Friday, March 13, 2009

his girl friday

There are some weeks when Friday can't get here fast enough. This really is one of those weeks. I thought I was going to have to run away last night because S had a serious case of the "hey mommies." She absolutely required that I hold her hand for the better part of the night. I think it was mostly because I was focusing my attention on adult conversations with M and my aunt M. S can't really stand for my attention to be focused on other people. Other tasks are okay to an extent, but apparently I should only converse with my two-year-old. Riveting, I'm sure. Anyway, I am happy as a clam that Friday is here.

FIVE SENSES FRIDAY (it's been awhile)

Sight: my fridge, which looks, as Feathernester likes to remind me, "like a single boy's refrigerator." (she's not wrong, it currently contains minced garlic, one apple, leftover peas, milk, juice, coffee creamer, eggs, tortillas, and some condiments.) the fact that our fridge is always borderline empty on grocery day means we aren't wasting food. i really like that.

Sound: the John Denver special on NPT last night. sunshine on my shoulders does make me happy.

Smell: food, specifically walking in the door and smelling that someone has cooked. i know i've mentioned this before, but very few things make me happier than the feeling that i walked into a place and someone cared enough to cook, even if that person was me. i want S to always feel that way, warm and loved when she walks into the house. i hope M feels that way, too. he he has June Cleaver for a wife and dinner pretty much on the table every night when he walks in the door.

Taste: sweet potato concoction for last night's dinner. oh my. the homemade bread didn't hurt.

Touch: eskimo kisses. should i be calling this something different? it seems decidedly un-PC.

1 comment:

die Frau said...

We just say "noses" and go to it.

That's why I love the crock pot: Coming home to something delicious and already cooked makes ME happy (as does sunshine).

My friend D's son around that age would be happy playing by himself, and the minute she gets on the phone, he demanded her attention. My own mom also reminded me that when we were little, she used to get exasperated and say, "I'm changing my name from 'Mommy' to something else and I'm not telling you what it is!". I, of course, have no recollection of this.