Kate just broke my blogger’s block by, as it were, spoon-feeding me topics. “I should blog,” I say. “but I don’t know what to say.” “Check out the operation on the counter,” she says. “And maybe take a picture. I don’t know, it’s up to you.”

Need a close up?

I now live with a cheesemaker. A cheese/yogurt/kefir/buttermilk making crazy woman with laptop deprivation.

Blessed are the cheesemakers, for they shall obtain mercy. And have their laptops returned unto them.

I happen to think that The Cheesemakers would be a great band name, with their first album being Blessed Are the Cheesemakers. And maybe a song called “Mercy.” Or something like that. Maybe I’ve just been influenced too much by King Dork (which, if your name is Joe or Joey and you happen to be related to me, you must read. The rest of you can read it, too.)

In other news, Kate has been taking out her withdrawal on poor Mollie. It’s a love/hate thing.

And now that Mollie is eight, Kate finally threw a party for her and Kitri, since they share birthdays. But Mollie wasn’t allowed to have any of the cake or the gourmet snacks or the wine. It was rough, especially since Kitri was allowed more treats than Mollie. The rest of us lived it up, too.

And some of us, after a mere six hours sleep, staggered out of bed to teach Sunday School. At which I almost died laughing over the kids deciding who was going to marry who when they grew up.

“You’re too wild, John,” said Rachel. “I’m going to marry Elijah.”

“But the boy is the one who asks! Girls aren’t supposed to ask people to marry them,” protested the boys.

I bit my tongue at this point to see what would come out of their mouths next.

Retorts Rachel: “But I can say no!”