Spring Break

I started this post ages ago.  After spring break, to be precise.  I am usually careful to document our adventures, local or far flung.  I guess I have a unfounded fear that one day one of the kids will accuse me of never doing anything with them.  Unfounded fear.  So, I'm a picture taker, rarely doing anything with the pictures, but they are proof that we did some crazy things.  And some normal things, like taking a spring break.  Albeit, just down to visit the Grandparents, but we had fun.  The first root beer float of the season, first bonfire, an Easter sunrise service followed by breakfast at church...and the final game of touch football, or any football for that matter, for my father-in-law.  What started out as role of coach and permanent quarterback morphed into broken ribs and months of recovery.  Before you ask, it was not Josiah's fault, though that is a plausible line of thinking.  Evidently, two hand touch can get pretty exciting.  Carried away in the moment, Papop decided to run the ball instead of passing it.  I saw him from the corner of my eye as he flew parallel to the ground still clutching the football.  He landed and didn't get up.  Thankfully, it wasn't worse, but from now on he will be enjoying all football games from the stands. This post's for you Papop!

A Shoeshine

 

He needed a shoeshine.  Rather, he needed to learn to shine his own boots.  It shouldn't amount to much, but it was eloquent.  Me, busy at the stove, scrambling to get dinner for seven on the table.  Four younger siblings flitting here and there.  I turned and glimpsed the two of them, father and son, on the floor shining a pair of boots.  I eagerly watch as he grows, but I want him to stay young.  He's still my chubby two year old, the one who spends his days alone with me.  My little buddy.  Then, I blink and he's shining his combat boots with dad, getting a uniform ready for his weekly meeting. 

The Braid

"One of the Brown girls had her hair in a heart braid at class on Friday," she says with an accusing smirk.

I'm up to my elbows in coconut oil and hair.  It's washing day and we have already had an issue.  I washed and began drying using the hair dryer.  Which caused pouting and tears from her, anger and frustration from me.  All because she wanted me to use the flat iron to straighten her hair.  Her wet hair...with a flat iron.  She couldn't see that her hair was being straightened with the brush and hair dryer.  So she pouted and shrugged and pulled against the brush.

Grrr.

I reacted.  I turned her to face the mirror and her glare softened.  She apologized and I continued brushing.  Letting my hidden anger out with a sigh.

She barbs me with her comment just as I finish drying her hair.  It's glowing and soft, perfect for braiding. I tell her as much, then she follows with her comment.  Supposed to be an offhanded remark, but I read into it.  I grunt.

Yeah, I grunted.

Because, I just spent an hour on your hair and now, I think, you are going to try to make me feel bad.  She doesn't disappoint me, as she follows up her comment with, "Heart braids are probably too hard for you.  It would be impossible for me to have one."

Oh, here we go, try to manipulate me! Are you daring me to braid your hair into a heart?

Funny.  Bonding over hair.  It always starts with contention.  As I work the coconut oil into her hair, our hearts soften too.  This heart braid, she thinks I can't do it.  And I accept her challenge, just to prove my worthiness.  I always feel this way around our youngest daughter.  A complicated relationship that makes both of us so insecure.  She puts me in a place in order to prove myself capable of raising her.

I. Am. The. Adult.  Said with a foot stomp.

Seriously.

We talk about this heart braid for a minute and agree that it's worth a try.  She cranes her neck and I braid as quickly as I can.  The braid begins to take shape and she chatters happily as I listen.  When it's nearly done, I show her my handiwork and she's delighted.  I'm delighted.  We share a victory.  So much more than just a braid. 

Dear me, what will we do when she begins to do her own hair?  Or the salon? She'll fall in love with another woman!

Ripples

 

The stream running along the Kind Hearts property is infamous around our house.  My husband, being the marine scientist turned Coast Guard marine safety guy, was mortified to hear that a tannery and alcohol factory were dumping into a water source.  My family gave a whole hearted 'tsk, tsk' the first year I came home with pictures of the swampy, murky, foul water.  Last year the water project was well underway and we were relieved to see the children receive clean water.

That was expected.  Money was raised, plans were made, well was drilled, and water was provided.  It wasn't as easy as it sounds, but expected nonetheless.

So, this year as we strolled down to see the pump on the property, I was surprised to hear that we were going to see the new water point provided just off site for the village.  I vaguely remembered hearing that they would be able to provide water, as a ministry, to the surrounding village, but it was forgotten in all of the other excitement.

We held our breath as we scrambled over the stream-of-death and climbed up the small ravine to a dirt road.  As we stepped out of the eucalyptus trees, we were greeted by a small crowd of villagers.  They were waiting.  For us.

Huh?

I feel confused often during our time in Ethiopia.  Language, culture, life...it's confusing sometimes.

This group knew we were taking this tour and got together to thank us.  Complete with a coffee ceremony and speech.  An unforgettable moment and completely unexpected. 

It's the ripple that everyone talks about.  Make a change somewhere and it has far reaching effects.  We raised money to get clean water for the kids.  Since the water was there, clean water was provided for the village.  The village women were walking miles each day with jugs to get clean water from the nearest water point.  Usually, if a child was in the family, the chore would fall to them.  A chore that would require most of the day, walking miles to the water point, then lugging a jug full of gallons of water back home.  Imagine the freedom and delight when this water point began functioning!  Their long line of jugs waiting to be filled was beautiful. 

So my big take away from this trip?  I love, love, love the children.  I adore visiting friends at the carepoints and delight in spending hours with the Hopechest staff.  Those are the reasons I love going on the trip.  I expect those things.  But seeing a group of women whose lives have been radically changed because of the work at the carepoint?  Totally unexpected.

A beautiful ripple.

 

Kind Hearts School

This is my third attempt to share this wonderful news.  Instead of being eloquent, I'm just going to blurt it out:  The fundraising goals have been met and exceeded! Plans are being finalized and soon there will be new school buildings on the property at Kind Hearts.

In November, we toured the property.  We have taken this tour each year.  It offers new visitors a chance to see all of the rooms and land that make up the Kind Hearts school.  It also gives those of us who have visited before the opportunity to see changes that have been made.  We did the usual touring, but I was poking around thinking of everyone back at home.  I really wanted to show you the lack of desks in each of the brightly painted classrooms.  I wanted you to see the little plastic chairs that are a hot commodity as children squeeze around the scant tables in the existing classrooms.  I wanted you to see the dark storage room turned classroom that has allowed dozens of children to attend class without waiting for the new buildings to be completed.  As I poked my head into this storage room, I pulled the door off of its hinges, and had to get help from a friend to get it propped back up.  These kids really need new classrooms!

My purpose on this tour was to share it with you.  

Now, we got the news that the fundraising is complete.  There is enough for the buildings and for new desks! This is a project that will make a difference in the lives of the children at the care point AND the children who have yet to be enrolled.  I took these pictures during our hand print project time.  Crowded rooms, which are overcrowded because we have the kids in larger than normal groups, mean that some kids just get comfy on the floor.  The existing classrooms are bright and cheerful.  Plans are to duplicate the existing building, adding four new rooms!

Karen has children who are waiting for sponsors.  If you think you would be interested in investing in the future of a child, contact her.  Seeing their changed lives is worth far more than $34 a month.  Your sponsorship provides more than just an education.  It gives each child hope.

Elijah's Party

If you've been around for a while you know that five times a year I lose my mind.  Five birthday bashes that have to blow my children away.  It puts me into a frenzy.  First figuring out what to do, then how to do it within reasonable limits (ie. no pony rides in the backyard and NO, I'm not hiring entertainment).

This year, we had no plan for Elijah.  Poor guy, he suffers since his birthday is just a week after Christmas.   We barely recover from the holidays before we remember that his birthday is...well, tomorrow.  The two big boys got a CSI science set from my parents for Christmas.  It got me thinking about parties and science.  Two words that shouldn't be used together in a sentence, but I am a nerdy science lover.  We chatted it up a bit and decided to investigate CSI parties.  Unfortunately, I kept finding non-murder mystery parties for kids.  Those sounded uber cool to me--see previous nerdy remark as explanation.  That literary, character based fodder falls into Everett's realm.  Elijah would be frozen in terror if we gave him a script and told him to 'act like this character' with a group of friends.  Probably not a good idea for his birthday party.

I happened upon this little gem.  A download for $19.  Most of the work done, but still requiring hours of detail planning.  I loved that the kids were working things out to solve the crime.  I was nervous about the gruesome factor. I took it a little farther by sending id badges along with invitations.  We made up funny names like "Rob Bersnatcher" and "Bea A. Heerow".  I did speak to every mom before the party, explaining that my husband was going to be 'dead' and they would investigate his murder.  They had six different stations to visit trying to decipher hidden messages, match DNA evidence, footprints, and fingerprints.  They had a blast, competing on teams of detectives trying to be the ones to solve the crime and win the prize.

My mom and her team working on morgue information.  Too bad they discovered that she was actually the murderer!

I'm naturally worried and overly sensitive to exposing kids to things that are scary.  This party put me on edge.  I didn't have anything to worry about but my own child!  Josiah took one look at Seth (whom I had "bludgeoned" as he was at an art easel in the basement) and touched his head, then pointed at him and said, "Is he, the blood, is he..."  I guess the red paint and fake wound were a little much for him to see on his own father.  He did refuse to visit the 'morgue' and check out the morgue photos (I had to bludgeon Seth the night before and take morgue shots for the party).  That said, view the next photo with caution.

Notice his hand covering his mouth, he knew he would smile or laugh as the kids chatted about the crime scene.

I'm still here

I'm ashamed to see that it has been over a month since I last posted.  Terribly shameful of me.  I should begin by saying, "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year".

Instead of chronicling a long list of things that have kept me from writing, I started thinking about what I am doing.

School.

Five children.  Five different learning styles.  Five different levels for math and reading.  Memory work and science experiments.  Geography...phonics.  We just finished our day and the clock reads 3:51!

It seems like we just finished lunch. 

So, the day is mostly gone, and I don't have a plan for dinner.  The guilt of not blogging has pulled me to sit down and write.  The dreary, frigid weather has kept me from running, so I don't have a long list of posts from which to draw ideas.  I desired, mainly, to stop and say, "I'm still here." 

The quiet reading time has ended for the five year old, as he's reading over my shoulder.  I suppose that means my writing time is over too. 

But, I'm still here.

Blanket Delivery

Pictures are worth a thousand words.  In my current state of writer's block, pictures are invaluable.

Thank you to each of you who made a blanket, hosted a party, or collected blankets.  Again, my words feel rather useless.  I hope the pictures catch some of the excitement from our evening spent at the CarePoint in Korah.  The sun was going down as we wove through the streets.  The vehicles were attracting attention because of the load strapped to the roof.  It had to be a funny picture--suitcases and boxes stuffed with bright blankets, all tied to the top of the vans.  We pulled through the gates and the courtyard was vacant, save a few adults and roaming chickens.  I thought that the children must have gone home.  Then, I stepped into a long building and saw that the children were patiently waiting!  There were rows and rows of smiling faces, waiting expectantly.

I won't go into details...Karen spoke.  Our group sang.  We had so little time, knowing that their caregivers were probably waiting outside for them.  Finally, we unzipped suitcases and emptied boxes.  Then, we shared your care and love with the children.  We were blessed to be the ones passing the blankets to the children.  Thank you for caring!

 My thanks fall short of how wonderful it really is for these families to get warm blankets.  Pictures are worth a thousand words, and the following pictures say thank you!  One of the gals in my van made a comment about seeing a blanket on the bed in a house she visited.  I HAD to get those pictures and share them!  This may not be the blanket you made, it is one out of over 400 we brought last year.  It's a great reminder of so many things.  Mainly, your hard work continues to be a blessing to families in Ethiopia.

These pictures encourage me.  I hope you share my excitement--the blankets are being used!  Your small sacrifices continue to help children.  There are so many ways to be involved in the lives of these children.  Right now, the children at Kind Hearts are waiting for more classrooms.  Please visit Karen's blog to read more about how to get involved and donate to this project:  Family-From-Afar

My Apologies

I am sorry.

Blogging has always been feast or famine for me.  Unfortunately, when I get home from Ethiopia, I usually begin a period of famine.  I feel guilty.  I blame it on the adjustment after being gone.  Secretly, I think it's my way of coping. 

I desperately want to share our ten days with everyone.  I want to show all 359 pictures and explain each one in detail.  I want to hold my woven baskets up and let you take in the smell of Ethiopia.  I want to show you hours of video and share each story that I heard from our translators.

"So, tell me about your trip!" you might say, with a smile showing genuine interest. 

I want to gush.  I want describe the time so eloquently that you feel as if you were with me.  Instead, I freeze.  My mind is speeding through the amazing trip, but my mouth won't open. 

You get a lame, "It was an amazing trip!"

I am sorry.  I think next year you should just come with us.

Progress at Trees of Glory

The familiar sound of a barking dog wakes me up.  I'm groggy and realize that my dog shouldn't be outside so late at night.  I open my eyes and an unfamiliar room greets me.  My sleepy mind is confused, but slowly I remember. 

I'm in Ethiopia.

The images from the day flood my mind.  A long flight brought us to Addis and sweet reunions with good friends.  Another long trip and we arrived at Trees of Glory.  The familiar buildings were surrounded by progress.  In just one year the property has been transformed and teems with children in new brightly colored uniforms.  Simret was incredibly proud to show us around.  Water points for children and the village, cisterns, a pump, electricity, cattle, chickens, a garden...miracles.

The well and pump are kept safe 24 hours a day by a guard who lives a few feet from the well.

A poultry farm provides the children at the carepoint with eggs, an abundance allows locals to come to the carepoint to purchase eggs.  A record breaking 170 eggs were laid the day we visited.

Last, but not least, the water flows at the two water points.  Running water is the key to many of the successes the CarePoint has experienced.

Unlikely Activists

I met a sweet group of believers last spring.

I had known about this tight knit church since last November.  They sent blankets all monogrammed with the church's name and the words, "Jesus loves you."  Each time I handled one of the their blankets I wondered about the people who would take so much time to stitch each blanket.  I got to meet them personally one Sunday night.  They had a service set aside to hear about the trip and the blankets.  It always feels good to me to personally thank a group who worked for the children.

This church, off a country road at the edge of a small town, has been so touched by the plight of the children.  They made blankets but wanted to do more.  An unlikely group of activists, the grandmother of one of our team members decided to organize a "Songfest" to benefit Kind Hearts School.  She invited local musicians for a night of worship.  I found myself, again, welcomed into this small church.

Standing before the crowded pews, I shared the story of the children in Ethiopia.  I poured out my heart, trying to explain that these buildings are more than just a school.  The children who beg and wander the streets are numerous.  They are naked, hungry, and hopeless.  Halfway through the night, the church took up an offering.  That little church on the dead end street at the edge of a small town gave sacrificially.  They generously bought t-shirts and magazine bead jewelry.  At the end of the night, over $1000 had been donated to Kind Hearts school fund.  An unlikely group of people reached across the ocean to pour out Christ's love on children they have never met.

Awesome.

Blanket Count 2012

Writing a title like that makes me feel like a sportscaster.

Today, I loaded my van to the top with 40 blankets that have bounced through several homes before they arrived in my living room.  I'm mailing them to Italy tomorrow.

This year, I feel like I am sitting back and watching miracles.  Last year, I think I was chasing miracles.  Which is more like running in circles, when you think about it.  I am guarding against worry, though it's creeping in as I tape these boxes up.

I suppose...if boxes do explode blankets all over the tarmac in Addis, and they don't make it back into our hands, then we can trust that the person who took them really must have needed them.  And that's the worst thing I can think of.  Besides the blankets being made and just sitting in my living room all year.  That would probably be worse.  All done up and nowhere to go.

I'm trying not to run in circles this year, since I hope I learned from last year that God provides for the needs of these children and just uses us as a delivery service.  I'm happy to turn the planning, providing, and worry over to God and just deliver the lovely packages to the beautiful children.

The astounding news is that the monstrous spreadsheet says we have 267 blankets 'pledged'!  Now, we just watch and pray that they will all make it out of the basements and living rooms and into the plane headed for Ethiopia.

Our Warriors

Our children are...

I could put many words here depending on the circumstances of the particular day, but lately they have been...warriors.

Hauling them here and there for one reason or another.  Making blankets at one unfamiliar church.  Sitting for a few hours in a pew of another unfamiliar church during a fundraiser.  Organizing for a blanket party at our church.  Tying and cutting and helping with Josiah.  Josiah takes the fleece scraps and ties ankles together while unsuspecting blanket makers are busy.  He favors me by choosing to tie me up most often.  Everett kept him busy by making an entire set of 'Lord of the Rings' rock characters at our church this weekend.

This business wears him out.

They help me fold and roll the blankets then pack them into boxes.  We work together to haul the heavy boxes to the post office.  It usually takes all 6 of us.  One for the door, one to watch Josiah, and the other three carrying boxes.

While we do these things we talk about the kids or the trip.  They are eager to be the ones making the plans and boarding the plane.  I pray one day that each one of them will go to Ethiopia and meet these friends they have heard so much about.

More Blankets

The email came from Karen a few months ago.

Blankets.

This year we will be visiting a new CarePoint in the village of Korah.

There are 210 children who attend and they have asked for blankets.  I put out the word, just a little trickle of a word, and waited.  My fear was that by asking for loads of help, I would detract from the fundraising for Kind Heart's new building.

As November is drawing closer, blankets are beginning to pile up in my house again. It is a wonderful sight.

The most amazing activity, to me, is watching people from all walks of life come together to make blankets for children.  It is so much more than simply writing a check. Each piece of fleece was chosen for a reason, then trimmed and cut.  Some blankets were tied in the living room of an elderly woman as she watched Wheel of Fortune.  Some were tied by children in a church fellowship hall.  Some were tied by several ladies as they chatted around a dining room table.  So many different blankets put together by so many different people.

This is an incredibly short video I put together for the times I wanted to share a little of the story from last year and introduce the project for this year. 

The Half

Race day.

Dark and cold.  Nervously, I am standing in the middle of a city street.  Seth is pressed to my side as we wait for the start.  The crowd is crushing in on us eagerly, but the start is still minutes away.

I am anxious.  The peanut butter sandwich I ate at 5am sits in my throat.  Seth looks down at me and whispers, "Good luck!"  With a kiss on the cheek, he quickly disappears ahead of me.

Even more anxious now, I stand alone in a crowd of 10,000 runners.  The countdown begins.  The crowd lunges forward as fireworks light up the sky.  We won't begin running for a few minutes.  As a shuffling mass of humanity, we push toward the start.

Still nervous.  Still can't believe I will attempt to run 13 miles today.  No pat responses have squelched my worry about finishing this race.

Finally, the crowd surges forward and there is space to run.  We run through the dark streets with thousands watching.  Soon, we cross the bridge and I feel good.  My legs are moving and I begin to relax.  It clicks that I have been working towards this all summer.  Just another run.

It's fun now.  Fireworks still cracking in the distance.  Cheers from the sidewalk and fellow runners.

Looking around, I notice myriad of running shirts around me.  Relay teams, local businesses, funny quips--I wonder if any of the 20,000 people expected here today will notice my shirt.  Written down my back:  "Sponsor a child.  Give food, water, education, and hope. "  "Running for hope" across my chest, I know people will be stuck behind me or seeing my back as they pass me.  Bystanders will see my front--a slow moving billboard.

I relax and begin to enjoy the sound of thousands of feet hitting pavement.  Cheers and signs--volunteers yelling.  The cadence of my own feet allows me to delight.  I look above the street and see faces peering from the apartment building ahead.  Five little heads, noses pressed to the glass, watching the river of runners stream past.  I smile and reach my arm high, waving my hand as I pass below their window.  They light up and wave furiously.  It makes me wonder who else we might be disturbing.

Six miles pass in a blur.

Soon enough my legs begin to tire and I realize that I still have five more miles to run.  A new song comes through my headphones and the burning in my legs is forgotten as I listen.  I'm in the car loudly singing with the kids.  They love this one and I smile thinking of them.  They were so excited for this race.  They have been my biggest champions.  In the afternoons, when I didn't feel like running, Eli would lace up his shoes and run a few miles.  We'd pass the house and Sally would trade places with him for a quick mile.  My last lap would be with our eldest.  Always starting off too fast and burning out, but finishing since he doesn't want to be beat by his mother.  Running with our children is a sweet time.  We chat and run and enjoy being together. 

Sally took this picture when we got home.

The song ends and it brings me into my ninth mile.  We are back downtown, crossing the bridge again.  My phone beeps and shows that Seth has already finished his race.  I hear my name as I near the stadium and see him cheering from the side, wearing an ecstatic but goofy grin. I cross the finish minutes under my goal time, thrilled to be done.  My first half, a celebration of my 35 birthday, a summer of working towards a goal I never thought I could meet.

I think I might just try it again.

Running

I am not a runner.

Dating an avid runner pushed me to start running.  Marrying that running man forced me to continue the despicable sport.  But, I remained a non-runner.

I ran alongside him as he trained for marathons.  I was never fast, never ran too long, but enjoyed being with him.

One summer he was gone and running finally became mine.  I ran for the solace.  The kids and I made a funny parade of four bicycles and a jogging stroller.  I trailed in the back, panting, and reveling in my solace.  I trained that summer to run in a marathon relay.  Not too far, not too fast, and just for fun.  For me.

Each summer I have trained for the same race.  I trained because my relay buddies were counting on me.  By the end of the summer, I would find myself looking forward to my long runs.  Seeking solace.

Last year, I ran the longest leg of the relay.  Still not a runner, finishing eight miles felt like an accomplishment.  This year I purposed to train for the half-marathon.  Early in the spring I hurt myself and each step felt like a knife stabbing into my heel.  I kept running.

I visited a doctor, stretched, and kept running.  The pain in my foot at the end of the day was terrible, but I needed to run.

Burdens weighing heavily on my shoulders fall off as I run.  It's just God and me. The running and pleading in the early morning darkness is where I leave those heavy burdens.  I leave them where they belong, at the feet of the One who is able to carry them.  As my feet hit the pavement, I thank Him.

My great-grandmother passed away this summer.  She was 98 years old.  A formidable woman who had been born on the brink of World War I.  She outlived two of her five children and her husband.  She lived alone in a house built before she was born, at the end of a road that bears her name.  My husband once commented that she was the only family member who shared the same eye color as my sisters and me.  Her death was somewhat expected, but still heartbreaking.

In planning our trip to the funeral, I became overwhelmed.  I needed to be alone, so I put on my shoes and ran.  I thought about my Great-Grandma and the life that she lived.  I prayed for my Grandma, her daughter, who would miss her mother.

Last week, I finally registered for the half-marathon.  I realized that maybe a runner is simply someone who wants to run, whatever their reason.  

Bean Finale

At the end of the 'bean experiment', no one mentioned all of the bean consumption that had been going on around the house.  That, in and of itself, is a successful experiment.

I mentioned to Seth that he might want to read my blog during some downtime this week.  I piqued his interest by saying, "I've been doing a little experiment."

That guy, I couldn't believe it, said, "Did it involve beans?"

I just fed a family of seven for almost a week for about $20!  That's $12 for bean dinners and lunches, and another $8 for breakfast (eggs and spinach smoothies).  Our pizzas on Friday night cost more than our entire week!  If I took this little unscientific experiment and applied it--really applied it--we could potentially cut our food budget by 75%.

I enjoy eating a lavish meal, but at what expense?  If our eating habits prevent us from doing more good for others, then we need to change.  Perhaps for your family that change may be dramatic, perhaps it will be something that they won't even notice.  My crazy bean-eating week proved that my family really doesn't notice what I'm feeding them!

The weighty conclusion of this silly experiment:  we are going to make some changes and use them to benefit others.  Money that we ate will now be money we can spend on more important things.

Black Bean Du Jour

Last night was a complete cheat.  We always have pizza on Fridays.  I thought I could serve beans, until I made a date to do some chemistry tutoring.  I didn't think serving a high school senior beans with a side of chemistry would be nice.  So, we had pizza.  My sincerest apologies to everyone for being a cheater pants!

Today, to make up for last night, I made black bean soup for lunch.  Pretty simple recipe without cheats: beans, peppers from the garden, and GARLIC.  I would give that another $2 price tag.

I threw the leftover soup into the food processor for dinner.  We had some cheese (counts if I already had it, right?) and chips, and I wowed everyone with black bean nachos.  I'm not going to say this meal was free, since I had to add to it--not enough leftover soup for a family of seven.  It was completely my fault, as I was hardly lucid as I prepared the soup and didn't quadruple everything.  Nevertheless, I would put our meal at about $5.

Still not bad.  For a loosely thrown together 'experiment', I'm learning something about our family menu. 

Mums the Word

Day four of serving beans.  Yesterday, Seth picked up his lunch and peeked into the bottom of the Rubbermaid.  Spying the pintos from the previous night's dinner, he groaned and said, "You cannot be serious."  So I swapped them out for the Indian chick peas and sent him on his way.

He must have known I would be serving pintos in some form or fashion for dinner, since he was "held up" on a boat for work.  He was forced to miss our dinner and choke down a full course meal prepared by the ship's chef.

Pressing on, the children and I enjoyed a third meal of pintos (ate a bowl of them for lunch).  This time I fooled their palates by adding copious amounts of garlic and some cilantro.  I mashed everything together and threw it on a tortilla.  There was some griping because I did go heavy on the garlic.  Personally, there is no such thing as too much garlic.  We finished off the large pot of beans.  Three meals for a family of seven (excluding that big guy who opted out) for under $5.  Pretty successful.

The side effects of beans for so many meals are starting to become evident.  Last night, Seth, holding his stomach, said, "I don't know what's going on, but...I've been real gassy."

I bit my lip, but didn't spill the beans.  

The Joy of Pintos

The Indian dish was not well received last night.  Too spicy.  Too hot.  Too many...chick peas.

A gargantuan pot of pintos simmered on the stove for most of the day.  All of the children were delighted, because they are some pinto-eating folks.  I threw together some kind of muffins for the big guy who despises pintos (I think they are beneath him).  Alas, I had no cornmeal in the cupboard.  How does that happen? It's been sitting in the nether reaches of the upper cupboard for three years.  I had to make up a concoction and thought baking it in a muffin pan would make it more appealing.  Viola, corn things shaped like a muffin.

I guess it worked.  No one suspects a thing.  Just wait until tomorrow, when the leftover pintos appear again as refried beans.

Dinner's total tonight:  $2 bag 'o beans and some change for some odds and ends to make 'muffins'