Pictures worth a thousand words

I dare say these two recent photos -Ol at Jack's baseball game last night, and a creation by Jack- are exactly the sorts for which that phrase was coined. At some level, I truly feel these images capture my children's personalities completely. Ol, fratastic Ol, will always find a nice way to chill, and Jack will forever make brainy mischief with words. I love it. Doesn't The Buttington Farter sound perfectly British? In the best way? It's possible it's the most accurate name for our homestead. And Oliver stayed like that for quite a while; no, he was not asleep.

Oliver went home with a buddy today, and I just received yet another PWATW (see title of this post) from buddy's mother. These two are soon to be "Strong Men" in the PK Circus, the annual show the PK class puts on at school, and here they had crafted a barbell from paper plates, masking tape and a pick-up stick and were lifting with mighty strength. Do you love the look of groaning support on friend's face?? And Ol's shirt tucked into his undies? I could die. Yes, he dressed himself this morning, and yes, orange and green are his favorite colors.

Meanwhile, J and I went on a date during which he downed stroopwafels (pron: strope-waffle) do you know of this Dutch delight? They are cookies made of thin wafers with caramel sandwiches in between. When T and I lived in Amsterdam, I learned that the cookies are this size because they fit nicely atop a warm mug of tea; that way, the caramel softens and your treat becomes even better in the resultant gooeyness.) and a drink, we bought three Big Nate books (the newest series obsession) and I assuaged tears of sadness due to our inability to find a Japanese calligraphy set. It's a hard life that boy lives.

Finally, I am on my couch, Percy wedged into a crack of his burrowing which is really a previously nonexistent space between my thigh and a cushion. I forgot to plate yesterday's watermelon and feta salad atop all the arugula I'd washed so enjoyed it tonight instead. Leftover yogurt chicken (this recipe was awesome; try it), avocado, garbanzo beans, tomatoes and feta + a mustardy red wine vinaigrette made for a delicious meal.

A three-martini lunch kinda day

It's really a three-martini lunch kind of day. If only I drank martinis. Or during the day. Alas, I'll content myself with the fact that Ol is back to school and nothing has yet happened to my car. Though my washing machine broke with a just-washed load of sheets inside and sopping and a Mt. Fuji-sized pile just waiting on the floor. Terrific.

Last night, I was Mother Theresa², all up for hours with Ol, lovingly wiping his brow and limbs with a cool washcloth over and over, singing You Are My Sunshine like a CD on repeat, finally giving up the ghost of breaking up with him as my bedmate and inviting him in. He brought Tool Sheet, Wrenchie and a large, decorative, rectangular pillow monogrammed with You Are My Sunshine (really, it is our song), and finally we got to sleep.

Meanwhile T was mostly enjoying Lady Gaga and then got to sleep in the basement. Balls. He said "She's really very strange" which is undoubtedly true but T doesn't do "strange" terribly well so seemed relatively unfazed by the last-minute experience he got; "She wasn't nearly as good as the Rolling Stones," another free ticket he was gifted. It's a rough life.

Anyway, my maternal font of endless caretaking and love has morphed, via the barbed bottleneck of now-significant sleep deprivation, into a peevish, leaky spigot of exasperated irritability. Bad drivers and outfits everywhere are making me feel positively inflamed. And damn you, PFAPA (the periodic febrile crap with which both boys have been albatrossed).

Thank goodness for sunshine and leftover tart. And you can be sure that tonight, this gal's the one in the basement!

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. ;)