In Search of Dessert

I cannot believe it is September first. I’ve really been looking forward to this date because it technically symbolizes (can that even be possible?) the start of Fall, at least to me. In other words, if it’s September, Fall must be soon. But when I opened the door this morning, alas, not fall, just the wall. The wall of sick humidity that Liam and I ran smack into on the way to Gymboree. Still, I can dream. I dream of wearing my new coat that was only purchased because my dear friend channeled my son’s wishes and assured me that this was in fact the Mother’s Day present I really deserved. So now I have an awesome coat to add to my growing collection of awesome coats that I can wear for two weeks here. This is the great paradox of my life. I love summer, warm climates and even heat, and I also adore sweaters, coats, scarves and layers.

Just after we came home from Oregon, Jonathan’s mother came for a two week visit. She was a great help playing with Liam in the afternoons. I think I may be more sensitive than most people, but having grandparents to play with Liam always does a number on me. They, she, play so hard and so long and seem to have endless amounts of energy for chasing and rolling and splashing. I do not have those abundant amounts. I remind myself, they can sleep this off, and I can not. And they are on vacation, I’m still running this house. Still, it kind of gets to me how great the grandmas are with Liam, the both of them. And that is a complaint I’m happy to have.

She also treated us to a dinner at La Fonda San Miguel. That was a fun evening because our friend Grit’s mother and brother were visiting from Germany, and as her mother spoke French as well, we all had Guacamole and Margaritas at our house and then walked to La Fonda together for a big dinner party. We had two other memorable meals while she was in town. First, and extremely typical “cheese and bread” night, which is truthfully Jonathan’s family’s version of a fast food night. And then my favorite, Taco Bell. Yes, it’s a favorite anyway, but made more so when a European comes and specifically asks to get it, and then drinks red wine at the table while chowing down on a gordita.

In other news, Jonathan and I discovered – via a tip in Prineville, Oregon – a fantastic Interior Mexican restaurant nearby. We spent one Saturday night there discovering that they make your salsa and guacamole tableside, shaking our heads in shock at the diners who completely ignore their servers at their sides as they stand there for ten minutes preparing them this feast (And that they model this behavior for their children. Truly, we were appalled), digging into a fried avocado of wonders and scarfing down fish tacos that I can’t wait to go back for. Afterwards we went to our very first Salsa class! We don’t have the time to sign up consistently right now, since Jonathan is starting a new project and it tends to be heavier on the travel in the beginning. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but at the same time, that was the best part. It forced us to stare at each other, to understand each others movements and to feel our insecurities begin to melt away, even though we were totally aware of how awful we were, was pretty cool.

Jonathan also recently made me a new chalkboard this past weekend, which I used to document all of the projects that I hope to complete by the end of the year. While his mom was in town I got back into scrapbooking (she was sort of mesmerized by Michaels) and completed a whole scrapbook of 2006 – the year that he and I met – while watching movies at night for a week. Slowly but surely, I’ve started to cook again. Nothing too fancy, but I did bring home some Farro from the Farmer’s Market in Portland and I used that to make a summer Farro salad and wasabi-crusted Salmon last night when Grit came over for a girls’ night. We meant to craft, but we ended up eating and talking and drinking red wine and talking more and we never did get to card making. Instead, she whipped up some creme brulee in my oven and we sort of put ourselves into a food coma with that while talking even more.

My favorite movie came in Netflix today (Be Kind Rewind), I’m back to making Bookmark Books, August is over, and I’m confident that there is a cool and brisk day in my future. Now back to the sauna.

The first is that upon returning from big ol’ trip and entering depression and trying to get into routine and feeling all out of sorts with Liam because when we left Austin he was a crawler who occasionally took a few steps, and when we got home he was a runner (almost), I decided to get us out of the house early and everyday. I scanned all my sources for playgroups that first week and thought we’d try them all in an effort to force us back into the swing of things. Typically the storytimes have not worked because it’s just impossible to get Liam to sit, much less sit still. But, I was determined. So we went to Zilker park and we ran around the dusty playground and as it is 90 degrees out at 8 in the morning, I was wearing work out clothing. We both got pretty dirty. I looked at my watch and realized we’d better get to story time. At storytime, my optimism was flattened by the stampede of perfectly petticured toenails in adorable sandals attached to well dressed women who all seemed to know one another. Every single woman there was dressed, makeup done and clean. I was almost unbelievably, as there must have been fifty people, the only person in work out clothing. The only person not smiling and greeting people she knew. I followed Liam around feeling like a lost puppy, watching everyone else mingle and coo and chat. I also realized that Liam, filthy and not matching whatsoever, looked a little disheveled. And then, as I was thinking that, he had a poop explosion. I rolled my eyes at the heavens because I was already well aware that I did not have any wipes in my bag. I was hoping that I could just take him straight home and change him there, but after taking a peep I realized that this was impossible. This, was an explosion. So I took my dusty disheveled kid into the bathroom and laid him on the changing table and tried to avoid my pale sad face in the mirror and the fact that I was covered in gravel and then I proceeded to make a pile of soaking wet brown paper towels to set about washing his bum with. I might as well have dipped his ass in the toiled bowl for all the good those wet towels did. Instead of wiping away the poop they just sort of disintegrated and stuck to his bum. Another mom walked in and saw my predicament and, bless her soul, handed me her wipes. I got him all cleaned up, thanked her and then made a beeline for the exit. At the time I was sort of beat down with the irony of it all, but even still, I knew I will look back and laugh. I know we all have those days.