Languid Tuesday, really!

Oh, today has been much-needed and much-enjoyed. It's weirdly warm again, and while it's totally unnatural, my feet have not complained about slipping into sandals rather than socks and boots. Carpool, cleaning, cooking- the regular Cs of my daily life. I made two dozen scones and some lemon curd for a faculty meeting at J's school this afternoon; the scones are just out of the oven and the smell is enveloping me like the ultimate luxe robe. Percy and I enjoyed a nice walk, my house looks much tidier than it did this morning, and I've gotten quite a bit done organizationally. I am full-on in the Christmas spirit. It's funny how loathsome I find Thanksgiving (in the sense of how I feel during and immediately afterwards; best summed up as such- I dislike it "with the white hot passion of 10,000 suns" a la KP though she refers to New Years Eve) but how chock-full of youthful joy I am imbued with come December 1. The tree! The mantle! Garlands! Stockings! Presents! I have even been taken over by a wild desire to make scads of holiday cookies even though I don't really eat them and recently made some ridiculously large, impulsive order of decorative sugars and edible pearls from the Natural Candy store (I am glad to know about this shop, but nonetheless, this order was a bit silly) in advance of some cookie making marathon that is not yet more than a figment of my mind. I'll take this versus Thanksgiving blahs any day!

Off for some lunch and then to school to set up for the meeting. And, as a bit of eye-candy, a cute pic of Mr. O.

Allllllmmmoooost over the edge

Today was positively summery- I wore capris and flip-flops if you can believe it. Something is afoot in our climate, yes? I think so. 60+ in December? When I picked J up at school - who, by this time had shed both hoodies and was down to his t-shirt- he sighed dramatically and said, "I guess it's going to be another warm winter." Poor buddy, he's probably correct. It's not normal, peeps, not right.

Although mostly good, today just felt extremely long. Oliver was plagued by an interior-butt itch that commenced before school this morning and which still required intense scratching tonight. Ultimately I said I could not handle any more scratching or conversation about butt-itches and get in the bath. Now. Too, one would have thought the children were in training to be negotiators, walking folks off ledges both figurative and real. And I finally decreed that what I said goes as I just could not be pushed back on one more completely inane thing like, "can't I please wear my entire Spiderman outfit to bed?"  "No, Mr. Just Has Completed Nighttime Potty-training, you cannot, because the Spidey suit velcroes up the back, and I'm not coming to get you out and back into it in the middle of the night." As a Spidey aside, yesterday J went to a friend's birthday party and there, a terrific face-painter was on hand. J refuses to let paint come near his face so always opts for arm-painting instead. Look at these fab web-shooters he came home with- wow! 

The tart and handpies I made for the catering order looked absolutely perfect and scrumptious; some that got away so to speak. But that's OK because I decided to make a taleggio polento cake onto which you could serve as much kale or mushrooms as you want. It is Meatless Monday, and I did have all this gorgeous stuff from the FM yesterday. Et voila! The shallot-tarragon-cream sauce didn't look pretty around the polenta (which is why you won't see a picture of it; looks like a dead body of some sort) but it did taste yummy. I liked this. A lot.

PS- I did muster the will to make the shrimp pie last night and it was fine but too ugly (in a soupy savory-pie way to publish any photo; suffice it to say that pureeing leek confit and cream is good stuff).

Shrimp, a fire and some inspo

Sometimes, when I stop, letting my body and mind rest for a moment, I realize how deeply tired I very often am. If I were a runner, I'd be a distance one, able to pace consistently and keep in mind the ultimate goal, no matter the obstacles, pain and fatigue encountered along the way. I've always been like this, a goal-setter with a laser focus, and while, for the most part, I'm grateful for this quality, it has at times obscured my ability to live consciously and pleasurably in the present. Mellowing this tendency has been a large part of my personal work in recent years; learning to respect my own limits and say no has proven easier said than done, though, typically, I've given it my best "will achieve" shot. And I have made progress I'm happy to say, as evidenced by taking a sabbatical from application reading, turning down catering jobs I'd like to do but really can't fit in my schedule, not volunteering at every school function that needs parental involvement. These decisions aren't ones I've made lightly but they are ones I've conjured a great deal of relief from afterwards.

This past week has been one of limit disrespect, and as such, when my in-laws invited the boys over this afternoon to help decorate their Christmas tree, I said YES despite the fact that we'd had a busy day and their bedtime tonight will be later than usual, potentially making tomorrow afternoon a challenging one as it wears on. But I'm learning to take these opportunities for space when they arise, and presently, I'm feeling very grateful for this couple of hours.

T is completely horizontal on the couch, sipping a beer, enjoying some football, while I sit in the living room, watching a fire try to roar in our fireplace, shrugging as Percy moves back and forth between us, never quite sure which might be most comfortable. He's really a grass-is-always-greener kind of dog. And I'm not sure a smart one at that being that T pretty much completely dislikes him and he's not picked up on it. But anyway.

As I tap away, happily surrounded by Christmas decorations, an open cookbook and this morning's paper, I feel fatigue oozing from marrow out. Reaching for my mug of tea seems both desired and Herculean which is why it's now wanna-be tepid. Fortunately, T took me up on the offer I made sound somewhat exciting -see how the new deveiner performs!- and the shrimp sit at the ready, waiting to be used in some marvelous way befitting their status of kingly-tasting crustaceans. Hugh Acheson's lobster pie recipe calls to be adapted; as if theoretical inspiration has struck, my mind is already there but my physical self lags lazily.

The fire seems to be tired now, the kids will be home soon. Five more minutes and then I'll hop to it.