a perfect day

What happened from 7-ish to 9-30ish is a blur.

I recall cooking breakfast. Scrambled backyard eggs in unsalted Irish butter (salted with pink salt) and leftover pork roast, a tiny piece cut into tiny pieces. Faux bacon. Toast.

Jonah’s breakfast was an unwarmed piece of the gluten-free bread (texture of paste) which he carefully, meticulously, spread with butter, peanut butter, and front-yard-plum jam. And then ate 1/3 of it. And demanded eggs and pork, which we shared.

“I love your jam,” said Scott. “Me too,” said Jonah.

Next Jonah and I went to the Y, picked up our friends Laura and Flann on our way.

Dropped the boys at childwatch. It’s been so long since we’ve been there early enough for me to work out, Jonah marveled at his size in relation to the miniature toilet and sink.

Laura and I elliptical-ed, stretched, and sauna-ed.

It may not be accurate, but I enjoyed that the minimal level that I work out at is considered within the “weight loss” range according to the on-board heart rate monitor.

The boys were having so much fun at childwatch, they didn’t want us to take them out.

“We’re building!” Jonah protested. And indeed they were. Blocks of a variety of sizes, including Kaplas, all to themselves in a special loft that they are now allowed to play in unsupervised because they are both days away from turning 4.

“I don’t have anything to take away or bribe,” I muttered to Laura.

She took the lead. If Flann didn’t come down, he wouldn’t get to go to a friend’s birthday party.

He descended the stairs.

Jonah continued to play. I asked again. No response.

“Jonah, if I have to repeat myself a third time, I’m going to start taking away privileges.”

Not proud of myself, but it works.

Per Jonah’s instructions, I inform the swim teacher of his intention to not participate in class.

“I promised Jonah I’d let you know,” I tell her. “So, you might want to employ reverse psychology today,” I add, quietly. She nods. Roger that.

He participated.

After swimming, we went to the library to return a video, and get ONE more.

We left with four more. And still, a block down the street, Jonah realizes that I forgot to get the one about the airplanes. One about rockets, one about stars, one about the origin of the universe, and one about trains. But he’s going to whine and groan and bellyache and guilt me about the other one, which I’m not going back to get because we’re already half-way to the car and we need to get across town to pick up Scott to have lunch together and drop him at his 2pm hair appointment.

I’m sure I threatened something to get Jonah to stop. “If you can’t stop whining, I’ll take all the videos back.” Or somesuch.

Jonah ate a few bites of hamburger and some fries at lunch. I convinced him to finish the burger in order to earn the “sweet treat,” later. We shopped a bit around Piedmont Avenue, with Jonah delighting in the sparkly holiday decorations already on display and for sale.

Then, organic gelato at Lush: vanilla bean and Mexican chocolate (with cinnamon):

There was also a stop at Peet’s to load up on loose tea for me, and a stop at the comic book store, to load up on desire for Scott and Jonah.

Then the grocery store. I asked Jonah if he would help me cook dinner tonight. He’s been on a play-cooking kick lately. I asked what he wanted to cook. He said he would like orange, purple, and yellow carrots. Unfortunately the grocery store on Piedmont Avenue didn’t carry them. But they did have organic corn. Jonah loves corn. He also threw a bowling ball sized melon in the basket, which I decided to let him have. The prices on organic produce were so out of control at this store ($4 per pound for broccoli) that the corn and the melon were all we bought.

At home, Jonah watched his videos for a while. Only half of the rockets one; the train one was a surprise hit.

Then we played with play doh. He’s been working on a universe, some rockets, an alien spaceship, lots of little people. Scott and I took turns meditating in order to keep Jonah occupied and attended. Attention-ed.

Then I engaged Jonah in the dinner-cooking. I cut the corn cobs into pieces that he rolled in olive oil in a pyrex, and dusted with salt and pepper. Together, both of us holding the peeler, we peeled carrots (I had two in the fridge) and tossed them in. All of that went into the oven to roast.

He also salted and peppered the steak. (Yes, we ate WAY too much protein today. I’m raising him meat-an.)

“What does raw meat feel like?” he asked.

“You can touch it,” I said. “We just have to wash hands after.”

So we poked the steak together for a bit. Tenderizing.

That went into the oven and then I threw some frozen spinach in a pan with a little milk and salt and voila! We made dinner.

At first Jonah was upset because I’d cut his steak for him. Fortunately I had another piece so I switched the whole for the parts. He has a little dull knife we let him use (what he used for spreading on his toast this morning) and he was hacking at that ribbon of meat. Hard. But it wasn’t working. So we used my steak knife together.

“What’s that stuff that looks like applesauce?” he asked, pointing to the fat.

The non-fat pieces of meat, the corn, and the carrots he ate with gusto. The spinach, usually a favorite but notably the only part of the meal he didn’t help cook, went untouched.

“Today was a perfect day,” he announced.

Amen.

1 comment for “a perfect day

  1. November 13, 2011 at 8:54 am

    Sounds like a busy but good day.

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