Monday, Monday

Ol and I slept in the basement last night, and he stayed home from school today. I think it's one of his fever spells, and I felt badly for him because he was truly disappointed to miss a day of school. Nonetheless, we had a ball, except for the moment at which Nutmeg hurled and before I could clean it all up, Percy ran over and starting eating. REPULSIVE. Anyway, Ol watched The Phantom Menace for about the 49th time, I made a chocolate-almond cake (which I then froze) and some granola, we took a walk, dropped my car at the shop to have the rear brakes replaced, played Angry Birds together, finished and mounted the "family shield" we've all been working on, and played a very intense game of Star Wars after he rebuilt and upgraded this belt o' Zoobs he created yesterday. It is full of "arms and light sabers." I do not totally understand the arms bit but I believe it has something to do with being able to hold many more sabers than he otherwise could.

He would walk circles around the house, intoning, each time he passed me, "My master has ordered me to watch out for you" or the like. At one point, convinced I was a Sith, he tried to behead me with a light saber but fortunately I convinced him -just in time- that the Sith had mind-controlled his belt and were tricking him in the hopes that he'd then kill Jedi for them. You can see that he can adopt a very threatening look! Personally, I like how his chin dimple seems amplified in presence when he does this.

His performance on the family shield wasn't as strong however. In fact, it pales in comparison and looks rather like a wan spread of average food. The log is an eclair, the orange donut thing is a Honey Nut O, and honestly, the other round thing could be a donut or an O for Oliver; it's probably the latter since it's done in his two favorite colors. Jack really went full speed ahead in his quadrant, and Tom did a nice, if faded-effect, job in his; that giant chef's knife is because he loves and takes pride in his cutting/chopping skills, people, nothing sinister.

I fancy my space, though why the gumbo pot is larger than Nutmeg and my garden is beyond me. Hell, that piece of cake isn't small either.

Speaking of cake, I have been on some kind of dessert tear lately. It appears I've morphed into an insatiable hog with a tapeworm, as if the latter is necessary if one is already an insatiable hog. In any case, I've just been going with it and am totally pleased with my absolute laissez-faire attitude. In fact, I've got a good mind to go make a rhubarb-apricot tart right now, just cuz.

T is at a Lady Gaga concert. Despite how unlikely that sounds, it happens to be true. A friend had an extra ticket so he said yes. Frankly, I'm very proud of his work-night spontaneity, and at the least, it'll certainly be an experience.

I am so happy I did not get invited to a Gaga concert. Ol and I have bunked together two nights in a row, and I'm happy on my couch next to snoring Percy. My thighs are weeping quietly over the run I took earlier, and I'm sure to pay with stiffness tomorrow, but it sure felt good to pound along in the sunshine earlier. And hey, more room for dessert. ;)

Aah...

What a lovely day! I was up with Ol last night, from about 3:30-4:30 because he was slightly feverish and thought he might "fro up." He didn't and we had such a sweet time together (including the marvelous recollection that I had frozen cinnamon rolls in the chest freezer in our garage; after tucking him in for the last time, I went and got those rolls and let them thaw on the counter from there on out). That said, I felt lucky my men let me then sleep in the basement until 9:30 when they brought me a latte with a heart-shaped frothed milk design and a plate of those cinnamon rolls, now warm and gooey and fragrant and fabulous.

The recipe for these  beauties is one of the treasures I've gotten from Molly Wizenberg. In fact, when I briefly met her last night, I mentioned how much my boys loved these and how they were our "special breakfast" tradition 90% of the time. Part of her inscription to me wishes for more cinnamon rolls in my future, and as such, this morning's three (and this evening's two) were even better than usual.

After feasting, we hung out and then realized that game 1 of Jack's double header was in the fairly immediate future. To the ballpark! It was a spectacular day, and the boys played winningly. Literally, they won both games. In the meantime, the moms lined up in folding chairs on the sidelines while the dads offered us gatorade or soda and we secretly (so as not to share) passed a tub of chocolate-caramel pretzels back and forth. I left after the first game, went to the market and then Delancey and I made a beeline for my birthday chaise. Incroyable!

I bathed my filthy darlings until the water ran gray and their arms gleamed clean once again, fed Jack forty dinners and T and I tucked them in. Then it was happily to the kitch together. He made a batch of my Super-Duper steak rub and prepped the filets while I made another batch of last night's cumin carrots and fennel with ricotta. He shucked corn, I cooked it. I set the table on the deck, he poured some good Zin. As the sun set and we supped, I felt deeply happy. Hope you all had a splendid day.

I love how olive oil pools in yogurt or, in this case, loose ricotta. Lovely isn't it.

Mothers Days

Due to a whole host events including spring break, Easter and Passover, Jack's baseball team is making up a missed game by playing a double header tomorrow. On Mothers Day. My first reaction was "hmm...I might have to play hooky from one of those," but then I thought about how I really enjoy watching the kids play, that it's a wonderful group of parents and Ol has a ball seeing the siblings, and it's supposed to be a pretty day; so whatever, play ball! Some of the other moms suggested making a party out of it; one thought having something catered would be fun; another felt the dads should motivate to bring the makings for a fete. Their spirit is excellent, and I wish I had the energy to make the giant layer cake recipe that Melissa Clark published in last Wednesday's NY Times Dining section. In any case, and although I have already learned this nine hundred times over, I was reminded that motherhood is largely an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" sort of enterprise and so I might as well just bring my folding chair and some ice water and enjoy things because otherwise, I will surely miss J's most amazing play ever or some magnificent moment with Ol or a spontaneous visit with a friend or watching T pretend he's not as engaged as he is. Good memories are often made when we just get out there and play, literally and figuratively; stronger connections are forged in casual times of togetherness, in moments of understanding and simply saying "ok."

I think this is why college is such an unbelievable, largely unreplicable, seemingly magical time in life. You're thrown together with all sorts of folks and then you spend enormous amounts of time together, as roommates, classmates, clubmates, partymates, hallmates, labmates, showermates, etc; you're forced to just "play" with others for at least four years. During those activities, when you share, receive, observe, are challenged, discover commonalities, tend, assist and are helped, transformations occur. Though those can be positive or negative, the good ones foster closeness that is otherwise difficult to forge. The lesser ones are the stuff of life lessons, of notes-to-self for later dates.

It seems to me that in a slightly less equitable, longer term way, that's what parenting is too. As with a potential new friend, your newborn is unknown to you. I loved Jack and Oliver before they arrived, but I had no idea what either boy would be like. How could I have? And so I simply met them, with openness and eagerness and love.

Before language evolves, the connection between parent and child is largely one based on one-sided ministration. So you wait and care and respond and offer and a relationship blossoms and grows. And I've found that as long as I'm willing to remain open, our relationships will continue to evolve and deepen and become more reciprocal. Even (especially?) in the tough times, the chance for deeper understanding and connection is there.

Recently, I learned something new about our darling J. It was nothing too surprising really, but nonetheless I found myself a bit breathless. I took a day to think. To process and reflect and consider and absorb. And then, as when a Southern rainstorm finally lets up, the sun shone down, making the droplets and puddles of water glimmer like diamonds instead of the soggy aftermath of some climatic pounding.

Deeper insight into my little boy birthed a new perspective on him and on my dealings with him. Some of the patience I wanted to have but simply couldn't muster before emerged like a previously untapped wellspring, a salvo of understanding that changed and warmed my point of view considerably. What was once frustration became admiration, what was before concern felt newly like hope, what I didn't understand I now honored.

And isn't that a beautiful transformation?! A shift in understanding and a resultant appreciation that I know I'd welcome and feel he does too because what underpins such willingness to learn and change and respect is nothing more than love and a desire to connect and feel understood.

This evening, a friend and I went to hear Molly Wizenberg present her newest book, Delancey. If you're not familiar with Molly, she is the blogger behind Orangette, the author of A Homemade Life, co-owner of restaurant and bar, Delancey and Essex respectively, woman, wife, mother, cook. She came across as real, honest and grounded, and when asked about why she writes, and why she writes about personal stuff, she simply responded (general summation mine), "writing helps me make sense of my life...I want to honor my truth but also respect the truths and privacy of those in my life...surely I'm not the only woman to have experienced postpartum depression or had a less-than-perfect moment in my marriage. Why aren't we talking about these things?"

Exactly.

And though this isn't a confessional post, it is a sharing of sorts.

The few people with whom I shared our recent news simply said, "Ok. Great to know. Happy to listen. Let me tell you my history/story/experience with that and how totally fine it will be." As Molly averred, surely she and I and all of us are not alone. Of course we aren't. And if motherhood isn't a humbling, let's-get-real-with-each-other experience, I don't know what is, and in all likelihood, you haven't really been living it.

So as Mothers Day dawns, let us remember all that we moms and aunties and sisters and adopted moms/grandmas/aunties/etc have in common. Let us praise all we do for each other, and all that we can and want to. Let's share our truths in the good times so that when times are less rosy, the context is understood and we don't have to start at the top. Let's love and appreciate it as much as we can, but let's also be real.