Annnnnd breakfast is knocked out of the park! You know Grandma Fran is in the hizzy when there’s still time in the morning for a game of air baseball. She’s helping out for the week while Darren is away. And help indeed! Laundry done, kitchen cleaned? And still time to help me with my baby blanket project last night in between stitching up her own amazing quilt (Fran, my bed is a size L).
Given the boys’ last two weekends and a late night on Hallowe’en, this week is officially catch-up-on-sleep week, which the boys seem only too happy to do. With fewer activities after school, they get some play-time outside while it’s light (Logan used his for — surprise — paper airplanes); the added bonus is they don’t have to go from one planned activity to another with such precision. A little free play seems to create important bonding moments, at least from my unprofessional observation. The boys — all of them — were playing happily together, and judging by the mess in the bedroom, the screams of delight during the sword fight, and the laughter at Talking Tom when they finally settled down in their bunks, everyone felt good about the evening.
Last night’s meal was also a success. Fueled by Jackson’s nearly insatiable lust for bread (or any white food — noodles, white rice, mashed potatoes), we hollowed out bread boules, brushed them with olive oil and sea salt, and toasted them. Then we filled them with chicken cacciatore penne. And, because I forgot the salad (bad, bad Tsan), there was no vegetable. A near perfect meal for Jackson given the complete lack of green anything. The rest of the kids really liked it too. Moses, true to form, had thirds. In the age of low-carb, the bread boule has made a comeback in the Berkeley Hills. I think we’ll do it again next week with chili.
Carter is officially mended, and Jackson’s sniffles and sneezes seem to be the only microbial fallout. Last night we had multiple trips to the kleenex box, and I gave Jackson a little Motrin to help him sleep, but short of that, we came out of this one unscathed, a good thing, given the adult troops are thin this week.
There are good days and bad days in this life. All in all, yesterday seemed like a good day, at least for the kids. Me, not so much, but into every life a little rain falls, and I was buoyed by the children last night; their happiness became mine. And anyway, I’ve got my big girl pants on, and I can take a punch or two, especially when those punches coming from the morally bankrupt, who are more to be pitied than scorned. It doesn’t hurt much.
My dear law partner reminded me that people see the world through the prism of their own moral compass and impute the evil (or good) that’s in their own hearts on others. In the end, truth will out, and in that, the fallout is always good. She also reminded me of Lezlie’s favorite saying (which she gave to her): In the end, it will be OK. If it’s not OK, it’s not the end.
