The simple things, and a great quote

Friends, have you tried Flor? It's a carpet square company that makes a huge assortment of patterned and colored tiles from recycled materials (which are then recyclable again; and Flor pays for you to send them back) from which you can design and craft a rug. I am an enormous fan of Flor, especially since it introduced free shipping all the time; this is a recent and exceedingly welcome change to company policy. Additionally, Flor's Fall Sale is going on now, and for 25% off I felt inclined to revisit the dingy, narsty mess of tiles that was our living room "carpet." Put more simply, I didn't ask Tom when I made the quick decision to buy twenty new squares and, once they arrived, put them together in an ir-returnable way. Good news quickly: he likes it, I love it, and it's soooo much softer (and infinitely cleaner) than Version 1.0. You can literally scrunch your toes in this puppy. Hell hath the first animal to adulterate this shag.

Have you read M.F.K. Fisher? Firstly, I like her moxie in using all three initials rather than Mary or Mary Frances K. or whatever. M.F.K. I have a niece (well, she's my cousin's daughter so probably some sort of once-removed crap officially, but I'd rather call her my niece because a) I love my cousin like a sister, and b) once-removed sounds SO removed.) Anyway, her name is Mary Frances, and she is definitely feisty, and I call her MF which her father suggests might possibly be misunderstood. I get this. But I don't think anyone's going to think I'm calling her Mother Effer so consider it safe that instead they'll think...hmm...MF? Probs Mary Frances but who knows?!

But back to M.F.K. She died 21 years ago but is still considered to be one of the best-ever food writers ever, and indeed she is delightful. Observe:

"There is a mistaken idea, ancient but still with us, that an overdose of anything from fornication to hot chocolate will teach restraint by the very results of its abuse."

Is that not a fabulous opening line? Not least after following the essay title, "Once a Tramp, Always..."

I had for dinner toasted baguette, a lot of buffalo mozzarella, both slathered in good (but not good enough, damn you Montebello) olive oil, and roasted veggies. Plus wine. Plus, probs, another brownie. Do you know how good a meal is made, or IS, when you have hot bread, fresh mozz, good oil and salt all coming together in your mouth? Lawd a' mercy. I can go to bed happy (with the disclaimer that Ol returns to school tomorrow, mother of god).

Boredom nearly trumps tired

I find this nearly unbelievable, but I am actually more bored than tired today, despite a very fitful night of sleep. Oliver is home again and has watched approximately 85 Word Worlds; to be clear, those were the same seven on repeat because he refused to watch a different show, and we only have 7 on the DVR. I detest all of those animals now. We have made soup, granola and brownies. We have read stories and cleaned our rooms. When it's not drizzled, we've gone out, taking Percy for a walk, planting some flowers, raking leaves and getting ravaged by mosquitos. In mid-October. Frankly, this was the final and worst insult. All of this, and it is only 2:20p. This day is dragging like desiccated molasses in a dried-out river bed. My brain hurts, and I think it will soon start seeping out onto my shoulders. I just dropped Nutmeg's food container onto my big toe's nail-bed, and now it's bleeding.  I am so utterly disinclined to do anything remotely related to anyone under the age of 30, much less tend to their needs which sometimes are sweet and sincere and at other times so completely inane and dull that I think I might consider wedging a screwdriver into my ear. I feel grumpy and borderline mean because I am frantically tired and have not yet had time to feel sad or process anything of the past week. Grr, I say, grr!

Shout-out to my soup

On Monday, the day of Nanny's funeral, I received a lovely note from a Food 52 friend: she let me know that my Tuscan Bread Soup had been chosen by Jenny as the feature of her Weeknights With Jenny column. This is the second time Jenny has highlighted one of my recipes, and I'm very flattered. It seemed fitting, in a lovely way, that if something I cook was to be honored, it was done so on a day that I was honoring Nanny. So, thank you, to Jenny and to all who wrote such nice notes. You have no idea how especially much those kindnesses meant to me on Monday.

Oliver has had a bad fever all day and felt like the pits. True to form, he said earlier, "I need to frow up", went to the toilet, grasped the sides and threw up three times. He will be such a champ at college parties, for the love. It's weird how some kids are pukers and others aren't. Jack has thrown up twice, TWICE, in his entire 7.25 years, while for Ol, upchucking is a common, could it be almost-monthly?, event. At least it doesn't phase him. Today I had to pressure him to brush his teeth afterwards. Blech.

Tom's in NY, and I managed to find a sitter for two hours today (now!) and three tomorrow. I am infinitely grateful because tired does not even begin to describe how I feel right now, so I am happy to be in bed, starting to catch up on things missed and late, and to tend to myself a little bit. I intend to make myself a good dinner tonight, something hearty and comforting and good, savor a glass of good wine and call it a day on the early side.