When people ask me questions in my comment section I never know for sure where to answer them. Do I answer in my own comment section? Do I e-mail them? Or do I leave the answer in their comment section?

Anyway, there were a few questions asked on my last post that I would like to answer here.

First I was asked by several people if it was freezer jam or regular jam. It is regular jam. As a rule that is the only type of jam I make. When I was first married I made a bunch of freezer jam only to realise that my tiny freezer couldn’t hold it all plus the other items we needed in there. I also figure that my jam is part of my food storage, and if something were to happen and the power was off for a while I didn’t want to lose it all when, with only a few extra steps, I could preserve it and store it without refrigeration. I figure if we were hit with a major disaster we could survive on peanut butter and jam!

I was also asked where I got the raspberries. I bought them at a veggie/fruit stand in a neighboring city. If you want to find local produce, either stands or pick your own go here.

I was also asked for the recipe…well my dear blogging friends…I wish I had some fabulous recipe to share, but I don’t…I just followed the instructions on the insert of my package of pectin.

My blogging friend Tereza, after seeing this post, wanted to know where I live. With out giving away specifics I will say that I live in the beautiful state of Utah. I love the mountains and the wide open spaces. I live about 30 minutes south of Salt Lake City in a new little city. When I wake up in the morning the sun rises over Mount Timp. (can’t spell the whole name) and it sets over our “own” little Lake Mountain. My back yard butts up against 1,000 zillion acers of nothing but wild grasses and sage brush.

So there you go, some questions answered

As a side note, I have to tell you the story behind these pictures. I had the camera in my hand and was taking pictures of her foot when we started talking about all the things she couldn’t do and all the things she needed to be careful doing. Now, my #2 punk is a major drama queen. So when she started wailing that her life was over Dadzoo and I started laughing, in turn she drops her head and starts crying. I already had the camera in my hand, so I figured why not snap some pictures. Everytime I see that picture I start laughing, she was being such a DRAMA!

It is so easy to get bogged down in life. It seems like my days are endless rounds of dirty dishes, laundry, cleaning up messes, homework, then more dishes, messes and laundry. It is really easy to let myself get tired, bored and ornery.

Today when my 9 year old walked in the door after school I knew something was wrong. She didn’t say much and plopped herself on the couch. I could just tell by her face that she was upset by something.

I asked her if she was alright.

She nodded “yes”.

I knew she was lieing.

I asked again, and again she told me nothing was wrong.

So I reached out my hand to her and she stood up, as she was walking to me I could tell that tears were very close to the surface. We walked into my bedroom and I locked the door. (Nothing ruins a good cry more that a bunch of little ones barging in.)

I sat in my chair and sat her on my lap and again asked what was wrong.

The flood gates opened and I could barely make out a muffled “I was left out of everything” as she dissolved into sobs.

Talk about taring out a mama’s heart! My poor baby. My poor little girl. This is my little one who has “issues”. She struggles with just about everything and school is a major challenge for her in so many ways. She is the one I would just like to fold up and tuck inside my heart and shelter her precious little soul forever.

She sat on my lap and cried in my shoulder for a few minutes and I asked what happened, why was she left out? All I got in reply was more muffled sobs and a very wet shoulder. I pulled her back and looked in her tear stained face and told her we would take some deep breaths and she could tell me everything.

First, she told me, she didn’t get her own T-shirt back. I noticed that she was wearing a tie dyed T-shirt, but that it wasn’t the same shirt I had sent her to school with. I knew she was really excited about her shirt, she had worked hard on it in school Friday, she had used the most rubber bands and it was going to be the prettiest one there. She prattled on and on about it all weekend. So what happened? She explained that the teacher had forgotten to put her shirt in the second round of dyeing (huh? whatever!) so the teacher had given her one of the extra shirts she had made. (Why the teacher couldn’t have done my daughters shirt anyway after she realised the mistake, I don’t know, maybe she didn’t realize it until this morning…) My daughter falls into another round of sobs. I explained to her that while it was very disappointing, it could have happened to anyone it the class, that the teacher didn’t do it to her on purpose.

What else happened? Well for book review she didn’t get a worksheet, so she was left out.

Did you tell your teacher I asked?

“Yes and she got me another one.” I explained to her that it was just a mistake and it could have been anyone who didn’t get a sheet, it just happened to be her. It was just dumb luck. Although knowing my girl I am sure she was really embarrassed, she doesn’t do good at all in social situations where she is the center of attention.

What else happened?

She was really hungry at lunch and wanted seconds, and there was extra so she went to get more popcorn chicken (one of her favorites….what kind of junk are they feeding these kids?) When she got up there, they were out. I told her once again it was just silly, stupid luck and it could have been anyone. I am sure she was embarrassed and disappointed.

Well, honey, was there anything more?

Another round of sobbing and tear wiping and a good nose blow.

Yes…she stutters….on the bus I sort of burped….I didn’t mean to it just came out, and a 5th grader called me a “gross burpy girl”.

(I really had to muster all my will power so I wouldn’t bust up laughing!)

So we talked about how rude it is to say things like that and how it isn’t polite to comment on peoples bodily noises and how that is a lesson on how we should treat others.

There were some more hugs and a little more crying and some more talking. By the time we were finished she had a smile on her face and her heavy step was lighter.

Why do I tell you this silly story, that I am sure was played out in many homes and schools today? As I was sitting there holding my crying baby the thought came to me loud and clear.