Of moons and nerves, of good moments and dark ones

This evening just before 8pm, my ragtag crew piled into the car and headed to a point higher than the plot on which our house stands. Jack's class is studying China, and in anticipation of tomorrow's celebration of today's Moon Festival, he is to have observed the moon and his reactions to it throughout the past week.

Wednesday night was successful (just look at that photo Tom took!), Thursday was vetoed because of an overtired meltdown, Friday and Saturday nights were too cloudy to view anything, and although tonight is still overcast, the clouds were moving on the wings of a hasty wind. We figured we could glimpse something if we got to an elevated space free of trees.

Once at the triangular patch of grass at the intersection of Nebraska and Van Ness, we tumbled out of the car, plastic telescope and clipboard in hand. Tom was the only one not wearing pajamas. Jack was dressed in long-sleeve and pants orange-and white-striped skeleton jammies, with the shirt tucked in dramatically; I had on a matching set covered in hydrangea blossoms; and Oliver was, unsurprisingly, wearing a mismatched pair that included an inside-out shirt and bare feet. 

I'm certain we looked incredibly bizarre. But sitting in the grass as a cool breeze gusted, we glimpsed the gorgeous moon for a brief time and felt happy.

It was a blessedly tranquil moment during a weekend which has had quite a few highs but also some real lows. Perhaps all families with young children live their weekends on such a roller coaster. Some may be better suited or able to handle mayhem, cacophony and filibuster-scale chatter.

I, myself, wish we could disembark on occasion instead of being strapped in to the front seats on Friday at 5pm and forced to climb, loop and fall until Sunday after dark. I'm tired of being so enervated by simply experiencing a weekend.

That word connotes such leisure and relaxation. Weekend suggests catching up on sleep and togetherness, lazy afternoons and all-day pajamas if you like. 

We've got the togetherness and all-day pajama parts down pat, but leisure? Relaxation? Sleep? Time for individual pursuits? I don't know what the hell you mean. 

Even the peaceful lulls ask something: that a movie be turned on or that we adults put our own desires to bed or that we be waiting to pounce (and able to immediately relax) when the stars align and the kids play without calling to us for longer than fifteen minutes.

Do you know that by 9:30 this morning, after I'd made beignets and hung out, I'd listened to Jack try to engage me in conversation about the periodic table for upwards of ninety minutes? People, I wasn't capable of managing that in college (I'm not joking; I was a ghastly chemistry student), much less on a Sunday morning. I'm also not super interested, as I feel confident that I know as much about carbon and iridium as I'd like. 

So, I armed him with two dictionaries and a wikipedia page, and asked/pled/demanded that he study by himself while I did some work for class. Suffice it to say that did not work, and I felt both defeated and angry. Pissed. Because a brain can only take in so many insistent requests for needs other than its own before starting to fritz out. 

Ol, meanwhile, had taken every toy out of every bin and tried on and then discarded every costume. Tom and I were tripping over plastic tools and MagnaTiles and Lego men and toothpicks and acorns and books. And the house looked like it threw up in itself. And I just could not take all of that input. I can't. 

By the time we reached the little patch of grass where we stationed our observatory tonight, it was roughly 13 hours after our day began. Jack, armed with two shiny new reference books, was still talking about the periodic table, and Oliver had just eaten half the noodles off my plate even though Tom took them out to dinner earlier. 

I was happy in that grass, but getting there felt Herculean. It's hard to balance all the various energies needed to parent well, maintain a marriage, stay connected to friends and self and keep your heart open enough that despite fatigue and frustration, you're at the ready to appreciate the golden moments in which lovely memories are made. 

It doesn't feel possible sometimes. The moon hides, the grass is scratchy, you never knew what ytterbium was in the first place. 

Plum jamming

At some point, even I believe that plums deserve more in life than simply sating my plum tart fancy. 

Plums are a gorgeous fruit with many tasty applications, and so, before their season leaves me in its wake, I best appreciate them widely.

Plain? A wonderful treat. In salad with cheese and a balsamic glaze? Oh yes. Dried into prunes and then eaten plain or stewed? Marvelous. 

But I think my second favorite way to enjoy plums is in jam. They have an assertive amount of natural pectin which means you'll achieve a great set without adding the synthetic stuff. They also swing liberally, capably buttressing straight up plum jam and also all manner of savory and herbal emphases. 

I adore and tend to prefer my plum basil jam which is just so simple and bursts with flavor. In fact, a dear friend, whom I've not yet met in person but who lives in Florence and I feel I know and adore because of our relationship via Em-i-lis, concurs. I brought a jar to London, sent it to Florence with my sister, Elia, and she couriered it to Eli during a meeting and tea date at her apartment. 

I love this picture for so many reasons! 

While I was a little jealous that Elia met Eli before I got to, I was thrilled to see them together and to receive Eli's note that the jam "is sublime." I've also shared this jam with my plum-loving friend, Suzanne, over at A Pug in the Kitchen, and she loves it too! Eli is Italian and Suzanne is an excellent cook, so I take their praise seriously and appreciatively.

When I don't make plum basil, I tend to make my Lightly Spiced Plum, my Pepper Punch Plum or, as I did today, another foodie friend's recipe for Spiced Plum & Port Jam. Thank you, Abbie, for this delicious concoction.

It is a cozy fall breakfast at home in a jar. Your kitchen will smell to the nines when you cook or simply warm it, should a loving friend gift you some. Spiced with nutmeg, cinnamon and Chinese 5 spice and a generous cup of Ruby port, this thick beauty makes a masterpiece of the treasure that is good bread. 

Ol and I canned a few pints of this today while Jack was at French and Tom exercised. He spooned some into his mouth and said, "I love it, Mama." 

Me too!

Living large, in 1st grade and beyond

Although yesterday was a repeated experiment in frustration management AND I did not prevail over the Fed Ex guy, I am still smiling. 

For one thing, what was once Jack's tendency to tuck all shirts (tees, pajama tops, jerseys) into all bottoms (shorts, pants, pajama bottoms) is now the only way he rolls. It is fairly nerdy and wholly charming.

Secondly, Oliver drew this for me on Tuesday and explained it as such: "Mom, this is me at school thinking of you."

I am telling y'all, that boy has an expressive fire lit under him and is drawing and writing to beat sixty. He's always loved art and creative pursuits, but 1st grade has so far been a remarkable lens through which he can focus his efforts in concrete ways. 

Last night was Ol's Back to School Night, and as I did following Jack's, I left feeling so grateful and excited. The pedagogical and social-emotional goals behind everything that happens in class are like a giant, interconnected web that makes my head spin. How the teachers can hold those goals AND their very since appreciation and love of each child present throughout the day is awe-inspiring. Seriously. Did you know how many mathematical exercises can be found in a written morning message on the dry erase board??

During the summer, Ol was a hesitant reader lacking in confidence and a writer who stuck with the words he knew or didn't feel silly asking about (he tends towards the perfectionistic and away from academic risk-taking). Last night, I thrilled to see his goal (below) because it shows me that already his confidence and desire to take risks are soaring. 

It reminds me that those who are taught by great teachers win one of life's big jackpots, and that always we are benefitted by being around others who value our strengths, our struggles, and what makes us each unique.

In supportive spaces like that, we can be brave and take risks and fall and learn. We can get back up and try again, coming to deeply believe that life is enriched by living large and authentically. Especially if you want to tuck your shirt deep into your shorts to do so!