It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, although we celebrated on Friday. But in honour, here is my favorite men’s trio singing Danny Boy:
Mostly I’m just celebrating because the kids are back in school today, and I’m acknowledging this joyous event by cleaning my house from top to bottom because it’s ICKY. I’ve also been on the phone for most of the morning as all of my fellow mothers, freed from a week spent endlessly amusing our always-grateful offspring, reached joyously for the phone to call me and make plans for later this week, which apparently will be a really social time in my life, filled with coffee visits and leisurely walks and playdates for The Baby. But today will be spent scrubbing my kitchen floor and vacuuming the inner workings of the couch and wiping grubby handprints off every vertical surface in my house, this brief martyrdom to acknowledge that my children were home and now they’re off again.
At least I’m not these guys:
Sandwich One: Hey, buddy! Whatcha doing?
Sandwich Two: Just hanging out – AAAAAAAGGH!
I LOVE making panini – there’s something so very, very enjoyable about squishing sandwiches. And they’re tasty, too – observe:
Note the delicious melted cheddar oozing out – good grief, why am I always so HUNGRY?
Heh – I just noticed that I got a bit carried away with Photoshop’s blur feature and my plate looks like it’s deliciously levitating above the table. Crazy.
And inside, there’s roasted chicken, cheddar, red pepper, mozzarella and garlic mayonnaise – a concoction carefully assembled by The Girl, who has her own ideas about food. Simple and yet freakishly delicious. I wish I was eating this sandwich RIGHT NOW. But instead I had some rather uninspired leftovers and when I’m done writing, I’m off to clean some more, which is grimly pleasurable in the almost-quiet of the house, the sudden restfulness of just having one kid at home.
Oh, and for the first time in nearly nine years (give or take a few months in between babies), WE HAVE NO CHILDREN IN DIAPERS IN OUR HOUSE. This household may never purchase another bag of diapers again, which is both wildly cheering and stabbingly poignant and also – let’s be frank – financially awesome. "More money for sandwiches!" I write, cheerfully, pretending that my heart isn’t made out of Precious Moments figurines and melted cheese and wouldn’t be happier with babies forever, that the door to that room hasn’t closed forever, quietly but firmly, and there’s no going back in.