I'm writing about Sunday, but it's not Sunday.
And the Sunday I'm writing about didn't happen yesterday. It's the Sunday before that.
Are you confused yet? Because I am.
I go to my parents house every Sunday.
You may think this is weird or you may think it's normal.
For me, it's normal.
Originally, I started going every Sunday to do laundry.
But now that I finally, at the ripe old age of 28, have my very own washer and dryer I just go to their house to well...go to their house.
It makes my mom happy and my dad too so, as long as I live close by I'll probably continue my Sunday visit.
Most of the time there is some project that one of us has dreamed up that we work on while I'm there. Plus, we have dinner. Dinner is very important.
The Sunday before last I didn't work on any projects. I walked around aimlessly taking random pictures. A girl's gotta get in some practice time whenever she can.
We've had this rock forever. All the Taylor brothers have one. I think it's pretty fabulous.
This is my mom's tomato garden. I use the term garden very loosely... I think the yellow looks fantastic against the red barn! I love color!
Some of mom's flowers...
More of mom's flowers.
Isn't this awesome? It's an old wheel that leans up against the house. I think my mom is a bit obsessed with them because yesterday she was looking through an ad for an auction and she said, "ooooo, they have wheels!!!"
This is the blackjack oak that my sweet baby kitty Sam is buried under. I kind of like the crooked view better. Maybe because I'm crooked. Ha!
My daddy's thermos from childhood. I can just see him at lunch with this!
Another of mom's obsessions. She has glass jars EVERYWHERE.
Hopefully, next Sunday I'll be able to work on my tables. I need those babies to be finished so badly. Lamps just aren't that useful on the floor.