I had said I would do a cartwheel when my stats showed 100 followers since to me that’s SUPERCOOL and warrants a great show of excitement. But at 33, I have to come clean with you. I can’t do a cartwheel. Not that I ever tried, really. As a kid it seemed impossible so I never thought to attempt it. What’s the point of doing that, I thought. Obvious answer: Fun. What’s the next best thing then? An instructional illustration, of course! If I ever learn to cartwheel (in a way that doesn’t result in a neck brace or broken bone) I’ll be sure to share it with you. And thanks again for reading.
Here’s a blurb from our morning so far, hot off the presses of my life. If it’s extra detail you enjoy (since I don’t post many personal photos) I’m sitting here munching on sprouted grain toast with almond butter and a cup of green tea. I’m a coffee drinker but I’m trying to break lose of my caffeine addiction. Sigh. Anyway…
“Cheese!” Madeleine said, standing beside my bed, holding up a jar from the spice drawer. I guess the jar smelled like cheese to her.
She had opened the drawer and stacked the bottles, one on top of the other, creating a leaning tower of spices. The thought of it toppling over scared me almost equally to the thought of the actual Tower of Pisa falling. How would I ever clean up all those aromas? Cartweeling would be less impossible.
It was 7:30am. I should have been up making the kids breakfast but (shhh…don’t tell the Mr.) I flopped back in bed and let them play by themselves for a half hour as I drooled on my pillow and floated back to partial sleep. Everything seemed fine (i.e. there was no apparent eye gouging or hair pulling).
I sniffed her, “Oh God, you smell like curry! Let me see your hands.”
“I open it,” she said. Curry powder was sprinkled across her shirt and at her feet.
“Thank you for reminding me to take the cayenne pepper out of the spice drawer, my darling.”