weekend journal

I can’t believe we are less than two weeks away from Thanksgiving.  We just sat down and did half of our Christmas shopping from the sofa…. Thank you, internet.  I can’t wait to see someone’s smile on Christmas morning.  We are already indulging in things in a typical holiday way around here. Scott received some promising work news on Friday, and we celebrated with a sushi night where I ordered Jude his own little kid’s plate which still cracks me up every time we do it.   He shoveled the teriyaki chicken and rice to his mouth faster than either of us could finish the colorful sushi rolls in front of us.  My little pig.

He’s such a mama’s boy lately.  Clinging to my leg or whine-whine-whining that I pick him up.  Loading the dishwasher took close to an hour this morning as I’d only get in maybe three pieces and couldn’t stand the whining anymore so I’d pick him up to shush or to play or to read for a minute before trying again to accomplish the same simple task.  But these days are short, I tell myself.  Mama’s boy won’t be whining and clinging when he turns 16, so for now I’ll take it and drink it in for what its worth.  Which is a lot actually.

Saturday was the Georgia / Auburn game which is quite the rivalry around here with graduates of both in the family, so we carried on the usual festivities. Scott’s family brought the barbecue and dessert, and I might have gotten a little carried away with the side dishes around here. Roasted onion, mashed potatoes, peas, yeast rolls, collards, and homemade macaroni and cheese.

Grandmother's beautiful, home-canned peas

It’s so easy for my kitchen endeavors to get out of control.  I don’t always love being from the south, but in the kitchen I do. This book is my Bible, by the way.  I challenge you to not take a second bite of any recipe in here.  Gorgeous photos, delicious food.


In the midst of meal planning and simmering and mashing and baking, we rediscovered the playground in my neighborhood on Saturday morning. I’ve lived here for over three years, and I completely neglected to realize that my boy was old enough to enjoy it.  We packed the baby in his little fleece sleeper and enjoyed the mild fall weather.  Something tells me we will be back here.  Often.

For the record, I believe “we” lost the game. But I didn’t really care. My women’s college self has absolutely no interest in football.  I know someone else who didn’t care either.

Loving every minute of this clingy, clumsy, smiley stage of new things and places to discover.  Happy boy, happy mama.  Happy Sunday!


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