Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Taste of Heaven

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It has been raining off and on all day and I have been writing for a couple of hours.

Typing this, I am sitting on my bed, which was made, but I have tucked myself under the covers and am propped against some pillows.  Books, 3×5 cards for taking notes, papers and pencils are scattered across the comforter.  Jack is sleeping on the floor beside me.  The taste of peppermint lingers from a cup of tea I just drank.  The children are happily, quietly and appropriately occupied.  The house is neat and cozy and Paul should be home soon.
If there was something for dinner I might mistake this for heaven, instead of just a taste of it here on earth.
I wish that filled the stomach.

Happy Wednesday

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Lydia asked for french toast for breakfast and, after saying an immediate, “No!” I thought, “Why not?”  

Eden cracked the eggs, while I measured the milk and spices (cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla.)  I love french toast, but rarely order it in restaurants because it can have such fine parameters.  Unless a really good, thick bread is used, it HAS to be hot, which can be almost impossible when four other meals are ordered with it.  
The girls cooked their pieces, then I made a couple for Christopher and then there was just enough for two more.  Paul and I each had one.  Baby it was goooooood.  The nutmeg was key.  I used whole wheat bread and real maple syrup (sparingly) so it was certainly more healthful than most bowls of cereal.  And since we didn’t overeat I feel quite good.
I recommend.

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The girls asked if they could have “a spoonful” of frosting. I said yes and then walked into the kitchen to see them brandishing these spoons. The smiles above are somewhat toned down from the maniacal ones I first saw.
Later I made quesadillas and Eden was eager to help. She got out her handy little safety knife and I gave her a small cutting board. She happily diced green peppers while I cut chicken, sliced peppers and onions and then cooked it all up. We talked while we worked and she would reach over to grab additional peppers as needed. It was such a natural gesture. She didn’t ask for more, she just helped herself as any one would who was helping me cook dinner. I told her how much I love cooking with her – and it was true, not just motherly enthusiasm. Her quiet industry and graceful confidence brought beauty to, what could have been, a mundane task. Lovely.

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