I’ve been thinking of cutting back on blogging for the summer.
Whether I will or not remains to be seen. Much of what I do here is therapeutic and habitual and…well, if you see less of me here, you’ll know why.
It’s because I’m working on my tan. If any sun can get through the sticky unidentified substance on my skin.
Have you heard of Patria?
I whipped through the first book over Memorial Day weekend and WOW! I’m going to whip through the second book and rave about it in every place I can.
My seven-year-old’s reading it, too, when I can convince her that reading on my iPad is better than the Easy Bake app.
It all started (me sharing e-reading, that is) with a desperate moment at a nearby park in the sweltering heat. I shared my Kindle, which happened to have this book on it.
She LOVES IT so far. (But she is distracted and school only just got out and the library’s reading program hasn’t started yet.) I know she’ll LOVE IT right through the end.
Don’t wait to hear more from me, though.
Speaking of cool things, check out this awesome initiative:
Brandon explains it here:
Learn more and participate in the New Evangelization at AfriaEbooks.com!
After I snapped a picture for myself, I handed her the camera.
When she gave me the camera back, I couldn’t resist taking a picture of my boy doing what my boy is so often doing:
My girls just never did this laying-on-stomach, playing-with-rolling-things thing the way he does all. the. time.
Remember how I was boycotting Pepsi and Kraft?
Well, good news: take Pepsi products off the list!
The good news isn’t that we can embrace our cola and chips again, but that they quit using aborted fetal cells.
Now, if only Kraft will do the same…
This take is sponsored by our local hospital. I spent yesterday morning at the ER. Believe it or not, it doesn’t involve the mancub: this drama stars a seven-year-old with crutches.
She was running and the combination of plastic and water was more than her ankle could take.
Summer has changed for us, that’s for sure. Much of what we would have done is very dependent on that seven-year-old (who is my Big Helper, my Prime Mover, my School-Kid-Home-for-Break) being able to be mobile.
We won’t know for sure if it’s an ankle break or a sprain until we see the pediatric orthopedic doctor next week.
Don’t worry, ye of the grandma bend, we are plotting how to best put your sympathies to use…
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