My baker came over.  She and I have cooking in common, not to mention her life seems to practically be mirroring my life.  She's a sweet girl.  She cooks well, has two beautiful little girls and tries to make it to my house at least once a week, although she is very busy with school and work and her children.

We pulled out the ingredients.  It took about four times as long as it should because we kept being distracted.  Melted the chocolate and butter, stirred in the sugar and flower.  Put the stuff together in a pan, cookies crushed and mixed with butter for the crust, then walnuts crushed, then the brownie stuff, and then baked.

While baking we talked about her boyfriend, and my school, and the silliness of the world.  We did not speak much of politics except to complain that Gene Green (our state representative) voted FOR the healthcare control mandate.

We taught the baby a new word, threw a ball around, and had the best time.  She brought some cosmetology heads over to take pictures of a hat and scarf I made that I'm giving to a girl who my son knows.  Pretty white with little colored heart beads crocheted into it.  She's going to give out business cards to her family and friends to advertise for me.  I make these to sell.  I also knit and crochet afghans and other things.

Anyway bonding with the child is always fun.  She's smart and she's funny.  I always enjoy spending time with my girls.  They give me life, and they give me hope for tomorrow.  The baker daughter slept on my chest the first two weeks she was home.  She was so premature when she was born and so tiny that she would just forget to breathe. The hospital kept her for two weeks.  I got out after one.  She was my first of two twins.  Her brother was slightly bigger and seemingly more well-developed.  I bonded closely with the girl because of my worry over her breaths.

She was a lap child, she was the most responsible of my children, she was the happiest and the most angry.  I taught her, a little too well, to speak up for herself and don't let other people try to tell her what to do.  She's my Marine Corps daugther, she's my baker, she's domestic, and she's professional.  Cheerful child changed when she went to Iraq.  She was different for a couple years.  Very different, indeed.  She was sad, depressed, angry, serious, and nothing like the girl that I raised and let out into the world in 2004.  But now she's back.  It took a while but recovery takes time.

We can talk about the baby, the youngsters, how poorly I am raising my grandson, how permissive and passive am. HA!  She has no idea.  I mellow out when she's here.  It's so much fun to hang out with my daughter.

Online journals are quite an interesting place to write about stuff, but here it is.