Sunday, Oct 5, 2008 | Uncategorized |
Have to say that 1/4 bushel of romas, boiled into a sauce, filled four quart jars EXACTLY. I am not exaggerating. Don’t even know how that’s possible. Not a drop left over, and each jar filled with a 1/2 inch of headspace. (This is lazy woman tomato puree, by the way. I neither seeded nor skinned the tomatoes. Still, canning can’t get much more casual than this, and, frankly, it hasn’t felt like a hardship to do it, which is my general goal in life.)
With the four quarts of marinara from my neighbour (her husband was up till 3am babysitting the pot; and, it was actually five quarts, but one didn’t pop, so we ate it for supper tonight), that will make eight more quarts of tomato-substance on my shelf. Heck, we’d survive till at least Christmas, now, on what I’ve put up. Maybe.
Friday, Oct 3, 2008 | Kids, Swimming |
Yesterday was a day in chapters; many of my days feel that way, and Friday particularly so.
Chapter One, All-Nighter: Baby CJ, under the weather, would not sleep unless held, so he stayed in the bed with us all night, and nursed off and on, too. Woke feeling drained. Literally.
Chapter Two, Pediatric Dentist: After race-walking AB to school (she is the only child with “good” teeth), Kevin and I hauled F and A, plus fussy baby CJ (no teeth yet, thank God) to the pediatric dentist. Then we waited, and waited. Kids losing minds, though perhaps Kevin moreso. Finally. Dental assistant was capital W wonderful, kids behaved in chair. Then we waited and waited to see actual dentist. F in full-on three-year-old mode saying repeatedly, and sternly, “We go home now!” We were literally there for two and a half fun-filled hours. Dentist seems nice. Of course, we’ll get to know each other really well in the coming months. This was just the consulation. Result of consultation: A, eight cavities, needs to come back for four consecutive visits, starting in late November, and F, who only got her teeth a little over a year ago, has five, which thankfully will be taken care of in a one-time special extravaganza. We’re going to be selling one of the children in order to pay for this; haven’t chosen yet. Stay tuned.
Chapter Three, Home: Race to drop A at school, we wander the halls searching for his class (not in classroom) after being told by the Very Happy and Always Pleasant school secretary that we are Late. Feeling like criminals caught on the lam, we discover A’s class in the computer lab, hand in pink late slip. Kevin drops the rest of us at home, dashes to work without eating lunch. F so hungry she consumes two and a half bananas. I eat copious amounts, too, feed baby, change soaking cloth diaper, hang laundry, et cetera. Quiet time. Blessed, blessed quiet time. Except baby CJ refuses to sleep during quiet time, now, so I no longer nap during the day. Which isn’t the end of the world. I seem to be surviving just fine. Baby CJ finally goes down for a nap. I start editing a story. Yah, great timing. Can hardly tear myself away in time to feed F a quick snack, pack up gear for swim lessons, wake baby to change and feed before hiking off to school. It’s hairy.
Chapter Four, Swim Lessons: Pick up kids from school and walk briskly to Rec Centre–so briskly, kids are jogging. It’s a finely timed operation, no room for error or unexpected bathroom stops, but everyone rises to the occasion. We’re cheerful, we’re conversational, we encourage each other. Push stroller right into Rec Centre, park, throw baby into sling, grab swim gear, head for changeroom, change, use bathroom, out on the deck with time to spare. Kids meet teachers, get wet, I go upstairs and watch with baby CJ, who is not going to be content hanging out in the sling much longer. He wants to get down and move. But yick. That floor. I’m not ready for that. He’s not really, quite, either. Children shower and change, everyone still cheerful, downright enthusiastic. Now this is a good Friday afternoon.
Chapter Five, Home again. Happy walk in brisk blue-sky fall afternoon, wet heads protected by woolly hats. Cross at our dangerous intersection, nearly get run over by an older woman in a nice car who sees us and just does not care. She’s in too much of a hurry. I shout expletives and wave my fist at her bumper. Expletives sound dumb. Need better expletives. Take suggestions from children–nice pat phrase to shout after cars that nearly run us down (this happens often enough to be worth developing). Come up with nothing quite pithy and scathing enough. Feeling rattled, cart bags and gear into house, along with children. Thankfully Kevin’s home not long after, and he takes baby. Quickly chop potatoes (CSA), throw into oven to roast; sausages thawing (Nina’s).
Chapter Six, Buying Club: Back out the door, despite disastrous house and unopened bags and swim gear leaking on floor. Three children insist on coming along (fourth offers no opinion). Bags in stroller, children running madly down sidewalk to Nina’s buying club. Gather food. Stick bags in stroller. Gather more. Children have come only for the treats. F clings to legs upon seeing a “Dad” she’s scared of. This goes on and on and on. F in hysterics. I’m trying to add up numbers, make out cheque, not forget anything (which I do just about every week). Head home, pushing stroller absolutely laden with fresh, local food. Children racing down sidewalk. Haul approximately forty pounds of food into house. “Why are you so stressed, Mommy?” asks AB. Stir potatoes in oven. Nurse baby. Set table. Put fresh local food away, empty school bags, start load of laundry. Supper eaten. Teeth flossed. Dishes washed. It’s so very late. But there’s still another chapter!
Chapter Seven, Book Club: Didn’t think I’d get here. Once arrived, don’t think I’ll be able to go, as find self dozing while nursing baby one last time. Don’t bother to brush hair. Grab cellphone, re-tie running shoes, bid husband goodbye. Run. Run down the block toward book club, but as running realize lungs are opening, muscles are relaxing, feel suddenly loose and energized and delirious with oxygen. Decide to run a little further. Finally, turn back and head into book club, otherwise known as “book club.” This month we didn’t even have the pretense of a book, though we did have a topic: politics. Lively conversation ensues. This is a good chapter, a fine one to end on.
Now today, Saturday, has been one long run-on sentence. Cleaning, organizing, errands, work. And I’m going to can a 1/4 bushel of tomatoes tonight–the remnants of the romas–which I’ve already turned into plain sauce. But first, Kevin’s taking the kids skating and I’m ignoring the dishes and going for a walk with baby CJ. Mental health moment, here I come.
Thursday, Oct 2, 2008 | Chores, Laundry, Politics |
Writing morning. So obviously I’m hanging laundry on drying racks indoors instead, wondering whether I’ve crossed the line from earnest to obsessive. But for this indoor hanging system to work, I have to do a load of laundry every day (in addition to diapers) or else too much piles up and there isn’t room to hang it inside. It doesn’t look great, either, which is another downside to the system. Dampish underthings on racks about the house, with the overspill hanging off chair-backs, and over railings. Welcome, guests. Make yourselves at home. Dry your socks. Where was I going with this? Oh yes, I actually like the new system. Getting the clothes off the racks and into drawers is much easier than getting clothes out of baskets and into drawers.
I’m determined not to blog after my writing day. If it’s been a good writing day, I’m way too interior, and if it’s been a bad one, I’m wracked with self-doubt, either of which results in less-than-pleasant belly-button-pondering. I therefore vow to keep navel under wraps.
On late-night-canning with neighbour friends: I am a sad failure. Though I chopped and seeded half a bushel of roma tomatoes in company last night, I was zombie-like in my need of sleep by 10pm, and left said neighbours stirring a giant vat of tomato puree (with garlic, onions, basil, parsley, and grey salt), estimated cook-down time: three more hours. Actually, they sent me home. Not much point in three people standing around observing the evaporation process. Canning was to take place this morning. Apparently, the saints did decide to preserve on my behalf. The fate of that second half-bushel remains undetermined, though at the very least, I can be thankful it is not waiting mournfully upon my kitchen floor.
Tonight’s debate is: which debate to watch? And why would our broadcasters pit the Canadian leaders against Sarah v. Joe? There will be some channel flipping in our house tonight.
Wednesday, Oct 1, 2008 | Uncategorized |
Today is all about staying ahead of the curve. Is that the right phrase? That sounds like baseball. Okay, today is all about dashing madly ahead of the giant pursuing wave about to come crashing down on my head. I’ve ordered a last bushel of tomatoes, may the saints preserve me. Or may they preserve those tomatoes on my behalf. Actually, this could be fun. I’m trying something new, and will attempt to can these tomatoes with a neighbour friend tonight. In fact, it was her idea, and we’ll be using her kitchen. I believe we’re planning to turn these romas into a pleasant marinara. It will be a scramble getting over there by 8pm, which is my goal. The big kids start their music class at the Beckett tonight, at 6pm, so I’m in the midst of cooking a tomato sauce (yes, more tomatoes) for supper tonight–I’m planning a tortilla lasagne, using leftover black beans, rice, hamburger, this sauce, and piles of cheese. And tortillas as the “noodles.” Generally speaking, this meal is a huge hit. And I can slap it together and toss it in the oven as soon as we walk in the door from school, and it will be ready to eat by 5, which is my goal.
Okay, baby CJ has just spent a good half an hour in his gigantic bouncer thing and is starting to sound a little, er, resentful. But the morning’s dishes are done, and this sauce is nearly done, and I’ve gotten to blog, in addition to staring blankly about at various things that need doing. This floor is … well, it’s almost beyond what my (admittedly low) standards can tolerate. And yet, here I am, not scrubbing it. Watch me as I continue to not scrub it for days–weeks?–to come.
Wednesday, Oct 1, 2008 | Kids |
Was going to post muffin recipes, since that’s become a Tuesday tradition with me and F–drop the big kids at school and race home to bake (and eat) muffins. Except today’s muffins turned out just a tad too healthy for my taste. The kids do seem to like them, but I think they’re overtly healthy, even for muffins. A cup of flax meal, for starters. Two cups of grated carrots. F fought heartily against the carrots. She was positively dictatorial in her rejection of them, even though I assured her she would never notice, had eaten beets in cake very recently, and would appreciate the added moistness. I must have said, “But they’ll be so moist, with the carrots!” about twenty times, to which F said, in so many words, “I’m not buying it.” In the end, the carrots went in. And the muffins weren’t especially moist. So we both won, sort of.
It was a dictatorial three-year-old morning, frankly. Today, she started “school,” her school, that is, which is the Beckett school’s early childhood music programme, a 50 minute, once-per-week extravaganza of drumming and singing and learning quite an impressive amount of music theory (the big kids are graduates). Upon arriving back home this morning, after dropping the big kids off, she raced inside and packed her backpack for “school.” She then went to the door, and demanded we leave NOW. I explained that class started at 2pm. “When we go?” she asked. “Around 1:45,” I said. She heard me say, “Now. We leave now.” “We go now?” “Not for about [check imaginary watch] four and a half more hours.” “We leave now, Mommy.” [Stern tone.] This went on. This went on and on. Distractions were only semi-useful. It always came back to: “Now we leave, Mommy!” Not a question. Time, to three-year-olds, is clearly of little conceptual interest.
I’m just back from two hours “off.” What am I saying? No quotation marks necessary. Two hours off. Two hours out of the house, with sibs, no children in sight. But the frantic effort that precedes those two hours must be seen to be believed. I was over-seeing home reading, facilitating a playdate, cooking supper, preparing lunches, breastfeeding, shoving essentials into backpacks, storing CSA food, all while listening to the radio and doing the day’s dishes (so as not to leave Kevin with too many). I cleared the supper table before Kevin was done eating (sorry, hon). And then, suddenly it was 7pm, my bro Karl arrived, and we walked out the door to … quiet, to no one requesting, suggesting, demanding or tattling upon. Ahhh. I enjoyed those two hours. But here’s the thing. I enjoy just as much getting back home, and being Mama again. Okay, maybe I’m especially enjoying this because Kevin got everyone to bed, and the house is perfectly silent now, just the sound of peaceful, breathing children, and my own fingers typing.
Shoot–that title is now better than this post. My apologies. If I ever make a really good muffin, I’ll let you know. Or let me know if you’ve already cracked that particular code. Wanted: Muffins for (small) dictators, please.
