I have it in mind to actually stand up in a few moments and make cauliflower soup. However, the perfect quiet currently surrounding me makes it really hard to actually go do it. The minute I go in the kitchen the hue and cry for food will overwhelm me like the flooding basement of last week.
Elphine, Gladys and Romulus all stayed home from school today, all weeping, while Alouicious, the baby and I went. Alouicious was also weeping. He wanted to stay and so was overcome by grief. Elphine wanted to go and so was overcome by grief. Romulus was weeping because he didn't want to stay home with his father. And Gladys was weeping because everyone else was.
I am weeping on the inside because the color of the leaves this fall is abysmally faded and disappointing. Last year the tree on our front lawn turned three different colors. This is year it is a basic yellow, pretty enough, but plain. And many many trees all over the place are turning a dingy brown and dropping their leaves pathetically to the ground without any effort at color at all.
I didn't realize how much emotional time I spend on the fall leaves every year. I worry about them not turning at the right moment, or not at all. I keep track of certain trees, measuring them up year by year against all previous years. I mutter to myself as I drive about the inadequacy of the light to really judge their true color.
But then today, as I drove home, I thought, BETTER that I fret about the color of the trees in fall, than that I fret about a lot of other things. On that note, I think I will go make that soup, because I can't see any trees at all from my kitchen window, only the foul wreckage of the playroom, And that is not a matter of fretting, it is a matter of shouting at my poor sick children to buck up and pick it up. Or maybe they can do it tomorrow.