Recipe For a Happy Home

"Begin with love and lots of caring. Add some trust, enough for sharing. You'll need forgiveness to make it right and plenty of laughter to keep it light.

Stir in some patience to bind it together. With understanding it holds even better. Add hugs and I love yous wherever you will, then pour on some praise but don't overfill.

Stir very lightly, leave room to grow. Don't bother with lumps, they won't even show. Spread on the topping of genuine pleasure. Your happy home will be a treasure forever."

Thank you Kathleen for the beautiful plate, it's located on the wall next to Grandma's hutch. It contains a recipe that I will always keep close to my heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've always wondered when I would finally "feel like a woman." Like when will I actually not feel like such a kid anymore?! I am 31 after all... I thought maybe once I had kids the shift would happen, but actually I figured it out this week. Feeling like a woman is when you cook dinner for your family (most nights) and keep the house in good operating condition. I feel organized, I feel "together," I feel that yes I CAN actually cook after all. Damn...I feel like a woman! Ha!

Pet Cemetery

One part of living on "the farm" (just wondering...does there need to be cows and pigs to call it a farm?)that I will never get used to is that the animals will die. There are SO many cats. My mom affectionately calls all of them "Momma Kitty." One day, a cat rounded the corner and my mom yells out "Grandma Kitty!" I thought we were all going to pass out from laughter. I had never heard her call any of them anything other than "Momma Kittys". But, apparantly Grandma Kitty is the one who started it all. Myself and the kids like to name the cats...there is Lion Kitty, Precious, Randy, Chloe, etc. But, the problem is that once you name a cat anything other than "Momma Kitty" you become attached.

One of the cats on the property, Frankie, has been sick for a few weeks. Not eating, not moving much. Last night Frankie died in our backyard at Grandma's house (I might always refer to the house as Grandma's house). I was so upset all night about it. 36 acres of land and he chooses our backyard. I kept waking up throughout the night thinking about him laying out there. Today, my Dad buried him. We have a true pet cemetery on the property. There are horses, cats, dogs, birds. Any "pet" that has ever died on the land has been given a proper buriel.

When an animal dies I immediatly feel like a little kid again. It's always like experiencing death for the first time for me. It's hard to shake.

Rest in peace, Frankie.