Diapers a gone-gone? Dinner

If you've not gotten your Benedict fix in a day or so, here you go. Works for me. Thank me later. As an aside, I can't tell you how much I sometimes wish his name were nicknameable (because, let's be honest, it doesn't just roll off the tongue). But it's not. B.Cum? Epic fail. Ben? Not a chance! Benny? A you-can't-possibly-know-who-this-guy-is offense.

I lurve him!

People, it seems that diapers as a needed product in my home will soon be nothing more than a pee-scented memory. At least until incontinence or grandchildren come along. And if the boys' statements are any sort of accurate foreshadowing ("Since we can't marry you, we're not going to get married. We're going to live together in a house next door to yours. It's gonna be full of candy, snakes, and iPads. Maybe, maybe we'll find a lady and she'll help us get a baby and then we'll give it to you." WTF, people?), incontinence will come sooner and we won't be talking about that or diapers or any such thing.

But back to the present. Ol has declared that he wants to be "dwy at night!" and so we're off. Towels in the bed, the pee-alarm strapped to his jammies, interrupted sleep at night for the greater good of dwyness at night.

I admit there is little more deliciously darling than a chubby toddler toddling around in nothing more than a diaper. That is sweetness and light at its best, and Ol can definitely still make me swoon in that maternal "his butt and its functions are SO cute" way. But undies are cool too, so I am his biggest cheerleader right now. If he wants it, moi aussi, though then my babies' babyhood will really be gone. Sad but not, poignant but such is life. I took about 4 million pics of his diapered bottom so I do have the ability to look back. And I surely will!

T worked late tonight so I went whole-hog (fauxg) Meatless Monday: farro with roasted broc, leeks, Meyer lemon and hazelnuts with blood orange-infused olive oil and goat cheese. Me likey!

Dying for non-winter produce

A few days ago, I bought a bag of perfect red grapes. Each orb's taut purple skin seemed to just hold in the sweet, juicy sphere of flesh inside. It is not even close to grape season here; no, these beauties and their large carbon footprint came from Argentina, but I could not resist the tangle of succulent bunches batting its collective eye from the display table. I have enjoyed each and every pluck from the vine. Lord almighty am I ready for spring and summer produce. There are only so many oranges/grapefruits/apples/pears I can really be excited about. I lust for the fragrance of ripe peaches and plums, that which comes from the stage of maturation in which you can be sure that a delicate yet confident bite will reward you with rivers of sugary bliss coursing down your chin. I pine for equally scrumptious tomatoes of all type, from the miraculous Sungolds to the masculine meatiness of a beefsteak or black Krim. Sexy cherries, plump with the sweet-tangy nectar within, and apricots with their feminine wiles and fleeting moment between under-ripe and mush call to me with promises of pleasure. Ataulfo mangoes will have their moment as the star too, and I'll take full advantage of their generosity, stripping clean with teeth and tongue the shallow bowls of elixir made by the simple motion of sharp knife removing the strong grip of the seed.

For now I suppose I'll just be glad the sun is out and that on occasion I'll break with seasonal locavorism and indulge in those Argentine grapes.

Buon weekend

I have not worn more than a light jacket since Friday, and for most of today, I didn't even need that. What a thrill. February always issues this mighty tease: many years I'll even pull out a pair of shorts, wear them happily (despite my fish-belly colored legs) and then watch sadly as the temperature plummets two days later and my cute duds must again be put away. Last year we had a rather protracted respite from the cold, and I sowed seeds and planted some seedling kale. Mistake! All met death by freeze not much later. Finally I've learned my lesson. I worked in the yard but only focused on tasks of the tidying, readying sort. I have checked our spring and summer clothing stores but have not considered packing away even an item of winter gear. We took full advantage of the sun and relative warmth -farmers market! playing outside! climbing trees! baring our arms!- but did nothing more than enjoy those in-the-present thrills. Indeed, more cold, maybe snow, are to return starting tonight.

Yesterday we went to a gingerbread house making party and had a lovely time. The kids were wild for the endless candy options and frosting-glued so much of each to their house walls that their creations were as thick as they were tall. I know doctors say that sugar doesn't actually cause hyperactive aftermath in kids but I also know many a mom who would definitely try to dispute that. My crew and their buddies were bouncing off the walls; just gleeful to the max.

This morning, Jack had a birthday party to attend so Ol and I made Mardi Gras cookies (it's March 4; late this year) and spent an hour at the farmers market. He tasted every pickle at an overflowing stand and decided on the Super Sours while I opted for the Santa Fe carrots and turnips (lots of cumin!). Then he ambled over to EcoFriendly Foods (our preferred meat stall) and told Jordana that he very much wanted some "sausage of pig." I was in hysterics. I suspect she was too but in her dear way, she took his request very seriously and guided him to the tasting table. Someone gave him a first taste, and Ol said, "No, not like that." The second taste was Tasso (a cured pork that I've never seen out of Louisiana but which is a staple in real Louisiana jambalaya so it's awesome that EcoFriendly makes it), and Ol said, "Yes, this is it! This one!" Delightful.

We bought some stunning carrots and admired these long-neck squash. He munched on pickles the entire time and convinced me to buy more apple cider.

Finally it all became too much, and people, you have not seen a meltdown like the one Mr. O had tonight. I was both laughing and dying. That poor kid was so flummoxed about a paper snake he made Jack make for him but "Jack put a black line on the wong side and it's not wight...gaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Tears, rivers of tears, heavy chest, short breaths. It was just wild. I put him in the bath and told him to take deep breaths. "I CAN'T! I JUST WANT TO MAKE MY SNAKE TONIGHT BUT JACK MADE THE BLACK LINE ON THE WONG SIDE. GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH."

If you can believe it, I took that opportunity to trim his hair. Tom thought I was nuts but I was looking for a distraction. It kinda worked until he noticed all the hair in his bath at which point he was again overtaken by giant, sweeping gales of wail: "But LOOK!!!! Now there is SO MUCH HAIR IN MY BATH AND THE WATER IS TOO LOW. TOO LOW!!!! I WANT TO MAKE A SNAKE!"

He was put to bed shortly thereafter. Tom is now making fajitas, and I'm glad tomorrow is Monday/schoolday.