Giblets.

Being gone from one's own home a week presents new appreciation for dwelling place upon rehabitation.

Ditto to being apart from one's mate. Particularly when one's mate has put clean sheets on the bed, kept up with the hairballs and dirty dishes, and is so genuinely glad to have his family home.

The photo above, taken the evening of our homecoming, shows the Mister pre-shearing (he's clean shaven of face, save for a soul patch, and wearing very short hair, thus far less Mr. Noodle, far more the man I fell for nearly 8 years ago) and the boy child in his preferred long hair done in a tight braid, with hand injury taped up, Yoda tee shirt, and the favored three D glasses duct taped into goggle-wear. I love these fellas with every inch of my being.


You know when you've been sick a good while, like, say, three or four days, and you think you're getting better and then don't really? Like you've passed the worst of the fever / chills / can't move one-hundred-dollar flu, but you're still not truly better? You know how after nearly a week of being run down, you're still producing more mucous than you ever knew possible and racing through the Puffs Plus and the ears hurt and the neti pot provides fleeting relief and you can't lay down without coughing so hard you pee yourself? (Ok, mothers, it's time to fess up on this one: pregnancy, and childbirth --whether vaginal delivery and hard core pushing or lenghty labor and catheterization -- wreak havoc on bladder control.) You know how even when you have the time to stay home you just feel like poop?

Yeah? Well that's me, now.

I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do: hot tea, hot showers, rest, dairy avoidance, solid nutrition, fresh air, blah blah blah.... Incanting healthful intention, using affirmations, going all Louise Hay.

The tincture of time. And more of the above. Plus a shot of orneriness.



My parents are at the beach, as is my sister and her family. We just couldn't put together two back to back weeks to be away from home and had already made plans to be in East Tennessee when my brother and his wife were down from Boston. So it goes. Though the sea is much missed. By both Ziggy and me.



My garden is exploding, and has appreciated the day's rain, but needs more than I can give it today in terms of time, energy, and tending. Perhaps tomorrow.



This afternoon, I'll put together a large pot of vegetable beef soup, using the last of my dad's brisket, and produce from both the garden, and our CSA. The boy and I have been painting, and laying about. He and his father ran errands together this morning and played in the backyard, lending me a rare two hours of time to be alone.



I wish I could say I finished the book I've been reading. Alas, no.



I did have an enjoyable job interview yesterday; my boy hung with Kelly and her girls for a Mom's Club meeting, playground and picnic, then water play in Kelly's backyard. My friends are a blessing. Too, it was quite lovely to plug into my brain and meet with adults to speak of adult things all on my own. No idea what will become of the opportunity ultimately, as there are far too many stipulations and points of consideration beyond whether or not I am a fitting candidate for said job. Enough said.



I really do love television. Not without reservation. But, yes. I really do love television. Particularly the Food Network, though I'm upset with them for suddenly airing commercials for A&E and Bravo and films inappropriate for children. Like my old man, I may become that dreaded old cuss dashing off letters of displeasure to corporate entities. The fancy cable at my folks' place was quite enjoyable. The boy and I watched Martian Child. Last night's family movie night was a viewing of Muppets from Space on Comcast's on demand programming. Luxury much appreciated.



I'm boring myself. Soup calls.