It seems pretty unfair to me that a woman becomes a fantastic cook later in life, just as her caloric needs diminish to match that of a petrified log.  Dammit.

Ok I'm done blitchin'.   I have a job, a good car, my own house, no man-drama, one grand baby and another on the way, SQUUUEEEEEEYYY!

Strawberries saved me.

My sweet little grandie, who I call Emii but who is actually named Adiyana Amelia Roman, is going to be 3 soon. 

Today I sat with her on the front porch, holding her in my lap and singing that Butterfly song she loves.  She has grown steadily.  She is healthy.  She is very pretty.   She is also Autistic.  I love everything about her, and some day I will understand more of what she is saying.  For now I look at her face as she relaxes and smiles broadly, and pretend I understand the sounds,   I play with her the best that I can, and she lets go of the tension and transforms.  It totally changes her face and she looks like a different little girl. She let's me kiss her, tickle under her arm, and her bare feet.  Today she laid back and stretched and almost snuggled in to take a nap. 

The weather was finally warm and sunny, and we enjoyed it in the community garden.  Emii carried the watering can with me, and we gave the kale and strawberries many drinks.  Another family, a daddy and his little girl, were also doing some gardening.  They left the shovel out of the tool shed, and I dug up some strawberry plans that were growing along a pathway and transplanted them into my raised bed.  If I had not done that, they would have rotted and gone to waste.  It made me feel good to save them, and to share this day with my sweet, beautiful, impossible to understand girl.