved the three youngest in simultaneous meltdown mode. It was perfectly horrendous. As part of the rehabilitation plan, after rest time and lunch (note the reversed order), they were told they had to play together nicely for awhile before they could do anything else.

They decided to make cooked carrots with brown butter.

They made two batches. Skillets, tongs, saucepans, peelers, and little Beatrix Potter dishes were involved.

I have a feeling—for I did not supervise the merry mayhem—a splendidly excessive amount of butter was consumed.

And there you have it, two disjointed thoughts from the brain of a tired and disjointed mama. It’s all I have to give, so it’s all you’re going to get.

xo

This same time, years previous: chicken butchering, a cake for Wayne

When I started pinterest, I was kind of afraid that it would be a huge time suck and that I would sit around all day playing with my virtual bulletin boards.

And I did … for about 24 hours.

But then I came up for air, forced myself to close the laptop, and started making art. Art that was inspired by—you guessed it—pinterest.

My little project is not quite done yet—I’ll show it to you when it is—but I’m zipping right along and have a kink in my neck to prove it. (And I already have another idea brewing for when this first project is finished…)

It wasn’t just pinterest that inspired me—a lot of the blame gets laid squarely on Amanda of the infamous Soule Mama blog. I’ve been reading her for quite some time now and am impressed by how much art they make. Amanda’s little girl will say, “Mama, let’s make something,” and they promptly head into the sewing room and whip up a blanket.

I’m not going to be whipping up blankets anytime soon, but her obvious pleasure in making things inspired me to kick back and CREATE. I get so caught up in the chores and cooking and writing (you know, routines and habits, blah, blah, blah)—this little deviation from my norm has been delightfully refreshing.

It was a chain reaction, too: the older kids, inspired by my artistic dabblings, hauled the roll of newsprint downstairs and broke open a new box of markers.

Bandaids Nickel learned how to make bubble letters and typed on the computer, and Sweetsie (when she wasn’t on timeout for uncivilized rampages) hovered by my shoulder and alternated between whining and singing (that child!).

And so passed our sunny morning.

Where do you find inspiration? What art have you been making?

This same time, years previous: Aunt Valerie’s blueberry bars, asparagus, goat cheese, and lemon pasta

This is what my seven-year-old daughter sees when she looks at me.

Or at least it’s what she sees when I’m in a good mood because it’s a hot and sunny Sunday afternoon and I just finished planting the corn and am ready to start in on the beans and I’m feeling nice and benevolent which is illustrated by the fact that I let her hold the camera in the first place.

If I was grumpy, I wouldn’t be smiling, because I am not one of those mamas that smiles while grumpy. I totally got skipped when the DNA dude was handing out the hide-your-feelings gene.

Right before Sweetsie took the picture we had agreed that she could take one more picture. (She had already taken a picture of her sister sticking her tongue out at her [which, come to think of it, is probably a pretty accurate portrayal of what her sister looks like to her—tongue out, roll-y eyes, the works] and a picture of her papa leaning on a hoe.)

So she snapped that picture of me, but then she kept snapping, little bugger, and I had to move in to stop the clicking frenzy.

She immediately chopped off the top of my head.

And then she started giggling hysterically and badly blurred me.

Quick as a wink, she did it again.

And then I laid hands on the camera and rescued my image from further tainting.

I learned something though. I learned that my kids can take half decent pictures (when they’re not giggling) and that it’s kind of fun to see life on their level. I may have to try it again sometime.

But only when I’m in a good mood, of course.

This same time, years previous: chocolate-kissed chili, ranch dressing