I kicked off the morning by making Tahini and Pumpkin porridge, pointing out to Sadie that it was what Goldilocks ate and then repeatedly saying to Paul: "Well. it certainly feels like Lent now. Doesn't it? I think that this is one of the best Friday Lent meals ever? It really makes it feel like Friday, huh?"
I might have been particularly gleeful since someone brought home to boxes of Pączkis and everyone ate them in front of me. Powdered sugar covered cherry and creme filled pastry goodness. I could smell them. It was torture.
There was also no cheering when I announced I'd be making Butternut Sage soup for lunch and Broc-Cauli Chowder for dinner. There will also probably not be celebration when I make enough of either of those soups to last through all the Fridays in Lent.
She'll repeat it, in her sweet little voice and my heart leaps for joy!
"Love, love, love!"
She never says it just once. It trips off of her lips over and over again.
And it has only been said to one person? Any guesses?
Patrick. The first time she said it, she stood next to him and stared at him for a solid ten minutes. I was watching her, hoping that she wasn't jealous. Then she reached forward and touched his nose and mouth very gently and began repeating "love, love, love" over and over again.
Yesterday she was silent at first, then showered him with kisses while he smiled at her (which is a change since generally he's rather watchful around his rambunctious two year old sister) before saying it.
Yup. Every time I think about it, it makes my heart feel warm and fuzzy.
|He let us know what he thought about getting dressed up.|
In other Patrick related news, I've never seen a three month old who is so in love with his "loveys." He has a stuffed giraffe that plays music and several soft cuddly blankets. He pulls the blanket and the lovey up to his face and presses them against his cheek to go to sleep. If he's been nursed and changed and burped and played with and he starts to fuss I know what he wants. I'll hand him his giraffe and his blanket and he's play with them for a few minutes and fall asleep...
And then I go to work trying to slip them away from his face while he sleeps... and he does is darnedest to wake up and catch me.
|It was cold.|
I remembered last night at about 8 o'clock.
This conversation followed:
Me: "Hey! Seven years ago today you proposed!"
Paul: "You just remembered?"
Me: Silence and then... "Did you remember all day?"
Me: "Me too." with a cheesy grin.
Paul: "Do you need to go to confession now?"
Me: "Pretty much."
Um... how does one forget that when the proposal date is Valentine's Day? Sleep deprivation?
Our Valentine's Day treat was falling asleep at 9 pm. I can't remember the last time that happened.
I realized on Wednesday that I really, really struggle with my pride during Lent. I have this driving desire to fast, even though I know that my body can't handle it and it will be a very bad thing. And it feels like a pride, that somehow I should be able to do it, and everything will be fine, and I have to remind myself fifty times a day that milk production is directly linked to food intake and I just can't and that there's a reason that these exemptions exist.
I have been pregnant or nursing (or both) for the past 52 months. I imagine there's a good chance that I could be in this situation for quite a few years in the future (God willing). You'd think I'd have come to terms with this, oh I don't know, two or three Lent's ago. But no. It's still something I wrestle around with in my head. I think it might be harder this year, because without wheat and eggs and potatoes and everything else the Boy is allergic to, there isn't really anything in the food category (that I would miss) left to give up. I am avoiding meat (as long as I can), and getting my protein from tahini and sun butter and goat cheese... so I guess that's something.
You'd think I'd be grateful not to fast, right? I mean, it's not fun. If I was really doing it, I'd be suppressing "I'm so hungry" whines in my head every five minutes. And yet, illogically, I struggle with it.
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