Yesterday I had the opportunity to go to a friend's house and check out her garden. Actually, it's not just her garden - she and a mutual friend tend to it. It's humongous.
And when I say "garden" I mean garden, as in nearly enough to feed two families -- which consist of 11 people total.
I'm totally stealing her tomato staking ideas.
Or, at least, I'm gonna make Aaron do it. After all, he is in charge of the veggies.
She also has teenagers, lot of 'em. Like, over two million. Or five. You pick. This one was exhausted from making gluten-free banana bread and a gluten-free blueberry cake.
Which? I can say? YUM.
After the garden tour, my friend's oldest (he's 14) decided to "entertain" us which was really horrible jokes and stories of his antics, like getting kicked out of his girlfriend's house and trying to insinuate I am old enough to have been in Grease (am NOT, by the way) and jumping on the back of my van and holding on while I drove around his neighborhood. Little does he know, I'm moving from teaching the three and four year-olds at "church" (which, by the way, all my friends now call their own churches church-with-out-quotation-marks, as well they should with all their Jesus love) to teaching his class of 12 to 14 year-olds.
And let the torture begin.