Meatballs and a question

At what age do you get to stop managing -by which I mean literally bathing, helping dress, overseeing toothbrushing, reading stories, tucking in- bedtime for your kids? Because I am most definitely at the point of being largely uninterested in the process. In aggregate, I've done about 4,380 nights of this over the past years, and while I love, love to snuggle and kiss my boys, I am sick, sick of some of the other biz. In all honesty, when does this part of raising kiddos become more their responsibility than yours? Today was like a best-case marathon: it's not too cold, not too hot; you aren't sidelined by muscle spasms or chafing; your pace is strong; no one around you is a dick. Yet at the end, you are wiped out. Fried. Spent. Beat. Blur story short, we saw family, took several walks and bike rides, I made one million meatballs, we watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and finally, praise the goddess of tired mamas, the boys are in bed as of 2 seconds back.

Oliver had a ginormous meltdown about his bath. "I want to have a HAND BATH!! A HAND BATH!! Not a tub bath!"

What, pray tell, is a hand bath?

Apparently, it is a bath given via washcloth whilst standing outside of the tub on a mat. I told him he best figure out how to do it by himself or ask Dad.

Jack had a lunatic fit about the fact that I asked him, after waiting patiently for five minutes, if he was ready to walk to CVS. Ol and I decided to make the short trip without pouting J.

At this point, by which I mean right now, I am enjoying a generous second glass of wine, watching T cook the fresh pasta (aah, fresh linguine!), and eagerly anticipating the best meatballs in.the.world.

PS- Was anyone else completely overwhelmed by the Black Friday sale promotion going on today?  Aah. All the ads felt like The Blob was approaching...

Thanksgiving 2013

As this Turkey Thursday draws to a close, I tip my hat to what writing so often does for me: get things out. I vent, wonder, share, laugh, process, and understand. I mourn, appreciate, enshrine and challenge. The powerful difference, for me, between keeping a diary and blogging is the element of connection with others: you. I cannot tell you how many earnestly begun journals I have let wither away over the past twenty-five years. Those with stoic leather covers and others with bright shiny ones, a few with lock and key, one or two in electronic form. I bought them on trips, moved by the destination or the person with whom I adventured. I bought them during low points and high, often at the turn of a new year or similarly nostalgic point in time. I meant to write often, or at least regularly, and a few of my efforts seemed valiant.

But not a one stuck until I figured out that I needed to be writing to someone. Even if I didn't know him or her or them or you. This has stuck, has expanded and fulfilled me in many ways, and I am thankful. Thank you for reading. And for reaching back out to me.

That I had a lovely Thanksgiving with none of the attendant blues I worried might cloud it (there is tomorrow, but I'm trying to stay optimistic) could be attributed to a whole host of inputs: a beautiful day with no gray in sight; a joyous run with my family and thousands of others; the wonderful family I married into; the knowledge and confidence to draw my line in the sand of cooking yesterday, doing what I could while enjoying it rather than pushing myself to do more than that and feel burdened; subdued hormones rather than their horribly mischievous kin.

Certainly all those things would boost anyone but I simply must acknowledge too the power of getting it out. When I wrote a few days back about my ambivalence towards Thanksgiving, I felt as if I'd broken up with those sentiments. Or at least owned and made peace with them. And that's a significant change. A positive one too.

As I head off to sleep, full but not too full, happy to have leftover pie, I again give thanks for all the incredible people and love in my life; for you, the individuals who read what I have to say and who, sometimes, write me to let me know what you think; for my boys and my little cat; even for my dog; and for the love of writing that makes all of it better, or at least better understood.

It's a cooking miracle

Well, not really, but I did SO much cooking today: pies, pies, pies, a bourbon caramel pumpkin tart, Brussels sprouts galore, many pounds of beets...the list feels like it must go on but for now, the rest escapes me. Here is a terrible picture of the tart, but I know it will be delish.

Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving tomorrow. Stay warm, eat well. I'm doing my best to work through and/or ignore any blues!