It Was Bound to Happen

You know.

When you start having serious talks with your kids about sex and relationships, a big clock starts to tick.

The clock that is counting down the moments until someone in their actual real life does something we hope they won’t decide to do.

Yep.  Barber Shop.  Shave.

Several weeks ago, they bellowed,”Mooooom! [Jane] is pregnant.”

Thank you Facebook.

The next day, we were going through their clothes throwing out, storing Summer, reviewing Winter.  You know the drill.

Someone got up the boldness to say, “Do you think [Jane] was pregnant before she got engaged?”

Two pairs of widely innocent sincerely searching eyes, waited to hear my answer.

I was honest.  I told them that had been my first thought, but I’d disregarded it, because it was judgemental and that’s not how I wanted to be.

Then I said, “Look, some of the best people you know were conceived…without deliberate planning.”

Suffice to say, we made a “Short but Jim Dandy List of People We Can’t Imagine the World Without, Who Were Conceived Pre-Ring“.

And when I say short, I mean quite long.  And including our own selves.

We talked about the fact that [Jane] is an adult, though a young one, and responsible for her choices.

The fact that, though we don’t really know each other, we are pro-[Them].  There will be no participation in gossip.

What’s done is done.  Now, we move forward in joy, because a baby is coming.

Overall, I thought the household discussion of this thing, that was entirely none of our business, went well.  They now know that all girls bodies work roughly the same way.  Homeschooling really doesn’t change you into some life form that doesn’t get pregnant the same way as everyone else.  Jesus isn’t a lucky charm that keeps the ordinary biological functions from taking place because you tithe.  Denim jumpers and crew socks with canvas shoes have no contraceptive value.  Don’t believe the hype.

As if they had any chance to labor under such misconceptions.

Excuse the expression .

The questions kept coming.

There are no easy answers anymore.  It’s a good sign.  It means they’re growing up.

Time to go wind the clock.




It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Banana Bread

We go to church with an actual green grocer.

Our sons are good buddies.

My husband is an apple man.  He’s mostly against food that comes from plants, and once forbade me to ever let his mother know he ate peas.  He is, however; a connoisseur of fine apples.

As such, we are by Pratt’s Market, often.  Imagine my delight then, when I was stumped on teacher gifts that wouldn’t break the bank, when I stopped by and Perry reminded me to get some free, too-ripe-to-sell bananas.

Oh yeah.

Because I have this:

The original recipe for my mother’s third husband’s mother’s banana bread with broiled pecan topping. (Think Praline.)

 The recipe made exactly the number of mini-loaves we needed.

The mini-loaves baked for about 10 minutes less than the whole pan would’ve.

And came out looking a lot like: I’ll-Be-Making-This-Again-Soon.

Hazel Kendrick’s Banana Bread

1/2 c. shortening

1 1/2 c. sugar                                             2 eggs, beaten

1 c. mashed bananas (3)                         4 T. sour milk

1 t. vanilla                                                   1 t. (scant) baking soda

1/2 c. nuts

Put in 2 quart dish.  Bake at 325 degrees; 45 minutes.  Top with the following and broil until bubbly:

10 T. brown sugar                                    6 T. butter

4 T. evaporated milk                               chopped nuts

Let cool before eating.  Seriously.  Be patient.  Don’t burn your mouth.

Note: In place of sour milk, you can use nearly any liquid.  Hazel said she’d used orange juice.  I used heavy cream. I listed ‘nuts’ for nostalgia’s sake.  Mom wouldn’t have used anything but pecans and would’ve specified other nuts.  Same for Hazel.  Mom’s mom would’ve put black walnuts in it and told you it tasted the same, like she did with those nasty cookies she made Butch.

Mmm.  Mmm.  Mmm.

What are you giving teachers this year?  And what is your favorite “heirloom” recipe?

In other news, yes, I have asked Santa for a camera.  He told me I’d shoot my eye out and placed his boot on my face and shoved.



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