Twenty-four years into our new tradition and the 17 of us have grown into 42 of us and we can’t imagine it any other way than it is now. For the younger set, it’s the only way they’ve known. With their mother’s handwritten recipes, the sisters work all day to carry on Grandmother’s legacy of loving their family with food. As they’ve gotten a little older, they’ve started giving out food assignments, but they still do the heavy lifting by making the stars of the show- the turkeys, dressing, and most of the desserts. For 24 years, they’ve cooked the most delicious feasts- just like their mother before them. What a gift they give our family every year. It will take all 8 of us in the next generation to fill their shoes when it’s our turn. 

The holidays mean the year is winding down and we start to consider what has come of it. Like me, I bet you’ve had a lot of ordinary days this year. The ones you can’t really recall because they were pretty routine and nothing special. There were likely days that left us feeling regretful or anxious or even angry. There were also days we thought life just couldn’t get any better. And there may have been days that took our breath away with shock and sadness. We’ve worried, celebrated, cried, worked, loved, aged, hoped, rested, feared, laughed, wanted and waited. 

A lot happened as we flipped the calendar through 2025 and there will be families, like ours, who’ll come together for the holidays with a fresh void that will sit in every corner and hover over each conversation. It’ll be at the door and on the hearth and in the kitchen- everywhere they turn. Whether they saw the void coming or it took them completely by surprise, it’s there just the same and it may be most pronounced in the sentimental flurries of the holidays. Maybe your family will be one of those this year, too. I pray God will be close to you. I pray He’ll be felt at the door and on the hearth and in the kitchen- and anywhere else you feel the absence of someone you love. The Bible says God is near to the brokenhearted and those whose spirits are crushed. To give thanks with a broken heart may be the hardest thing of all, but God is so faithful and true to us even on the darkest days which are inevitable in this fallen world. I hope everyone who mourns will find Christ, our Savior, sitting near to them this holiday season. 

God bless you and yours this Thanksgiving. 

Joni 

                 Ben 11/26/74- 10/10/25

                 So loved and so very missed. 

With that being said, it’s late November and we’ve had one cold snap which was so nice- all 46 hours of it. You’ve never heard such groaning as the summer people let out when they had to share the weather pattern for almost a couple of days. Here we approach the Thanksgiving holiday and the dawn of the Christmas season and cue another Mississippi heat wave. How I do love the South, but it makes it hard for its cold-loving citizens to attain the holiday spirit. 

With just a week to go, women everywhere are starting to feel the pressure of the Thanksgiving dinner. The shopping and dicing and baking and arranging. You’ll be squeezing card tables in corners and pulling chairs out of the attic and scoping out unsuspecting plant materials for your centerpieces. With your Karo syrup, french fried onions, and sweetened condensed milk at the ready, you think you’re just preparing a big meal for your family, but you’re really cementing core memories for the younger generations who will sit at your tables. You’re setting an unattainable standard by which future Thanksgivings will be judged long after you’re gone. You’re creating a permanent snapshot in younger minds of a beautiful moment in time- one they’ll wish, over and over, they could relive as their years accumulate. Their memories won’t just be of the food -which is the thing dreams are made of- but it’s the home, the greeting at the door, the candles, the special touches, the voice saying the blessing, the familiar smells, and the feeling of being enveloped in love. It’s the warmth of a crazy, wonderful mixture of generations, personalities and relationships together in one place and the feeling of belonging there. 

So, as you traipse around town in search of the right bird and the perfect napkins, remember what you’re doing is so powerful. You’re not just feeding bellies, you’re filling their memory tanks with loving tradition that will warm them when the world feels cold— and even when they’re your age, they’ll still be able to feel the warmth of what you did while you thought you were just making a nice dinner. Carry on, ladies. You’re doing important work. 

JONI 

If the holidays don’t make returning to a life of productivity a big enough challenge, add a first grandbaby in the mix and you’ll really have trouble finding your way back to fruitful function. First, let’s get the most important business out of the way. As a new grandmother, it is my sworn duty to share recent pictures of my grandson. I may be new at this Punkin thing, but I do know that picture-sharing is one of the fundamental benchmarks of success in grandparenting. It has been since the dawn of photography. It may look diffferent than it once did, but the concept is still the same. Our grandmothers carried our Olan Mills pictures around in the plastic photo insert that came with their wallet and we continue on with the tradition in our more sophisticated technological ways. But, I mean, really. I could just stare at him all day. 

It’s coming up on a year since we lost our Otis and, today, I wanted to talk to you about how I’m still learning from his life. It’s a couple of weeks shy of a year since he died and I still cry for Otis a good bit- sometimes when I’m driving or taking a shower or falling asleep at night. A flash of a sweet memory will come to me and my eyes will flood with tears. They’ll roll off my chin or wash down the drain with the shampoo or soak into my pillowcase. You might not understand that- especially if you’re not an animal person- but the bond I had with that stray dog was something I can’t explain and he was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to let go. 

About two months after Otis died, Blair and John Samuel found out they were having a baby. A baby was the one thing we’d all been praying for for years and God had answered that prayer in His time and in such a miraculous way that glory could go nowhere but to Him. As the months of her pregnancy progressed, Davis and I decided to purchase a townhome in an area near where both of our kids live. Not a primary residence, because neither one of us wants to move, but a place to go when we want to visit or one of them needs our help. It’s perfectly situated- 20 minutes in one direction to one child and 20 minutes in another direction to the other and now Carson’s significant other, Anna Kathryn, lives 20 minutes in another direction as she’s just started her student teaching there. I don’t think we’ve ever felt more peace or validation about a decision as that one. There have already been so many situations when we’ve remarked to each other how thankful we are to have it.  

With the going back and forth- from here to there- before and after Jack’s birth, one thought kept coming to Davis and me. None of that would be possible if we still had Otis. He would have been a nervous wreck and completely unnerved by the constant movement and changes. After all he’d been through, he just couldn’t deal in back and forth and this and that and to and fro. It had to be one way, all day, every day for him to feel secure and comfortable. It became apparent that these new changes that came with the baby we’d prayed for would have made him miserable and also caused us a lot of stress of feeling torn. In retrospect, we saw that, sometimes, letting go of something may help us to fully receive something else. That’s what we felt like we’d done. Not that God caused our loss but, in it, our lives were better able to accommodate the very thing we’d begged Him to give us. During the several months chase for Otis when I first became so attached to the dog I’d never even touched, I prayed over and over for God to spare him from dying alone without ever feeling love. He answered my prayer and gave me the desire of my heart. He allowed me to show him what love felt like even if I only got a little time to do it. He did answer my prayer, but letting go of him made room for another most wonderful answer to prayer - the desire of our daughter’s heart to become a mother. 

For the last three years, I’ve been praying for God to reveal what I’m supposed to be doing with my time and ability. A ministry, a need, a person, a project, a job. I don’t know if I’ve ever prayed for anything more consistently as I have that and I seemed to mostly just hear silence in return. Not that I’ve just been sitting idly on my duff while praying but I’ve been asking while following the leading of the Spirit in my day to day schedule. There have been a couple of answers He’s given me and I’ve followed through with those ongoing assignments but nothing that matches the amount of time I have to give. I still felt like I could be doing more. 

For the last year or so, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to continue the blog. In three weeks, it will be 11 years since I pecked out my first blog post and 962 of you read it. I’d never been more sure of anything than I was of the call to start that writing venture and it has been a blessing that has been more fulfilling than any other project I’ve ever taken on. For the last year, I’ve really ramped up my prayers for direction of what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve not gotten a clear assignment yet, but the story of Otis keeps emerging in my mind whenever I pray. Sometimes, God gives us something for a season but we may have to let it go in order to receive what’s next. I like to know the plan and what’s coming up, so I wanted my next assignment before letting the blog go, but I feel like He’s asking me to make the first move. Obviously, it’s not that the blog has consumed a large amount of my time lately, but it’s the weight it’s carried with it over the last year or so and the mental energy it consumes- wrestling with what to do with it or what to write or how to possibly begin to part with something that has meant so much to me- something that felt like it defined me. I’ve tried to tell myself the struggle was menopausal brain fog and a scarcity of content that we haven’t already covered in 11 years, but I think He’s just let me flounder so I could get to this point to trust and walk away from this thing that’s so dear to me. I’ve finally decided it’s time to let go of Motherhood and Muffin Tops, this sweet, sweet gift God gave me so many years ago to be ready to receive whatever it is that He will send next. It may be writing on another platform or it may be something totally different, but I hope you’ll pray for me to know it when I see it. 

You’ve come along with me as I’ve limped through the letting go process. I know you’ve likely felt this coming. Some of us are just more stubborn than others and that’s always where I fall. What precious companions you are. What devoted prayer warriors you have been. What faithful friends you’ve become. I started this journey as a 46 year old with a 14 year old and a freshman in college living at home. You’ve walked with me all the way to a senior discount at Michael’s, nightsweats, and Punkinhood. What a privilege for me to have you by my side for 11 years and I’m not willing to let you go cold turkey. If we’re not already friends on Facebook and Instagram, I’d love for you to send me a friend request- to Joni Neal Miller and also Motherhood and Muffin Tops- so we can keep up with each other. After a while, I may post more frequently -especially on the Motherhood and Muffin Tops pages to keep in touch. The blog site itself won’t go anywhere and if you’re new-ish to the scene, you may want to go back and dig around in the archives. 

Thank you. In case you’re wondering, it is possible to cry and feel relief at the same time as I’m doing right now. 

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. 

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

We have done all of those things together. 

Thank you for the good times, my friends. 

With much love, 

JONI 

 

Lunch with the family of 2 before they checked in on Sunday night. 

They gifted us our team shirts as early Christmas gifts. I’ve got quite the collection of Punkin attire started and they’re my new favorites. 

Our little family corner of the cramped waiting room where we spent the day mostly people-watching and comparing our centimeter progression with the other families out there with us. 

And his Fun-cle Carson and Anna Kathryn. He has many aunts, uncles, cousins, and great-grandparents who will meet him soon!

His go-to sleep position.

Overall, Jack seems pleased with his set up so far. He’s getting a lot of  compliments on his full lips. He’s a champion eater. There is no shortage of people wanting to hold him. And he is so very loved! 

It’s really been just the sweetest season. With the exception of the glaring and complete absence of cooler temperatures until yesterday, this fall has been a fun time of celebration. The expectant parents have been loved so generously with showers and Jack has been graciously celebrated by those who prayed for his arrival long before the news of him came. So many beautiful prayers have been voiced and special handmade heirlooms gifted and hostesses have gone to great lengths to make things just so. There have been a lot of tags removed from itty bitty sleeves and baby clothes washed in gentle detergent and little, tiny socks matched and folded. The final touches have been added to the nursery and they’re checking their lists and their bags are packed. They’ve taken their classes and installed the car seat and assembled many baby things. There’s even been a girl day for pampering the expectant mother with brunch, massages, and shopping. There are still, at most, 3 weeks to go, and I’m starting to feel like I did on Christmas Eve when I was a kid. Something big and exciting is coming, but I have to wait a little while longer. 

Last week, I even had a shower of my own. A surprise grandmother shower! I thought we were meeting up at a friend’s house for a Friendsgiving sort of gathering, but I was surprised when I saw extra guests and they announced it was a Punkin Party! My grandmother name, Punkin, is the nickname my Daddy gave me as a little girl, so there were little pictures of the two of us on the tables. Oh, how he loved babies and he’s missed holding so many of them. The small details were just the sweetest reminder of God’s goodness and faithfulness through the generations. Pumpkins were the theme and I enjoyed opening a table full of baby toys, books, and essential supplies to keep at our house. 

It’s been almost a quarter of a century since I was the guest of honor at a baby shower. Back then, there were huge playpens, bumper pads, Barney toys, Playtex nursers, and baby monitors that would pick up your neighbors’ cordless phone conversations. Now there are magnetic closures on sleepers, bottle sterilizers, oxygen monitors, and they wouldn’t dare put their babies in any of the contraptions we used. We wore big circus tents to cover our condition and these girls wear form-fitting clothes to showcase their bumps. Our diaper bags were brightly colored with some sort of baby-themed stitching embellishing the front and theirs look like designer bags that you’d never suspect as a vessel for carrying wipes and bottles. I suppose we weren’t the sophisticated pregnant people that they are today. I need to read up on the modern baby ways as I’m sure they’ve drastically changed since I last birthed a child at the turn of the century. Let me add study and preparedness research to my to-do list as I’ll want to be up to speed and not in Dr. Spock mode when I stay with them that first week. 

As people sent me pictures from Blair’s different showers, I’d see myself sitting there beside her looking like my mother did almost 25 years ago at Carson’s shower. In 2000, I sat there with my naturally dark hair and taut skin and she was in her 50’s and probably having a hot flash and trying to remember if she turned off the oven. We just celebrated her 82nd birthday last weekend and it hit me- by the time this little baby gets to be as old as Carson, I’ll be about her same age. As my friends and I watch our parents get older, we’ve started to notice some concerning signs of aging ourselves. One by one, we’re getting closer to the head of the line and we have no idea how we got there so fast. In my mind, I still see myself at about Blair’s age. My mother was just my age not long ago. And I have no idea how she got in my grandmother’s spot. Somebody really needs to slow down this ride. 

Wanting to enjoy all the goodness of the holiday season and baby season, this will be my last post of the year- except for Jack’s arrival announcement post whenever that might be. If he hasn’t come by the 15th, they’ll induce, so he will definitely be here for Christmas. Please keep praying for a safe delivery and healthy baby boy. We can’t wait to finally see the face of this miracle that God has so graciously given to our family. 

I’ve so enjoyed doing another year with you. Sometimes, we’ve limped along in a fog and, just when I thought I might throw in the towel, I’d get on a roll with some lucid thoughts. We celebrated 10 years of M&M this year. You cried with me when my heart was shattered over my sweet boy, Otis. You laughed with me about our anniversary trip from the lake of eternal fire. You held your breath with me as we waited for news about the embryo transfer. So many moments shared. You are faithful and I am beyond grateful for you. 

May God bless you and yours this Thanksgiving and Christmas season. We close out another year with thankfulness and joy and look to a new start with the hope and peace of the Christ child. He is the Giver of every good thing. 

Happy holidays to you!

JONI 

The year is 1977 and the night you’ve been waiting for is finally here. It’s Halloween and your heart is racing with excitement. You’ve watched the Charlie Brown special on CBS, colored the jack-o-lantern color sheets at school, had your class party with spider rings and cupcakes, won a cake at your church carnival, and now it’s finally showtime. 

Your mom is in the kitchen cooking supper a little early so you and your siblings can go trick or treating. You finish underlining the noun and verb in some sentences and working the mimeograph sheet of multiplication problems you had for homework. It was hard to think of your teacher as the kind of cold-hearted person it would take to give a kid homework on this exciting night of the year. You put your work in your Trapper Keeper- the one with the cute puppies on the front- and you slide it back into your book satchel. Before you latch the twist turn buckles, you grab your newest Weekly Reader to help pass the time that had slowed to a crawl. 

Your dad comes in from work and turns on Walter Cronkite. The news- the most boring program that comes on all day. But, it’s 6:00 and it’s on all three channels. Your mom is making a new thing called hamburger macaroni- her homemade version of the new boxed kind that’s all the rage. She announces that dinner will be ready as soon as the Brown ‘n Serve rolls are done and it’s time to wash hands. You go in the bathroom and grab a rose-shaped soap out of the pretty bowl and give your hands a quick wash. After eating a reasonable amount of macaroni, the five required green beans, and a roll, you’re dismissed from the table to get ready for the big night. 

Your brother is going to be a hobo. Your mom frayed some of his old jeans at the bottom and tore holes in the knees. She sewed patches on a t-shirt and painted a five o’clock shadow on his chin with some tempera paint. She added a stick from the yard with a bandana pouch tied on the end and he’s ready to go. Your little brother is the Incredible Hulk. He never misses an episode of Bill Bixby getting angry and having his clothes rip apart. He has a plastic mask with the elastic string around the back of his head and the coordinating plastic suit. He complains he can’t see but it doesn’t keep him from taking on the part. You’re Little Red Riding Hood and your mom has warned you not to scuff your black patent leather Mary Janes because they’re your Sunday school shoes. She made you a red cape with the sewing machine she got from Sears. She gets you a basket down from the top of her cabinets and puts your hair in pig tails to finish you off. Everyone is ready to go. Your mom can only find one plastic pumpkin, so she gives it to your little brother. She tells you to use your basket that’s part of your costume and she finds your big brother a paper bag from A&P for his candy-hauling vessel. 

You’ve got the whole neighborhood to pillage of all their candy. You start at your closest neighbor’s house. You see their Chevrolet Caprice Classic with the blue velour seats and the Gerald Ford sticker still on the bumper parked in the carport. That’s a good sign. Now you see the porch light is on- the second telltale sign that there’s candy to be had at this location. You ring the doorbell and your neighbor answers holding a bowl. She’s got the most beautiful green shag carpet and her stereo is playing Rita Coolidge. You see she’s got the TV turned to CHiPs. She carries on about how cute you all look and you realize it’s time to say those magical words that you’ve practiced in your head all week. “Trick or treat,” you all say in unison- you and a few other kids who’ve wandered up behind you. You hold your basket out and your siblings extend their various candy receptacles. The neighbor drops candy down to all of you and you hear the glorious thud of it hitting the bottom of your brother’s pumpkin. That was the sound of Halloween and the candy harvest had just begun. Your mom gives you a reminder of what to say for the bounty and you parrot the niceties. 

You dart from house to house collecting candy and popcorn balls and, in some unfortunate cases, apples, peppermint, and those awful peanut butter things in the orange and black wrappers. You hit every house with an illuminated porch light with the exception of the one on the hill. They keep to themselves and your parents don’t know anything about them. You keep walking past because you can’t be too careful about candy with hidden razor blades or poison. You hear that’s a big thing. Your little brother is getting ornery because his face is sweating in the plastic mask and he can’t breathe through the two small nostril holes. Your other brother’s knapsack came off of his stick four houses ago and his painted beard has flaked off. You still look pretty good except the cape is making your neck itch and your pigtails are lopsided. It’s time now to head home to count your riches and enjoy a little refined sugar before bed. After all, it’s a school night. 

You pour all the goodness out onto the floor. Your mom goes through it to see if her eagle eye detects any wrapper tampering. Your dad helps himself to one of your peanut butter bars with the brown striped wrappers. It’s time to get your trading done with your siblings, so you can move the candy to an undisclosed location to avoid any further thievery. Before negotiations take place, you know it’s important to group the candy into piles according to categories. Any seasoned trick-or-treater like yourself knows this helps identify the areas where you’re heavy and where you’re lacking. One large Tootsie Roll, 2 Big Bol candies that turn to gum, a root beer barrel, and a Butterfinger are traded off for a Banana Split, a chocolate BB Bat, 2 Bit-o-Honeys, and a Chick O Stick. Seems fair. Cinnamon Discs, Bazooka gum, wax lips, Bottle Caps, $100,000 Bars, Now and Laters, Sugar Daddies, Charms suckers, Pixie Sticks, Brach’s Royals, Space Dust, Neapolitan coconut candy- they’re all at the center of negotiations until every party is satisfied with the trades. As you untie your red cape and unbuckle your Mary Janes, you think of all the fun the night had brought- not to mention the glorious heap of confections. You just didn’t realize how fast the night would go. And as you head off to bed in your lopsided pigtails, you had no idea how fast your childhood would go. 

May we never outgrow the joy in little things- the way we did back then. 

Keep your light on for the kids. They’re only little once. 

Night-

JONI 

She’d put on her fanciest dress and crown for this most special day. Fashioned from the finest imported silk and hand-sewn lace, this stunning two-piece ensemble was a gift from one of her aunties for this joyful occasion and it made her feel like the queen she always knew she was. Ruby was turning 7 and was needing to feel especially pretty on this birthday as she was crossing over into the tumultuous menopausal years. Of course, her age was merely a vet’s estimate as her birth records were misplaced during her nomadic period and subsequent shelter sentence, but she could feel this birthday in her bones and joints and knew in her heart she was a woman entering the delicate change of life. 

That wasn’t the only clue. Weight had always been an issue for her with so little height to conceal even the slightest additions, but she’d noticed it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her slender waist and girlish figure. Yes, for years, that hourglass figure was what kept all the boys down the street coming to her yard to relieve themselves. Of all the neighborhood trees and shrubs they were interested in marking, they were most intent on marking hers and it had always been a boost to her confidence as a woman. Yes, she knew her allure wasn’t just her comely figure. She did, after all, always put a little extra sashay in her step and swoosh in her tail as she passed by their houses on walks with her humans. Aside from metabolic issues, there were other signs of aging she’d noticed, but she didn’t want to dwell on that today. It was a happy day and she wanted to keep on the sunny side. 

The humans had promised a fun outing to celebrate this milestone. She’d come to live with the family 6 years ago and, while they’d treated her well enough, she always thought she brought more to the table than they did. She did appreciate the warm bed and the way her humans tucked her in at night with fluffy blankets. Sure, she was enjoying the homemade dog food her mother human had started making in the crockpot- the simmering recipe of turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans, carrots, and rice was much preferred to the brown triangles of beef-ish kibble. And the trips in the truck to the country with her human dad were admittedly glorious. But, even after all of those considerations, she felt the scales were still tipped in their favor with all the services she’d provided them through the years. Security had become a real drain on her energies. Current presidential candidates didn’t have as many threats to their lives as these people. Just yesterday, she’d saved her mother human from the bug man by positioning herself between her and the lethal sprayer weapon and, just as she’d settled back down for a nap after that, the UPS man launched yet another attack on the home’s front entrance and she was again stirred to action. 

It wasn’t just the security responsibility that was taking its toll. She had to take the humans walking everyday for their exercise. For years, the humans’ vet had recommended walking them for their cholesterol and triglycerides, but it was becoming more and more of a chore to keep their numbers in the good range as they’d gotten older. Someone had to walk the humans because they certainly weren’t going to walk themselves. She thought about how vermin control also consumed much of her time. The non-stop flow of squirrels, moles, lizards, deer, cats, birds, rabbits, lions, tigers, and bears moving across the property had her barking overtime with their refusal to bring in more help. And, if not for her pre-dawn wake-up calls, there would really be no telling how long the humans would oversleep. She hesitated to even mention how she’d take it upon herself to sort the neighbor’s garbage into categories only to have her dad human come out in his pajama pants and undo all of her work. Still, she was happy with them for the most part. Despite her long work days, the crockpot delicacies and her mother’s habitual use of baby talk made the work conditions tolerable. Especially with the human children gone, she’d noticed an uptick in her mother human referencing her as the baby and that made her feel all goose-bumpy inside. 

Today, the humans were taking her out on the town for a celebration of her 7 years of life- give or take a little. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but she was certain it would be awfully nice. That’s when she decided to put on her best new dress and head outside to load up. 

After a drive in the truck with her considerable ears flowing in the breeze, a long walk through the woods, and time spent barking at the geese in the lake and squirrels in the trees, she loaded back up in the truck. That’s when she saw it in the distance from the truck window. A vision of loveliness- a beacon of beauty- the symbol of juiciness. Her dad human was driving toward the golden arches of culinary excellence and fine dining. Her mouth began to water as she thought about the all-beef patty with melty cheese and she prayed the ice cream machine was in working order. It was her lucky day. She gulped all the goodness as her crown drooped farther and farther down the side of her head from a full day of birthday fanfare and merriment. 

Tired, hot, and stuffed, it was time to head home and sleep off the ill-effects of the celebration. She stretched out on the back seat and thought how she probably did have it better than most dogs. She thought about the year she’d had and all the good times and the bad. She remembered how sad the humans were when Otis died and she saw how much they loved their animals. She guessed they probably loved her that much, too. Through the years, she’d been there for the humans and they’d been there for her. Sure, she still probably put in longer work weeks, but she knew she couldn’t be loved any more in return. And with that thought still in her mind, she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of squirrels and geese and melted cheese and the warm feeling of being loved by humans. What a lucky dog, she was. 

Happy Birthday, Ruby Miller, our loyal friend. 

JONI

Ruby asked that I share the dog food recipe I’ve been using. About 2 months ago, I started making her food to try to help her itching and it has made an incredible difference in the way she feels overall. She’s slimmed up a little and has so much more energy! She’s acting like a pup again. 

Ruby’s Delight

3 lbs of ground turkey or chicken 

1 1/2 cups of brown rice

4 cups of water- sometimes I use 1/2 unsalted bone broth and 1/2 water

3 bags of frozen veggies or fresh- I use frozen and switch it up each week. I’ve tried different combinations of sweet potatoes, green beans, chopped spinach, carrots, sweet peas, and broccoli. 

Cook on low for 6 or 7 hours. Stir it occasionally. She eats 2 cups a day and this makes 6 1/2 days worth. 

Bon Appetit!