Two-year-olds and eating well and going to bed

Y'all!

I have SO forgotten what it's like to live with a two-year-old. As such, this is what I feel like right now.

Snore!

Two-year-olds are adorable but they are very messy and often loud, despite having relatively few words. They like to drag food around the house with them, discarding like tiny Hansels bits and pieces as they go. Unlike Hansel, no toddler intends to return along his meandering path, not least with a dustbuster. 

I adore my precious nephew, but I have forgotten about tee-tee fountains and the utter delight of made up names for things. I am now hazy on obsessions with things like helicopters and the associated sound effects that go along with frequent reminders of them. Dunh-dunh-dunh-dunh say the chopper blades. 

Memories of the very emphatic ways that two-year-olds can express "No!" burbled up from the recesses of my mind in recent days. I was reminded of the genius of Mo Willems describing a melting down toddler as "going boneless" in Knuffle Bunny. If ever I describe anything so perfectly, I'll feel accomplished to the max.

I have somewhat forgotten about watching young tots learn stuff. How they practice and practice and then one day say "turtle" in the most endearing "tuh-tle" way. And there is nothing like the gut laugh of a little one. I love, love, and will do anything for the moments my boys still guffaw like toddlers do.

Mom left yesterday, and before taking Elia and Leone to the airport this afternoon, we had a little birthday party (Leone likes Baked & Wired cupcakes as much as we do) as he is officially 2 in a few weeks. It seems like a long jump from here:

to here:

Beautiful mama and darling nephew!

Last night, I cooked dinner, and Tom and I raised a glass to Elia. She is doing such a good job in motherhood, and I am so proud of her. We ate well, watched the debate (if by debate one means a large, rude child following a thoughtful candidate around stage and lying), and then tucked in. 

Don't those sunchokes look good?? Yum!!! Pan-roasted and then dressed with rosemary brown butter and aged Balsamic (thank you, Bon Appetit). We also had salmon and brussels sprouts and, duh, this.

Em-i-lis gorgeously featured on Food52

I awoke this morning with a sore back (too much garden) and a stopped-up nose (damn cold) but otherwise feeling quite good.

Then I saw this gorgeous story on Food52 highlighting a salad of mine of which I'm quite fond. Not only do I now have another photo of a dish of mine by the insanely talented food photographer, James Ransom, but also I'm so touched by the generous sentiments and tone in the article itself (written by another terrifically talented individual, Lindsay-Jean Hard).

She picks up on some of the things I most enjoy about cooking-combining ingredients not often thought of as friends- and on my effort to avoid food waste by finding new uses for bits and parts often tossed. 

It's a lovely surprise when you feel that quiet elements, things you take pride in, of your being are noticed and appreciated. What a Sunday surprise. 

PS- Nigella wants to eat it too! Lawd a'mercy! 

Gardening saves the damn day. Also, tucking in and then cooking a squash.

I awoke with a vise-like headache and the familiar achiness of a cruddy cold coming on. My body felt stuffed with cotton, my humours peevish and off. Tom was sneezing and sounds raspy. The boys had circles under their eyes and were both listing toward the wrong side of behaved.

One slammed my bedroom door and stalked off to nowhere. I don't know why. The other set up an enormous fake-food snack bar called Buttville on the floor next to my bed. He forced me to buy pizzas and sandwiches and to consider making something with his blender. 

There were moments of promise. Ol decided that I should have a real breakfast in bed, demanded I stay put, and asked Tom to make coffee and chocolate chip pancakes. He made place cards, brought up TV trays and joined me to dine. We are "table 40" because "you're 40, Mom." Indeed.

But there was also world war level bickering, and at some point, we all blew. I grabbed Oliver and desperately zoomed to the nursery. 

I off-gassed for the entire drive, fuming silently about how damn hard it is, more than ten years in, to complete a newspaper article or two on a weekend morning, steaming about just how stupid (and therefore even more irritating) sibling squabbles can be.

As we turned into the nursery's parking lot, I felt my blood pressure start to drop. We chose a cart and hurried through Annuals, slowed momentarily in herbs and veggies, and then regained focus: Perennials. 

It is still quite hot here, but a definite tinge of fall is in the air.

I sense the awakening of my acute need to roast and eat huge quantities of root vegetables and their kin. This happens every year, and I always go big before gastric distress reins me in to reasonable quantities. For christ's sakes, I roasted a huge butternut squash last night (try this recipe!)and almost finished it at lunch today. (As an aside Oliver had become very attached to this squash and actually shed a few tears when I cooked it which I only did because he'd been carrying it around for days [we even tucked it in next to his bed one night; not even joking; WTF?] and dropped it several times and it had a small crack which would have turned into rotting nastiness and so duh, I cooked it.)

Heirloom pumpkins, decorative gourds, and to-be-Jack-o'-lanterns spill from bins and tables. Halloween decorations seem to have bred overnight; ghouls and ghosts and gravestones beckon from every variety store in town. And with it all come new plants, bulbs, grass seed, and towers of folded leaf bags. 

It's all very exciting in some way, and I felt my heart skip a beat with anticipation. (Then I blew my nose for the 93rd time. Damnit.)

Long story short: perennials, dirt, composted leaves, a white pumpkin, renewed spirits, an absence of inane anything, and we returned home.

Several hours in, Tom called from the front door: "Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit out there, Em? You have a cold. Drink some water."

I gave him the hairy eyeball from behind the enormous, gas-powered saw I had vrooming, vroomed it with gusto, and returned to the hedges and trees like Sweeney fucking Todd on speed.

"Honey, you've really been out here for quite a while," he called another hour later.

"Help me put on this backpack leaf blower thing, man."

"Mom, can I stuff Pop-Its in my Nerf gun and fire it and see what happens?" Jack asked. "Sure, hon." I replied. "Just stay over there in the median."

I really think that kid was working off some negative energy today. 

I blew and raked and dug and planted. Two neighbors drove by slowly and said, "Do you know your children are in the trunk of your car?"

"Yes, thank you."

The neighbors looked a bit confused.

"They'll be fine. I'm over it!" I said in a tone that I now believe sounded slightly insane.

They drove away.

I shoveled and hacked and fertilized (organic, natch) and mulched.

A couple walked past. "Say, aren't you flexible! Those knees!"

"Thank you." Lovely and a bit odd.

When my arms started shaking and I ran out of mulch, I considered it might be time to go in. Turns out it was 5:30pm.

Mother of god. I think I had some negative energy to work off today. Thank god the soil is such a generous taker. I don't know who or what I'd be without land to work.

I showered, sat on my bed, blew my nose for the 154th time, realized I couldn't quite get up because my legs felt wobbly, and so ordered a side table. You'd have done the same.

And now, a couple hours later, I'm back in bed, this time with Tom, Oliver and Nutmeg too. Ridiculous, sweaty, and slightly delightful. Just like today. 

**Bonus pics.

Waiting for the birds.

Celery, fennel and apple salad; bacon chicken done in a cast iron pan; lightly creamed kale with toasted breadcrumbs.