Dustpan Alley (OLD)

A Gift More Precious Than Myrrh

Andrea, from California, read that I was having a hankering for kiwis and like a guardian angel sent to protect me from scurvy-she sent me a bag of them! Thank you Andrea for your thoughtfulness!!! This is better than anything from Harry and David's. Better than the gifts from the magi. Seriously...oh and I ate one yesterday and I have to say that I immediately felt healthier inside for having eaten such a bright and tangy fruit. It was such heaven!

Even though Max made lots of fake retching noises while I ate it since he can't understand how come anyone would eat a green fruit with black seeds that's covered with hair. Kiwi hair looks a lot like tarantula hair. I had been thinking I wanted kiwis to put on a tart but I'm afraid that these are so good by themselves that they must be enjoyed entirely for their own sake. Now I am even more curious to find out if the kiwis in Dundee are any good. Maybe last year's batch that Lisa E. picked weren't ready to be ripened off the vine? If they can grow well here, then I must grow them. Citrus certainly doesn't do well here, but I think Christmas kiwis sound even better than the traditional Christmas orange.

One thing I love about the PNW are the incredible cloud formations and sunsets we get. The sky is a constant source of beauty around here.

Gruel is what I had for dinner. Even though my stomach felt fully recovered enough to spend the day cleaning the house, no savory food sounded really good. I only craved foods I can't have because of my stupid local challenge... like steamed vegetables on cous cous with feta cheese and vinaigrette. I haven't learned to make feta yet so I can't eat any. As I scoured the shelves for something suitable to eat I suddenly got the urge to eat oatmeal. With lots of brown sugar and a little milk. A meal otherwise known as PORRIDGE. But I like to say GRUEL. GRUEL. Yum.

This is what my kitchen looks like when I am sick for one day. You should have seen the rest of the house! No, you shouldn't. It would hurt your eyes. It still isn't totally clean but I blasted Madonna on top volume and swept and vacuumed and put crap away. Our house is one big crap storage facility.

Last night was a little slice of hell. I read a book by Patricia Cornwell which was brutal and nasty and scary and so even though it was on the late side when I finished it I had to detox my head with something light and fluffy. So I watched some Friends reruns, as I often do, until quite late. The lights didn't really go out until about 1:10 am. Within ten minutes the cat needed to be let out of Max's room. He bangs on the door to get our attention. Max doesn't like to sleep without the cat. So within another ten minutes Max was up and upset that the cat was gone. He wanted the cat back.

I explained that the cat just left and probably had to spend some quality time peeing in the cold outdoors and that Max needed to go back to bed. But Max said he was going to sleep with us instead. (Which is an impossibility because we don't all fit on our bed at the same time.) I told him he was going to get back in his own bed. This is where things got to be really fun. He wouldn't budge out of the hallway. So I pushed him into his room and he starts bawling.

The house makes noises. Where's the cat? He's scared. He wants to sleep with us with all the lights on for the rest of his life. I have little patience because it is now 1:20 am and I'm really ready for sleep. Max is really bawling his head off. Philip stumbles out of bed to retrieve the cat which makes me want to yell at him because I just let the cat out and you can't force the cat to stay in Max's room and I know that the second all the lights are out the cat will be banging on the door again and it will be ME, not Philip, who will hear it and have to go let him out again. Which will probably wake the kid again.

When Philip returns with the unhappy cat Max's nose is gushing. It's been a while since this has happened (like a whole month!), thankfully, but it means we're caught off guard so blood gets all over his comforter cover (and probably the comforter underneath it too) and all over his hands which freaks him out. Just like he used to freak out when jam would drip on his hands when he ate PBandJ sandwiches when he was two. Jam on his hands always made him freak out. Philip is impatient too because Max isn't doing a good job of staunching the blood and is blaming Philip for it. Philip is not great in emergencies or any situation that wakes him up or keeps him from his sleep.

I'm not fond of being kept from my sleep either. Finally I get Max to stop crying by making him mad. The nose has stopped bleeding. But there's still the question of the cat and Max's refusal to sleep without him. I give Max a choice: sleep with the dog in the guest bed with the lights OUT (because it's next to our bedroom and I want to sleep for god's sake!!) or sleep in your own room with the lights on. He chooses his room. By now I have begun to feel for my kid. I know what it's like to be terrified to sleep. I've been Max my whole life. Where's my fucking compassion? I explain all the noises he hears in the house. He is not really convinced.

I finally crawl back into bed by 1:30 am. Within two minutes the dog is whining. And I can't sleep. Can't sleep because now I'm not the tiniest bit tired. By the time I start drifting off to sleep the dog jumps on the bed and I sort-of-sleep the rest of the night in a weird contorted position. With the blankets half off because of the stupid dog and me being too tired to try to fight it. I would have crawled off to the guest bed but there's no comforter on it because Max barfed on the extra comforter this week and I am in the middle of washing it for a second time.

By 5:30 am Max is up again. But this time he's up for the day. I tell him to go back to his room and be quiet. By 6 am the animals all want feeding. Philip does it. But then the dog wants out. I let her out. I crawl my sorry ass into bed just in time to be crowded by the dog again and hounded by the child who wants Dad to get up already. Dad is really grumpy. I am always annoyed by him being so grumpy in the morning because he attempts to sleep in as though it's his sacred right. And he yells at everyone when we bug him too much. Which makes me even more mad. He'll say he's going to get up really soon and he'll still be in bed an hour later, mad that we are expecting him to get up because he said he was getting up. Mornings can be real hell around here.

I can see the writing on the wall. There's no point in trying to sleep anymore. I get up by 7 am after my night of hell and no sleep. I drink coffee and read blogs. While Philip stays in bed.

This week-end is all spoken for and I can't see how I'm going to get any of the sewing work done that needs doing. Ah well. At least I don't feel like throwing up and I have kiwis.