It is easy to read into this picture what happened – a mom stuffed a barely awake toddler into her just finished sweater to document the fact that she finally sewed on the buttons after a lot of neglect. Then the toddler stands outside in the breeze with her bed-head puffing into the wind, being testy with siblings who approach the pumpkins which she is guarding. But she is also very pleased with her sweater and won’t let anyone take it off after we go inside. And mom is pretty pleased too – because finishing something is all part of the fun of starting it!

We have been without photos for a few posts, so I thought I’d share one. Here are a few of my latest apples – destined to become yucky for sure. Very cost effective if you don’t mind using your time wastefully – which I clearly don’t. Pretty soon I’ll shake these off my branches and into the dirty dishwater, but not just yet!

When I was in junior high and a little bit of high school we lived in an old farmhouse that had grown into the middle of town. In the side yard, right outside my window were two old apple trees. And year after year they made apples. I clearly remember lying in bed at night and hearing the apples falling off the tree – not occasionally, but continually. They were just thumping on the ground all through the night. And these trees had been throwing apples on the ground every August for probably 90 years or so. It is something I love about fruit bearing trees and bushes – that God told them to make something, and they do it enthusiastically. They don’t care about what happens to the fruit. They do not measure their efforts, or fuss when no one appreciates it.

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So you might not get a recipe out of me anytime soon (give me five weeks or so), and you might not hear from me very much (what can I say – the computer is by the kitchen and I can only hold my breath for so long), but I am actually still alive! Thanks for all the well wishes – we got to see “baby pinto” yesterday, waving arm and leg buds at us, and we are, of course, already in love. It is still hard for me to grasp how one (yes, one!) little baby, who is still best measured in millimeters can unsettle a family to this extent, but here we are, completely unsettled! I am redeeming the time by compiling yet more information for my booklet “Practical Puking: The Morning Sick Mother’s Guide” in which I will address many concerns that you do not read about in pregnancy books. I think I will include a whole section on keeping people you love from eating onions, how to ignore reader boards advertising Chicken Fritters, and what to do about the nagging problem of splash-back. Maybe even a section for journaling, with feminine cursive writing at the top “Places I’ve Puked,” and “My Most Embarrassing Puking Story.” I’m sure this thing would sell like crazy – right?!

So, a little rodeo round-up before I move on to a recipe and feign total ignorance of this whole topic! I’d like to drive by a few random bits and pieces from various comments and address them in no particular order.

First of all I would like to point out a few things about the debate in itself. In a healthy Christian community there will always be differences between the people in them. But the differences were there before anyone talked about it. Talking about our differences, working through them, and not being afraid to say out loud what side of the line you land on is not uniquely Christian, but staying in fellowship while you do it is. It is a hallmark of a functioning family. When something is rubbing us the wrong way, we stay together and Read More

 So, Hannah makes a fun point in the comments on the last post. Her question was concerning the border lines between when something is way over the line,  and when it is generally accepted as normal. I think we all agree that things just change over time, and that Grandpa’s opinion about make-up is probably not so current. If you think about it though, if you were right on the historical line with make-up, when it was just spreading its wings beyond the brothel, what would say about it to your daughters? And after enough girls in the town were doing it that it wasn’t strictly the territory of the prostitutes, would you let them jump in?  This line of thought made me realize something – this system is broken.

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