B&RC Day 1

Last night we had our first of a week's worth of beans and rice meals to benefit not only ourselves, but Solid Rock International. (I think we were supposed to start yesterday morning. I've never been good at following rules! In the exception to every rule is where my strengths lie...!) I know. These aren't the type of beans you usually think of when "beans and rice" come to mind. But I had our last batch to use from the garden. So, it would seem this is how we do beans and rice here on the Deutsch Family Homestead. Who knew!?

For breakfast this morning, warmed leftover rice served in bowls (with cinnamon, sugar and milk). Cheating? Probably. Delicious? Certainly.

They have a nice little informative devotion to go along with each day. The Deutschlets are surprisingly into the challenge. Less of a surprise because of the menu ease, their mother is also into it!

In other news...

I don't know what to do. It's my beautiful Jayla. She's using the S H word.

Regularly.

As in, "I don't want to S H ---!" I'm scared to S H ---!" "Will it hurt to S H ---?"

What to do when you're innocently parked on a seat at Dairy Queen one glorious summer afternoon, next to your wee precious tiny bundle o' joy, savoring each and every red plastic spoonful of sweet ice milky Reece's peanut buttery deliciousness (in your respective buy-one-get-one-for $.99 mini blizzards, THANK YOU, DQ!) and you nonchalantly glance over to your beloved, sitting on your right, suddenly noticing (to your great horror and dismay) that the hair on your child's legs is beginning to resemble what lies atop Rapunzel's head?

H-h-h-how could this be h-h-happ-ppen-ing? Sh-sh-she's jjjjjjjust a b-b-baby!

My mouth falls open. My poor eyes. They beg me to drip. My pitiful brain. It will not obey my demand to accept this unpleasant reality. My heart. It aches. I curse time. A most dreadful thief, callously stealing my babies away with no thought for the tenuous fragility of their mother's soundness of mind.

Wait a sec - we were talking about you, weren't we?

You realize, as much as it feels as though you are still 26 years young and this darling angel girl of yours must be taken promptly home after her ice cream for a nappy change and an afternoon slumber fest, you are in fact a dozen years older. And so is she. The last decade has elapsed in such a blur it hardly seems conceivable. You scratch your head in wonder. How could this possibly be? Yet, there is no denying the evidence that more days and nights than you can recall have sped by. The proof is growing all over her lanky limbs, beckoning to be braided as you soothingly sing kumbaya to her. Or, you could teach her to...

S H A V E

I T

O F F.

It's time to pull out the big guns. Or, in this case, the small pink Schick.

I have no idea what I'm doing. Is there an instructional video for this kind of thing?

Given the rapid succession with which our 7-kids-in-a-6-year-span will enter puberty, I have a feeling it's going to get mighty hairy around here.

**Published with express permission from the gorgeous 12 year old. I love that young lady and her sense of humor. If we don't laugh together I will surely cry.

Coloring during our attention time yesterday.

For old times' sake.

Like we used to when she was a nearly hairless little thing....