"i've got a blueberry for a daughter"

the boys sleep. at long last. ernie pulls into the drive with something for dinner. i had plans for dinner but, amazingly, i forced a confession out of ernie tonight: he does not like the vegetarian burgers that i concoct and smoosh into patties in the kitchen. and all of this time i've been on the search for the perfect glob of grain or bean or both to bake or simmer or fry into something bun and ketchup worthy. sigh.

i thought that i'd found it when i discovered the fantastic oatmeal walnut burger. he wasn't too keen on those but we'd only been married for about a year so he didn't want to say anything. i could eat oatmeal walnut burgers daily. they are drool-worthy. i'm telling you. i should post the recipe. no, you should all buy the book. do it.

several cooked bean burger failures (too runny) and one scary ground dried bean burger disaster (the whisper mill *is* the champion of the grain grinders! it grinds dried kidney beans and other rock-hard substances into a find powder!) later, i came up with something interesting and pretty: the parsnip patty. as one who has never shaved a parsnip and fried it with onion and tarragon before, i was pleasantly surprised that the whole house smelled fantastic and earthy for the rest of the day (i made the stuff at lunchtime to make dinner after students and during crabby time a better thing for everyone). and then the kids are crying and grumpy and ready to eat. they're filthy from playing outside with the favorite ben. we feed them their own quick supper. we bathe them. we send them to dream, to wish, to grow.

at about this time the parsnip patty has just about zero appeal to ernie and since he's suggesting that he'll cook, they're losing their rooty sparkle rather quickly (immediately) to me, too. "we'll have them tomorrow," ernie says, knowing that he'll be eating supper elsewhere tomorrow night. "i'm sending them in your lunch," i say, turning off the oven, putting the parsnip mush away. as if.

and now i sit here in the dark glow. the desk is a mess of small piles that have shifted into each other, on top of each other until they're no longer piles but one large mass of paper, book and folder, colored pencil, glue and sticker. my darling dearling fries chunks of a dead animal in the clean kitchen. and i will eat it and it will taste spicy, terrific, etc., and i won't feel badly, exactly. mostly i'll be glad i didn't touch the thing all raw and bloody in the foam packaging.

and there are pringles to eat, too! one artery at a time. sigh. what are we doing?



these boys are beautiful! amazingly these ordinary people gave birth to extraordinary fantasticness. on our early sunday morning walk to grandmamas in fancy duds with hair smelling of blueberries (blueberry soap, not berries themselves . . . ) i coerce them to sit on the steps for a few pics before they're dusty and grass stained. together they are growing strong and brave. the world is new to them and i forget this too often. "give me the grace to give grace!"