Bread heels

Usually, my family throws away the heels left over in the bread bag. 

I hate doing this. 

I'm so grateful for those heels, and the bread in between, and the car that gets me to the store that's only 10 minutes away, and the money that buys that bread, and the job that gets us that money, and the husband that does that job, and the car we've had for 10 years that still miraculously works that gets him to that job, and the home he gets to come home to every night, and that I get to stay in that home and raise my kids, and for those very same kids, and that our newest kid is developing as he should, and that my body functions as such to grow a healthy baby, that I can see, hear, walk, talk and do the things I need to do to take care of this body, and for the parents that took care of it for me when I wasn't big enough to and then taught me how to take care of myself, and for their parents, and for the temple we were able to be sealed in for time and all eternity, and for my Heavenly Father who's given me all these little yet huge things in my life.

And I'm thankful for drumsticks.  You know, the kind of ice cream cone that's been dipped in chocolate and peanuts with vanilla ice cream in a chocolate-coated cone? Mmmmm.  Yep, and those.