Heat, storms, sick kids, hunkering down

For most of my elementary years, I attended an Episcopal day school. It was your standard parochial program really; uniforms, bi-weekly chapel visits, Christmas programs with Nativity scenes and so forth. I don't remember loving the services, though I always loved singing hymns, but the chapel was a beautiful and peaceful one. The aesthetic beauty wasn't always matched by comfort. The pews were rigid as could be, and the kneelers made your knees cry for mercy despite being 'padded.' And though nestled in southwest Louisiana, the chapel wasn't air conditioned. I always wondered if this was religiously-inspired; you know, don't get too comfortable lest you forget what was supposed to be the primary focal point: worship. On especially hot afternoons, the kind that made us feel as if we were melting into the pews, many of us would attempt to make our hands serve as effective fans. Father Northrup instructed us not to, averring that we would actually increase our body temperatures by expending the energy to wave. Perhaps this was true, but it didn't feel true. It felt like he was trying to get us to what he wanted us to do in a sneaky, tricky way.

In any case, that kind of heat is what DC has been enrobed in for the past week. It's thick heat, wet, oppressive, unrelenting, a lot to bear even for my Louisiana blood. I like to be hot, and I like what goes along with that including shorts, iced tea, tank tops and sunshine. But heat that sits on you like a weighty woolen shawl is a different sort of beast, and a trying one at that. It broke slightly last night with a brief rain and then again this afternoon with a fantastic storm that pummeled us hard for too short a time. It was black out there, the wind whipping branches and leaves by our windows, knocking my tomato plants down as if there were but wispy weeds. I love a good storm and feel energized by today's.

Ol has remained quite feverish, and I admit to being disappointed that his strep test came back negative, especially after the pediatrician seemed truly taken aback by the sight of his throat and tonsils. Gatorade and children's Ibuprofen remain the plan for now, and I am hoping for some sort of miraculous improvement before tomorrow as the 4th is Jack's birthday. Tomorrow my little one, my first born will be EIGHT. It's hard to believe!

Willy? Filming pie-making

On the way to camp this morning, Ol said I should get pregnant again. I let him know that he and Jack were perfect and enough for me, and there would be no more babies coming our way. "Mommy, how do babies get made?"

"Well, Oliver, men make something called 'sperm..."

Jack: "OLIVER, it comes from your PENIS!"

"and, ladies are born with many eggs, and when the two meet, a baby is formed."

"Where does the baby live in the mommy?"

Thinking this all stemmed from our recent viewing of The Adventures of Milo and Otis in which, you might recall from a recent post about said viewing, cat and dog babies are born in a seriously graphic way, I answered very earnestly:

"In the uterus which is a really neat and strong muscle that houses the baby."

"How does the baby get out?"

"The neat and strong uterus pushes the baby out when it's time."

"Well, I want a little baby named Willy."

People, this is not where I thought this story was going. Who is Willy? Why is that the preferred name? And why did I go on and on about uteri when ultimately Oliver just wanted to let me know he wanted a baby named Willy to join the fold?

In hysterics, I left them at camp and scurried home to scour my kitchen and organize -read: throw the bag of hamburger buns into my Tupperware cabinet and relocate the toasted to the basement- because foodie friend C and I were to soon demo the My Lil' Pie Maker for the local news. Now, the incredibly beautiful anchor is our friend and knows how much we like to cook, so we did have that in, but we were SO excited, and yes, you'll be able to see us on the 5:00 news next Tuesday night. I will share the exact details when I know them.

It was great fun, and although I do not recommend the My Lil' Pie Maker for a whole host of reasons (watch the news to find out), filming was a blast.

You know that piece of pizza I felt so smug to have squirreled away last night? Yeah, joke's on me because I just went to get it for a snack and damn if hubs hadn't eaten it earlier. Grr, hubs, grr.

Is Mercury in retrograde?

Is there a full moon coming? Are End Times nigh? Is the heat making people crazy? I ask because I have seen some crazy s&*(t lately, and it's not pretty.

On Saturday, I, and about six other people, witnessed a very public, serious ado between a middle-aged married couple. They had just bought a large window screen and were storming through the hardware store parking lot screaming at each other in full throttle. She was near tears, screeching that "You're always mad at me, mean to me now. You scream at me. You're so mean!" He megaphoned back, "I'm trying to help you" before slamming her door, jumping behind the wheel of the convertible, slamming his door and burning rubber, the screen hanging out the back. He'd not driven five feet -at his weird 0-60 in 1 second flat- before pounding the breaks, yelling some more and then burning rubber again. As they roaringly careened out of the lot, the Mrs. was crying and screaming, and he was just screaming. It was awful.

Us spectators were struck dumb with sadness and a bit of horror. Where does a couple go from there? What's the next thing you say to each other, and how? Did the screen stay in the car, what with the insane slamming and speed cycles?

About an hour ago, right as rush hour commenced, I saw a bad wreck a block from my home. Some gal in a white car hit a mail truck and then continued to try and turn but hit another car (gray), hard. White car is fairly totaled, all the air bags deployed, gray car is smashed and the older lady inside was stuck between her seat and air bag, someone's car knocked down the no-turn sign (ironic) which was laying sadly in the street near the front tires of the mail truck, the mailman was pacing back and forth, spectators were gawking, a man got out of a Mini and started gesticulating wildly, a woman from the Mini joined him but said and gestured nothing, someone brought ice and water but only to Gray car, the fire trucks screamed up, the ambulance came too although it didn't seem super indicated, the city bus had to drive over the median to get past and everyone else started detouring. I was lucky to be walking and send vibes of health and hope for everyone involved.

Last night, felled by too many hours of a migraine and thus sadly kept from a party I wanted to attend, I still cobbled together a beautiful dinner. It was all red, white and green - think Italian flag more than Christmas - and just ungodly fresh. Watermelon with feta and mint; juicy Cherokee Purples sliced and layered with mozzarella and basil; red cherries; and toasted multigrain bread smeared with homemade ricotta and arugula, and drizzled with peppery olive oil and vin cotto. It was the stuff of dreams. Sad to say all my photos were blurry.

Damn Mercury.