I'm sure we could sit around and rehash my less than stellar moments. I've shared more than is dignified. So I'm not gonna link to any. Pretty much rest assured that if you check over there in the sidebar and click on any month, your gonna find one of my antics.
And you thought this blog was all about the kids. Puh!
If I'd use the camera intentionally, I'd have shots of the kids doing things and I could blog about them. But apparently, I'm only capable of still life.
Saturday was beautifully overcast. We were hesitant to undertake any of our bigger outdoors projects, so we piddled about the house with little things. Well, I did. Joshua started his garden and washed my van.
I flitted from one ting to the next and never really got anything accomplished.
At some point, I must have felt industrious. I started bread. Then I popped it into the microwave to rise for a little while.
I started to iron, but that seemed like far too much focus for a Saturday. And the baby was fussing.
We'd made plans to spend the evening with friends from our college days. They have five children (just like us) with book-end boys (just like us) and the kids play brilliantly together! We ate and sang and visited until entirely too late by little people standards, and Joshua and I grinned as all of our kiddos zonked out on the ride home. We dragged into the house and all crashed within minutes.
Sunday dawned and the kids brought me beautifully made Mother's Day cards. I should document those on the blog. Because they were pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. We bustled about getting ready for church and didn't spend much time dwelling on breakfast.
After church, we drove around for an hour and a half waiting for me to have a stroke of brilliance as to what I wanted for lunch. Plus, the baby was sleeping, so we weren't in a hurry to wake him up. By the time all was said and done, we made it home about three in the afternoon.
Which is when I discovered this:
So apparently if you leave bread to rise for too long (like 20-ish hours longer than usual), it maxes out and then falls like a scared souffle.
And that's why the house smelled like a pub for Mother's Day.