This is me. And Willow, my camera.
Together we capture moments in the Granola Family life.
Together we can be quite annoying. But we work well
together.And later my legacy will thank me for it. In fact, some people even enjoy my pictures.
One day, February 13th to be exact, little me who wasn't so granola, met Hottie Hubby on a blind date. His name is Hottie Hubby because that is exactly what I think he is, HOT. YOU aren't allowed to even go there or think that. God gave The Hottie to me, Granola Wife.
The Hottie Hubby is a water engineer, which is probably why our kiddos love to build dams in the sand box, play in the rain, stomp in puddles, and throw rocks in a river. Hottie is probably the funniest person I know. Not only does he look good, but he is smart, a godly leader in our home, compassionate, creative, and insanely supportive of his emotional and dreamy wife. He loves to run, wrestle, date me (Awww! How cute!), read books, cook, eat chocolate, backpack in the snow, hike, and snowboard. In his spare time he reads my blog, changes diapers, and listens to me. I love him!
Here we are in Chicago, staring into a very large artistic structure. Creative don't you think? (Thanks for the idea, Sarah.)
Anyway, I am living life under the conviction of bringing my family closer to God by returning to traditional ways of eating, mothering, homeschooling, cloth diapering, gardening, and sewing while living alongside my husband, our three sons, and one furry lion hunter.
Let me introduce our three sons and the furry lion hunter.
Mr. Smackdown is my eldest. He is named Mr. Smackdown because of a game he and his dad play. Smackdown is simply defined as wrestling in our family. Mr. Smackdown loves to play smackdown. He gets to be close to his daddy and practice the skills that God gifted him with . . . strength, valor, adventure. Mr. Smackdown loves school, coloring, cooking, and being a helper. He is great at riding his bike, memorizing AWANA verses, and backpacking.
Next comes Mr. Me-Too. If you stand still too long be prepared for a great big bear hug from this lovable fellow. Mr. Me-Too derives his precious name because he always wants to do things alongside us. When asked if he wants to play football, ride bikes, eat chocolate, play smackdown, or catch some Veggi-Tales he pipes up an enthusiastic "me-too!" Mr. Me-Too LOVES gynmastics, football, cutting paper, looking at books, snuggling with our dog, and getting massages from Mom and Dad.
And soon after Mr. Me-Too came Mr. Smiley. Watch out! If you look at him long enough, he will be sure to flash a winning smile at you. Mr. Smiley is like opening a little present each day. Born at home in the water, he has always just glided along. You can be sure to find him opening up his play kitchen doors, climbing over the dog, asking for milk, and watching his brothers intently. He loves to explore, go for wagon rides, give wet kisses, and giggle.
Lastly, at least for now, is our furry lion hunter, Mussoorie the Rhodesian Ridgeback. She is a constant source of annoyance and laughter. She is an economical and efficient vacuum and bedroom heater. Be prepared to have her lean against you and prop her head on your lap, should you sit on her the couch. She loves chasing balls, catching food, and foraging through waste baskets.
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against each other. Once again, year two of the fruit fly battle. After feeding them apple juice unsuccessfully, I have resorted to beer--which I must mention that my 6 year old neighbor delivered to my front door yesterday. (Should he have a license for that?) So . . . it worked last year. Pour beer (preferably a strong, dark amber brew) into a ramekin bowl. Place Saran Wrap over the bowl and poke holes. The idea is that the fruit flies are smart enough to get to the beer, blinded by their addiction to sweet things. However, they can't get get out of their trap. I suppose they don't realize that God is good (see earlier post). This year, my trap doesn't seem to be working. It is different beer and I fear that this lesser quality just isn't as attractive. I need a stronger temptation . . .
