Andrew made hashbrowns for breakfast. He is in love with our food processor. He uses it for everything. Grating cheese and potatoes are his current favorites. His hashbrowns were way good - his best yet. He has been cooking a lot lately and it makes me so happy. I can't really reach the faucet at the kitchen sink without awkwardly leaning over, and I'm just generally tired and not in the mood to make food. Thanks to him, we are still eating well. (Although I still can't explain the 2 lb.-per-week weight gain the last couple weeks.)
This morning in sacrament meeting, we were singing "Oh Ye Mountains High." I leaned over to Andrew and said, "This song is about Washington." Where the pure breezes blow and the clear streamlets flow, How I've longed to your bosom to flee! Oh, how I miss that beautiful place. I like Vegas, but I LOVE Washington. Oh, and then, since it was Fast Sunday, I got to listen to a bunch of people stand and say that they wanted to bury their testimonies. I had to keep snickering. Is there one big testimony pit, or does everyone kind of find their own little spot? How deep does one need to dig to sufficiently bury it?
Then, in Sunday School, I was skimming through the chapters as the teacher talked about certain stories. And I found this disgusting verse: "So we boiled my son, and did eat him." (2 Kings 6:29). Umm, I'm sorry. What? That is the sickest thing in all of scripture, I'm positive. But then, on the next page, I found a smiley face. It's in 2 Kings 7:13. It's cute. If you use the KJV of the Bible, go look it up. That didn't make up for the cannibalism in the previous chapter, but it cheered me up a little.
And that's all.