Last night, there was cheese.
And Frank Sinatra.
And a boy who was throwing things in his bedroom because he wasn't understanding his homework.
I went into organizing mode yesterday and feel like, for the last 24 hours, that everything is somewhat in order. But just to keep it real...that guy that I like so much stubbed his toe on a pile of cookbooks in the middle of the night and I have NEVER posted a weekly meal plan for my family before.
Mainly because, while I love each one of them, I don't want to hear what they don't like and what they won't eat and the can't we have this instead?
Just can't deal with all that, so instead I just keep them guessing.
It works for me.
(But doesn't it look pretty on the board? Yeah, I think so, too.)
In my attempt to reclaim Advent, I am doing a little something each and every day to prepare for it. Most of my Christmas cookie doughs have been made and are in the freezer; come December, all I'll have to do is bake them up. My shopping is pretty close to being done and rather than stress over all of it and how much it is costing, I am carefully choosing for each person and trying to be more intentional. There won't be as many gifts to unwrap this year, but that's ok...the ones that are given have been purchased (or made or assembled) with a purely joyful heart.
I like that.
SoCal has temps in the 80's this week...the sweaters are hanging in the closet and we're back in t-shirts and flip flops. It's actually nice and I must say that I am kinda hoping it is like this on Thanksgiving Day so we can eat in the garden.
And speaking of Thanksgiving...it's officially happening. One of my own won't be here because he'll be with the girl he loves and her family. We've been trumped, which is what is supposed to happen at this stage of the game...and I'm ok with it, but it's just strange, that's all.
They're growing up, my houseful.