what I've been eating while i am not writing posts

Pesto with toasted almonds and a little more grated Parmesan than the recipe required.
Peach-pear Italian soda with ice and gin, and then a little more gin.
Bread fresh from the oven, spread thick with red currant-rhubarb preserves.
Blackberries by the handful, still hot from the sun.
The daily ice cream.
Iced coffee, cold-brewed, with heavy cream and sweetened condensed milk.
Tiny balls of just-made mozzarella, quick-chilling in an ice water bath.
Hard-boiled eggs with their oh.so.creamy yolks, on the same day they were laid.
Bucketfuls (bucketsful? Bucketsfuls?) of buttery, salty popcorn.
Mostly ice ice-water, splashed with essential oils of lemon, orange, and grapefruit.
Chicken salad sandwiches (tarragon, green onions and mayo).
Lettuce salad with green onion, blackberries and raspberries, and chevre, dressed with cassis and red wine vinegar.
Raspberries and red currants.


(pardon the scant posting, but it's summer, and I'm enjoying the seasonal eating.)

some items for your consideration

1. New Sewing Machine. I love her. A whole freaking lot. Her name is Nina Bernina.

2. Another Busted Disc. This time, it's mine. Same one The Mister had surgery on. Some people wear matching shirts or share a hobby, but not us! We get matching boo-boos.

3. Narcotics. See item #2.

4. There is a super nice New York State Park near our house, and we got a season pass, so we go to the beach a whole lot. Last week, one of the lifeguards had to rescue a little boy. I was frightening and awesome at the same time, and I have never seen anybody move as fast as that guard did. Major thumbs up to the New York State Parks for hiring good people, training them well, and for keeping the parks open when many other states are not.

5. Fowl. We own ducks. And I'm sure this statement is going to result in more effbook mockery from that one guy who mocks us for having chickens and thinking about other unconventional pets, but whatever.

6. New Babies And Pregnancies. Four darling babies were born this month, and in the past two days I have learned that two of my friends will be having babies next spring. And before you get all crazy and start suggesting that we make us another wee Dayton, let me remind you that the likelihood that I even get to have a practice run at baby making is... Well... Dude just had surgery and My back is messed and there ain't gonna be no getting some 'round these parts.

7. Swimming Lessons. My town has a wonderful summer rec program with sports and crafty things and swimming lessons for the short people. On Wednesday, the woman who runs the pool approached me and said that more thN six people had complained to her the previous day because I had breastfed Elliott while the other kids were having their lesson. She handled the situation beautifully, and told the complainers that in NY, women have the right to breastfeed their children anywhere they want, and that she wasn't going to ask me to stop or to leave. How awesome is that? It's so rare to hear a story about breastfeeding in public where people know the law and do the right thing. And as an added bonus, I met a lovely mama who is just finishing her Lactation Consultant training. Super cool.

summer's shaping up

It has been a strange couple of weeks. The last time I posted, The Mister was in an Emergency Room somewhere in Western New York, being treated for an undisclosed injury or some sort.

It was not until 12 hours after I had posted that I knew where he was. That's a little bit scary to not know where your Mister is, let me tell you. As it happens, he had ruptured a disc in his spine (L4-L5) and needed to have emergency surgery. The hospital was about an hour from our home, and I spent a lot of time driving back and forth. My mother-in-law kept my children for almost three days straight, and my sweet MOPS mamas brought us wonderful meals for a really long time. We are so blessed to have loving arms to surround our family when we need to be helped and comforted.

The Mister's surgery went very well, and he was up walking and discharged from the hospital, if you'll believe such a thing, less than twelve hours after his surgery. He was a very nice patient, and the superty good pain meds they gave him caused him to be extraspecially sweet and appreciative of me, so much so that I'm wondering if we could just set him up with a little mainlining action.

It has been so ridiculously wonderful to have him home with us. The short people had been having some really horrible behaviour things going on, and almost all of it has disappeared since Jon has been stuck at home with us. And the good news is that he will be here all stinking summer long. Yes, it is not good that he hurt his back, but there have been so many blessings that have come from this, like a whole summer spent together, instead of a whole summer when our Daddy works a bajillion hours a week.

My favorite moment of the week happened one afternoon, when all six of us were sitting under the enormous beech tree in our front yard. Pitting cherries was the task at hand, and everyone was helping except Jack who instead was cramming cherries into his mouth like a human cherry cramming person. Thing. Whatever. The sun was streaming through the leaves and everybody was chattering happily. Well, not Jack. He was chewing and spitting the cherry pits at his siblings.

It was pretty much perfect.

waiting to hear

The Mister is in the hospital tonight, getting big doses of drugs and being MRI-ed and other sorts of exciting Things and Stuffs. I am home with the Short People, all of whom are tucked into their beds. Well, Henry is tucked into my bed, because he doesn't like to sleep in his bed at night or on days that end in Y.

It is very late, and it seems I will just have to wait until morning for the official news about how broken he is.

Sad face.

i do not intentionally slack.

Congrats to Hanna for winning the $25 Wendy's gift card, courtesy of Wendy's and The Motherhood.  I utilized a very scientific method for selecting the winner, and it goes like this: 

Me:  Olivia, pick a number between 1 and 23.

O:  Why?

Me:  The blog.  Just pick.

O:  Ummm, uh,  hmmmm..... uh, ummmm.... 15? 

Me:  Perfect.  Good work.

So, Hanna, email me at thedaytontime(at)gmail(dot)com and let me know where to send your gift card.  And if I don't hear from Hanna in 48 hours, I'll utilize the same scientific method to select another winner.

it was hot and i wanted ice cream

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I do things that cause me to be really tired and out-of-sorts.  Aaaaaaand possibly cause my short people to be tired and out of sorts.  Which, in turn, causes me to become a little bit more sassy than I am on any given Tuesday.

There was a field trip.  A never-ending, self-inflicted field trip.  And it was after dinner time and I was starving and hot and I wanted ice cream so SURPRISE!!! ICE CREAM FOR DINNER!!!

We pulled into the Blondie's parking lot, and everybody piled out of the supercool minicoopervan, and into the store.  I told the short people they could order anything they wanted, but that we would be not eating ice cream in cones because we are not eating gluten this month. 

Four short people did not care about The Cone Restrictions.  One short person did.  There's a reason why his nickname is the H-Bomb.  The H-Bomb exploded into a million screaming minions.  The boy at the counter was not impressed, despite my gentle parenting attempts (read: talking slowly and methodically whilst holding something that is bolted to the floor so as not to beat the ever-living out of a child).  The 79th WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY CAN'T I HAVE A CONE?!?!?!?! pushed me right off my rocker.

My response? BECAUSE YOU'RE ANNOYING!!!!!!! Shouted in the exact same tone of voice and volume as the H-Bomb.

I'm not saying it was the right thing to do.  But.  He stopped shouting, I win, the end.  And you know you've been there.  (Unless you don't have short people of your own, in which case, PREPARE YOURSELF, BECAUSE YOU WILL, MOST ASSUREDLY, BE THERE.)  Also, the boy behind the counter about fell down laughing, and that was a teensy bit awesome.

H-Bomb then took the road less traveled in the Dayton culture, and that is Passive-Aggressive Avenue.  We will not discuss this, and will pretend that it did not happen for 40 minutes.  Why?  Because that is how you deal with the Passive-Aggressive, or else you will kill them.

And because my luck had run out completely by that time, everybody decided they needed to pee.  Does Blondie's the sit-down ice cream place have a bathroom?  NO.  But really?  They do, and the nice people that work there will let you take a little girl to the bathroom when she has to pee, especially when you're outnumbered 5 to 1.  

Me: My girls need to pee.  I know you don't normally allow people to use the bathroom, but it's not like I can send them outside to the bushes.

Him: No.

Me:  Please? 

Him: No.

Me:  Really?  Let me explain the effort, and the length of time it will take to get all these people to a place with a bathroom.

Him:  I don't care. You can't use the bathroom.

Jack:  I'll just go pee in the weeds.

Him:  The girls can pee in the weeds, too.

Me: Yeah, except they can't.  We try to avoid peeing in the weeds, you know, that little POISON IVY-slash-VA.G.INA combination?  NOT GOOD.

Him:  ::Blank.freaking.stare.::

Me:  Can you even imagine what it's like to have poison ivy on your va.gi.na?

Him:  Uh, I don't *have* a v.agi.na, so I can't relate.

Me:  You don't?  I bet you could find it if you looked for it.  It's probably under your bed in your mom's house, right next to your soul.

And then he walked away from me.  I'm pretty sure he's not going anywhere near anybody's v.agi.na anytime soon... unless he locates his, which is likely filled with crabs.

how would you like a side of confrontation with that?

It started off a somewhat disappointing day.  We piled into the supercool minivan and headed to the Farmers' Market; it was opening day, and the short people just couldn't wait to get there.  The weather didn't cooperate, 55 degrees, windy, rain-ish.  There was asparagus and some really expensive strawberries.

Maybe next week.

We ran a few more errands and decided to visit the library.  It's been a REALLY long time since we've been there, thank God for multiple renewals, and the short people chattered and chirped as short people always do.  Except Elliott.  He's been a little on the shriek-y side lately, and I made a point of shushing him as I put the books in the return slot, while watching the top three make their way to the elevator, magic portal to the Children's Room.

I didn't want to put all of the library books in the return bin, we are using some for school, and they needed to be renewed.  While I was sorting and watching and returning and shushing, a man got up from his computer station and walked over to me.

Him:  Did you know your children are playing in the elevator?  He was sneering at me.

Me:  I did know that.  Thank you.  I continued to sort and watch and return and shush.

Him:  Your children are obnoxious.  Even my three year old knows to be quiet in a library.

Me:  Well.  Good for your kid.  And to be clear, I did not say that.  I thought it.

I'm not sure if it was the lack of response that flipped his switch, but the man WENT. OFF.  I can't remember what he said exactly, but he was up in my face and screaming about calling Child Protective Services and having my kids taken away.  

I was really scared.  Never in my adult life has a large man wanted to fight me in a library.  Or anywhere.  And also, nobody's really ever picked a fight with me before, which is good, because I think I'm kind of a chicken.  

But.

I was also furious.  How dare he tell me I am an unfit mother because my kids talked in a library?  Who is he to call the authorities and report me?  He was being threatening and intimidating and a general crazy-ass jerk, and there were at least 25 people watching him rip me a new one.

I did a very, very bad thing.  People, I shouted in a library.  LOUDLY.

How about you practice a little bit of grace, hmmm???  Maybe a little kindness and understanding for a mama who is CLEARLY on top of things, and who does nothing but parent these small people 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with NO.BREAK.EVER.  And how about you pull that stick out of your ass, sit down and leave me alone.

Oh dear... I did two bad things.  I shouted really loudly in a library, and I also shouted ASS in a library, in a very superty loud voice.

He continued on with his rant, and his promises to call CPS.   I happen to know the number, because I've called it before, so I shouted it to him.  Twice.  Maybe three times.  And I backed away from him.  His last comment was something about how that day was the last day I'd see my children.  

Really?  Tell them my name is Pamela Dayton, and I say BRING IT.

And then I threw up a little.  Thank God my children were playing in the elevator.

Not one of those 25 people said a word.  Not the library staff, not anybody.  Well, one of the library staff mouthed, "Sorry" to me.  But they did not remind him of the rules, they did not ask him to leave, they did not call him out for being a menacing bully.  Epic fail, library.  Epic.

Thank God that I am friends with the Children's Room librarians, and that one of them was there when I walked downstairs.  The director of the library came to the Children's Room to apologize to me for his behaviour, which was a nice thought, I guess, but really?  Not enough.  Not nearly enough. 

It is never alright to allow a bully to be a bully.  It doesn't matter if the bully is 5, 18, or a 40-something 6-foot-plus man weighing over 200 pounds.  It is not okay.