To summarize our weekend: rain, putter, party, mojito, party, mojito, party, slumber, wake, drive, bridal shower, munch, drive, coffee coffee coffee! mud! laundry! piles!
Yesterday evening, Kevin and I engaged in how-much-tidying-can-you-squeeze-into-fifteen-minutes-honey? And managed to dislodge a few crumbs, if not the bulk of the disorder accrued over days upon days of general household living. A place for everything and everything in its place: fundamentally, I’ve got that down. In practice, however, I am accomodating more and more the notion that layers, spills and dirty dishes add character.
In stroller news: friends have gifted us a replacement, and I’ve stopped creeping ebay and kijiji in a vain effort to find our old one. I want such losses to make me better; or at the very least not to make me bitter. Bitterness is such a self-disfiguring emotion. Life is loaded with hardships to overcome, and this weighs very lightly on such scales. So, better not bitter, better not bitter, better not bitter. Onward.
Supper plot: green pasta (arugula, sunflower seeds, olive oil, garlic, and fresh basil ground together into a pesto-ish paste over whole wheat pasta; add-your-own parmesan), and a side dish of tofu stir-fried with green garlic and asparagus and tamari sauce. To be continued …