Adele had a cough, congestion, and a sore throat this morning, so we decided to keep her home from church. I stayed with her while Dwayne took Avril.
As I gave Adele medicine this morning, I noticed we were inundated with laundry, somehow, though we do at least a load every single day.
So with all the extra hours at home, I did at least five loads of laundry today. I've lost count of the actual number.
I also read my Bible, spent extra time in prayer, listened to the end of two audio books: Orthodoxy by Chesterton and Till We Have Faces by Lewis, and listened to a few more chapters of The Penderwicks.
I even made Italian bread sticks from scratch to go with with homemade sausage marinara, spaghetti, and the fresh Italian-style salad I made for dinner.
My breadsticks weren't uniform and beautiful, but they tasted very like Olive Garden's breadsticks, only better perhaps, since they were fresh and from scratch.
Now the sun is setting, the girls are practicing piano, a last load of laundry for the day is drying, and I was reading Esolen's Politically Incorrect Guide to Western Civilization on and off before typing this.
My life is not very sensational or important, I realize as I type this summation of another typical day.
But I enjoy my quiet, domestic labors, interesting thoughts, and the constant, sweet (and sometimes fiery) fellowship of the Holy Spirit.
What more or better is there?
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