Gone Girl, parental irritation, hermit crabs

Today has been full, cold/rainy, at times unbelievably irritating and at other times great. My Oliver is one of my favorite people in the WHOLE world, but gawd did I want to run for the hills away from him about 50% of the time. Jesus H, people. He pushed every button I knew I had and some that were previously undiscovered. I cannot wait for him to go to bed and tomorrow to go to school. Right now, he's sitting on the floor cutting a shred of paper into a million pieces that I know he will raise cain about when I tell him to clean up, and after a long, protracted cry-fest, he'll pick up two pieces, wipe his nose on me and I'll finally call it a day, dustbuster them up and just be ever that much more tired. Good lord, three year olds. I'm getting older just thinking about this situation. It's a miracle that I do not yet have gray hairs. This morning, as a reward for a deal made two years ago, we set up a hermit crab terrarium for Jack in his room. Jerry and Max (seriously? these are the crab's names?) are, at present, nestled in their sphagnum-filled cave in complete camouflage, apparently acclimating to their new habitat which, I simply must say, is infinitely nicer than their previous home at PetSmart. We can hope they'll live a happy life in J's room; at least their voiding will be contained and, as such, not require some ridiculous pet diaper. As an aside, Percy had to wear his diaper all day. We think he needs to be adorned with a scarlet P, and not for pug.

Have y'all read Gone Girl? Swear to god, I can't put it down. 200+ pages since Friday. How I've gotten anything else done is beyond me but I love immersing myself in a good book. What's for dinner? I don't know, but I am going to make some more holiday goodies ASAP. Hmm....more later.

The long-term effects of little-boy sounding?

This morning I find myself pondering what might be the long-term side effects of unceasing exposure to the noises, utterances, dialogue, monologue and sounds that bubble forth constantly from two small boys I know, ages 6 and 3. Last night a committee I co-chair at J's school hosted a guided meditation based on a book about silence and finding the voice within by a Quaker author, Rex Ambler. We did this last year around this time, and I absolutely loved it. Having attended several of these sessions since, I'm always struck by how different my experiences are despite the fact that the meditative prompts are the same. I've felt  invigorated to enervated but witness the entirety of that spectrum in a deeply calm way. Last night I felt as if a thick blanket had settled over me, making it difficult to meditate well (seemingly so), but showing me just how very much I needed and could take advantage of the gift of an hour to focus only on myself.

In any case, 5:49am today brought all back to our norm with Oliver requesting his MIA tool sheet and imploring the sun light to come on while Jack built Legos and later yelled at Ol to "please give me privacy, I'm in the bathroom." And since then T and I have looked at each other, with somewhat wild and desperate eyes, wondering just how many more irritating other-languages, rapping snowmen (you know those drugstore holiday items that sing/dance when you press a button? we get them as gifts and the kids go nuts for them but all three at a time is truly a cacophonous torture), inane arguments and so forth we can stand before 7:30am. Perennial tiredness. Ah, just let me get my latte and a good breakfast in me.

I want to make a shrimp creole this week as well as some sort of braised bean dish. Will keep you posted!

Nearly comatose, pom relish

It is hardly worth recounting my day but because I can barely remember all that was packed in, I will do so, just for kicks. T is out of town, so when the boys awoke at 5:30am, it was off to the races solo despite my implorations to leave me alone until 6:15. Jack is good about it, Oliver less so. He has a light that's a moon at night and a sun after the time the parent sets as the "OK, now you can bother me" time. Around 5:55am, I heard him start yelling, "sun light, turn on, turn on NOW." Sigh. Then there was the requisite hullabaloo of the morning: breakfast, making beds, brushing teeth, pleas to stop dawdling, carpool, do you have your homework?, get your coats on, and so forth. I dropped Ol off early and flew to Pilates; I've missed quite a few classes this session and was desperate to attend. Then I sold some jams, raced home, took a shower, worked in J's library, sped to the market to get a few things + the Christmas package (tree/wreath/garland), had some help jamming it all in my car, flew home with 15 minutes to spare before pick-up, wrestled the tree out of my car, sawed off the bottom for a fresh cut, dragged it from the garage through the yard and up several sets of stairs to the front porch.

Sweating and this whole time in tights, patent flats, a skirt and new sweater, I sucked down a random assortment of lunch items, raced to Ol's school, picked him up, sped back home, found the tree stand, got the (8') tree in said stand, watered it, untied it, got Ol back in the car, raced to J's school, dropped his pal off at piano, flew back home with my boys to await a playdate and start in on the tree's lights.

I'm still in the skirt and tights.

The kids are going ape over the tree, one glass ball breaks, an ornament shaped like a pug is dropped and loses a leg, fir needles are everywhere, someone needs apple cider five minutes ago and my head is pounding. A client called on one phone, T on the other (which I hand to Jack and I think he hangs up on T), the perler bead angry bird loses one bead and MUST.BE.REPAIRED.NOW, and it's 4:15p, and I'm like, WTF peeps, it was just 5:30am.

I remove the tights.

For the first time in my children's lives (seriously), I order a pizza for them for dinner; they and their darling little friend seemed thrilled. I beseech them to eat veggies and fruits concurrently, and my friend and I start in on just a small glass of wine roundabout 5:15p. The garlands look like tumbleweeds that were sneezed onto the Christmas tree at random, and jesus h do we have a number of construction ornaments.

I switch the skirt for some exercise pants and put my hair up. The bags under the boys' eyes start to look positively sink-hole-like, and I declare that bathtime is nigh and unfortunately we must bid our friends adieu. "Wait, wait, just watch my Christmas tree song and performance; you can't go outside without your coat; hold on; lower the volume; great to see you; kiss kiss."

Quickest bath in the world, half a story and a literal toss into their beds. T calls again -I forgot to call him back earlier- and I tell him that I love him but am unable to speak. Seriously. We'll talk tomorrow. I make a fab pomegranate-cranberry relish, saute some chard, cook a steak and sit. Carols are playing in the background and much as I want to stay up and read, I'm cashed and calling it a day.

Pom relish recipe will be posted soon. Yum!