Thursday

It is still raining.  My husband has had this entire week off and we are incredibly thankful we didn’t pay for a condo down the shore to enjoy the beach from the window.  I will admit, that though it hurts my heart thinking of all the people whose homes and driveways and school aged children are suffering extensive damage from floods in an already saturated area, I do not mind the rain one bit.

My girl and I slept until 9:30 this morning when her little hand smacked me right in the face as a good morning greeting.  Now, she doesn’t sleep with us, for all of you who are shaking your heads in disapproval at our hippie parenting skills.  But don’t misunderstand me, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it if it works for your family.  It just doesn’t for ours.  When Ellie wakes up at around 5:30-6 in her crib for a feeding, I usually bring her into bed with us.  Rich has to leave by quarter to 7 and it’s his chance to visit with his sleepy, smiley daughter before trudging down the street to the bus stop.  Usually she giggles and sucks on the sheets and plays with her toes, and sometimes she falls back to sleep nestled between us, both hands outstretched to touch both of our faces.  This morning, she fell back to sleep.  So did I.  And it was glorious.

So, what else is there to do on a rainy day, other than watch movies and wring out your socks?  I did what every self respecting,  house wife should do.  Just kidding.   I simmered a pot of chicken stock to freeze for the winter months.  I canned big jars of spicy, garlic pickles.  I preserved a huge batch of lemons with cloves and coriander and bay leaves for those times when Moroccan take-out is too pricey.   I made plans to slow roast the two pounds of tomatoes I bought today as the season peters out for sauces, soups and stews.  I bought my weight in sweet potatoes, squash and bananas that will feed Ellie until she no longer needs to eat her food pureed.  If I had an Italian Grandmother, she’d be proud.

We said a prayer of thankfulness for loving Grandparents and lined up babysitting for the next two weeks.  We made a plan to put extra effort into getting out by ourselves to talk about other things besides the color of Ellie’s poop and if her eye looks like it’s clearing and what elementary school we should send her to if we still live in this house in five years.  That’s important, you know.  Not talking about the school your kid will go to five years from now when you’re not even sure what your spouse had for lunch that day.  You should know things like that.

I’m working on the second book in the “Mysterious Benedict Society”series and I happen to think it’s the most perfect rainy day book ever. Don’t tell me how it ends.

I had chamomile tea with honey and it made me remember how much I liked it.

Football is on my television.  The American kind, not the soccer kind.  I hate it, but it means fall has begun.  So I guess I don’t hate it too much.

That, my friends, is what you do on a rainy day.  Take notes.  We’re going to have a few more.

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