{ Pretties }

On the agenda for this afternoon:

:: Swoon over ranunculuses {ranunculi?}

:: Thank Jesus and Mike that the blinds and curtains and valance are back in their proper spots, hung up in the living room!!

:: Work on baby registry...so far I'm a big fan of registering online, it's much less stressful than registering in stores. And with Amazon wish lists, you can add items from anywhere on the internet!

:: Make The Pioneer Woman's mashed potatoes and bacon-wrapped meatloaf for dinner with friends tonight...yum yum!

:: Resist temptation to eat ice cream casserole right now. It's the first time I've made it {Chelle's recipe} and it is seriously a pregnant woman's dream!

:: Go to the bathroom approximately every 17 minutes.

:: Thank Jesus for sunshine.

:: Drink red raspberry leaf tea.

:: Remember that I am eternally grateful to be married to a very smart man, who fixed my computer when it temporarily died of a very bad virus, but he was able to save all my stuff and my laptop, thus enabling me to take these pictures and write this post. Love you honey!

I'd better get started on that meatloaf...

{ On Sundays our home smells like bacon. }

We roll out of bed, tousled and sleepy-eyed, as morning gives way to noontime, bodies sated with good sleep and stomachs growling for nourishment. We practice our kitchen dance, the intricate back-and-forth, give-and-take of Mike managing the bacon and eggs, me making the pancakes in our narrow galley kitchen. Sometimes instead of pancakes we'll have hashbrowns; this week it was waffles. We sing along with Pandora and Mike makes me giggle with his moves. We eat till we feel ill, which I fear is gluttony, but I haven't talked to The Father about it yet. We just can't help ourselves, it's always so good! Then the mandatory nap on the sofa, till it's time to get ready for church.

And when we return from church, evening shadows lengthening {though we finished "breakfast" a mere eight hours previous}, Mike opens the door and PHEW! Bacon. Bacon in the air, bacon in the sunlight, bacon practically dripping from the atmosphere. Mike smiles contentedly. I run to light candles and open windows. This, my friends, is what our Sundays smell like.