IT'S A MIRACLE...

This week is going to be full of miracles, I can just tell.

Today, the start of homecoming week at the kids' high school, is Rock the Eighties Day, where the kids can dress in eighties fashion. Kayla, of course has embraced this challenge full on. Blake, of course, is ignoring Rock the Eighties Day, though I insisted he could simply grab a shirt out of his dad's closet and go for it, since his dad really does still have clothes from our high school days. And if I'm not very watchful, he will even try to wear them.

Anyway, I have tried very hard to help Kayla with her eighties fashion day, because in high school, I was the height of fashion flare.

Well, that's not exactly true. I wasn't the most fun dresser in high school. I leaned more to the preppy side of things, wearing mostly oxfords and jeans.

But I always cuffed my jeans I had some pretty awesome earrings. Oh, and my Nikes were always very white.

Kayla finally decided to wear two polos, and after I told her we would turn our collars up, she said "Oh, I can pop my collar?"

Huh?

Then she put her hair in a really high pony tail - on the side - and asked me to cuff her jeans really skinny. And I said "Oh, you want me to peg them." Because I'm all about throwing around my very extensive fashion lingo.

Anything to teach the children history.

Turns out it's really hard to peg boot cut jeans that are really long, on a girl with ticklish feet.

But we got the job done and Kayla said "Oh, they're like skinny jeans....for poor people."

And then I was witness to a miracle.

Kayla was on the phone - again - with one of her friends getting every detail of this day down when I heard her say "You need to listen to your mom 'cause she, like, lived in the eighties."

YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO YOUR MOM?

*Cue hallelujah chorus now*

These girls may not listen to us about boyfriends, homework, swimsuits, college, or cell phone minutes but by golly, they know to pipe down and listen close when it comes to Eighties Fashion.
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In other Miraculous forecasts:

I'm going to make an apple pie.

No, really I am.

Oh stop! I am.

Somebody gave us a boatload of apples and I've decided to make a pie (or two), because I've never made a pie.

*hanging head in shame*

But I'm making one this week because Blake has challenged me.

And I never run away from a challenge.

Well, that's not exactly true. I try to avoid challenges like the plague. But this time, I'm going to shut that young whipper snapper up and make a pie, doggone it. I've already looked up my great grandmother's recipe.

And therein lies the problem, because nobody, NOBODY made pies like Grandma Hale. She worked until she was eighty years old, making pies at a little restaurant in her hometown, and people loved her pies. LOVED. THEM. I will not be telling the older members of my family that it's Grandma Hale's recipe because they will laugh me out of the kitchen. Not that they could do any better because none of us seem able to recreate her pies or sugar cookies.

Her pie crust recipe actually calls for lard. Lard, I tell you! Somehow I think "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter - Light" won't do the trick, when the recipe says LARD, so I have to go out and buy some shortnin'. And, JUST IN CASE, I'm going to buy some prepared pie crusts.

Because I'm all about being prepared.

And so what if I don't actually MAKE the crust? Blake will never know because he doesn't read this blog, and I'm sure none of you are going to tell him.

Are you?

Anyway, the week is starting off on a miraculous foot.

Teenage girls listening to their mothers? Miracle

Heidi making a pie? Miracle

And some people say there is no God....