Garbage disposals and hayrides: Breakfast of champions

Finally, a kitchen wish was granted this weekend. Brent installed a garbage disposal. Small perhaps, but what a difference that makes! I wouldn't say I'm a self-described cook by any stretch of the imagination -- unless toast, dippy eggs and mom's special pasta count.

A dabble here, a chop-chop there. Well, the right side of the double sink has been clogged for the better part of a month. Yes, disgusting. Although the worst part was when the dishwasher ran. The gobbley-gook backed up into the sink.

*shudder*

So, needless to say Brent got out the never-leave-his-side Leatherman tool (a glorified pocketknife) and went to town. Three hours, a lot of sweat, less swearing than I thought later, voila!

Then, on Sunday, we went up to Pap's farm in the middle of Pennsylvania. (Not quite, but it felt backwoods.) With mom's secret pasta in tow, we arrived to lots of homemade Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, lots of Pennsylvania Dutch accents and two hayrides. That's right, folks. Two.

Oh, did Lucy have a blast! Mud + rain + food on the ground = one dirty little girl