Did you miss me?

About six weeks ago I had reconstructive surgery on my foot.  This meant a minimum of six weeks of being off my foot and at the mercy of those willing to care for a less-than-patient patient. 

It was both a blessing and a curse to be forced to step back and let someone else do those things that I firmly believed could only be done correctly by me.  (My husband will be the first to say we do it VERY differently, so this statement will not surprise him in any way.)

I learned:

• First and foremost, I don't like imposed growth opportunities.  I am not patient with slowing down and letting go.  In fact, some would say, I can't.
• My daughter who cannot hear me ask her to pick up her laundry and put it in the hamper, can hear me mutter under my breath and will repeat any criticism to the party in question.  Oops!  Another learning opportunity for me.
• "Making breakfast" is a very different thing to a Dad than to a Mom.  But, yes, in fact one can survive on toast and banana for six weeks.
• If my husband had to pack a suitcase for me without my assistance, he really has no idea what I wear on a daily basis.  This led to a few memorable fashion ensembles being presented to me without the slightest indication that they were jokes.
• My daughter will auto-correct daddy's fashion faux pas approximately 85% percent of the time.  This is not a bad percentage give her age.  However, we did learn the phrase "fashion refugee" during the time frame of Mama's recuperation.  (Refer to entry #2).

Perhaps one of the kindest and most humble moments in the six weeks came when my family got together to celebrate my mother's birthday.  I overheard my husband tell my father "I don't know how she gets it all done.  I didn't realize how much she does in a day." 

Our household is not completely traditional in its role assignment, but 90% of the time, if the lawn is mowed or the garbage taken out, it is done by the Mr., and 90% of the laundry, food prep, daily cleaning is done by Mama.  I'm sure there are millions of small details that go unnoticed by me in the chores Mr. takes on, and perhaps someday I will have the chance to be humbled by taking on his role as well.  Still, it was a silver lining in this LONG  recovery to know that he is far less likely to ask "What did you do all day?" when he comes home and finds the house in shambles and the kids dirty and clamoring for a sandwich and Mama having a bottle glass of wine and trying not to cry as dinner is still, STILL, not done!

Things my husband has learned:

• Kids will not tell you they are hungry until it is too late to feed them peacefully.  They are around the bend by the time they tell you they are hungry.
• Laundry piles up faster than you think it will.  Stay ahead of it.  You can't always wait until there is a full washer load of one color.  Sometimes a small/partial load, while not eco-friendly, will guarantee that the beloved blanket is dry by bedtime. 
• In relation to the above, if you are line-drying the blanket, HIDE IT BETWEEN OTHER CLOTHING, or buy earplugs and sedatives.  Give yourself time to guarantee that the little bugger is dry before naptime.  Trust me on this one.
• Do not start a non-negotiable request with "Do you want to...?"  You're sunk, pal.  Anything you say afterward is just more quicksand.
• We will be protecting Mama's foot like it is the Hope freakin' diamond.  There is no way any of us will survive another six-week stretch.

And now for something completely different

We cooked dinner tonight out of our own garden.  Zucchini and squash and basil from our own backyard.  Tomatoes from Edgewater Farm. 

Happy Birthday to me!!

Baked Ziti with Summer Veggies

Ingredients

• 4 ounces uncooked ziti
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 cups chopped yellow squash
• 1 cup chopped zucchini
• 1/2 cup chopped onion
• 2 cups chopped tomato
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 cup (4 ounces) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese, divided
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
• 2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano
• 3/4 teaspoon salt, divided
• 1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
• 1/4 cup (2 ounces) part-skim ricotta cheese
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• Cooking spray

Preparation

• Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat; drain.
• Preheat oven to 400°.
• Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add oil to pan. Add squash, zucchini, and onion; sauté 5 minutes.
• Add tomato and garlic; sauté 3 minutes.
• Remove from heat; stir in pasta, 1/2 cup mozzarella, herbs, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and pepper.

(See that chiffonade, yes I said chiffonade, of basil?  That was out of my garden and picked by my own Miss 4, who went out and picked it herself while I waited in the kitchen and counted to thirty.  I'm working on this independence thing!)
• Combine ricotta, remaining salt, and egg. Stir into pasta mixture. Spoon into an 8-inch square glass or ceramic baking dish coated with cooking spray; sprinkle with remaining mozzarella.
•  Bake at 400° for 15 minutes or until bubbly and browned.

Don't ask, Don't tell.

Like many parents, we freeze yogurt tubes and call them "pops".  Our oldest would eat them all day long and our youngest, would like to be like her big sister, but hasn't quite figured out what to do with them just yet.  She grins from ear to ear and then gives a confused look that I interpret as "Well, that was a whole lot of nothin'.  Now what do I do with it?"

Today Miss 4 finished hers and began taking bites from her sister's pop.  They alternated nicely back and forth and Little One began tentatively trying bites of the frozen yogurt.    There were grins and giggles and everything was going smoothly. 

Now Little One held the pop out to me.  "Bite?"  I would honestly almost rather put my own foot in my mouth than share ice something like ice-cream or a popsicle with a child, especially a child with a runny nose.  But in the spirit of reinforcing sharing and trying new things, I tentatively took the tiniest bite I could muster. 

Patting myself on the back for getting through it, I watched them walk away happily.  I was just far enough behind them to hear Miss 4 say "Now it's [dog]'s turn again."

AGAIN???    I think the lesson I learned today is that sharing, while a lofty principle, is not meant for food application in my household.

 Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a boiling water, Listerine and/or bleach cocktail to address.

Just one more thing...

Tonight I spent the dinner hour with my parents, sister and her family, and my grandfather. 

It was humbling. 

Quite often I forget what it is all about.   Quite often I get lost in the "don't haves" and "can't do its" of my current moment in time.  So let me frame my evening for you with the following facts.

First, both children had napped, and were clean and smiling.  Second, my grandfather and I see each other every few weeks, but up until last year lived on the same plot of land, separated by a driveway.  Third, my grandfather has dementia and it is following the usual course.

 My youngest came out of the car seat and wrapped her arms around my father in a hug that lasted minutes.  My grandfather was happy to see all of us and seemed especially happy to get cuddles from his great grandchildren.  My oldest child was thrilled to be going to play with her "big cousin" and let out a shriek of joy when she saw him. The kids played nicely together, with the big taking care of the small, etc.

During dinner, my children ran, tipped things over, spilled, and did nearly everything but eat.  Just as my patience was about to wear thin to the point of snapping.  My grandfather looked at me and said "You've been blessed.  You have two beautiful and happy girls."   And you know what?  He's right. 

I am blessed to have them in my life.  I am blessed to have time with them that allows us to get under each other's skin.  I am blessed to have messes to clean up and teeth to brush and laundry to wash.  All of it means we are family.  We are living.  We are living together as a family.  It isn't always pretty, but it is a blessing.

And just one more thing, as we prepared to leave, my youngest climbed into her great grandpa's lap and leaned into his chest and began singing.  For a moment, I was able to see my grandfather as he was when I was a child; A mountain of a man who felt like the safest place for a child to rest.  Someone who would guard and guide me, protect and prepare me, and ultimately continue to teach me so much about life in very few words.  

I have been blessed.