I give up!

Purity, coconut milk and nail polishes

Purity, coconut milk and nail polishes (Photo credit: J. Gimme™)

Really, I just have to give up.  I’ve been trying to be more frugal, not spend money needlessly, buy less expensive products.  But I’m drawing the line on my facial cleanser.  I’m 50 something years old, isn’t that too old to be getting pimples?

See, I have used Philosophy’s Purity Made Simple cleanser for several years and always had great results with it.  But my frugality had me looking elsewhere for effective, gentle cleansers.  Well…okay…yes, I can buy cleansers that cost a lot less.  I can even buy them with coupons.  But when they cause my skin to break out, I have to ask myself if they’re even worth the price I’m paying for them.  And the answer is a resounding “NO!!”, not if they’re not going to do the job.

I hear people say that all cleansers are basically the same, but the Purity is the only one I’ve ever used that doesn’t cause me to have break outs…really.  So…I’m done.  I give up.  I went online and placed an order for the super size bottle (which will last me at least the rest of the year).  And you know what?  I don’t even feel guilty about it.  What I do feel guilty about is buying these less expensive cleansers and then throwing them out halfway through the bottle because they’re causing issues with my skin.

So, that’s it.  The next time I’m trying to be frugal with my facial cleanser, would someone please remind me of this post???

Scrounging for food for the children

Some of the family eat Sunday dinner, on Sunda...

Some of the family eat Sunday dinner, on Sundays the two married sons of the Sergents, their wives and children often… – NARA – 541343 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sunday.  The one day of the week that’s different.  For one thing, the diner is always closed on Sunday.  As tired as she is, Esther appreciates having a day off, but that means no table scraps to bring home to feed the kids.  So Esther knows she’ll have to come up with somethin’ else to fill those little tummies today.

As she sits at the kitchen table in the quiet of the early morning, Esther thinks back to how Sundays used to be, back when Joe was still alive and they lived on their farm.  She still got out of bed early in those days.  Lots of cooking to do for a family of seven, that’s for sure.  She’d get her bread kneaded and set it to rise in a warm spot in the kitchen.  Nothing like the smell of yeast bread to get a mouth to waterin’.  Sometimes she’d put on a big pot of beans early in the morning so they could have beans and cornbread, but not on Sunday.

On Sundays, after taking the whole family to church dressed in their Sunday go-to-meetin’ duds,  they’d have fried chicken, mashed taters and white gravy, green beans cooked with bacon, corn on the cob, sliced maters and maybe a nice juicy berry cobbler for dessert.  Oh my, thinkin’ back to those meals sure did get her stomach to growlin’.  Esther shakes her head, places her hands palm down on the table and pushes herself away, knowing she’s got to get busy.

Today they’ll have that beans and cornbread.  Too bad there’s no ham to put into the beans and no butter for the cornbread.  Esther decides to gather the kids later and go out and find some poke weed to cook up for their supper.  Of course there’ll be wild onions to add to the beans.  And maybe, just maybe, they’ll get lucky and find some blackberries.  She might be able to scrounge up enough sugar to make a little blackberry cobbler in the old cast iron skillet, at least enough for a few bites for each of the young’uns.

Esther whispers a quiet prayer thanking the Lord that her children won’t have to go hungry today, trying to keep her faith strong in the face of life’s trials and tribulations.  It’s not an easy thing to do, but Esther knows that’s what Joe would expect of her. She asks the Lord’s forgiveness for not taking the children to church these days.  It’s just that she’s noticed some of the church women looking down their noses at her and the kids.  She overheard the banker’s wife talking to several of the women, telling them she didn’t think it was right to walk into the Lord’s house dressed in rags and not wearing shoes.  Esther held her head high that day, but the tears flowed freely once she got home and went to bed.  She felt such shame, shame that people would think that way about her kids, shame that she couldn’t do a better job of providing for the kids, shame that she hadn’t been able to hold everything together once she lost Joe.  No, she wouldn’t take her kids to any church where they weren’t welcome.  The Lord would just have to understand.