The other day in some of my reading, I came across the ever popular saying LIVE LARGE.
Instantly this popped into my head.
Yes, oh wise book. Live large. But don't be large.
Don't you feel better about the state of my head now after I shared that bit of randomness.
Moving on. Because I have a point. At least as much of a point I can ever whittle.
I'm not sure living large has to be an unattainable because I don't believe it needs to include fancy careers or expensive jewelry or wild excursions to exotic locations. For me, living large is in the small; it's in the moments of stripped simplicity.
After work one day last week, I found myself at the farm to join in on the salsa and pizza sauce making already started by Momma Debi and Sil. Which really translates to all I did was pour the salsa in the jars, put the lids on, and place them in the hot water. Sometimes it pays to have a day job. The slicing and dicing had been done.
Dad-o made steak supper for us all and the four munchkins were in fine form. The kind of form which I find entertaining as their aunt. Punky was inches away from an actual head dive out of the high chair with a quick save from Firecracker. Easy Rider was fairly certain he had to have ranch and BBQ on his plate and Little Man was more concerned with standing in his chair and making cheese faces than eating.
After they had sufficient bites, I said, "Who wants to come with to the garden?" I knew they'd come. We did some cucumber, zucchini, and yellow squash picking with each of them holding a bag; I was zestfully throwing the veggies around causing some laughter.
Then all of a sudden, someone spotted the orange of a ripened mini pumpkin and all things ridiculous broke loose. The three of them tore across the garden, bags whipping on their arms with dirt literally flying up from the soles of their boots all the while screaming at the top of their little lungs, "PUMPKINS!"
It was contagious.
I started yelling and high kicking right along with them.
Their squeals of joy were it.
We picked quite a few pumpkins with some clarification needed about only the orange and kept laughing and carrying on. Little Man was especially priceless because he's learning to use his words more and more. He was stringing together, "I pick pumpkin!" with his enormous grin only growing broader with each pick. I wanted to smush his face. I might have actually smushed once or twice.
When we walked back to the house, our arms were loaded with the orange loot. I looked up to see Momma Debi, Sil, and Punky on the deck laughing right along with us, complete with baby arm circles. You know the kind. When you think the baby might actually take off in flight because her arms are going 'round and 'round that fast.
And my mom? Well, my mom was video taping the scene.
Living large. It doesn't have to be so large. It can come in the form of a rather small orange pumpkin on a weeknight evening in a patch of dirt.
Moving on. Because I have a point. At least as much of a point I can ever whittle.
I'm not sure living large has to be an unattainable because I don't believe it needs to include fancy careers or expensive jewelry or wild excursions to exotic locations. For me, living large is in the small; it's in the moments of stripped simplicity.
After work one day last week, I found myself at the farm to join in on the salsa and pizza sauce making already started by Momma Debi and Sil. Which really translates to all I did was pour the salsa in the jars, put the lids on, and place them in the hot water. Sometimes it pays to have a day job. The slicing and dicing had been done.
Dad-o made steak supper for us all and the four munchkins were in fine form. The kind of form which I find entertaining as their aunt. Punky was inches away from an actual head dive out of the high chair with a quick save from Firecracker. Easy Rider was fairly certain he had to have ranch and BBQ on his plate and Little Man was more concerned with standing in his chair and making cheese faces than eating.
After they had sufficient bites, I said, "Who wants to come with to the garden?" I knew they'd come. We did some cucumber, zucchini, and yellow squash picking with each of them holding a bag; I was zestfully throwing the veggies around causing some laughter.
Then all of a sudden, someone spotted the orange of a ripened mini pumpkin and all things ridiculous broke loose. The three of them tore across the garden, bags whipping on their arms with dirt literally flying up from the soles of their boots all the while screaming at the top of their little lungs, "PUMPKINS!"
It was contagious.
I started yelling and high kicking right along with them.
Their squeals of joy were it.
We picked quite a few pumpkins with some clarification needed about only the orange and kept laughing and carrying on. Little Man was especially priceless because he's learning to use his words more and more. He was stringing together, "I pick pumpkin!" with his enormous grin only growing broader with each pick. I wanted to smush his face. I might have actually smushed once or twice.
When we walked back to the house, our arms were loaded with the orange loot. I looked up to see Momma Debi, Sil, and Punky on the deck laughing right along with us, complete with baby arm circles. You know the kind. When you think the baby might actually take off in flight because her arms are going 'round and 'round that fast.
And my mom? Well, my mom was video taping the scene.
Living large. It doesn't have to be so large. It can come in the form of a rather small orange pumpkin on a weeknight evening in a patch of dirt.
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