Earlier tonight I decided to go through all our summer pictures that I have stored on the computer. I knew there were pictures of Offspring With Disney Characters, Offspring With Cousins, Offspring With Friends, Offspring With Dogs, Offspring In Water, etc., and so on, etc. And since I’ve felt a little crazed the last couple of days, I thought gazing at photographs of some of the people I love would be ever-so-relaxing.

But apparently, if my iPhoto is any indication, one of the people I love the very most is named, well, Food.

Y’all. We’re talking about an embarrassing number of food-related photos.

Now granted, some of the pictures were for blog posts that never came to pass. For example, I took an elaborate series of photos when I made a Hummingbird Cake earlier this summer, but the end result paled in comparison to the Coconut Cake Of Beauty I had made the week before. So I never mentioned it.

But in the interest of tying up loose photographic ends, here’s a picture of all the cake ingredients:

And, of course, the icing:

Which, added together, produced this:

For continuity’s sake, I should point out that I left the pecans out of the icing because they were somewhat mealy and bitter.

And while there are many qualities I look for in cakes, “mealy bitterness” is almost never one of them.

Oddly enough.

I also found a picture of a Southern spread Mama cooked back in June.

Now you would be completely justified in thinking that such an array of food was supper for at least twelve people, but it was LUNCH. For SIX. And one of those six people is only four years old. So really it was lunch for 5 1/2.

I feel it’s significant that I couldn’t even fit all the food in the frame.

Yet I wonder why I have food issues.

Moving on.

I have absolutely no explanation for this next photo. I guess I fixed a salad for lunch and thought it was pretty? Or something? Maybe?

You must feel like your life is infinitely richer for having seen that.

And just in case you don’t?

Hold on to your seats, internets – WE HAVE CANNED GOODS!

Now if memory serves, and we’re all sort of kidding ourselves if we think it does, I took the first Canned Good Still Life when the bug man was coming and I had to clean out my pantry. I have a vague recollection of thinking I would transform the whole sugar ant invasion / pantry-emptying debacle into some sort of blog post. But, you know, I didn’t.

However, now that I look at the picture, I totally should have issued some sort of Recipe Challenge and offered a prize to the person who could come up with the best dish consisting of evaporated milk, artichoke hearts, black olives, beans, pickle relish and a fruit cup.

Oh, it DO sound tasty, don’t it?

As for the second Canned Good Still Life – I really think I took that picture because those foods make me happy.

I mean, peanut butter, black beans, whole wheat noodles, chocolate chip cookies, bread and Ranch dressing – WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE?

And finally, just like the lovely Ms. Vanessa Williams, I’ve saved the best for last.

I call this one “Blackeyed Peas Coming To A Rolling Boil.”

Because, well, it’s blackeyed peas coming to a rolling boil.

WITH STEAM AND EVERYTHING.

Yeah. I know.

But don’t worry. My crazy really isn’t contagious.

It’s just increasingly difficult to contain.

A little while ago I put Alex in time out for arguing with me. After about four minutes I walked back to his room and said, “Buddy, do you know why you’re in time out?”

“Because the pirates wanted to fight you,” he said.

I think that maybe I’m not communicating very clearly.

I triple love that “Little Bear” is Alex’s favorite cartoon right now. Because I think it is absolutely adorable. And as an added bonus, there are no characters with high-pitched, screechy voices.

Four years ago I had no idea what a huge animated plus that would be.

I find this dress from Walmart to be sixteen kinds of fun. It would require a camisole – but how cute would it be in early fall?

OH-SO-CUTE.

My sister-in-law Rose told me recently that Lancome is owned by L’Oreal, and as a result several of their products are nearly identical.

I for one had never heard of such a thing.

But after a little research (the internet, it is handy), I found out a surprising bit of information: ‘TIS TRUE!

Rose relayed this exciting news right as I was about to run out of my usual Lancome foundation, and so, in a fit of frugal enthusiasm, I bought the L’Oreal True Match instead. It was a third of the price, and I am sort of disturbingly excited about the fact that something cheaper JUST MIGHT WORK. I will keep you posted.

Because I care about you and your skin care regimen.

I can’t say enough good things about Marc Broussard‘s latest CD. I listed it on my “Listening” page a couple of weeks ago – but it deserves a main-page mention.

Alex and I have done some of our best boogie-down moves EVER to “Let The Music Get Down In Your Soul,” and along with Monk & Neagle, Mr. Broussard is indelibly etched on the Summer ’07 soundtrack of my mind. Love it.

For all of you sweet people who didn’t think my house was all that messy in yesterday’s pictures, BLESS YOU. I have happily basked all day in what Veronica referred to as my “rookie” house-is-a-wreck status. But in case you’ve forgotten: this and this will provide all the insight you need in terms of why house stuff tends to stress me out a bit.

I get it honest. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Guess what, internets?

It’s time for the monthly Hey-Y’all-My-House-Is-A-Wreck post!

OH MERCY it wears me out.

I would imagine that you feel the same way. Feel free to scream “GRAB HOLD OF THE REINS, WOMAN!” at your computer screen.

Okay. That’s enough now.

First I give you the suitcase that has been in the middle of our bedroom floor for almost two weeks. It’s not completely unpacked yet because, well, I’m just not ready for that level of commitment.

And as you can see, it really adds something special to the overall look of the room. In fact, it’s almost as lovely as the chair that’s piled high with heaven knows what.

Though I believe there’s a board game somewhere at the bottom of the heap. Hullabaloo, anyone?

Also: does anyone know when the bedroom-painting elves are supposed to arrive? Because I could have sworn that they were planning to hit our house before August – with a lovely sage-y taupe in hand.

Next up is the GeoTrax train that exploded in our living room. Along with some shoes.

But it’s okay, really, because I hear that deconstructed toy train art is all the rage in preschool circles. At least that’s what I tell myself when I step on a caboose and then fall up the steps like the graceful swan that I am.

And while I did in fact conquer Clean Laundry Mountain a couple of weeks ago, she beckons me once again.

There’s no doubt in my mind that far away, in western Colorado, Barb looked at that picture and started to twitch just a little bit.

So turn away, Barb, before you see what’s next.

THE PLAYROOM.

I’d appreciate your prayers.

And I’ll be back when my rooms are as clean as my ear canals.

Hopefully pointy steel instruments will not be required.

I knew that today was going to be what Sister calls a “humdingalinga” when I had to put Howard Alex in time out. At the pool. During his swimming lesson.

The specifics aren’t important, really – just typical four year-old antics – but when we got in the car a little bit later and started to talk about the difference between good choices and bad choices, Alex apologized and then informed me that we needed to pray.

Look for him at a tent revival near you when he’s, you know, seven. He’ll obviously be the one offering the invitation to the altar while “Just As I Am” plays in the background.

So we went to lunch, ran a couple of errands, stopped at Publix for some groceries (ground chuck for $1.99 a pound – HOLLA!) , then hurried back home before all the meat ruined in the 243 degree heat.

And clearly I’m exaggerating. Because it was actually only about 172 this afternoon.

The highlight of the day was without a doubt my return trip to the ENT. Who knew that two weeks of impaction-softening eardrops could pass by so quickly? Oh, it has been special season.

In all honesty I didn’t even mind the fact that I had a doctor’s appointment, because I knew that my doctor’s appointment guaranteed a certain span of time in which I would be all alone. Never you mind that the majority of that alone time would be spent with someone trying to pry impacted wax from my ear canal. I’ll take my quiet where I can get it, thankyouverymuch.

So after spending about forty five minutes reading back issues of Ladies’ Home Journal in the waiting room (heaven on earth, I tell you), I was escorted to an examination room, where, thanks to my doctor’s fancy audio set-up, I enjoyed the soothing sounds of Seal and TLC.

Remember, internets: don’t go chasing waterfalls. Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.

Sadly, the physician’s assistant came in the room and interrupted the moment of introspection I was sharing with T-Boz, Chili and Left Eye (God rest her soul). And after he took a look at my right ear his first words were, “So, have you REALLY been using your drops?”

I couldn’t help but feel that the news wasn’t good.

And I won’t go into too much detail because I realize that many of you have recently eaten supper, but he had to use, um, POINTY STEEL THINGS in order to remove the impaction. And then he had to CUT IT WITH SCISSORS because he couldn’t get it out of my ear.

You see, IT WAS TOO BIG TO COME OUT OF MY EAR IN ONE PIECE.

And that was just the right side, my friends.

Several days ago I told D. that there was no way I was looking at whatever came out of my ear, no way in this world, but when push came to shove I just couldn’t help it. Curiosity got the better of me, and not only did I look, I COULD NOT TURN AWAY FROM IT.

Some minutes later, when I finally regained my composure, I asked the PA how in the sam hill that THING ended up in my ear, and he said that it’s because I have unusually small ear canals.

It was a bittersweet moment, mainly because I have spent the better part of thirty years wishing that something, anything about me would be considered “unusually small.” I would love to have “unusually small” thighs, or “unusually small” upper arms, or “unusually small” stomach flab.

But instead, I have “unusually small” ear canals.

Needless to say, I am underwhelmed with delight.

The good news, however, is that I can now hear better than I have in years. I had to turn down the volume on my cell phone, and I’ve been fiddling with the volume on iTunes all night long lest the old settings shatter my eardrums. I’m even considering applying to the CIA as a covert human listening device.

I’m JUST LIKE the Bionic Woman, y’all. Or at least I would be if I actually had any bionic powers.

Unfortunately, it seems that the only superhuman power I have is to produce massively sized ear impactions.

And the demand for such a skill is understandably nonexistent.

If you have a Better Batter and a baseball glove, you can keep two four year-old boys happily occupied for the rest of your earthly days.

Or, at the very least, for several hours on a hot summer day.

Just in case you were wondering.