Patience

"It's just a moment;
This time will pass."

-- Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of, U2



Zoe and I made a mousse pie today and I taught her the fine art of licking the beaters clean. It occurred to me that in the entire 10 years I spent in Florida, I didn't bake a damn thing. Not a single cupcake.


Chocolate nostrils.

My mother baked with us a lot when we were kids. And I'm realizing what enormous patience that woman must have had and wondering why I inherited only a tenth of it. I love to see Zoe inquisitive about cooking and I let her do a lot of things that make my dad crazy (such as stirring spaghetti sauce on the gas stove), but when I tell her to hold the mixer for a second while I scrape the bowl then she turns it on and the beaters get within a millimeter of my knuckles before spraying me with chocolate mess... then the show's over.

My dad went up to Butler County and was supposed to be back for dinner. We made the pie for him and waited patiently for him to come home to grill the steaks we bought, but he never showed up. We ate a grand dinner without him, but I told Zoe we had to wait for him to eat the pie. We waited... and waited.....

And waited....

At 10 p.m., we said to hell with it, and ate the pie. "I'm going to put this in the trash, Mommy," Zoe said after a few bites. The pie sucked: Neither of us liked it. And then I remembered why I don't bake.




Zoe is really taking to the whole idea of being a big sister. At school on Friday, she made a drawing of me and her: I had a big purple circle in the general area of my torso, and the teacher helped her write, "I will be a good big sister." At the grocery store today, she kept pulling diapers off the shelf for the new baby. "Not yet," I kept telling her. And when I woke up from a nap later, there was a pouch of Caprisun lemonade, unopened thankfully, on top of my belly. "That's for the baby," Zoe told me, "but not until she's a big girl."



Joe and I have our "date" tomorrow. He told me to come over at 2. What on earth he could have planned at 2 is eluding me, but I didn't ask. I've already made up my mind that I can't possibly have fun being forced upon this man for an afternoon by our therapist. But I am open to being surprised and even pleasant.

When I asked what time I should tell the sitter I'll be picking up Zoe, he suggested 7. I guess he intends to stick with it through dinner.

It's supposed to be rainy tomorrow. Perfect.