Birthday
Today was Lulu's birthday, and so of course she got to choose what she wanted for dinner. Her first choice was gnocchi. I left work early to pick up the ricotta I knew I needed, and a few other ingredients. While I was at the supermarket I bought some cherries because last week she ate a bowl, spilling cherry juice all over her shirt. When I got home, I picked two big handfuls of green beans from the garden -- green beans she and I had planted in May. She ran out to greet me, then grabbed a few green beans out of my hands and ate them quickly. Then she ran back inside to play with her best friend Reeve. She had already opened most of her birthday gifts, and paper and tinsel were scattered over the kitchen floor. I went to work preparing the sauce (this time I made a tomato and artichoke sauce that I like from The New Basics cookbook called "Pasta Sauce Raphael). Lulu came back to the kitchen to grab more green beans, then asked if she could crack the eggs for the gnocchi. She did, but then lost interest again. I finished making the sauce, then made the dough for the gnocchi, got the water boiling, and finally got everything on the table.
It was a great success; Lulu had three helpings. Reeve had two. Christine liked the sauce. Cake followed, then more presents, then Lulu got to watch the TV show Christine promised she could watch. Afterwards, I put her and Reeve in one bed, and told them stories about Iceland (green) and Greenland (icy).
Then, almost inevitably, after she got out of bed two or three times, she had a complete melt-down. Told me she hated me. Told her mother she hated her. Said she hated her birthday, and her presents. It was almost comical, except I wasn't laughing.
Adults, I suppose, are the same way when we are over-tired, but usually we know enough to go to bed, or have a drink, or both. I'm going to pour myself a big stiff one now.
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