The cat's on the counter and I lost the spoon ...

little man's poopin' and the dog's gotta too ...

So, at Casa Graham, we like to make up songs for any occasion. We sing about chickens, and our pets, and how we wish we had some chickens for pets. And speaking of that ... there are these two ladies who do all sorts of crafties and cookin' and such, including raising chickens (!) in town (!!) But I must say, my most-favoritest-and-my-best love of this blog is the dilligent record of fails. So great -- I love it! No one is perfect, although she comes close.

But back to the songs ... and the title of this post. The house is a complete disaster area. I mean, you cannot walk without impaling your foot on a bionicle or miniature knight or dragon. And that's just the kids' mess. I count seven, SEVEN, miscellaneous balls of semi-tangly yarn, within two feet of my bod on the couch. My mother would be horrified. But let me tell you something about a clean house ... it's for suckers. And THIS is a bunch of crap, I just can't get past the mental image of a teeth-clenched June Cleaver scrubbing floors in a twinset and heels. People, I got a life to live, and I ain't gonna spend it cleaning house! (And I think Dolly would agree.)

Breakfast of champions

I made some delicious granola from this book. Then I made granola bread from this book, and look! Doesn't it look delicious? I ate it with jam, and peanut butter, and butter, and ...

What I love about my morning drive

This morning, while hauling the big three out to school, an enormous bald eagle swooped over the minivan. The boys were thrilled! We watched it dive into the winter cornfield and swing back into a spiral above us, empty-taloned. The boys thought maybe it was looking for a mate, or migrating, or hunting rabbits and snakes.

Bon jour!

So begins my inauguration into blogging. Onto the inane blather ... so I just watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. I loved it, and I mean love -- so beautiful to watch, and the music was just startling enough to move me out of the narrative, but then the story itself was so compelling that the music also disappeared. Quite something to behold.
Stephanie Zacharek wrote a great of the movie for Salon.