... And Other Lessons Learned This Year.
Don’t Fuss:
After many years of sulky Christmas puddings and wasted rum, this year I learned how to set my dessert aflame: steam it for ages. Steam it while you eat Christmas dinner, steam it while you sip your wine, and while you do a dish or two between courses, steam it until it too steams, (it is after all, a dense leaden cake, which need not be fussed over) then pour the usual amount of rum over the pudding (the usual amount will vary from year to year depending on the family members gathered around the table. Great Aunt Mildred years might require significantly more rum) and then, with a slight flourish & a sprig of something pretty, set it on fire at the table. You will feel like a conquering dessert hero.
The secret is not to be delicate. Do not fuss. Pruning roses works the same way. Raising children too. (But without the rum and flames.)
Sauce is easy:
Sauce makes everything better. You can make a dip, a salsa, a dressing, or a lemon butter sauce in minutes and it dignifies even store bought quickie-dinner items like kebabs or chicken fingers. A sauce made of green herbs, lemon, olive oil and a bit of garlic – call it Green Goddess or The Hulk – makes everything more delicious. A bowl of aioli for veggies or minute steaks, cherry tomatoes, or oven potatoes works wonders for fussy littles and weary grown ups alike.
The same theory applies to arguments. Set out something good on the side and the whole thing goes down much more easily.
Step aside:
One wet afternoon I had a showdown with my dog at the back door. I keep a pile of old towels and a pretty vintage tin of dog treats sitting by the back door. The dog knows he must run this gauntlet when he comes in. The trouble is, it doesn’t have to happen every time. He does not understand about mud. Or about a freshly washed kitchen floor for that matter. He just wants in, and a drink. On clear summer days, it all works out just fine for him.
However, this particular damp afternoon I was guarding my clean floor. I was tired and somewhat testy. He barked to come in. I opened the door, towel in hand. I wanted the paws cleaned and was in no mood for games.
He eyed me. Backed up.
I eyed him back.
He looked at the towel in my hand and refused to come in.
Fine. I closed the door. He could come in when he was ready then.
He barked. I opened the door. He cocked his head, eyed the towel. Backed up.
I glared. “In the house!” He went back outside.
I closed the door. We did this enough times that I eventually realized I was losing an argument with my dog. I took a breath. Stepped aside, set the towel on the table and picked up a treat. Opened the door. Smiled.
He came right in through the open doorway. Sat on command. I toweled him off. Gave him a treat. He trotted over to his bowl. I watched him drink happily, and gratefully absorbed a lesson in parenting delivered by my dog.
Old is not a number:
I have never really felt old. I shouldn’t, I’m not quite even middle aged. But there have been days this past year that have left me gutted. I have felt worn out. I am sure I have felt the wrinkles burrowing deeper and deeper, like moles under my skin, as I lay down at night.
Old is how you feel after everyone in the house has been sick, even the dog. Old has nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with tired and worried. Those old wives knew a thing or two – rest is the key to beauty. Get enough sleep. If not enough, then steal naps when the baby sleeps, when everybody else has gone to the park and house is quiet. Forget the laundry. It will still be there tomorrow.
I have learned that patience is the key to radiance, or at least to a smooth forehead, and like breast milk, patience is only replenished with sleep. And a little hydration. Take care of yourself. Drink water. Rest, even when it means a blanket on the floor of a coughing kid’s bedroom or several extra lumps in your bed.
A new day will dawn, and the wrinkles will smooth over – look to the light, the next family meal, the wag of a tail, a smile flashed on the drive to school and know that all will be well.
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