When I Was Growing Up . . .
A family friend, Paul, nonchalantly mentioned that leaving a film of Ivory soap under ones arms would result in a fever by morning.
For YEARS my sister and I tried in vain to get it to work. We hoped and prayed and (most of all) scrubbed in hopes of a sick day at home with mom, but all we got for our efforts were very clean armpits. Thank you, Paul, for understanding the magic of home in the heart of a child and using it to get us clean. I’m sure my mom loved you for that.
If You’re Reading, Paul . . .
I’d like you to know home is still just as magical to me. There is more laundry than I remember but it is sweeter, too. When all Katie wants to do is play in the snow . . .
. . and sweet Micah scooches himself up to watch her . . .
I make myself a bowl of old-fashioned bread pudding and rub dirt on my armpits. Because seriously, every day is a day at home with mom now . . . only I am the mom and you’re a liar. So there.
If you’re not Paul, I’d like to share this rustic dessert recipe with you. I hope it fills you with warmth and reminds you of the comforts of home.