Good Lord I am tired this morning. Just could NOT sleep last night…it was hot and no matter what combination of bed, pillow and sheet I came up with, none of them were sleepworthy. I tried reading for a while and then the power went off in our room which it does sometimes. I nudged Ernie, who was sleeping, and told him the power had gone off because usually he can get it to go back on….but he just said sleepily, “sorry hon” and turned over. Sigh. I tried to sleep….waited for the Unisom to kick in….took one of the melatonin Unisoms on top of the others….no go.
I was having weird dreams about Johnny Thunders and photography books and I don’t know what else when the thunder woke me up this morning. Blegh.
We had a pretty nice weekend overall. Last night after dinner Owen and I were making shortbread in the kitchen. We realized we’d left the salt dish in the media room so he ran to get it and somehow knocked over the 1870’s goblet that Ernie had been using. Hysterical tears. At first Ernie and I looked at each other and thought “oh no, he’s broken the salt dish he bought in Maine” so we were actually relieved when we realized it was a goblet. Owen, though, was inconsolable. I tried my best to explain that things get broken and when we use antiques we’re taking a chance, but the pleasure of using them makes it worth it. “But that was Dad’s favorite goblet,” he sobbed. I told him it wasn’t Dad’s favorite and that we could find another one. He finally calmed down a little and we were trying to finish the shortbread. We continued talking about how things break and blah, blah, blah. Then I came up with the bright idea of telling him that the original salt dish he had bought in Maine had actually gotten broken but we’d found another one and replaced it and kept it a secret from him. I thought it would make him feel better.
It didn’t.
At all.
Very bad idea on my part.
Sigh.
Stupid mother.
Eventually both Owen and I were crying and I think Ernie and Leo wanted to shoot us both.
We pretty much recovered and let the boys stay up late while we watched Mad Men. Owen watched it with us (except when he left because he thought it was ‘inappropriate for him.’). He brought me a piece of shortbread. It was pretty good.
Sigh.
And I found a goblet on eBay just like the one that was broken. It should arrive in a few days.
A couple of pictures from the morning's drive:
I love your drives. I used to take Sunday drives with my parents, and I loved looking at the houses, the barns, the small lanes leading to a grove of trees. I used to imagine what it would be like if I lived there. Unfortunately, my husband and child HATE to be in the car, it’s like torture. Someday I’m going to drive out on my own, but it’s difficult to rubberneck and drive at the same time.
As for the broken goblet, I know how Owen feels. I still feel a little bit like crying when something gets broken, even if it’s stemware I bought at Target.
Oh! That cracks me up… all of it. You’re so good at expressing the ever-changing dynamics between all of you. How was the shortbread? I keep meaning to get some culinary rose water so that I can make my favorite rose-scented shortbread — a Middle Eastern twist.
I love that hill on the approach to Monticello. I always imagine that it once was a giant mountain, eroded down by the Pleistocene. That’s the reason why it still remains something of an elevation surrounded by the flat plains.
Cynthia, I take one 25 mg. Benadryl every night. Sleep comes early and lasts. Have been doing this for years. Melatonin gave me nightmares 🙂
….oh, I feel for you. I’m a HUGE fan of transparency (I was lied to as a kid about some big things) and so I really struggle with figuring out when NOT being frank with the kids is the right thing to do, and I know I don’t always make the right call.
My guess, though? If the truth made THAT big a difference to O., it’s probably better that he found out sooner rather than later. (But of course there was no way of knowing how important it was WITHOUT telling him, so seriously–a mom just can’t win.) Ten years from now he’d probably conceal his dismay more graciously, but the knowledge that you’d kept it from him would be all the more jarring. Now that he knows, ten years from now he’ll be carrying with him the awareness of the loving concern that you acted out of.
Still, those storms are really hard to weather. And on a Sunday night no less! Well, the rest of the week has to go better, right?
Me too, Mel, I LOVE that hill on Monticello Road, it means I’m almost back home after I go into ‘town.’ I like to think/pretend it’s an ancient Indian mound like we also have in the state. I have a bunch of slides, pictures and paintings from drives all over the area when I was a student in the ’70s. Yeah, that thunder last night was something else. We had some hail out here, too.
Sometimes it’s best not to say anything to kids.
When we moved back to Illinois we had to give up our dog, Pookie. I found a good home for her, but Peter, who was 3 at the time, would — out of the blue — yell out “I . . . miss. . . Pookie” from his car seat. The story I had come up with was that Pookie had found her mother, and how could you blame her for wanting to stay with her mother rather than move to Illinois?
I still have not told him the truth. And notice, that I am commenting on your blog area, and not on FB, just in case.
And that was fifteen years ago.