Do You Ever Get Tired Of The Universe?

Do you ever contemplate the unknown? When you look at the night sky and see countless stars twinkling above you, do you ponder the infinite universe? Do you ever wonder if somewhere, there's another being sitting on a grassy orb, breathing life-sustaining oxygen and wondering if you exist?

Thanks to Emi, these aren't merely questions we ruminate over on occasion. It's accepted as reality in our home that aliens do exist. In fact, they walk and talk among us. They are probably benevolent, but sometimes, given certain, er, evidence (like barbies thrown at at an older sister's head, or a secret stash of M&Ms that is suddenly not so secret and not so stashed and dabs of yellow and red and orange smearing supposedly innocent fingers (M&Ms, contrary to their jingle can, in fact, melt in your hand!), we do wonder if there might be a tiny, but not insignificant, malicious streak carried by these life forms that parade around as little sisters. (We do, after all, have laboratory proof that Annie's genetic make-up is not quite the same as the rest of us that live in the brown brick house.)

So the whole alien thing is frequently referred to (sometimes subtly, other times, not so much) when we are gathered around the kitchen table or curled up on the sofa or playing in the backyard or when we are driving in the car...., which is why it came as no surprise when, a few weeks ago, the girls and I were gazing at puffy white trails traversing a bright blue sky. Ever-curious Annie asked what they were. She disregarded my short explanation of airforce jets, instead deciding it must have been aliens. And would you, my friend, like to know why aliens raced across the sky that particular day? As Annie so blithely asserted, "Oh, they're probably tired of our universe."

It Tastes Like....Arkansas?

Guess whose mouth these words popped out of:

Dinner last night was comprised of rolls still steaming from the oven {Rhodes, of course, because when I put something in the oven, I feel like I'm actually baking (as opposed to just pulling an item out of the freezer and letting it rise for a few hours and stopping short of sliding said item in the oven at 350 degrees for 15 minutes.) And that makes me feel like I've done something I'm supposed to do for my family (which is feeding them a well-planned meal. And I did plan well - I remembered to take the rolls out of the freezer in time to eat with the meal for which they were intended!)}. And I made soup.

Really, this soup I actually made. From scratch! With chicken broth (which was not from scratch. Bullion cubes. I don't boil chicken bones. I don't even buy chicken with bones - it's boneless, skinless breasts for me!), chopped onion, diced garlic, a bit of salt and pepper, a dash of nutmeg, some milk, and fresh cauliflower. Oh, and cheese. The soup wasn't too difficult and I really needed to do something with that head of cauliflower that had been rolling around the produce drawer (nice imagery, huh.)

Apparently, when Ryan called on his way home from work and asked what we were eating for dinner (he used to ask me what I was cooking for dinner, then he realized that perhaps he was being a bit presumptuous, assuming I was making something different everyday. So one day he amended his question to asking what we were eating), I told him I was making a broccoli soup. And I guess one of my girls overheard me, because after Ryan arrived home and established that it was cauliflower, not broccoli soup, and we began eating, this child swallowed a spoonful and announced, "Yeah - it tastes like Colorado to me!"