Silly

This kid of mine? He wants to have fun. Always.











Unless he's busy whining. He can fuss and whine like nobody's business. Otherwise he's all the time silly.

simple moments is about finding the small things that make up our everyday, things we want to remember and be thankful for. it's the little bits of our lives that might not be remembered when we are gray and old. so we document it, on paper, with a photo, in a journal, through a blog

Project Bean

Kids cooperate, intense, common goal.









Rattlesnake Snap Beans, given to us by a seed-saving kindred spirit. These will climb tee-pees made from last year's sunflower stalks... at least, that's the plan.

Pink tulips

I bought myself some flowers, which has nothing to do with Valentine's Day. They're pretty, and whether it feels like it or not, it is winter.



Winter allows for self-indulgent things that make me happy. Like hot cocoa with a tiny bit of instant coffee, and fresh cut flowers that did not grow anywhere near here.



It's an acceptable way of self-medicating for these tiring February days.

Pink is so not my color. I like these anyway.



They remind me that it's warm enough to grow things somewhere, and that my turn will come.


Shot with the Lensbaby 2.0, no longer available - similar to the Lensbaby Muse
and super wide angle accessory

Natural consequences

So cliché, but true. It was one of those days.

The kids caught me enjoying a mug of apple cider. Shortly after, the jug was empty. Boo hoo.



My little Bean fell into the toilet. When you have a really small behind, singing and dancing while you sit on the pot is not the very best idea. But like I've said before, she is a tough cookie and recovered from it surprisingly quick. Sometimes the best lessons are the ones with natural consequences.

The big rooster. *sigh* He decided to pick a fight with me.

I know that look in his eye. The way he cocked his head to the side and stepped toward me. That confrontational moment. If you don't know roosters, dear reader, let me tell you one thing. You never back down. Or you lose. You must always ALWAYS be the bigger rooster. Even when Spring seems to be on track for an early arrival and the big daddy roo-a-roo hormones are raging. The dude has long sharp spurs, and his attitude toward my small children depends on who he perceives as being in charge here.

That would be me. No room for error.

(Or my husband. I'm okay with that too.)

Red picked an interesting moment for the battle. I had just stepped out of the barn, holding my little girl, who was in turn holding two fragile eggs... which meant I didn't have a lot of speed or ability to put my actually-yes-I-am-the-bigger-rooster moves on him. You might think that gave him the advantage, but it only meant he wasn't as soundly punished as he might have otherwise been.

Don't worry. His ego was really the only thing bruised.

My first grader decided his school lunch was inedible. When you try to fuel your entire day on nothing but (okay, thankfully he had his hearty oatmeal breakfast) three cupcakes and a handful of baby-sized carrots... and then decide the pasta mom made for supper is gross... it makes everyone's evening rotten.

And then, when I splashed into rather than stepped through my kitchen, I decided it wasn't such a bad thing. Because the floor probably needed to be cleaned anyway. I tried to fix the problem, but it appeared I only made it worse, so I decided a bucket would be a fine temporary fix. I am many things, but a plumber? Not me. I have experience in my prior life in the exciting world of Biotechnology, where I did honestly try to be a plumber on occasion. It involved three hundred rabbits, a plugged drain, a shop vac and some duct tape. The whole truth, I swear.

I realized that with this amazing mild winter we've had, I could be using my clothesline. Something I love. I was sort of frustrated that it hadn't crossed my mind a few months ago.



So it seemed somehow appropriate that the next morning, my sheets were still tangled up out there, crusted with frost and flapping in the fog.

Room in the Barn

The kids were in bed. I bet it was forty minutes we'd spent, standing there in the kitchen reading bits and pieces of what we'd scrounged up on the internet. He, surprisingly, seemed almost receptive to the idea. I was giddy.


I headed across the room to look for a snack but stopped right in the middle of the floor, and started jumping up and down like a two-year-old.

"I want an emu!"

He raised his eyebrows.

I couldn't stop.

"I want an elephant!"

Completely ridiculous ideas make not quite as ridiculous ones look even better.


"We will never have an elephant", he said. Matter of fact. (see, the emu has a chance)

But that seemed beyond ridiculous to me.

"What if we live in India someday? Then we might have an elephant."


"We will never have an elephant", he repeated.

"But think how the kids will laugh watching it splash around in the pool!"

He gave me that look, "What am I gonna do... drive it to work?"

A good reason for vodka

Whenever my niece is here we cook all day long. I have no idea why. It's just what we do. Half-way through dumping ingredients for banana bread into the stand mixer today, after she falsely accused me of not having enough flour, we realized the vanilla extract did not smell like vanilla.

It was time.

*rubbing my hands together in glee*

There are, perhaps, many reason to have vodka in the house. Or, perhaps, not... depending on your relationship or lack thereof with alcohol. But every house needs vodka, I think, for this one reason if for no other.

The lovely couple: A cheap bottle of vodka and a stunningly gorgeous organic vanilla bean.



Grab a knife. Things are gonna get just a bit violent. But first, good luck getting the bean back while everyone is waving it under their nose once. Or twice. You may have to threaten and blackmail and arm wrestle some of the small children to get it back.

The bean is that unreal.

Amazing new technology! Scratch and sniff! Watch out for the knife.



Didn't work? Sorry.

Ha. Hahahah!

Did I mention vodka?

Caution: Don't drink while dissecting your vanilla bean (or blogging)



Slice one side all the way down the length, but only half-way through the width. This exposes all the millions of wonderful tiny itty bitty balls of vanilla goodness that are hiding in there. Do it on wax paper in case any of them escape. You must not lose a single one.

It's okay if they get on your fingers.

Mmmmmmmm...



I've been using reusing this old vanilla extract bottle since 2004. I've been using reusing my jug of laundry detergent that long too. I'm darn proud of both.

Here's the really difficult part. Put the vodka down and pay attention!

(It took me over a minute to find an exclamation point for that last sentence. And did any of you notice that at the end of yesterday's blog post I thought today was the 10th? I took half of my 10 on 10 pictures before I realized it. Help. Someone help me. I've misplaced my brain. And there's a hen sleeping in my entryway.)

Yes, pay attention people.

Bravely shove that bean right in.



Then, drown it.



And there you have it. Homemade vanilla extract for a tiny fraction of the cost of store bought. Today it doesn't smell like anything special, but let it sit for a couple weeks and the wonderful will nearly kill you every time you open the lid. As you use it bit by bit, keep adding more vodka to fill it up. A year and a half later when it loses that yummy vanilla scent, you grab yourself a new bean and start fresh again.

So easy. And frugal. And fun.

I love this.