Last bit of summer

It’s still hot.  We've been sleeping under sheets.  These balmy nights followed by cottony, humid mornings have turned my lingering green tomatoes into pretty, orange rubies.  Sweet like candy.  I have to pick them when Jane is at school, otherwise I am left with empty hands, stained faces, and one too many little sticky fingers.  Late on Sunday afternoon we gathered enough for a meal.  Doused with oil, and a fistful of Greek oregano, I roasted them just enough to pop.  Pureed and dumped over pasta, it turned out to be the type of meal I will be dreaming of this February as I scurry about in wool socks wondering why we live in such an old, cold house.

Here is the (rough) recipe.

20-30 cherry tomatoes

one very small onion, thinly sliced

¼ of a red pepper, sliced

2 or 3 cloves of garlic, pressed

extra virgin olive oil

sea salt

cracked pepper to taste

large fistful of torn, fresh oregano

basil, 5-7 large leaves

Slice tomatoes, onion, and red pepper.  Mix together with pressed garlic and spread on a baking sheet or pizza pan.  Drizzle tomato mixture generously with olive oil.  Sprinkle with sea salt, cracked pepper, and torn oregano.  Broil on low setting for approximately 10 minutes.  Scrape and turn mixture, then broil for another 10 minutes until vegetables are bubbling, golden, and slightly charred.

Dump roasted veggies and juices into food processor. Add torn fresh basil.  Pulse chop until thick and soupy.  Toss over hot pasta.

He sleeps

We are in the middle of a marathon.  One in which we see how long we can survive without our two-year-old taking a nap.  If winning criteria was based on public meltdowns, hours spent bent over the crib back-rubbing, or number of times I have asked Henry to stop hitting his sister with a toy vehicle, we would win.

There have been a lot of changes going on around here, seeing it's September.  Topping the list, a switch from nursery school to public Kindergarten for Jane.  And summer is over.  But the biggest change September has ushered in is Henry has stopped napping.  We forgot his pacifier on the Vineyard.  You’d think we’d have another one around, but we don’t.  So when we pulled in the driveway at 10pm, Nukless, we decided to pull the plug.  He hasn’t napped a wink since.  And he is tired.  So very tired.  But truly, I can’t get him to sleep.

I remember the days of wrapping a much smaller Henry like a little burrito.  Snug in an airy, cotton blanket, arms tucked deep inside.  Peaceful.  Lashes bobbing heavily in dim light.  Early motherhood is dappled with memories of getting children to sleep.  Watching them nod off to a stream of songs, rocking, walking, nursing.  Waiting for lids to flutter one last time.  Soft, raspy breathing.  The rise and fall of a tiny chest.  Then creeping out the door.

I have solely relied on naps to get any artwork (or any anything for that matter) done.  I know navigating naplessness is a change all parents go through, and in the long run, these milestones pass quickly.  But, really, it’s trying my patience.  And making me yearn for times when I could fit him squarely in my lap.  Rock us to quiet.  Control the framework of our day.

I am not sure how long this will take, but for now, thank goodness, its night.  And finally, Henry sleeps.

{Preview} Once in a blue moon

What were the chances?  I hadn’t seen Sara in 14 years.  We went to college together, one year apart, and I always had a soft spot for her.  One of my favorites.  But we hadn’t spoken a word since graduation.  Then out of nowhere, a friend of a friend of a friend … a connection was made and I was driving to the cape with my camera.

I pulled up.  Beautiful Sara, barefoot in grass, looked exactly the same.  Bright.  Huge smile.  A halo of sun.  Only difference:  a gaggle of little girls was trailing behind her.  Rolled up in ringlets and hot pink glasses.  Freckles, milked skin, tiny buttons, and bubble wands.   A little parade of perfection.

What were the chances?