Hello. Can you hear me? Or is my voice muffled through the foot and a half of fresh, powdery snow that is currently covering the homestead? I hope you can hear me. Because I’ve got some things to say, yo. After all – it’s almost Christmas! Time for love and mushy stuff and reflection and
Sometimes the Lord chooses to answer our desperate cries quickly! Man, oh man, did this happen fast! In the context of The Elliott Homestead, this is huge news! And great news. Ya’ll. We bought a farm. Do you like how before I drop a bomb I always say ‘y’all’? I blame it on my Southern husband.
My little sister has seen me at my very worst, because, well… I tend to show up at her doorstep at my very worst. Like a few weeks ago when I showed up with disgusting children, mascara tears streaming down my face, and begged her for a wee bit of shampoo so that I could
Remember that time you were pregnant, for your fourth time, and you felt pretty tuckered? And remember when it only took 14? 15? 16? (how many weeks am I again? does anyone even count the 4th time?) to grow out of your brand new wardrobe that you finally splurged on after weaning the last baby?
I threw my hands and words up to heaven like a maniac. Lord, you don’t know what it’s like! Your son was obedient! You told him to go die on a cross and he listened. I’m asking mine to stop wiping poop on the walls and he can’t even manage that! I felt stupid as soon as
No way. No WAY. NO WAY. Funny joke, Lord. Haha. I’m laughing. Hear me? Hear my laughing? YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DO YA? Turns out, the Lord does have a sense of humor. 3 days after weaning Will, and 3 days after feel like a real, grown up woman who had things semi in control, and
Ya’ll. Thank you for allowing me time to rest… to remember… to reflect after Sal’s passing. I’m most certainly not ‘over it’. Nor am I ‘healed’. But I am very much thankful for the time I had with my girl and that her passing was peaceful. These last few days have been fairly peaceful on
It’s funny, being a blogger. I get to share pieces of my life with an almost anonymous audience, set somewhere out in the world wide web. And yet here you are… praying for me… encouraging me… challenging me. You know that Stuart hates beans. And you know that I have two uteri. I mean, come
Summer has a bit of magic that swirls around the fringes of complete insanity. Just when I think I’ll surely hole up and die of exhaustion, there are teeny moments of pure, well, magic that revive my soul enough to complete another task… another chore… another harvest. While I was snuggled up to Sally’s flank,
It’s a rare moment on the farm. The hobbit is tucked into bed after an intense showering session in which the mud (ah, who am I kidding, it was mostly poop) he’d decided to play in while I was milking was washed away, along with the sins of the day. G-love is pretending she’s a