After attempting to do my Mother's job for a few days last week, it became abundantly clear to me that those young brothers of mine are going to need to learn a few skills in order to get through the coming weeks of her recovery. Accordingly, I've prepared the following quiz to kick off their new education.
1- After pouring a glass of milk for yourself you;
a) Put the milk back in the refrigerator
b) Dump the remainder of the gallon in the sink
c) Leave the milk on the counter indefinitely
d) Punch your sister in the stomach
2- You started to eat lunch but decided midway through, that your food is not satisfactory. How do you proceed?
a) Pile the dishes of half eaten food by the sink
b) Leave everything as it lies, plate on the table, food on the plate, fork along side with a bite still skewerd on the tines.
c) Throw the unwanted food away and put the dishes in the dishwasher.
d) Kick your sister in the shins.
Ok, this is getting boring and I think you get the idea. Those boys are slobbish and used to being cleaned up after. Also, they never never put the milk away.
Hear this brothers,
The time has come for you to clean up after yourselves. Your messes will no longer disappear while your back is turned, and the milk will go sour before you know it.
Lovingly,
Your sister
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Dreams come true
What do you figure this boy's looking at?
He really really wanted to see. In so much that peeping through the vertical slats of the railing did not provide an adequate view.
What is it,? That siren which holds him captive, his face pressed against the pavement, staring, straining that he might witness it's splendor? It is of course, a tractor.
Thanks be to this kind cousin, his dearest wish was granted and he got to drive it.
Now, please indulge me as I parade a series of photos before you for no other reason than that they're adorable.
Thanks
Zizza got to drive too. Her turn was in the back hoe.
And while she was clamoring in...
I guess he just couldn't abide her going without him. Get out of there Enzo! You do not have my permission to ride in the bucket!
He really really wanted to see. In so much that peeping through the vertical slats of the railing did not provide an adequate view.
What is it,? That siren which holds him captive, his face pressed against the pavement, staring, straining that he might witness it's splendor? It is of course, a tractor.
Thanks be to this kind cousin, his dearest wish was granted and he got to drive it.
Now, please indulge me as I parade a series of photos before you for no other reason than that they're adorable.
Thanks
Zizza got to drive too. Her turn was in the back hoe.
And while she was clamoring in...
I guess he just couldn't abide her going without him. Get out of there Enzo! You do not have my permission to ride in the bucket!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
From The Trenches
With no internet connection available to me, I am forced to type in an Open office document. If I decide to post any of this later, I'll have to retype it all. I've long since learned that to copy and paste from here to blogger is not worth the effort. (turns out the switch from open office to blogger is no problem. It was word that gave me the trouble. Yet another reason to disprove of Microsoft)
After two an a half weeks away from home my children are dangling from the ends of their proverbial ropes, which leaves me a bit closer to the end of my rope than I care to be.
Yesterday, Zizza's begging and my own belayed promises led us to the pool. A brother of mine had been recruited to come along and help with keeping all three of the small ones afloat. Going on my own would not be feasible. Unfortunately, for our little swimming party, the brother was called in to work at the last minute. I couldn't call off the swim. I'd never survive the screaming. I'd only just made it through the day of “Is it time yet”s and “Can we go now”s. We'd finally made it, suited and sunscreened into the car and on our way when we got the news of the Uncle's unavailability to swim with us. There really wasn't any other choice but to go ahead on our own and stick to the kiddie pool with it's 2 foot maximum depth.
The swimming went amazingly well. Enzo accidentally dunked himself a few times, but was always convinced by my cheering and high fives that this was a good thing. The New one wriggled squirmed and splashed with delight just as I expected she would based on her love of the bath. Zizza jumped, dipped and showed off in general all the while lamenting the absence of her uncle which made it impossible for her to go and really swim in the big pool like she wanted to do. “I'm gonna swim under the water three times, Mama!” she'd told me in preparation for the outing.
All that jumping, and trying to run in the water on the rough pool bottom took it's toll on Zizza's little toes and after a while the big one on her left foot began to bleed. “It's ok, Mama, it doesn't even hurt. I can still swim” She told me. She left bloody toe prints along the deck as we made our way to a chair where the blood continued to flow steadily until I was convinced we'd have to leave. It was not a popular decision.
After wresting the two disappointed swimmers into their car seats, (The New one didn't mind leaving, even in spite of how much she'd been enjoying herself in the water.) there was nothing for me to do but turn up the music and block out the disappointed screams as I drove back to my parent's house.
After a while things quieted down enough for me to think about something besides not thinking about the wails erupting behind me. I called my mother to discuss dinner plans. It was Dad though, who answered her cellaphone. I was so surprised to hear him answer that line, I almost didn't recognize his voice. I was more surprised still when he told why he'd done it.
Marmie had fallen and hurt her hip. Even then, as we spoke paramedics were helping her to try and get up. There's nothing like hip breakage to make a few grumpy children seem like sugared pansies in the arena of trial.
I pulled in to “Rancheritos” and procured an order of super nachos. Obviously, Marmie wouldn't have dinner waiting.
We got home just as the ambulance pulled out. Dad said he thought he'd gotten the perishables put away, Marmie had been on her way in with groceries when she fell, and he was off to meet her at the hospital. I made a quick search of the bags and found three gallons of milk, four quarts of yogurt and a block of cheese. The over-site of which I find perfectly excusable, if still a mite amusing. I put away the overlooked dairy products. I fed my children their greasy dinner. I had a message from my marmie, she'd called from the ambulance “I was worried about you, you're probably worried about me, but I thought I'd make sure you're ok.” I called her back, Then I glutted myself on the Nachos while I rushed about calling and texting siblings, changing swim diapers for the regular variety and trying to make my dog pee out side. That was a lost cause he was in a right state of panic after witnessing the commotion of the paramedics from the confines of his kennel.
An hour later, still in my swim suit I loaded the kids back into the car to fetch their uncle from his class. Marmie's taxi service was shut down along with her kitchen. I was glad to find my pants waiting for me in the car where I'd shoved them in our screaming escape from the pool. It's the little things, y'know? Putting those pants on really helped me dial back the frantic pace I'd fallen into.
There was talk of hip replacement. That was voted down and now Marmie's got two pins in her hip, five or so days hospital stay to look forward to, and another six weeks recovery after that.
I've just finished cleaning out her refrigerator. I was brutal. There was no way any of us were going to eat any of those left overs with out her here to reheat them and serve them to us, so I counted them as pre- spoiled. They might not have been bad now, but it would only be a matter of time. There's a stack of ironing to tackle, Ill have to wait on that until Dad comes home and can find me some hangers. What good would it do to iron any of it without a place to hang it when it's done?
I'll be gone by the time she comes home. I'm trying to think of things that will make it easier for her when she gets here.
I've got one really good idea. Here's hoping I can pull it off.
After two an a half weeks away from home my children are dangling from the ends of their proverbial ropes, which leaves me a bit closer to the end of my rope than I care to be.
Yesterday, Zizza's begging and my own belayed promises led us to the pool. A brother of mine had been recruited to come along and help with keeping all three of the small ones afloat. Going on my own would not be feasible. Unfortunately, for our little swimming party, the brother was called in to work at the last minute. I couldn't call off the swim. I'd never survive the screaming. I'd only just made it through the day of “Is it time yet”s and “Can we go now”s. We'd finally made it, suited and sunscreened into the car and on our way when we got the news of the Uncle's unavailability to swim with us. There really wasn't any other choice but to go ahead on our own and stick to the kiddie pool with it's 2 foot maximum depth.
The swimming went amazingly well. Enzo accidentally dunked himself a few times, but was always convinced by my cheering and high fives that this was a good thing. The New one wriggled squirmed and splashed with delight just as I expected she would based on her love of the bath. Zizza jumped, dipped and showed off in general all the while lamenting the absence of her uncle which made it impossible for her to go and really swim in the big pool like she wanted to do. “I'm gonna swim under the water three times, Mama!” she'd told me in preparation for the outing.
All that jumping, and trying to run in the water on the rough pool bottom took it's toll on Zizza's little toes and after a while the big one on her left foot began to bleed. “It's ok, Mama, it doesn't even hurt. I can still swim” She told me. She left bloody toe prints along the deck as we made our way to a chair where the blood continued to flow steadily until I was convinced we'd have to leave. It was not a popular decision.
After wresting the two disappointed swimmers into their car seats, (The New one didn't mind leaving, even in spite of how much she'd been enjoying herself in the water.) there was nothing for me to do but turn up the music and block out the disappointed screams as I drove back to my parent's house.
After a while things quieted down enough for me to think about something besides not thinking about the wails erupting behind me. I called my mother to discuss dinner plans. It was Dad though, who answered her cellaphone. I was so surprised to hear him answer that line, I almost didn't recognize his voice. I was more surprised still when he told why he'd done it.
Marmie had fallen and hurt her hip. Even then, as we spoke paramedics were helping her to try and get up. There's nothing like hip breakage to make a few grumpy children seem like sugared pansies in the arena of trial.
I pulled in to “Rancheritos” and procured an order of super nachos. Obviously, Marmie wouldn't have dinner waiting.
We got home just as the ambulance pulled out. Dad said he thought he'd gotten the perishables put away, Marmie had been on her way in with groceries when she fell, and he was off to meet her at the hospital. I made a quick search of the bags and found three gallons of milk, four quarts of yogurt and a block of cheese. The over-site of which I find perfectly excusable, if still a mite amusing. I put away the overlooked dairy products. I fed my children their greasy dinner. I had a message from my marmie, she'd called from the ambulance “I was worried about you, you're probably worried about me, but I thought I'd make sure you're ok.” I called her back, Then I glutted myself on the Nachos while I rushed about calling and texting siblings, changing swim diapers for the regular variety and trying to make my dog pee out side. That was a lost cause he was in a right state of panic after witnessing the commotion of the paramedics from the confines of his kennel.
An hour later, still in my swim suit I loaded the kids back into the car to fetch their uncle from his class. Marmie's taxi service was shut down along with her kitchen. I was glad to find my pants waiting for me in the car where I'd shoved them in our screaming escape from the pool. It's the little things, y'know? Putting those pants on really helped me dial back the frantic pace I'd fallen into.
There was talk of hip replacement. That was voted down and now Marmie's got two pins in her hip, five or so days hospital stay to look forward to, and another six weeks recovery after that.
I've just finished cleaning out her refrigerator. I was brutal. There was no way any of us were going to eat any of those left overs with out her here to reheat them and serve them to us, so I counted them as pre- spoiled. They might not have been bad now, but it would only be a matter of time. There's a stack of ironing to tackle, Ill have to wait on that until Dad comes home and can find me some hangers. What good would it do to iron any of it without a place to hang it when it's done?
I'll be gone by the time she comes home. I'm trying to think of things that will make it easier for her when she gets here.
I've got one really good idea. Here's hoping I can pull it off.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Back to life
After two and a half days as an awesome kick-A running runner chick during the Wasatch Back, I returned to my Mother in law's house, my children and my identity as a mother of three.
Picture this; three young children who've spent two weeks away from their home and their beds, plus two days and three nights away form their mother. Now, put those children in the bath tub and attempt to ready them and yourself for church. Sounds fun, no?
The crazy amount of longing for them I'd been collecting in my bosom over the previous days supplied me with the patience to get through it...almost. There was some screaming on my part toward the end of the ordeal when the New one would not tolerate being put down and Enzo refused to hold still while I put his shoes on.
The race was fantastic. I'm planning to write a sort of boring analysis of my running performance for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing, but for now I'll just share with you the things I learned over the course of the weekend.
I really honestly love to run.
Running hills is exhilarating.
I'm stronger than I thought I was.
I can do better.
I am sorely tempted to run the Las Vegas Ragnar in October.
I can do hard things.
Picture this; three young children who've spent two weeks away from their home and their beds, plus two days and three nights away form their mother. Now, put those children in the bath tub and attempt to ready them and yourself for church. Sounds fun, no?
The crazy amount of longing for them I'd been collecting in my bosom over the previous days supplied me with the patience to get through it...almost. There was some screaming on my part toward the end of the ordeal when the New one would not tolerate being put down and Enzo refused to hold still while I put his shoes on.
The race was fantastic. I'm planning to write a sort of boring analysis of my running performance for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing, but for now I'll just share with you the things I learned over the course of the weekend.
I really honestly love to run.
Running hills is exhilarating.
I'm stronger than I thought I was.
I can do better.
I am sorely tempted to run the Las Vegas Ragnar in October.
I can do hard things.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
It's quiet time
The new one is sleeping. Enzo is in the next room not sleeping. Actually he's crying at the moment. Zizza is up stairs experimenting with the world of heat-vent communication. "Enz, hello? This is your sister speaking"
I'm going over lists. Lists of what to pack for the race, what I need, what I have, where I need to go to get what I need, etc. I can't wait for it to be all over.
I'm looking forward to it, I am, but it will be so nice to spend some of my vacation vacationing instead of worrying and preparing for some event or other. My arrival at exchange 29 on Saturday morning will commence my freedom.
I'm going over lists. Lists of what to pack for the race, what I need, what I have, where I need to go to get what I need, etc. I can't wait for it to be all over.
I'm looking forward to it, I am, but it will be so nice to spend some of my vacation vacationing instead of worrying and preparing for some event or other. My arrival at exchange 29 on Saturday morning will commence my freedom.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Welcome
My love, to your twenty-ninth year.
Hopefully my absence on your birthday wasn't completely devastating. Sorry I forgot to mention it on the phone today, I guess I lose a few wife points for that.
The nine days I've been 28 have been pretty good, here's hoping your first few days of twenty-eight year-old-hood are equally pleasant.
Hopefully my absence on your birthday wasn't completely devastating. Sorry I forgot to mention it on the phone today, I guess I lose a few wife points for that.
The nine days I've been 28 have been pretty good, here's hoping your first few days of twenty-eight year-old-hood are equally pleasant.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Despite what you may think, this is not a paid advertisement.
We went to heaven on Saturday. Heaven is alternately titled "Leatherby's Family Creamery". I never feel quite right if I don't go once while I'm in town. I don't need a menu, I always order the same thing. The BLT with fries and plenty of Fry sauce
Just look at that. Heaven on a plate.
Do you know what fry sauce is? If you're not a Utahn I'm guessing that's a "no". It's ketchup and mayonnaise all mixed up together. Some places use barbecue sauce instead of ketchup. My high school cafeteria used Miracle whip instead of mayonnaise which rendered the stuff unconsumable (I have a very low miracle whip tolerance) What ever the recipe, fry sauce is a fast food staple here in the Beehive State. Leatherby's has the best fry sauce I've ever encountered. The balance of ketchup to mayo is perfection and they've gone the extra mile by adding finely diced onion to the mix.
Heaven.
Heaven on a fry.
Speaking of fries, the ones pictured above are every bit as good as they look. Crunchy on the out side and melt in your mouth tender on the inside. You know how generally, even in the best batch of fries there a few that are too mushy, or a little underdone, or both? The mushy, raw potato tasting fry is a sorry, sorry thing indeed. Anyway, I've never encountered a bad fry from Leatherby's. Never.
Zizza, with her general dislike of potatoes isn't even tempted by the deep fried golden splendor. She ordered a side salad to accompany her grilled cheese and was completely content with her decision. That preference will serve her well in years to come.
Enzo isn't hampered by any such distaste, neither is the Mr. They both enjoyed their fries immensely. Lucky for me neither of them enjoyed their fry sauce as much as I enjoyed mine so when my little cup was wiped clean, there were two more waiting for me.
When the fries are all gone, and I'm thinking about finishing off the fry sauce with a spoon, it's time to order ice cream. Here's what I get.
It's called "Hamilton's sundae" (It used to be "Sarah's" I'm still a little upset about the change) I order it with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge sauce and extra hot fudge sauce on the side. Usually, I request no cherry but Zizza and I were sharing this time and she wanted it, as you can clearly see by the way she couldn't wait for me to snap the photo before she snatched it off the top.
In my earlier days, I ordered "Maryanne's hot fudge sundae" which is about three time's the size of Hamilton's and has bananas at the bottom. I miss the banana, but Maryanne's is just plain too big.
Once, last summer I think it was, I had the best server in the place. I think he must be part of the family because he's been there for freaking ever. Seriously, I remember ordering my first BLT from him something like fifteen years ago. Anyway, I told him how my girl doesn't like fries or potato chips and he asked if she'd like sliced bananas as her side item instead, to which I answered "Heck to the yes!" so she got the bananas and there were some left over for me to have with my hot fudge Hamilton's and it was absolutely perfect. I asked my server yesterday if she could give us banana's instead of fries and she said "No"
Jerk.
Anyway, here's how I eat this thing. I start by scooping off the outer layer of ice cream that already has a nice hot fudge coating. When all of that is gobbled up, I dip my spoon in the hot fudge like this.
Just ignore that other spoon, Zizza once again couldn't wait for me to snap my photo to indulge her tastes.
Using my chocolaty spoon, I scoop myself a bite of vanilla bliss, like such;
Heaven on a spoon.
This is the best way to get the perfect fudge to ice cream ratio in every bite. Give it a try, you'll see just how right I am and then you'll sing praises to my name... or something.
Now for the best part. The melted gooey deliciousness that drips to the plate below.
Man that's good.
By this point, I was feeling rather ill and ready to go home. It was worth it though. It's always worth it.
Just look at that. Heaven on a plate.
Do you know what fry sauce is? If you're not a Utahn I'm guessing that's a "no". It's ketchup and mayonnaise all mixed up together. Some places use barbecue sauce instead of ketchup. My high school cafeteria used Miracle whip instead of mayonnaise which rendered the stuff unconsumable (I have a very low miracle whip tolerance) What ever the recipe, fry sauce is a fast food staple here in the Beehive State. Leatherby's has the best fry sauce I've ever encountered. The balance of ketchup to mayo is perfection and they've gone the extra mile by adding finely diced onion to the mix.
Heaven.
Heaven on a fry.
Speaking of fries, the ones pictured above are every bit as good as they look. Crunchy on the out side and melt in your mouth tender on the inside. You know how generally, even in the best batch of fries there a few that are too mushy, or a little underdone, or both? The mushy, raw potato tasting fry is a sorry, sorry thing indeed. Anyway, I've never encountered a bad fry from Leatherby's. Never.
Zizza, with her general dislike of potatoes isn't even tempted by the deep fried golden splendor. She ordered a side salad to accompany her grilled cheese and was completely content with her decision. That preference will serve her well in years to come.
Enzo isn't hampered by any such distaste, neither is the Mr. They both enjoyed their fries immensely. Lucky for me neither of them enjoyed their fry sauce as much as I enjoyed mine so when my little cup was wiped clean, there were two more waiting for me.
When the fries are all gone, and I'm thinking about finishing off the fry sauce with a spoon, it's time to order ice cream. Here's what I get.
It's called "Hamilton's sundae" (It used to be "Sarah's" I'm still a little upset about the change) I order it with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge sauce and extra hot fudge sauce on the side. Usually, I request no cherry but Zizza and I were sharing this time and she wanted it, as you can clearly see by the way she couldn't wait for me to snap the photo before she snatched it off the top.
In my earlier days, I ordered "Maryanne's hot fudge sundae" which is about three time's the size of Hamilton's and has bananas at the bottom. I miss the banana, but Maryanne's is just plain too big.
Once, last summer I think it was, I had the best server in the place. I think he must be part of the family because he's been there for freaking ever. Seriously, I remember ordering my first BLT from him something like fifteen years ago. Anyway, I told him how my girl doesn't like fries or potato chips and he asked if she'd like sliced bananas as her side item instead, to which I answered "Heck to the yes!" so she got the bananas and there were some left over for me to have with my hot fudge Hamilton's and it was absolutely perfect. I asked my server yesterday if she could give us banana's instead of fries and she said "No"
Jerk.
Anyway, here's how I eat this thing. I start by scooping off the outer layer of ice cream that already has a nice hot fudge coating. When all of that is gobbled up, I dip my spoon in the hot fudge like this.
Just ignore that other spoon, Zizza once again couldn't wait for me to snap my photo to indulge her tastes.
Using my chocolaty spoon, I scoop myself a bite of vanilla bliss, like such;
Heaven on a spoon.
This is the best way to get the perfect fudge to ice cream ratio in every bite. Give it a try, you'll see just how right I am and then you'll sing praises to my name... or something.
Now for the best part. The melted gooey deliciousness that drips to the plate below.
Man that's good.
By this point, I was feeling rather ill and ready to go home. It was worth it though. It's always worth it.
Friday, June 12, 2009
In reality
I have not died.
The wedding is over. It was magical.
There were some fitting issues. I was not satisfied with my work, but I won't dwell on it.
It turned out there were 8 flower girls, not the seven I'd prepared for. Somewhere along the way I lost the info about one little five year old. Luckily I went over the dresses with the bride Tuesday evening so I had Wednesday to make the last dress and be ready for the wedding on Thursday.
The little faerie girls were lovely.
My camera ran out of batteries about a half an hour in to the festivities. Someday when I've put a charged battery in it I'll post some photos.
I am a tired girl. I'm relieved though. Now all I have to worry about is running and running is a worry. The last minute sewing encroached on my training.
I've only managed about four miles since Saturday and this day week I'll be starting the race.
Heaven help me.
The wedding is over. It was magical.
There were some fitting issues. I was not satisfied with my work, but I won't dwell on it.
It turned out there were 8 flower girls, not the seven I'd prepared for. Somewhere along the way I lost the info about one little five year old. Luckily I went over the dresses with the bride Tuesday evening so I had Wednesday to make the last dress and be ready for the wedding on Thursday.
The little faerie girls were lovely.
My camera ran out of batteries about a half an hour in to the festivities. Someday when I've put a charged battery in it I'll post some photos.
I am a tired girl. I'm relieved though. Now all I have to worry about is running and running is a worry. The last minute sewing encroached on my training.
I've only managed about four miles since Saturday and this day week I'll be starting the race.
Heaven help me.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sleep tight
Tucking Enzo into bed is always an adventure. After saying his prayers, he lays in his bed, with his thick little arm wrapped tightly around my neck, and requests songs for me to sing. He throws out requests like "Boat Song" "Bear Song" "Car Song" and I troll through my memory trying to come up with something to fit the request.
"Boat Song," When he requests it from me, means "Dip Dip and Swing" which is my daddy's stand by lullaby. Though sometimes he wants "row row row" and he informs me of the discrepancy.
If he asks the Mr. for the boat song what he means is "Beautiful Boy".
He surprised me with a request for a "Lion Song" a few weeks ago. "Do I know a lion song?" I wondered. After a bit of thought I came up with
"Leo the Lion is the king of the Jungle
And his jaws are big and wide
(Roar!)
Leo the Lion when he roars it's a warning
That you better run away and hide!
(Roar!)"
Leo is somewhat of a stand by now.
Tonight he stumped me asking for a "tiger song" I drew a complete blank and had to think fast to make something up. I sang;
"Once there was a tiger
who lived in the jungle,
and he ate a monkey
for a mid-night snack"
to whatever discordant string of notes issued forth from my lips.
As I was contemplating this post, it occurred to me that he probably wanted "Eye of the Tiger" which we sang in a family Rock Band session a few days ago. Oh well, he didn't complain so I guess it's all good.
We finished off tonight's set of requests with the "Book Song" to which I responded sans hesitation with a hearty "Matthew, Mark, Lu-uke, John, "The Acts, and The Romans..." proceeding on to include all of the books in The New Testament. Somewhere there's a Primary Chorister who deserves a pat on the back for that one.
"Boat Song," When he requests it from me, means "Dip Dip and Swing" which is my daddy's stand by lullaby. Though sometimes he wants "row row row" and he informs me of the discrepancy.
If he asks the Mr. for the boat song what he means is "Beautiful Boy".
He surprised me with a request for a "Lion Song" a few weeks ago. "Do I know a lion song?" I wondered. After a bit of thought I came up with
"Leo the Lion is the king of the Jungle
And his jaws are big and wide
(Roar!)
Leo the Lion when he roars it's a warning
That you better run away and hide!
(Roar!)"
Leo is somewhat of a stand by now.
Tonight he stumped me asking for a "tiger song" I drew a complete blank and had to think fast to make something up. I sang;
"Once there was a tiger
who lived in the jungle,
and he ate a monkey
for a mid-night snack"
to whatever discordant string of notes issued forth from my lips.
As I was contemplating this post, it occurred to me that he probably wanted "Eye of the Tiger" which we sang in a family Rock Band session a few days ago. Oh well, he didn't complain so I guess it's all good.
We finished off tonight's set of requests with the "Book Song" to which I responded sans hesitation with a hearty "Matthew, Mark, Lu-uke, John, "The Acts, and The Romans..." proceeding on to include all of the books in The New Testament. Somewhere there's a Primary Chorister who deserves a pat on the back for that one.
Do you think...
birthday cakes are sorry when the party is over?
With the main event of their lives, the very reason for their creation completed the remains of the cake sit crumbling, dejected, lost?
This cake has no reason to feel that depression that comes with natural decline and lack of purpose. I enjoyed the piece I ate just now every bit as much as the one I welcomed to my mouth during last night's festivities.
Fear not, my sweet friend. I have delicious plans for the rest of you as well.
With the main event of their lives, the very reason for their creation completed the remains of the cake sit crumbling, dejected, lost?
This cake has no reason to feel that depression that comes with natural decline and lack of purpose. I enjoyed the piece I ate just now every bit as much as the one I welcomed to my mouth during last night's festivities.
Fear not, my sweet friend. I have delicious plans for the rest of you as well.
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