The Cost of Silence

Silas looked similar but not quite as covered. This was not exactly easy to get off -- especially the thick purple swipe across the forehead and the all the paint in the hair. In the tub before the water:




'

Speaking of Being Made Only of Questions

Today, as Silas sat on the top of the trashcan eating a hard-boiled egg:

What day are we going to die? What day are you and me going to die?
I don't know. Probably not for a long long time.
But how are we going to get to heaven?
I think Jesus will take us.
But how long will it take?
I don't really know -- these are things we don't know. They're the mysteries. We just know that death isn't the end.
... (more thinking, more questions)
Is the end of counting when we die?
What?
When we can't count anymore, is that when we die?

Spring

I am sitting in my dim bedroom right now. The house is napping. Silas is asleep in my bed feet from me with his blankie right up to his nose, his side rising and falling as he breathes. A talkative mourning dove is somewhere just beyond my closed blind letting her voice slide along the scale. I sit drinking lychee tea. My eyes feel tired.

This weekend I flew to DC alone to visit my friend Annemarie and her 3 week old baby. 3 week old 3rd baby, 3rd girl. Somehow in the midst of the nursing, constant diapering, playing gobbletjr with Madeleine (if you have a 5-7 year old, buy this), snapping barrettes in hair, making turkey sandwiches, praising Claire's Cinderella dress again, throwing clothes in the washing machine, folding the hot ones from the dryer, walking in the chilly rain, and all the other things that come with family existence, we were together. I love that.

Cold rain fell while I was there -- March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. I remember having big snows in March sometimes, and after the winter they've had, I expected the air to be bitter and for Spring to be weeks delayed. But through Annemarie's kitchen window under the grey sky, there were purple crocuses -- dozens and dozens of them beginning to bloom! And little arcing snowdrops opening their hanging white buds.

I love the thaw. How the bony black brown world becomes pricked with color. How you can watch life breathe back down the branches, across the dirt, see it nose up from dead bramble -- green birth.

I miss that here -- the sudden deep breath that sweeps through. The relief. How much winter's end feels like a kind of fresh promise.

On the way home last night, I read Neruda's "The Book of Questions" (his last volume of poetry in which every poem consists only of questions). I folded down the corner of this page:


XVII

Have you noticed that autumn
is like a yellow cow?

And how later the autumnal beast
is a dark skeleton?

And how winter collects
so many layers of blue?

And who asked springtime
for its kingdom of clear air?

Sunshine

Silas, Eden, and I fill a tire swing. It's something I discovered today.
I like our size, the three of us, how we can all fit together on a tire, our knees knocking.
I looked at their faces, scrunched with smiles as we spun, their faces that are looking so much more alike, faces that look to each other now and not just to me, and just as I was soaking
in their squealing, laughing selves, I heard Eden say, "I happy!"

Guns

I should preface this by saying that Silas is obsessed with guns, putting people in jail, and "bad babies" (which is what he calls nearly every person under the age of two).

Silas's birthday is in 19 days -- yes, we are counting down -- and this year we are going to begin the tradition of him buying a special present for Eden on his birthday, and she buying one for Silas on her birthday. I love the idea. This is an excerpt from our conversation:

me: What will you get Eden for your birthday?
Silas: I will get her a gun.
me: I don't think Eden really likes guns. What kinds of things does she like?
Silas: ... ummmm... She likes Legos. But we have those. What else does she like?
me: She likes dolls and books, and today at church she was holding 3 ponies when I picked her
up.
Silas: oh yeah, we don't have ponies. I will get her a pony. A whole pony set with a gun to shoot
ponies. An air gun.
me: Hmm, I don't think pony sets come with guns.
Silas: Then I will get her a doll set with an air gun.
me: I don't think dolls come with guns either.
Silas: weeeeeelll, air guns are hair dryers. I saw one once.

When all else fails, simple Tomato Soup

All of the family has flown east, and we are back to living the 4 of us. Because we haven't broken down the crib and moved it yet, though, we still all sleep in one room. I kind of love it.

Last night we had some friends over for dinner. I couldn't imagine making anything. I paged through my binder of recipes. Nothing sounded good (I threw a third of them away). I looked in the pantry. Nothing. I could hardly think of mustering the energy to go to the market or pull out bowls and pots in the kitchen.

But then I read a recipe from Chef Geoff's in DC for tomato soup -- simple -- and imagined grilled cheese, a kind of Saturday afternoon meal: soup, crusty sourdough with sharp cheddar and monterey jack, and a salad with beets and black current balsamic, and all of the sudden, dinner felt doable.

Creamy Tomato Soup with Herb Gremolata

I realized today, when I found the bowl of carefully chopped gremolata in my fridge, that I forgot it last night. I served mine with a drizzle of olive oil, some fresh ground salt and pepper, and a sprinkling of croutons on top. Parmesan would have also hit the spot. The gremolata, though, definitely adds some complexity and interest to the flavor. The recipe halved serves 4 comfortably with a bowl left over.

4 28oz cans of whole san marzano tomatoes (apparently san marzano are the best saucing, and
apparently souping, tomatoes, so do go out of your way to find them)
10 oz heavy cream
5 fresh basil leaves
splash balsamic vinegar -- I used a few teaspoons and combined a thicker sweeter balsamic and
a regular thinner one
salt and pepper to taste
herb gremolata: equal parts fresh basil, oregano, and parsley, chopped or put in food processor
with garlic and lemon juice

In a large pot simmer the tomatoes and cream for 60 minutes, covered.
Puree with an immersion blender while adding the basil leaves.
Season with balsamic, S&P

Locked Out

For 10 days, Silas, Eden, Ben and I have been sleeping in a room. We've bonded and awakened most mornings to Eden's little voice calling "Si-wus?" from her crib, which I will miss.

Her bed is right next to the door, and two days ago she found the lock button on the door knob during nap time. She locked it once, and my sister popped the lock open with a needle. Then today, Eden locked the door again, and I couldn't get it open.

I called Ben. I looked for our carpenter neighbor, Paul. I called my friend Allen. No one was around (except Allen, but he didn't know anything about door knobs). Then I got a hold of myself, reminded me that I am a capable, resourceful woman who could free my daughter from the locked room. As Eden yelled and whined and cried, I decided to take the doorknob off of the door. Logical, right?


So I did. The problem was, that though there was now a hole in the door, so I could reach a finger in to Eden (which made her cry more), I still couldn't get the door open. Here is Silas peering through the hole. The plastic bar in the middle was the problem:


I used pliers, a screwdriver, poked around, but still couldn't open the door. As I carried my computer upstairs, I debated calling Ben or the fire department. I called Ben. And in the meantime googled how to dismantle a locked doorknob. I clicked on a few links, found no answers but was reminded that locksmiths exist. While Eden hollered in the background, a local locksmith talked me through picking what was left of the lock and VOILA! there was Eden, eying the hole in the door and frowning.