This evening while I was cutting up onions for soup, and subsequently crying like a baby, Gideon got into the butter dish and spread it all over himself and the dining room carpet. He came waddling in holding a butter knife in one hand and a handful of butter in the other.
It's cold out and I don't have a jacket. (Because my basement flooded and ruined all my winter clothes that were stored in cardboard boxes.) But I refuse to buy one because I have a half made grey cape upstairs in my sewing studio. That's my project for tomorrow's naptime.
The windows in my kitchen are fogging up because it's so cold outside and so warm inside from all the baking I've been doing. I'm reminded of that James Whitcomb Riley poem and I want to write some fall-y poetry.
I made my first pumpkin pie of the season. A mini-pie in my brie dish because Silas doesn't care for pumpkin pie ( I KNOW, RIGHT!?!). I haven't eaten any yet. I think I'm going to go do that.