jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I swear the boys know the party is almost over.

Today Elliot is declining the nap he most definitely needs unless he can take it in my arms. Alden is downstairs yelling, “Mooooooooommmmmmmy! I show you something! Want to come down? Want to have okra?” and anything else he can think of to get my attention.

We are in the waning moments of my maternity leave. Tonight I go to the HGTV 15th anniversary party. Tuesday, my first day back in the office, every minute of my day is booked with meetings. Seems my re-entry will be more like a cannonball into the deep end than the toes in the shallow I’d envisioned. But that’s fine, it’s just time.

I have all the standard feelings. I am looking forward to exercising that fast and critical part of my brain that I’ve had on snooze for a while. There are smart, fun people to see and I want to get back around a table with them.

And then I look at my boys. Their small, tender faces. I know I will struggle to walk out the door in the morning. I’m more concerned with Alden’s reaction than I am with Elliot. The freezer has enough milk, although I wish it were more. He’s got a loving daddy to hold and jiggle him. Alden, however, quickly got used to 24/7 Mommy and I fear he and Damon are in for some plaintive days. I know he’ll be fine. I’m not worried that he’ll be damaged or that he won’t get used to it, probably sooner than my ego would like. But he will be sad. And that makes me sad. I’ll also be sad because I got used to 24/7 boys and I really dug it. I’m signing Alden up for a Monday-night Kindermusik class so that we can get a little 1:1 time during the week.

Oh, and I mortally hate pumping. The thought of all the chilly hours I will spend in the lactation room (which I am grateful to have) makes me feel a bit sick. It is only during that time that I feel like an unnatural mother. All my instincts are saying, “That should be your baby, but instead you’re feeding a machine.” It’s not rational, I know, it’s just how I feel. I also once got some of the most traumatic news of my life while using my pump, and now there is an unfortunate association I haven’t been able to break. I get a little shudder when I plug it in. Drama drama. I’ll push past it. Baby needs milk.

And Momma needs to get ready. Time to dust off the heels and the flat iron!

A good sign that I’m getting my postpartum groove on is that I’m back in the kitchen. I’ve made dinner most nights this week and I have to remind myself that just a few weeks ago that seemed like a cliff too sheer for scaling. I haven’t tackled anything complicated (yet) but things have been tasty. I did read that pine nuts, spinach and raisins are a traditional Catalan combination, so I threw some over pasta and mom and Damon absolutely loved it. So easy. I will tell you how I did it.

Make a pound of corkscrew pasta. (That’s the shape I favored for this, anyway, but any pasta will do.)
Saute a bag of spinach in a little bit of olive oil and salt.
Once the spinach is almost done, throw the raisins in the pan and give it another minute. Stir it around a bit. Turn off the heat and leave the combo in the hot pan.
Scatter some pine nuts on a cookie sheet in one layer. Stick them under the broiler for 45 seconds (YMMV on time, but don’t be late. They burn quickly.)
Throw the pine nuts in the pan. Then star mixing in pasta until you have a pleasing ratio. If it feels dry just add a bit more olive oil.
I wrote this one out because I would not normally have tried this combination. I decided to do it because I wasn’t very hungry, so curiosity won out over a sure thing. And it was good. Truly.

I was more mindful that night because I was so happy to be busy at the stove. That’s when I realized something. Let me give you background first:

When it’s just family I usually plate food at the stove and then carry it to the table. (When friends are here we serve at the table or buffet style so they can control what they get.)

Okay, here’s what I realized: I always leave a little bit of each kind of food (main, side, bread, etc) on the stovetop or counter. Never once have I mentioned it, but I always do it. And I’ve never examined the habit. But I know why I do it.

More background: I rarely clean the kitchen. The deal is that I cook, and then after we eat I go be-pajama Alden and take a little break while Damon (or my mom if she’s here) takes care of business.

So finally: It’s fun to pick at food. I love to sample while I cook. (Although sometimes I lose interest in the finished product. Odd.) So I make sure that whoever is cleaning the kitchen has little snacks to cheer the chore along.

What’s funny to me is that earlier this week was the first time I’d ever given it actual thought. I’ve been doing it all my cooking life, which goes back to college. I’ve never told Damon why it’s there. He’s never mentioned it. The food is always gone. For all I know he’s dumping it in the garbage. I hope not. But I don’t want to bring it up and break the spell.

Mutch thanks for all your good thoughts on Damon and his college friend. I have passed it all along and we shall see what he does. Damon is ever optimistic and will take every person at his or her word. I go through life with an eyebrow permanently cocked. Sometimes we need third party opinions. Also, called me out, entirely correctly, on my lack of neutrality in story telling. So true! But you should have seen the first version.

We’ve just returned to Knoxville from a round robin of family visits — Lexington -> Cincinnati -> Louisville -> home. Being back in Ohio made me yearn for my hometown. I’d be happy to live there again. But for now I’m thrilled to be under my own roof, regardless of where the house sits. Elliot, turns out, is not a fan of riding in the car. By the time we pulled into our garage he had gone all hoarse from yelling.

Warning: This photo could make you spontaneously pregnant.

The boys are catching a nap at Grammy’s house. I’m fascinated by how they hold their hands the same way — thumb tucked under pointer finger.

Buddy Hackett!:

He doesn’t always look like that:

Pumpkin pie:

Today we took Alden to the zoo, talking all the way about how we will see Wilbur the Camel (stupid, I know) who he got to feed at a recent visit. We make him our last stop, which means Alden is both tired and hungry. No camels. So I say, “I’ll bet Wilbur already went to take his nap.” But I didn’t want to give up so soon, in case he had just been relocated. So I carry Alden over to a nearby zoo worker and say, “Hey, we’re here to see Wilbur. Is he around or is he taking his nap?” She looks directly at my expectant son’s face and says, “The camels aren’t here. They’re only here on the weekends during the winter.” (Dying to know where they go during the week). So I look meaningfully at Alden and say, “I see, okay. But Wilbur is just napping, right? Not gone. We can see him at our next visit.” And she says, “No, the camels are all gone.” And I say, “Yup, got it. All gone and Wilbur is napping. We’ll see him another day.” And she looks at me like I’m slow and says, “There aren’t any camels here.” Gah! The day was saved when we walked by the alpacas and llamas, who are camel-ish enough. Alden was satisfied that the one in the far distance was probably Wilbur, who was probably sleeping.

Don’t feel too sorry for him, though. He was a right pill all day long and I was delighted to bundle him off to bed.

http://www.hunch.com/media/reports/food/

While I am conservative on some points, I more frequently find myself in the liberal pool. This is true of most of my friends.

This survey pretty much nailed me right on the head. But I do like shortbread cookies, so I can still tell myself I’m at least a little unpredictable.