Sunday, November 14, 2010
I am having a hard time adapting to the end of Daylight Savings this year. I feel totally confused. I also have been outrageously overbooked, so before I really wake up, the day is ending again. Combined with my ongoing battle to eradicate headlice in a certain child, leads to some pretty severe sleep deprivation. This can only contribute to the sensation of being a record played at the wrong RPM. I feel like my life is flashing in front of my eyes, and my kids are embodied evidence of this. They have totally left babyhood behind, and I fear that their childhood is also slipping quickly away. I feel a combination of pride and loss with each new thing the girls can do. Nur is just beginning to read now, and has many sight words memorized. She loves to write notes about what she did that day. "daly news. we wnt pe. we had lunch. we had free choise." Mareshet is developing all sorts of competencies. She has also become well known in the local bookstores, often stepping behind the computer to check whether or not books are still in print, and make recommendations. I find that the owners of our local independent stores do order the books she endorses, as they later appear on the shelves with some prominence. I try to be so mindful of the moments we have together, and to enjoy them. Of all my life, I believe that my memories are most clear in my seven to eight year old years. So it is really something to be doing things with them that I so clearly recall doing back in the day. Like playing Uncle Wiggly and Old Maid. Raking leaves. Drinking cocoa.
Last evening I had a wonderful evening out, with two other moms, at a divine little restaurant. My friend Susan gave me a gift certificate to Tilth, in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood. It was a blissful evening with lovely friends and possibly the most amazing food ever. I had pumpkin soup that smelled like the essence of autumn. Then salmon over spaghetti squash and under delicate mushrooms. And chocolate torte for dessert with cocoa from Theo chocolate. I don't know if I will dine in such splendor again. But it will make a lovely memory.