Homeland, dinner

Wow! Homeland! Wow! Solid season finale!Dinner was Brussels sprouts with Old Bay aioli and crawfish. We failed, again, to get Nutmeg's pill down his gullet. Poor honey gagged and frothed all over me. Sadder than gross, really. Tomorrow morning is Ol's holiday concert. His song is a Spanish one, about being a burrito. At least that's what all the parents think it's about.

Misc musings

So I'm at the hardware store earlier getting some jars which I'll fill with homemade granola for teacher gifts. Next door is The Container Store, and in the joint parking lot I spied one of the CS managers. This gal always looks faux-happy, like really, she's stressed out to beat sixty with just a hint of rage added to the mix. Is the organization too much for her? Does she hate the customers? I don't know but she seems as if her thin veneer of perk will blow at any second. Her visage never fails to remind me of a music teacher Jack and I once had in a mom-tot class. Her name was Serene which always struck me as terribly ironic because she seemed anything but. I wondered if she liked children. It is cold as get-out today, and I am giving away pumpkin cheesecake like it's my job. I don't know what to make for dinner tonight but I am certain it will involve Brussels sprouts.

Christmas is soon! In fact, it really just struck me that as we're leaving Saturday, I will have to pack in a few days. Noooo....

Do you know what sucks? Giving pills to cats. The pets saw the vet last week, and in addition to Nutmeg topping the charts of the cat obesity scale (a 9+ on a 9 scale; oops), he has some fecal thing, and so we have to give him pills for three days. Doing so is like trying to shove toothpaste back into a writhing tube (my friend Annie mentioned the toothpaste analogy recently; I loved it and added writhing here because Nutmeg writhes with the strength of a water buffalo; maybe because he's giant). Myself, I think he is wildly handsome in all his glory. But I gotta get rid of this fecal malfeasance.

Shit.

The past two

I missed writing yesterday but just couldn't find the moment where time met inspiration. So here we are; a quiet Sunday morning. I didn't mistype- quiet it is as the kids spent last night at Camp Grandparents. Bliss. We had a holiday party last night, and in addition to needing to prepare in 85 different ways, I knew it'd be nice to a) not worry about waking them up, and b) not worry about them waking us up this morning. On Friday evening, I took Jack to Tae Kwon Do to test for his super-blue belt. Not only did he pass but also turned around in the middle of it, in the midst of ten other children and his instructors, to say, "I love you, Mom." Oh, these little moments of perfection. They help sustain me, all parents I'm sure, in the times that are decidedly less than good.

Like later that night when I was awakened on four separate occasions: by Tom coming home late for a work party; by Jack twice waking up in real tears about a too-real dream he was having about Oliver throwing his chess trophy on the floor and breaking it; and so forth. He was so immersed in the dream that I finally had to turn on all his lights and force him to look at his pristine trophies. I felt for him, but really, four times in a night did not make for an Em-i-lis that felt good yesterday. And yesterday was ugly out with cold, gray, and icy the aggressive norm. So I cooked and took a nap and then got ready and had a ball.

Not the best pics, but alas. Happy Sunday!