Last night we had spaghetti for dinner

The other day I found myself at a local organic grocery store. It was about dinner time and I had no current plan for dinner. Since the only thing I can afford in there is chap stick, you can imagine my delight when I noticed a pound of hamburger meat that cost less than a piano lesson. And not just any ol factory-churned, tube of ground up innerds either. It was grass fed, gluten free, organic, BPA free, casein free, dye free, nitrate & preservative free, BUT as luck would have it, still free range. Did I miss any? I'm pretty sure this cow was sung to and received regular pedicures in its life (at least I hope so for how heavy its price tag was). Basically it was the high school cheerleader of meats (not sure why the cheerleader/meat parallel came to mind but it seems a good fit). None of that is really important anyway, except to say that I came home feeling a bit jazzed about my find for dinner. I was greeted by hungry kids who swarmed me with tons of questions and requests to watch amazing skills they had acquired in the last two hours. Amidst all the chaos, Braden started browning the meat and I threw in the pasta and seasoned the sauce, and in ten minutes we had a lovely meal. And all the while I kept thinking to myself, "This is too easy. Why don't I make this more?". 

And then we sat down to eat. 

And everyone started out with a fork, I swear it. 

By the time that meal ended and the kids (who used to be pasty white but were now a greasy reflective orange), had scattered, Braden and I looked around the room to survey the damage. "Ahhhh. THIS. This is why I stopped making spaghetti". And it's not even like I made a clear choice or had some kind of firm decision that I could call on for future reference. I had no memories until I was thrown back into the exact scenario. And then it flooded my mind. I blocked it out. Like some kind of trauma, I blocked out the experience of serving spaghetti for dinner. 

And then we had to create a strategy. Do you sweep right away knowing full well the torment that is sweeping moist noodles? Or do you give it 12 hours, long enough for the noodles to dry out, but also allowing the sauce to transform itself into actual glue? The kind that removes paint from the table and virtuous thoughts from your mind. 

Perhaps the most disheartening thought of all was packing up all the leftovers and knowing that this occasion would soon repeat itself at least twice in the coming week. I'm not sure why, but whenever I cook spaghetti noodles I cook enough to feed a small African nation. It seems like one harmless little box. And those noodles are so tiny. After a few handfuls I find myself thinking, "Surely that won't feed us all". And then suddenly my kitchen is like Strega Nona and the pasta pot is endless. Sure, I could throw it out, but there's that whole thing about the starving kids in Africa. That's real, you know. Chipping paint on my table seems a small price to pay for kids who are nourished.  

*As the leftovers ensued over the coming days, I could ask myself only two questions as I watched history repeat itself: 

1) Was that beef really everything it professed to be? I don't even feel any different. In fact I'd say I've been a little sluggish and maybe sort of bloated if you want to know the truth.

and 2) Are these children marryable? They look more like untamed savages emerging from a cave than children at a dinner table. 

We have to do better.  

Otherwise I'll be making and cleaning spaghetti for untold years to come.

Never mind. I love these spaghetti faces. Seeing these pictures just made me remember.  

Afternoons well spent

Kids (and their Moms) are happiest when they spend sizable chunks of time in the sunshine.  It's basically a proven fact. I know because right now I'm happy and all my kids are outside. 

Their finger nails should be mud filled and their hair line sandy. I'm brought little samplings of fancy deserts, made of only the finest clay and weeds around. By the end of the night my pockets are full of special rocks and my counter tops have little bowls of wild bouquets. There are giant sticks that have been carefully sharpened leaning against the house, and small sand villages that have been strategically erected. 

All of that childhood wonder produces quite a mess, ruins clothes, and makes their father lose his mind with all the magical remnants.  

Still though. 

This is truly the stuff. They're building castles and friendships, restaurants and independence, It's free out there, and they feel it. 

I'm determined to preserve the age old relationship between children and their mother (earth). 

I think she may have learned that face from me. If I'm interpreting it correctly, it says, "Oh you're gonna eat this. I've been working hard on it and you're eating it".

Emmett discovers rain

Yesterday it was warm and sunny. And then all of a sudden it was warm and sunny and rainy. A brief but terrific downpour. I grabbed Emmett and took him outside to introduce them. 

He was intrigued. And then he got curious. He would inch out into it and put his hand out. Once he got a few drips he would squeal and come running back to me. It didn't take long for him to venture all the way out and then not return. 

It felt a little magical for both of us. 

Being present for these simple moments means the world to me. 

Smelling the flowers

I guess one smelled bad. Like he's one to point the finger (literally) for smelling bad.

He kept looking up, trying to find the source of the rain but he couldn't take it. This is his "I've got rain in my eyes"  face. Also, it could rightly be called  his "I look just like my sister, Maisey" face.

There he is. Just soaking it up (ha! soaking!).

He loved all that water that came rushing out of the gutter. When it stopped he kept pounding it, like a vending machine to get more rain to come out.

"Hey. it stopped. Why did it stop". 

And I think he added the words "wet" and "cold" to his vocabulary. When I finally made him go inside he cried his own little river. But I did not dance and frolick in it.