Hot Sunday

Watching Tryn eat mint chocolate chip ice cream (her favorite). She is deliberating about bedtime and mumbling sad half sentences in between bites. Annika is on her way up the stairs and weepy. We spent the afternoon at the Schmitt house for Petey's fourth birthday party. Swimming, sun, blues clues and two fussy girls. Not sure what is up with that lately (oh, wait, they have a new brother and a tired mother.) "Mama, I'm ready to play with the toys" Tryn is now telling me, gauging if she is next up the stairs. Considering she just slept for the last three hours it should be interesting. Folks at church ask how we are doing, "uh, Busy" is my reply or "three is Hard." My five week old has gained three pounds since birth, bearing witness to the brunt of the work I do. We are still surviving and not back to thriving in the daily scheme of things. I wonder what God's opinion of that is. Why I have decided to start blogging concurrent with this insanity is another question....but maybe that answers itself. And no, Tryn hasn't gone to bed yet.

The Quintessential Cookie

A visit, who would've thunk, from Colleen. She checked the freezer and resolutely announced "there are Oreos in the freezer, all is right with the world." This is her gauge, a meter made over the 17 years of knowing each other. I find it comforting to watch her haul them out and pour cold milk in a jelly jar glass. We have seen each other four times in the last two years and only when I have made the trek back to Chicago. To have her in my kitchen and dunking frozen oreos in cold milk is a bite of sweet habit in the midst of upheaval. Oreos are a staple as critical as bread, and Must be Frozen, a practice of all Jankovics. Just swing open the freezer door.