Seized by the day
I’ve been thinking about that phrase: Seize the day! I’ve been thinking about it because it feels, sometimes, that the day has seized me, and not the other way round. What to do when a day is holding you hostage?
Do you know what I mean?
Yesterday was just such a day. I started with some good seizing of the moment, my alarm pattering at 5:15, in the pool swimming laps (with friends) by 5:45, enjoying a fantastic strong hour of back and forthing, working lungs and arms and legs. And then home, quickly, so my big kids and their dad could seize the day themselves. They headed off to the pool, and I made breakfast and supper, and everyone was eating porridge and eggs, awake and happy by 8am. What a great start to a Monday, one might have congratulated oneself.
And then, down came Monday. A load of lumber arrived. A pneumatic digging machine. A bunch of beefy guys (I’ve got to work beefy guys into my posts more often). Work on the porch footings began. The sun was shining. And suddenly, work came to a halt. I heard it, just like that. An abrupt stop. Unfortunate silence. And, after a couple of beats in time, someone hammering on the door.
This can’t be good, thought I.
It wasn’t. Soon, we had water in the basement, a busted pipe that couldn’t be stopped until the City showed up to stop it, and everyone on my front lawn looked very anxious indeed, and some came down to the basement to haul out rugs and move furniture and wield mops and apologize profusely while I felt like apologizing for the already disastrous state of our basement (do the kids really need to leave their socks EVERYWHERE?)
So … that was my yesterday. I was thankful to have gotten supper prepared before we had no water. I spent the day running up and down stairs to consult with various professionals, while trying to work. This is my writing day??? Thankfully, water was restored just before the kids arrived home from school, two friends in tow, hungry, tired, thirsty, and needing the bathroom.
Writing day and basement-flooding-day was over, and feeding-children-in-a-rush-at-a-ridiculously-early-hour began immediately thereafter. Just after 5pm, me plus three girls pulled out of the driveway to pick up more girls, off to theatre rehearsal. And then Fooey and I went on to her first Highland dance class (tell me she isn’t going to make a perfect little Scottish dancer!). And then I came home and ate supper. Realizing by the hole in my gut that I’d forgotten, in the rushing up and down stairs, to eat lunch. Good grief. It was time to pick Fooey up. Time to clean up from supper. Time to supervise homework. Time, please dear God, to go to bed.
And there I was, lights out, 9:40pm. Seized by the day, shaken and hauled off, and quite at the mercy of it. Just doing my best to stay calm and carry on.
::::
But good news arrived this morning, just a few moments ago, in fact. I’ve received, from my editor, THE FINAL DRAFT of The Juliet Stories. Did you read that correctly? Yes. The final draft. I shall be called upon no more to revamp these stories. They are done. (Well, the copy editing stage remains. But.) Juliet is ready to roll. Not sure where this fits into the seize/seizing equation. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe on the rare occasion one gets to sit back and go ahhhhhhhh. And take a little moment to settle into the knowledge that something big has been completed. That was a whole lot of seizing, folks. A whole lot.
The Week in Suppers: late-September
MONDAY’S MENU. Lentil/flax pasta. Roasted tomato sauce. Green salad. Broiled tofu and eggplant.
THE RATIONALE. Quick. AppleApple and somewhat picky friend rushing out the door by 5pm to their first theatre rehearsal. Preferably with food in tummies.
THE COOKING. Sauce made on Sunday, warmed up from a jar, deliciously easy. Note to self: start boiling pasta water earlier on theatre nights.
THE REVIEWS. “I don’t like sauce.” “Would you eat a carrot if I peeled one for you?” “No … but my mom would make me eat it.”
THE VERDICT. Nobody noticed the pasta was made of lentils and flax.
TUESDAY’S MENU. Lentil soup (harira) in crockpot. Saag paneer. Basmati rice.
THE RATIONALE. Bought paneer on a whim + tons of fresh spinach. Harira flavours similar to dahl, easy to make. Voila: an Indian feast.
THE COOKING. Looked up recipe for saag paneer online, all recipes too complicated, invented my own version that did not involve whirling spinach and spices in food processor. Note to self: cinnamon, cardoman, garam masala, cumin and coriander.
THE REVIEWS. “Mom, will you make this again soon?”: Fooey. I kid you not. Fooey! I was just starting to worry that the child would grow up without ever willingly eating a cooked vegetable, when along comes a pan of spinach and paneer (Indian cheese; it looks a lot like tofu, which she loves). My version included cayenne pepper. She had four helpings over rice.
THE VERDICT. Thrilled mother. Relatively happy family (not everyone loved the spinach, I should add). But lentil soup is liked by all.
WEDNESDAY’S MENU. Beet borsch in the crockpot. Buns and cheese. Coleslaw.
THE RATIONALE. A request from AppleApple. This cook loves requests! Especially those involving bright purple vegetables.
THE COOKING. Lots of chopping, but accomplished before breakfast thanks to the crockpot. Coleslaw whipped up last-minute with an improvised mayo-based dressing. With white sugar.
THE REVIEWS. “I’m not going to try that even if you put it in my bowl.”: Fooey. Ah, back to the norm.
THE VERDICT. Delicious. Sorry, Fooey. You’ll just have to grow to appreciate cabbage and beets.
THURSDAY’S MENU. Veggie dogs, hots dogs, and hamburgers. Potato chips. Leftover borsch.
THE RATIONALE. Meet-the-teacher night. Barbeque fundraiser.
THE COOKING. Heated up the borsch upon returning home around 7pm and feeling under-nourished.
THE REVIEWS. “More juice!”
THE VERDICT. Could have been worse. At least I didn’t have to cook; instead, took the opportunity to nap on the couch around 4:30, with the kids reading and practicing piano around me. That was lovely.
FRIDAY’S MENU. Bailey’s pick-up supper: baguette, soft pretzels, cheese sticks, cheese, tomato and red pepper slices, pickles, brussel sprouts with pecans, melon and purple grapes.
THE RATIONALE. On Friday’s, from May until October, I pick up a wagon-load of local food from Bailey’s.
THE COOKING. Sauteed brussel sprouts in butter. This dish is only eaten by me and Kevin. It is divine.
THE REVIEWS. Happy conversation around the table. Contentment.
THE VERDICT. What could be better?
Best intentions, the weekend edition
What got done this weekend?
Digging potatoes.
Washing potatoes.
Kitchen drudgery: baked four loaves of bread; transformed shrivelled plums into a sauce; whirled and froze five meals’ worth of pesto; roasted and pureed tomatoes as a base for tomato soup and lasagna later this week; baked cookie squares with new baking soda (going on the theory that bad soda caused my treat fail last weekend).
Plus laundry. That’s what comes of having four children and a family involved in multiple sports activities. Also, I’m mildly obsessive compulsive about hanging it to dry.
Soccer tryouts for this child, Saturday and Sunday morning. Lucky me, I got to take her and start both days with a long run on a beautiful autumn trail beside a river.
Vegging and movie-watching. These kids, both afternoons, the same (fairly awful) movie: Cats and Dogs. Plus Kevin and I got out on our own last night and saw a (fairly good) movie: Crazy Stupid Love.
Work on the new garden beds for next spring.
:::
Which leads us to the question: What didn’t get done this weekend?
Church. Again.
Harvesting and drying herbs.
Taking the kids to the Harry Potter matinee uptown today.
Signing up for a marathon in November. But I’ve got the registration window open on my browser, so maybe I’ll get up the guts to do it before the day is over.
Sleep. Two late nights + two early mornings = happy social life (and I need a nap.)
Cleaning and tidying. As you can see. (Are those MY socks on the table???? Oh crumbs, they are. Guess I can’t blame the kids for everything).
Caution: steep drop-off ahead
A month ago (or more) our porch was demolished. Temporary steps were built.
This morning, we’ve locked the screen door.
The temporary steps are gone.
The mailman just came and knocked on our door. He couldn’t find the mailbox. That’s because it’s resting on a stump until we can figure out where to attach it, temporarily. Maybe onto one of the little birch trees in the front yard? He handed the mail up to me.
If the rain holds off, they’ll start digging the footings today. A delivery of wood is due to arrive, too. Work begins. Because I wheel and deal in metaphor, I see it everywhere. I see a door to nowhere, not yet; I see the potential in wreckage; I see the markings, the plans, the anticipation, the invisible groundwork. I see impatience induced by ugliness and stasis. I see something good coming, if only we can wait.
On goals, swimming, and going for the easy points
Today is Thursday. I set my alarm for stupid-early and dragged myself scarcely-awake to the pool to meet my friend. She couldn’t make it tomorrow, and I knew I wouldn’t make it without her. And we swam. It was lovely. I thought about next to nothing. That was lovely, too. When I got home, AppleApple had her packed schoolbag waiting by the door, and was at the counter, dressed and eating breakfast. Apparently, she is taking “be more organized” to heart. On Thursdays this year, she is attending a different school, and a bus picks her up relatively early.
My goals for AppleApple are that she learn how to organize herself and her belongings, and that she finish the projects she starts. I was required to articulate these goals for her enrichment program, and I shared them with her. I suggested she come up with some goals of her own, but she seemed content with mine. This was at supper last night. Albus recalled that he’d been asked to set goals at the beginning of the school year (ie. less than three weeks ago), but he couldn’t remember what they were. So I set a few for him, too. This is what we call “family meetings,” now. Basically, it’s supper-table talk. Sometimes I announce: “We have to talk about something important,” and everyone pays extra attention.
My goals for Albus were to pay attention to details, and not give up.
He didn’t appear to be paying attention when I told him.
But he did go upstairs after supper to finish his math homework (in our newly tidy workspace: photo evidence above); and he did pass his piano songs; and he did write out his dictee three times (which is his study method).
He wasn’t keen to try my alternate study method this morning: a quiz. But he managed about fifteen minutes of work at the chalkboard before he lost steam and became frustrated. Kevin and I played good cop/bad cop. We got through 35% of the material (he has to study full sentences for the dictee). It was clear the rest of the material needed the same attention, but he didn’t want to keep going. Kevin hugged him and told him he was proud of the work he’d done. I suggested we spread out the studying over many days, breaking it down into, say, one sentence per day. Like piano practice: he doesn’t try to squeeze a week’s worth of piano practice into one day.
He was skeptical and thought he’d likely forget from one day to the next; but he agreed that if these test results weren’t great, he would try studying differently. Here’s the thing: he doesn’t lose so many points on really dreadful spelling (except for the occasional tough word). He loses points on the details. Not capitalizing names, and words at the beginning of sentences. No punctuation marks. Random accents. Knowing a word is plural but neglecting to add the “s” at the end. “Those are only worth half a point,” he argued. “It’s an easy point to get,” said his dad. “You should get all the easy points you can.”
Hm. Didn’t mean to write about studying, AGAIN. But there it is. That was our Thursday morning. Kevin and CJ left for their walk to nursery school. Fooey and I waved goodbye to Albus, and we walked down the street to meet her friends who walk her to school on Thursdays, when AppleApple is at enrichment. I love that AppleApple gets this special program designed especially for her, and she’s earned the chance to spend a day a week exploring and being challenged and having fun … but I mourn, a bit, that Albus doesn’t. I think he needs it more; she’s the kind of kid who designs her own special programming all the time. Fooey, too. She comes home from school and gets a blank piece of paper and she writes and writes: “Writing workshop!” she calls it.
So we have to work on our own special programming.
One fine discovery we’ve made this fall: Albus loves to swim. So does AppleApple. Kevin has now taken them five times for lane swims at 7 o’clock in the morning. It is slightly eccentric (I’ve never seen another kid at early-morning-lane swim, except for the swim club kids), but it’s working. AppleApple likes to do sprints. But Albus just likes to swim. He swam 26 laps without stopping yesterday morning–and I mean really without stopping. He reported that he had to swim with one eye shut because his goggles had slipped and were leaking and he didn’t want to stop to adjust them.
Kevin and I just look at each other and go: WHY IS THIS WORKING?? Could we have the magic formula, please?
Why is he willing to patiently swim laps, unperturbed when his sister splashes past? What did we do right in this situation? All I can think is that first we had to teach him to swim, which took years of lessons and many complaints along the way. And then we had to take him to the pool. And then … well, then we just let him swim how he wanted to swim. And it turns out he wants to swim back and forth, not very fast, for as long as he possibly can.