• the quotidian (8.27.12)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace 

    Cousin cuddles.
    Please note: my son is not yet thirteen
    but already he’s adorning his wrists with bands and chains.
    Is this something that all preteen boys do?

    This Laura Ingalls imposter loved our scraggly peaches.
    Which reminds me. What do you call a fake noodle?
    An impasta.

    A jar of bees: captured by the child most allergic to them.
    Either she’s really stupid or really brave.
    Though I suppose it was smart of her to give her little brother
    the privilege of setting them free,
    since, for his troubles, he got stung twice.

    A true-blue paperbag princess!
    (Though she preferred the title of “Rag Princess.”)

    Smashed and crispy, with oil and salt: the damaged, freshly-dug potatoes.

    Ketchup in the making.

    These days, a daily ritual.

    This same time, years previous: tomato jam, basic oatmeal muffins, earthy ponderations, part three, on not rushing it, chocolate malted milk frosting, nectarine cobbler, odds and ends, fresh tomato salad, buttery basil pesto, basil pesto

  • 16

    Me: So. What do you want to do for our anniversary?

    Him: (Blank stare. This date has not been in the forefront of his mind obviously.)

    Me: I lined up childcare, so we can do something together if we want. If not, I can go somewhere to write and you can have alone time at home.

    Him (gamely making an effort): We could go out to eat.

    Me: Sure. Where would you like to go?

    Him: I don’t know… How about Dave’s Taverna?

    Me (not wanting to be a party pooper): Eh…

    Him: Yeah, um… Red Lobster?

    Me: American-style restaurants kind of gross me out.

    Him: Well, do you have any ideas?

    Me: The Blue Nile!

    Him: I don’t really go for African food.

    Me: It’s not African food. It’s Ethiopian.

    Him (speaking slowly, as though to an idiot): Jennifer, where is Ethiopia located?

    Me: Africa.

    Him: Right.

    Me (blithely pressing on): What about The American Indian Café?

    Him: I don’t really go for Indian food. See, when I go out to eat, I want to eat food that I know I’m going to enjoy—

    Me: Well, when I go out to eat I want food that’s different from what I can make at home!

    Him: To sink my teeth into a good cheeseburger—

    Me: BORING!

    Him (deflated): Isn’t there any place we can agree on?

    Me: What about The Little Grill?

    Him: Everything there is kind of under-seasoned, you know?

    Me: No, but okay. Not The Little Grill.

    Him: (moody silence)

    Me (resigned): So I guess we won’t go out to eat. Do you have any other ideas of stuff we could do?

    Him: (no answer)

    Me: We could go to Barnes and Noble, get coffees, and read books!

    Him: Oh, that sounds dreadful!

    Me: Uh…we could play tennis?

    Him: No!

    Me: I know! We could go shopping for clothes!

    Him (flatly): You don’t need more clothes.

    Me: Yes, I do.

    Him: No, you don’t.

    Me: Yes, I do.

    Him: NO, YOU DON’T.

    Me: Fine. So we won’t go shopping. (pause) You could dig potatoes!

    Him: (snort)

    Me: We could go shopping for upcoming birthdays!

    Him: (eye roll)

    Me: We could clean the girls’ room! Redo it! Paint walls!

    Him: (giant eye roll and moaning)

    Me: So I guess we won’t go out on a date.

    Him: I guess not.

    Me (reaching for the computer): This conversation is completely ridiculous. I’ve gotta write it down.

    Him (alarmed): No, you don’t! You don’t have to write down everything we say!

    Me: Okay fine

    This same time, years previous: coming up for air, wedding memories, so why did I marry him?, Valerie’s salsa, canned tomatoes, how to make butter