Tuesday, Tuesday

Tonight I'm feeling manageably frazzled. Like, busy but productive, tired but accomplished, overwhelmed by the children but fully amused by them. Which is a preferable state to some of the grayer days I've had of late. Those days that feel like someone shut your storm window and nailed a dirty screen in front of it for good measure. You want to see the horizon, you want to feel the fresh air, but you can't quite do either. 

I'm drinking a lovely glass of Italian red wine. The bottle is nearing the ten year mark, and the wine's woody tannins hug my tongue like a corset you willingly wear. A salad of roasted butternut squash with allspice, lentils cooked with a bay leaf, and crunchy-bitter dandelion greens stands at attention on the sidelines, waiting to be called up for dinner. It's studded with chunks of young chèvre and has yet to be dressed. I'm thinking about that and what best suits it.

Jack is reading, Ol is tucked in bed. It's early but they are still so tired from the Halloween-Daylight Savings weekend. You'd think a zombie apocalypse struck our home. I don't know why they're so sensitive and susceptible to minute time differentials, but they are. 

They have, this afternoon, vacillated between hyenic laughter and snotting tears. They adore and despise each other. They chase and pants each other and think that's both hilarious and worthy of the rack. Jack suggested that Oliver was a "premium anus." Oliver demurred but then seemed to cotton to it. 

You just never know.

I finished planting all my spring bulbs, saw some good friends, and thought about how much I'm enjoying tennis. Mostly, though, I thought about how grateful I am for the blue days on which the sun shines bright, for the strength and sense of self I've secured after years of devoted spelunking, and for the people I've encountered along the way who like that unearthed self just fine. 

Detestable Daylight Savings

I can only speak for the majority of parents in the world, but since that's a fair number of folks, I will make this assertion: Daylight Savings is a horrible, beastly bane. 

I feel pretty certain that your children, like mine today, are out of their minds with irritability and what might even look like insanity and/or rage. It's likely that not only have they had entirely too much sugar since Halloween but also not nearly enough sleep what with the late night on Saturday and then that bitchy DS yesterday.

NO ONE needs an extra hour the day after Halloween. I myself do not feel I need an extra hour anytime except if I'm sleeping soundly in a building in which my children aren't OR on vacation alone or with my husband. Those are acceptable times to lengthen any given day.

The kids were up before 5 this morning. Of course they were because normally that would be just before six which, sucktastically enough, is the norm for Jack. Ol usually goes nuts and sleeps for an extra twenty.

There are some mornings I swear I'd consider giving Jack hormones to hasten the puberty onset because only then, do I hear, do boys reliably start sleeping like the lazy slugs mothers desperately need them to be. 

Especially when you must "fall back" in time.

I knew things looked rough when I picked the boys up from school. Clearly they had had good days but had largely used up all good will and positive energy whilst there. This is, of course, optimal; I'd rather them be saintly at school and give me shit instead of the reverse. But still. 

We got home and heinous mayhem ensued. In the meantime, Oliver donned the Padmé on Geonosis costume (you know, Padmé Amidala, Queen of Naboo; Star Wars) and so looked like some sort of androgynous ninja dressed in a skintight white jumpsuit. His Superman underwear showed through winningly. It was really quite a look.

This is not Oliver, should anyone be wondering. This is a model. We don't know her. Plus, she isn't wearing royal blue superman undies. 

This is not Oliver, should anyone be wondering. This is a model. We don't know her. Plus, she isn't wearing royal blue superman undies. 

Mercifully, our marvelous babysitter, K, soon arrived, and I left for the market as the boys were pummeling the carpet with Magna-tiles because, duh, they're bombs. Not expensive toys.

I walked back in less than an hour later to Padmé screaming at Jack for daring to come within one foot of the green foam armchair that had come downstairs for some reason. Jack was shirtless and red-faced and sweaty; clearly he'd done his share of screaming too.

Pads threw himself to the kitchen floor, wailing, crying and thrashing about. I wanted to say, "Honey, you're getting that white jumpsuit awfully dirty," but decided against it. Jack was snotting and huffing and I told him to take deep breaths and pick up the Magna-tiles calmly. K continued cooking their dinner. She is unflappable in the best way.

I sent Padmé upstairs and while I unloaded groceries, notes started flitting down from his office:

It loses some steam without the "e" doesn't it?! I told Padmé that I would not deliver such meanness and tore it up. After taking a picture, natch.

Thank god he dated this one. It's been an afternoon I'll NEVER want to forget. 

A third note flitted down: "Jack, Sre."

Well, I'm glad he apologized.

I am hiding in bed before my tennis lesson with Tom, and the heathens seem to have settled themselves for dinner. 

I'm sending all of you vibes of good sleep tonight and saving some for us.