so pretty

Filling enough for three pies, five lasagnas, five bags of leaves, one dishwasher load, three dish drying rack loads, and four loads of laundry with four more to go. Is that the way to measure a weekend? I wish the answer were no. The fact that I can refer to my two day weekend with such numbers makes me think of all the laughs and giggles and songs I missed with my little girl. While cleaning is part of my responsibility as the woman of the house, I wonder if in later years I'll wish I had let the sink pile up a little further, the dust pile a little deeper, in exchange for reading another book to Miah.

In exchange for the guilt of slaving over the stove all afternoon, I have the satisfaction of my house smelling like a home. Not for the first time I regret that my husband has lost his olfactory senses. The ventilation system has a mind of its own and disseminates a different smell to each room in the house. One might capture the cinnamon in the apples while another smells like apple peels. As we came in from tackling our pile of leaves--I mean a monster pile of leaves--I was wrapped in the savory smells of tomatoes, spices, artichokes, red peppers, and bubbling cheese. Perfect.

Equally perfect is Miah's new song: "I pretty. I pretty. I pretty, pretty." This is her original adaption from "I'm so pretty, so witty.... so bright." I tried to get her to end with an elaborate "bright," but all I got was some look I'm sure I'll see again in twelve years when I suggest she do something that cramps her teenage individuality. As long as she was in the mood for singing, I tried to engage her with A-B-C-D, but she clamped her mouth shut at C. Where did she get her stubborn streak from again?