No, I didn’t get taken away with Jesus in the rapture. Sorry to disappoint. From what I can tell no one else did either though so I’m still in good company here on earth.

So… what’s going on?


Welllll. A lot and nothing. At the same time. You know. Stuff. And things. The sad fact is I haven’t blogged worth a damn in a month so get ready to be absolutely OVERLOADED with images of my children. And me. And stuff. And things. Oh and food porn. YES. Food. Porn.


Off we go.

I tend to lose track of what I’ve told you between here and instagram, where I am a certified photo whore, and facebook, where I occasionally stop in to to post a video or photo or to complain about exhaustion or attempt to be witty for 30 seconds. Generally failing by the way.  SO if you’re inclined, and have an iphone, follow me on IG… I’m jonie (the ‘E’ is for Edelman. That’s my last name. And it’s means NOBLEMAN in German. Which I am not. Though I am in fact German) or alternatively if you like, add me on facebook… Go click over there —-> (if you can’t see my little photo and mini bio with social media links then click up there on the header to go back to the homepage where those things will magically appear because I haven’t gotten this problem fixed with the page yet AND then go add me on facebook and IG. Annnd breath.)


And you can see awesome stuff like me posting a video of Ella dancing to MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This. Yeah. That happened.

Annnnyway. The garden is planted:

It hasn’t been doing as well as I’d hoped because, well basically, we live on dirt that has no life left in it. It’s dead dirt if there is such a thing as dirt that is dead. I suspect given the location of our house that once some tree probably grew here. Walnut. Or Peach. Or cotton (not a tree just a bush). Or corn. Or any combination of all of those things. In any event, the soil is devoid of nutrient and hard like a rock. I meant to plant a nice crop of peas in the winter that I could till in to enrich the soil but alas, as is so often my excuse reason these days, I was exhausted.

I wasn’t too exhausted to bake these:

Or these:

It seems that no matter how exhausted I am I can find time to whip up a flippin cupcake. Oh how lucky for me.

Yeah. No.

IN OTHER news… The cherry tree never lets me down. See:

Oh well except for the fact the the birds pecked every GODFORSAKENMOTHERFLIPPIN cherry. And then, when they had what the could reach before the dog chased them off, the ants found the cherries and ate the rest. So in the end I ate 5 cherries. They were delicious though, those 5 little beauties.

Also my roses didn’t seem to mind the shit soil:

So yay. Only downside there is they only bloom once. WHHHHY? Why can’t they bloom all summer? David Austen MUST know that would absolutely MAKE MY LIFE.

Oh AND someone, praise the little baby Jesus in the manger, got TEETH. FINALLY. TWO OF THEM.


Soooo of course everyone is sleeping peacefully through the night now.

Yeah. No. Still not sleeping.

Cest la vie.


This kid:

He turned 13. God. Help. Me. Oh and apparently he taught himself to play the trombone in 60 seconds. Though to be fair, he already knew how to play the trumpet. So there’s that. See:

He’s the ubercool kid in the Spy sunglasses. With the hair. Oh the hair. Also he’s taller than me now. And yesterday we were talking about divorce and families (as that is happening to a couple of families we know recently) and how it gets easier with time and he said (AND I QUOTE) “MOM, divorce is a weight I carry upon my shoulders. Constantly. It’s like an EMOTIONAL BACKPACK. It’s a BACKPACK of EMOTION. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Uh yeah. I hear you dude. Annnnnd the Oscar goes to…..

He. Is. Awesome.

So anyway he wanted chocolate cake for his birthday. With Chocolate frosting. With chocolate on top. Was I exhausted? Did I bake it?


For his birthday we got him the coolest guitar EVAH. Cause oh yeah, he plays that too.

You may notice the strings are missing. Yes, it IS difficult to play a guitar with no strings, thank you for recognizing. They are missing BECAUSE 4 days after we bought him said guitar, it fell out of the back of my MONSTER Sequoia and broke in two pieces like a 90 year old hip (actually to be fair those usually break in more than two pieces. Poor fragile elderly ladies. God love em). SO yeah. Bummer. Like bad. We are fixing it now. Thank GOD my husband is a musical GENIUS. Phew.

Anyway that kid… He looks a little like me.

Just a little EXACTLY LIKE ME. Poor kid.

And her:

She thinks she looks just like her dad.


Uh huh. Sure.

Oh also I made some stuff:

That’s a necklace.

And this:

Is a pillowcase. Which will soon be available in my etsy shop. Where there is now absolutely not one SINGLE thing.

Alllllso… Hens.

Yes. Hens. For eggs. I needed one more thing to do.

Oh and one last thing. This happened.


That, my friends, is Stef. You may know her as Stef from Hear Me Roar but I know her just as Stef, the girl who was one year behind me in school. And now, I’m so pleased to say (ahem some 20 + years later) I also know her as friend.


Until next month, or you know, the next time i bake something, thanks for coming along.


xo ~ j

sisterhood , stuff. and things , teenagers , things kids say , things that happened this week

on sisterhood


I have one.

This post isn’t about her.

She’s brilliant, gorgeous, athletic, funny. I waited 14 years for her. She gets her own post. This isn’t it. This post is about a different kind of sisterhood.

Before I go into it let me tell you this, I was one of *those* girls in high school. To all the girls I went to high school (or junior high school) with, I apologize. I wasn’t the boyfriend stealer. I wasn’t a snob. I wasn’t a bitch (Actually, I probably was a bitch. Feel free to tell me if that was the case. I’m doubly sorry for that.) I just didn’t have girlfriends. I started out having girlfriends but as girls sometimes do we betrayed each other. We acted snarky. Talked badly of one another. Lost touch. And ultimately stopped talking at all.

So I eventually just hung out with the guys. All guys (Jordan, I’m talking to you if you’re reading). And I had fun. Guys aren’t catty or bitchy. They don’t care what you’re wearing to the prom. You can make them a pie and they are just happy you made them a pie. They don’t try to make a pie better than you or curse you out for trying to outdo their pie. I went on ‘dates’ with guys. To concerts with guys. To pizza with guys. I studied with guys. Rode around (and got stuck) in a 4 WD pick up with guys. Listened to Metallica (and some George Strait and Joni Mitchell, we were a varied group) with guys. Watched Monty Python with guys. I think you get what I’m saying. I hung out with guys. The memories are good. Very good.

But I missed girls.

Here’s the thing about girls: We are in constant competition with each other. Who has the smarter kid. Who is skinnier, prettier, smarter, funnier. Who has the better (or worse) husband. Who has the bigger or nicer house or car. Who. Is. Better.

I don’t get it.

And here’s what I know, when you meet a girl that you don’t have to feel like you’re in competition with, hang on to her.

Recently someone I only barely knew in junior high commented on my blog post about secrets. It said this:

Joni, I’m a lurker on your blog and, well, just read this: http://stefdwe.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-blogging-inspiration-aka-im-so.html.
So I went there. Cause what am I, some kind of jerk? And what did I find? A blog post about me. Yep me.
Little ol’ insignificant imperfect me.
I hope you read it because it drives what I am about to say home.
When I read it I was awed. Just awed. Here is this sister, beautiful, intelligent with a beautiful family and an enviable life and she is talking about how I make her feel inadequate. How she actually AVOIDED reading my blog because of this feeling. (Read her blog by the way, it’s really good.)
Which is, you see, why I had to write this.
Because when I look at the Pioneer Woman I feel inadequate. She is a blogger extraordinaire. She cooks. She’s witty. She homeschools. She leads an interesting life. She wrote a BOOK for godsake.
But she’s my sister too.
And here’s the truth: I’m not inadequate. And neither is Stefanie. And neither is anyone else reading this or any other blog.
We have the same struggles. We share the same hopes and fears. We want the same things for our families, our children.
We are sisters.
And we should act that way. We shouldn’t have to blog about it because it should just be.
We should help each other through nursing school.
These sisters were there when I thought I couldn’t write one more care plan.
They should stand by each other through whatever.
These sisters? I’ve know them since I was a punky little kid. My wedding wouldn’t have been like it was without them (like I wouldn’t have had flowers because I couldn’t cut 575 stems alone, 8 and a half months pregnant.)
They should fix your hair when you get married.
Like this sister.
And they should be there when you have your babies.
This sister rubbed my back for at least 6 hours. The one up there ^. She took all the pictures.
These are a few of my sisters.
And I treasure them.
Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister. ~Alice Walker
blogging , sisterhood