Today was remarkably atypical.
Westley woke up with an ugly cough. He and Rob slipped out of our bedroom around 6:40. I looked up to see Rob reaching to close the door—his "go back to sleep" gesture. But I can't sleep when someone is coughing, so I got up.
My scale was out of battery this morning. And here I was, feeling all secure and seriously considering sharing my daily weigh-in ritual with Internet.
I put on the bathrobe I bought for Westley's homebirth and started some water for tea for the tea-drinkers. Rob already had coffee brewing for himself. While morning beverages heated, Westley watched "Super Why."
The adults attempted to wake up. The kitty made no such attempts. I took a picture of Rob yawning. He said, "Turnabout is fair play," and snapped one of me.
I fixed tea for Westley and myself and sat down to the last of the homemade Delicious Gluten-Free Bread (toasted, with soy-free Earth Balance) and Westley's most recent preschool art project (a winter scene). Westley ate one of my pieces of toast.
I sat down with some kombucha—in a wine glass, naturally.
I'd been putting off working out all morning, because I hadn't done a "real" workout in a while and I knew it would suck. Also, I wasn't excited about going out to the icy garage, where the elliptical lives.
Working out kind of kicked my butt, but I watched last week's episode of "America's Next Top Model."
Just before I finished my hour (about 30 second before), Westley opened the door to the garage. "Bye, Mommy!"
My dad had arrived to take Westley to my parents' house for the day. I asked them to wait (17 seconds!) so I could get a proper hug and kiss goodbye.
After Westley and my dad took off, I stretched, and over a post-workout snack—some homemade cashew-almond granola with almond milk—Rob and I planned our day.
Before today, I don't remember the last time I ate French fries. They were greasy and delicious, but I feel like I've had enough fried food for about six months.
We had walked to lunch through the residential part of Juanita Beach; we walked home a different way, past businesses and condos, so see which route was shorter.
Both walks took about 15 minutes.
At home, I planned to make another loaf of bread, but when I gathered my ingredients...
I hate being interrupted when I have a project—especially when it's a cooking project. I thought about dashing back out to the store right then, but the idea of getting in the car after Rob's and my walk just made me grouchier.
Rob gleefully announced that he was going to "sit and be fat" for a while. I followed suit, basking in the sloth of my fried lunch, and checked in with my computer. In that way that you can find things online, I came across a knitting pattern for a yoga mat bag. I decided to add the craft store to my starch-finding errand.
I bought enough yarn for two projects, and more stocking-stuffers for Westley. In the parking lot, I discovered both that I needed sunglasses, and that my favorite sunglasses were broken. Broken-broken, not just missing a screw.
Bread-making, round two.
Rob was in the garage, attempting to install his car's new headlight. "We're going to be so heteronormative—you baking bread, me working on the car."
Once my bread "batter" was mixed and resting (gluten-free bread dough looks more like batter than dough), I wrote the recipe down in the "Notes" section of The Tassajara Bread Book.
Rob was playing a video game, I was knitting, and the bread was baking when my mom arrived at the house with Westley. The house suddenly started feeling loud and busy, with my mom talking about the fun they'd had, Westley racing around with hungry-preschooler mania, me inside my head trying to count stitches and remember what "k1f&b" means and how to do it.
My mom hugged and kissed us all, and I took the bread out of the oven. We ate it while it was still too hot to eat, with more soy-free Earth Balance.
On Wednesday nights we take Westley to evening story time at the library. But by this point, I was starting to feel especially tired in a deep-down, premenstrual sort of way. Rob agreed to take Westley to the library alone.
I hunkered down with my great-grandma's knitting stuff.
When the guys got home, Westley ate another "snack" (really second dinner), and Rob read Mimi's Dada Catifesto aloud.
I sneaked off to take a bath while Westley performed a sound poem.
Westley came in to use the potty and brush his teeth. I used a little bath water to wipe his dinner off his face. Rob got Westley into his pajamas while I toweled off. I was just putting on my own pajamas when Westley came in to say goodnight.
I picked him up, and he wrapped around me in a full-body hug. "Goodnight, Mommy. Don't let the bedbugs bite!"
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Day 09: A close-up of my day.