A week in photos

This was a long week but a good one that saw the rain finally give way to sun, time spent with friends and family and tending my Nutmeg, and some good food thrown into the wild mix. I'm now on the bus to New York to meet up with my parents and enjoy a thirty six hour getaway. 

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I've been wrapping Nut's cast so he can enjoy some outdoor time. 

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This earnest little fern in my yard makes me smile. 

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Jack and I enjoyed going to a mother-son dance.  

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Fava bean purée is the ultimate show of spring.  

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Can you even with Columbines? 

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Oliver's first section of The New Fart Times,   a section on fart inventions. 

Yum

People, fresh fava beans are a pain in the arse, but they are so worth the effort. 

You must first peel away their thick, puffer-jacket, fleece-lined shells to access the beans within. Then, you must blanch those and finally, slip the inner bean from the outer skin. That last step is particularly irritating because by that point in the game you're like, "Bean, come on. I want to eat you! And not even with a nice Chianti!"

Persevere! Because when you finish, you are left with a bowl of spectacular green, just waiting to be incorporated into something wonderful.

prepared fava beans

prepared fava beans

I myself most often make my fava-and-mint puree because slathering it across slices of hot, olive oily bread leaves me deeply happy.

mint

mint

I did just that earlier this week and each day since. Today too, and I felt happy every time. It's awfully difficult to feel blue when faced with this color green. You know?

Guess what else this time of year offers? Watermelon AND real arugula. Real arugula, as opposed to clamshell arugula, is not just a lettuce. No. Real arugula has a fiery kick of which I never tire. Oliver loves it too, though it always leaves him fanning his tongue. I will never tire of getting him "somefing to dwink" for relief. It's adorable and I groove on his liking spicy lettuce.

With said arugula and watermelon (and also that mint!), you can make one of the best salads in the world. Starting now, I intend to eat at least one serving of this every day, not least because Ol and I discovered a remarkable feta cheese at the farmers market last weekend.

Promise me you'll get some good olive oil and some aged balsamic vinegar (or make your own by reducing some balsamic with a bit of sugar). Put two handfuls of real arugula on a plate and top it with chunks of watermelon. Crumble feta all over and drizzle with oil and the old vinegar. Sprinkle with salt and freshly ground pepper. Go!

Thoughts big and small

I am bone-tired this morning. Even my heel-pads ache. I gardened, ran and worked out yesterday in addition to taking Jack to a trial French class, going to the market, and actively negotiating Wii usage for hours, so there's all that, but still. 

Last night, Tom and I made a simple but superb spring dinner last night and then sank to the couch like weights dropped in a stream.

springtime caprese

springtime caprese

We finished Episode 1 of the new documentary, Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies (based on the book by Siddhartha Mukherjee). Despite the heavy subject, it's really, really excellent. Toggling back and forth between past and present, it provides, through the sobering lens of pediatric leukemia, a thorough sense of the evolution of cancer understanding and treatment which is both fascinating and hopeful. You want to kiss the feet of the brave doctors who have persevered in the face of kids dying horrible deaths and then go hug your children and send gratitude for their health into the skies.

fava bean and mint puree; we slathered this atop griddled bread

fava bean and mint puree; we slathered this atop griddled bread

I'm now sitting quietly on my couch, both utterly tranquil and stressed about how soon this peaceful solitude will end. T took the boys to swimming lessons about a half hour ago, so I gather I have just about 40 minutes left to read the paper and finish this post and my coffee. Naturally I know that's impossible, and while I will be happy to see the boys rush through our door and regale me with news of their progress and which Dum-Dum flavor each chose, it is mornings like these, when much of me wishes I had the whole day ahead of me and alone, that I feel so very stretched by motherhood.

yogurt chicken with aleppo and lemon, caprese salad, sauteed asparagus/english peas/Brussels sprouts and pecorino

yogurt chicken with aleppo and lemon, caprese salad, sauteed asparagus/english peas/Brussels sprouts and pecorino

Yesterday, after meeting Jack's French teacher and surveying the classroom, I hugged him goodbye and said I'd be back at the end.

"Je t'aime, Mom."

"Je t'aime aussi, Doodle."

What a soulful love that little boy is. I want to give him every opportunity and walk alongside him as he forges ahead in life. But that giving tends to tip the scales away from time to pursue my own interests and goals. In the most unequal of moments, I feel as if the early years of motherhood strongly suggest I put huge swaths of my life on hold. Daily. For a long while. 

I don't resent that, but it compounds the challenges of motherhood which are already great.

Friday night antipasto dinner with strawberry lemonade in wine glasses. Festive!

Friday night antipasto dinner with strawberry lemonade in wine glasses. Festive!

Children are not goals. I have hopes for my boys, sure. But other than feeling confident that I'm raising terrific humans, I don't derive from mothering them the sense of accomplishment I do in finishing an essay or laying that last bag of mulch. Nor do I feel I should, for children are people not pursuits.

the antipasto platter

the antipasto platter

At times it is utterly thrilling to feel yourself subsumed by something, but in other moments, it's discomfiting. As if a force beyond your control is reeling your soul away to an unknown land. Do you know what I mean?

a pile of zucchini-feta fritters

a pile of zucchini-feta fritters

I love my boys with such fierce desperation. Yet within that cocoon of love I sometimes feel bits of myself slipping away, as if on a boat that's loosed its moors. I don't feel I can push back on them in the way I do T or friends; not yet at least.

Surely this is one reason so many people speak of parenthood in terms of sacrifice. I'm not totally comfortable with that word in this context, except in the most denotative of ways: there are, literally, sacrifices made (financial, for example).

But, I chose to have children, so it seems unjust to then burden them or our relationship with the guilty connotations of words like job and sacrifice. And so for now, I find my way, in moments stolen and planned, in the words swimming through my head and committed to the page. And I am grateful for it all.