mumbling and fumbling my way through backyard restoration
Ya know, sometimes you miss one and you get this:
Which of these things is not like the other one.
And sometimes you miss one and you get this:
Yep, that’s a face tatt.
David said, “How?” And I said, “What?? Ok, so maybe I handed them the wet paper towels and didn’t supervise…”
Look, at least it’s not a gang sign.
On second thought…
That would explain SO MUCH…
Do you think somewhere out there there’s a guy named Shane Danka?
I planted some little pickling cucumbers this season and thought I’d try my hand at canning them.
SUCCESS.
Nothing makes me feel like more of a genius than getting something right in the kitchen.
I also like to forget about that time I did this to a box cake mix.
Okie dokie lil’ smokie.
My success may have something to do with the amount of sugar in the pickling brine. Whatevs. Let the one with no sin cast the first stone.
My success may have also had something to do with the fact that the bitties were super occupied with this endless game of “mother” they were playing while I tried my hand at canning.
Whoever invented that game…WELL…my heartfelt appreciation. Bet it was Danka, Shane.
“Mom, what’s a hipster? Is it a girl who puts her hands on her hips?”
“Yes. Yes, indeed it is.”
Parenting tip #1 and only: Keep ’em down to earth with manual labor.
I am loving these pink eye purple hull cowpeas. We boil them up in a pot with bacon or ham stock, add some black pepper, and talk about our grandmothers.
It just feels right to shell beans.
I look at it like this: if you manage to spend an entire day sunscreening up two very wiggly bitties every 30 minutes without audibly cursing, you should probably reward yourself with half a bag of powdered doughnuts a healthy and productive activity you enjoy.
Call me nostalgic, call me old-fashioned, call me Kelly {like my former boss used to…} I don’t care…just call me when it’s time to shell the beans.
I’ve figured it out…
And I’m an idiot.
We’ve had this mat for years now without incident. I’ve been in denial of what the bitties and George Orwell have been trying to tell me. I don’t know if they’ve just learned, or if they’re just now owning up to their literary prowess…regardless…I’ll leave them my copy of Watership Down…worst book ever if you ask me…
It’s officially safe to say that summer is kicking my tail. I know the day will come when it’s 11 am and I’m wondering where my children are. “Oh yeah, they’re both still sleeping,” I will reply to myself with an eye roll. Alas, we are not there yet.
HEY MOTHERS DAY OUT TEACHERS: I LOVE YOU.
Now that it’s officially July in the deep south, the plants get used to a bit of additive in their watering routine…waste not, want not! Hey, it’ll all compost–right??
And if not…maybe it’ll kill the rabbits…
Whoda thunk?
Ground cherries.
They’re delicious!
The Smithsonian calls them a cherry tomato injected with pineapple and mango juice. I just call them tasty and unexpected. I sort of get the pineapple/mango thing, but really it’s more actual cherry to me. So I think I’ll go with a cross between a tomato and a cherry.
But want to know why I’m really enjoying them this season?
Because the rabbits don’t.
They grow inside a papery husk, just like a tomatillo. I didn’t know how to figure out when they were ripe, so we just started eating them. Turns out when the husk turns yellow they are super sweet, and that’s how we like them. I just looked online and I guess you’re supposed to technically wait until they naturally fall to the ground.
I like planting stuff that makes me feel like a settler.
Clearly that explains our other historical obsession…
Are you watching?
July 4th seemed like the appropriate day to ask the question. So consider me tossing a ground cherry so as to perfectly conk you square in the head…hey, if you haven’t tried Turn, Washington’s Spies, it’s really good.
