Rip van Em-i-lis

All day yesterday, I had a vague sense of achiness. My muscles felt like overcooked linguine, and there was a pain path from my inner ear down through my throat. Because I loathe being sick, I excused these symptoms as extreme fatigue, a definite possibility. At 9:30p last night, T said "why don't you sleep in the basement as an early start to Mother's Day." I think I was already halfway down the stairs as "Day" left his lips. During my extraordinary slumber, I had another series of wildly vivid dreams. There was a seriously exclusive party I attended (something Hamptons-enclave-like) which culminated in my date being stalked by bad guys (and maybe killed?) while I ran through alleys trying to escape. Weird. I also, in the midst of an enormous thunderstorm at some estate I seemed to be visiting, concocted a superb cocktail called the Lidocaine, a jalapeno-infused coconut milk drink with vodka and some TBD sweetener. Doesn't that actually sound fantastic? Imagine it served with a stalk of fresh lemongrass...I'm going to try this at home for sure. What a trip it'd be to have made up a good drink in a dream. KRush, what do I make of this series of nightly adventures?

In the midst of leaving the weird party, the phone rang, for real. I awoke with a start, checked the clock and was STUNNED to find it was 11:45. As in almost noon. As in, I'd slept for 13+ hours. And I could have continued sleeping. I still feel like mushy pasta.

Presently, Oliver is doing tangrams while I comment enthusiastically from the couch. The sun is out, the skies are blue, Nutmeg is wreaking havoc in the boys' costume bin, Percy is looking at me mournfully (which is how he always looks). T is painting, Jack is doing homework in a mild state of panic because despite my suggestions each and every day this week that he get started on this large report, he did not get started and now has a frickload of work to do. I told him that I wouldn't let him go to the Nats game today until he did at least 40% of the work, because really, hovering over a procrastinating 1st grader is not completely how I want to spend Mother's Day tomorrow. Oh to watch your little ones learn life lessons. It's hard sometimes, to let them stumble, but doing so is surely the right thing because how else will they learn what they really can and must do by themselves?

You know what just happened?

This did.

And a good thing, too. I wouldn't say today sucked, but I also wouldn't say it was much in the way of easy or restful. Well, at least post lunchtime. I feel like I've hit a wall, so about a half hour ago, I went on strike. It was extremely fortunate that T had come home because otherwise, I may have sent the kids to bed stinky and with dirty teeth and no stories.

The sun and heat came out in full force early today, so after an obligatory appointment, I came home to garden. Had the mosquitos moved in yet, they would have been gleefully swarming in our back yard, but as it's been on the chilly side, I got a bunch of planting and pruning done without being stalked by their horrible presence. Nice. Two Sungolds and two Sweet 100s are now peeking out of their tomato planters, a sturdy sweet red pepper plant is just taller than its pot. I still have a cucumber plant as well as a scalloped-edge squash, finger eggplants and more tomatoes to sow, but when I noticed the degree to which my hostas had procreated and spread, I realized I simply must thin and relocate some of them.

That's easier said than done because when those suckers establish a root network, they go for the gold. Plus the earthworms love to entangle their delicate selves in plants' root systems, and I take great care to make sure nary a one is injured when I garden. You can imagine this really makes everything take quite a long time, but I like looking out for them. They sure help us!

After tilling another bed, I was revolting sweaty and so mud-splattered that I looked like a Jackson Pollack piece. It's so very satisfying to work the land though, even the smallest of plots. And boy did I have some energy to burn.

Do you ever feel like you're the only one carrying your weight? Holding up your end of the stick? I have definitely felt that sensation a lot lately, and after stages of understanding, wondering, compensating, filling in, I just end up mad. Tired and angry. I sometimes wonder if senses of responsibility, duty, and carrying through mean less than they once did. As if everything is a "maybe", as if doing what you said you'd do is a suggested goal rather than an expectation. This is a real loss, a trajectory that will further isolate one from an other.

I've never been busier than I am now, and I wish that weren't so. But to me, the answer isn't to not "show up." It's to try and pare back responsibly, to say a kind yet firm no if I really don't think I can manage something. I'm not great at doing that, not at all. I push and stretch myself, often because whatever the ask is, it's something I want to do. But what I don't do, or rarely do, is bag a commitment (in terms big, small, existential) once I've made it. It just doesn't seem right.

When I feel like I do today, I feel myself literally disengaging, washed over by disappointment and frustration. I draw inward, seeking comfort or solace in quiet distance from everything. Physically, too: I'll realize that I've crossed my arms over my torso, as if establishing a barrier; my posture becomes slack; I feel like a weighty shroud has been placed on my being. The sucky deflation born of disappointment, of giving more than you receive.

If the rumored frost of next Monday strikes, I'll really be pissed, btw. May, people, May.

Cauliflower and a cowboy

The animals (literally the pets, not the boys) woke me up at 4:45 this morning, and I wasn't able to get back to sleep. Ugh. Tom took pity on me at 6:30 and sent me to the basement for a quick nap which was wonderful until I was awakened by Oliver pointing a red laser-light finger toy in my face which Nutmeg then tried to chase. Onto my face. Jack had been picked up by carpool, and I was to get Ol to school. He was dressed as a preppie cowboy with a soupçon of organ-grinder monkey thrown in, but I thought nothing of it until we got to school and I realized it was picture day.

With Jack, as my first, I probably would have hauled it back home to change and put on something sweet. But with Mr. Second, I just laughed and went with it. He was thrilled with his attire, so why mess with happiness?! Funny how much I don't sweat this kind of small stuff this time around. And he did look darling!

I hurried home to poach some salmon and sear some cauliflower for my meal delivery to the grands tonight. I then seared some cauliflower for me too and while inhaling it all realized that it very well might be newest obsession. It is SO.GOOD. Just look at the golden caramelization, the hot sear marks left from contact with super-hot Lodge. Ah, me. Bliss!