Nothing like frozen weather...

There is nothing quite like subfreezing temperatures and a 20 mph breeze to get the morning started. I'm out milking in all kinds of weather. Being tough. Complaining just a tad. Yeah, I know, I know, I know. It could have been worse. It could have been raining. But hey, since I choose this lifestyle, I should at least be considerate and use the opportunity to offer it up for someone. I remembered this morning.

I'm really blessed, though. I have the type of husband who not only has the cup of hot tea waiting for me when I get back inside, but who also takes the evening milking. Not only is it colder when he does his share of the chore, it's also dark!

Baa humbug...

Fair Warning...

I got hit by a nasty virus. It ate my virus protection first. Bad, bug, bad!

Just letting you know. In case it came in through my e-mail, accept nothing from me (andychrism) over the next few days. I'll get it wiped as soon as I can.

The power of love...Grandparents

As you are running around cleaning today, eating tomorrow, and shopping Friday, remember to love.

Here's a little story...

My foster daughter lived with us for the most part from the age of two weeks old to one year (and a few months) when she went to live more permanently with a relative. She came back to us again when she was two years old.

The first day back in our home, she was confused. She'd been bounced around and had experiences that led to a removal from that relative's home. We were so happy to have her back with us, and of course we remembered her, but she had that wary, uncertain look about her that children shouldn't ever, ever have.

She would sit in my lap for hugs. She'd let my husband carry her. She would stand next to the other kids, but her thumb was in her mouth, her smiles were brief, and she was stiff, poised to run. That is until my mother came over.

No sooner had my little foster girl's wide and searching eyes landed on my mom, than her arms were up, asking mutely to be picked up. Mom, still in the hallway and hardly in the house, scooped her little Sissy into her embrace.

She melted into my mother. That moment changed everything. She remembered her Nana. She was safe. Her tiny body finally relaxed as she hid her face in my mother's shoulder. When she surfaced again, peeking at us from the depths of that hug, she was finally smiling. She had come home.

If you ever, ever wonder about what it means to be a grandparent, there aren't any words. Just an image of a poor lost little girl who couldn't quite remember the family who loved her until she was safe again in her grandmother's arms.

The Pope and Condoms: A response

I got an e-mail from a friend wondering what in the world was going on in the Catholic Church. According to the media, the Church had changed it's teaching. Impossible. It simply can't. The media got it wrong. Again and as usual.

The response:

Sent: Mon, Nov 22, 2010 01:29 PM


It looks like people are listening to the media again, P***, who reported that the Pope said the exact opposite of what he actually said. Also, this was an interview and not him sitting down with pen and paper to clearly articulate each and every word. I've been interviewed once, and everything I wanted to say wasn't said and what I did say looked very different in the article itself. It really was odd.

The whole of the comment, which I've read, makes clear that what the pope is saying is that you can use the fact that the man is using a condom to explain to him that there are limits to his behavior. To show him that even he is aware that he can't just do whatever he wants, which is the stated belief of the culture. The pope does go on to say that condoms are NOT the answer, that the church is NOT changing it's stance, and that condoms spread disease and are a part of the problem. It's like evangelizing a bank robber, "See? You don't shoot the teller because it's wrong to kill, agreed? Now, about that bank robbing..."

The media wants the church to change its mind so it can continue to beat the drum that salvation is through Latex Alone. It'll do anything it can to make it look that way. One of the main problems with communicating with the media is that the Church, the Pope, and the Lord refuse to communicate in sound bytes. You have to get the whole of the communication and not the itty bitty parts. Even then, the world wants its sin justified and will take anything and twist it to that end.

If you're not being persecuted, misunderstood, and misquoted, you're not doing it right. Right?

Here's some other links you might want to look at:http://lisagraas.com/2010/11/20/some-big-change-from-the-pope-on-condom-use/
http://www.nationalreview.com/articles/print/253679
http://lisagraas.com/2010/11/20/this-may-be-the-most-irresponsible-article-ever-written-at-huffpo/

Real Kids Eat Quiche

Not my quiche. Mine didn't last much past the litany,
"WegonnaeatyetisthatreadyyetwhenwegonnaeatcanIhavethebiggestpiece?"

Quick Crustless Quiche
a.k.a. Egg Pizza

(makes 2--freezes well)

1 chub breakfast sausage
1 cup mayo
1 cup milk
5 eggs
2 Tbs cornstarch
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1 can chopped spinach, drained well
1 medium onion chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Brown and scramble sausage in skillet. About midway through browning, add onions. Cook until meat is done and onions are translucent. Set aside. Mix mayo, milk, eggs, spices, and cornstarch. Stir in onion, cheese, meat, and spinach. Divide and pour into two quiche dishes or pie pans greased well or treated with non-stick cooking spray. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes until golden brown or until knife inserted into center comes out clean.

Prep time: 20 minutes
Cook time: 30 to 40 minutes
Eat time: Gone in 60 seconds!

Wordless Wednesday

vs.

I did it!

My poor husband. He is having to work overtime and he's getting his days off switched at the start of the next pay period, which means he's worked 14 days with one day off in there somewhere. He's thankful. He's tired. He's trying so hard not to be cranky. So this morning as he's getting ready for yet another workday in a long string of days, I asked him, "Is there anything I can do to make your day a little easier?"

He smiled, relieved, and said there was--I could clean "the spot." (ack!)



(not mine, not my house, I'm not cleaning that)



Every home has one, that spot that gathers papers and randomness. My spot is the useless "bar" in my kitchen. It's too tall to use for kitchen work like cutting, mixing, or kneading and too shallow in leg room to use as any kind of table. It's tall enough to lean on but positioned oddly enough in the room that you'd actually be leaning away from any place any person would likely be. You could gaze thoughtfully into the clock face while leaning, but that's about it. The bar is just there for dust and detritus.

I dump my purse on it, the diaper bag, my bills, my keys, the box of tissues, the kids' schoolwork, the family datebook, the address book, the pens, my keys?, catalogs and magazines I'm going to get to, the glue I want to stash out of the kids reach, that slip of paper with that guy's number on it I'm supposed to call for that thing I can't remember now but it's right next to the hairbrush that's not put away again, girls, how many times do I have to ask you to put your things away when you're done with them and here is that paper I needed last week with the directions to that store I guess I can just toss that later after I find my keys, oh yeah this business card I need to save that number to put into my phone, and have you seen my stupid keys for crying out loud? I put them right here on the bar!



He wanted me to clean that up. As much as my heart sank when he said that, I realized it was the least I could do. The bar is central to the house. If it is a mess, the whole house looks messy. Visually, it's unappealing, and it's my mess. So, after avoiding it for most of the day, I managed to get it all cleaned up during the younger kids' naps. Most of it was attractive trash--it looked too good to toss directly from the mailbox to the trash bin but age had worn away its appeals--the rest was mostly filing that needing doing and a few odds and ends that quickly found their long lost homes. I was done in less than an hour--probably much less time than I would have spent looking for stuff that the stuff pile would have eaten this week.

 My husband was so happy to actually see the surface of the bar when he came home today, I almost didn't have the heart to tell him he'd actually done me the favor. He's saved me a lot of frustration this upcoming week.

Shopping with God

via The Ironic Catholic.

Watching the expressions of the shoppers, one or two stand out by the raw longing on their faces. At the risk of sounding un-ironic and un-cool, and oh-so-very-un-postmodern, I would tell them if I could that yes, really, there is love and beauty and joy in the world, it just isn't of this world.
It's in His Hands...

An agony of the soul...

Rozanne and my young friends, please do not read any further.

My heart is breaking not only for the persecuted Christians of Iraq but for the heard hearted of the West. We who watch television to be entertained by images such as these during our nightly rounds through the channels, who hunger for the close up when the fictitious forensics team speculate not only who did it but exactly how, all for our grisly and perverse pleasures; we who have no more compassion left that television writers must have an animal killed senselessly in our fiction for us to even bat an eye!  We in the West are amazingly wealthy in material goods. Our most impoverished live better than kings ever did in our history, and yet we are so impoverished in our souls that we watch eagerly for the slaughter and splatter marks because we feel so little otherwise.

This is the precious face that will turn the channel for me, this little one will ensure I never let the horror of our entertainments ever again into my home. This is the face I see when you have your little jokes about the ignorance and intolerance of Christians or when you complain that the Church is full of sinners and so isn't good enough for you. I will chew on my tongue and swallow the outrage of this image of death at the hands of those who really do hate, as I politely and hopefully move a bit in my pew to make room for you. I sit in the hypocrite and sinners section myself, next to my own overblown pride!


Oh my Jesus, accept into the abode
of your most compassionate heart
the lives of those slain at your very altar!