Oh my god, y'all. T and I just finished watching The Impossible, and I was on the edge of my seat about 80% of the time. My stomach felt like a damn tsunami was wreaking havoc inside it. What an absolutely horrifying, beyond-words experience that must have been. The little boys who played the sons were wonderful. As soon as the credits rolled, I raced to Oliver's bed and held him tight. I wished Jack were here so I could have done the same with him (he, T, Ol and T's Dad went to the Nats game this afternoon, and then J spent the night with his grands). I settled for Nutmeg instead but it's really not the same. Having been on the couch the entire day, except when I forced myself to the market for milk and fruit and, once there, realized I should have simply stayed home (you know when you just should not immerse yourself in a crowd of strangers? I was annoyed to beat sixty, for no good reason really except that I felt like arse and should have stayed on the couch), I was hungry and funked out and dead set on making dinner.
I'm so glad I did.
Roasted Brussels sprouts and a bit of leftover cauliflower plus my whole wheat spaghetti with chicken, fennel, currants and mascarpone. SUCH a good dish.