Parentheses.

What they say about watching pots is 100% true.

I’m waiting for the water to boil so I can cook something I’ve never made before in the 25 minutes I have before we’re meeting friends for frozen yogurt. (They haven’t seen each other in eight weeks; it’s a reunion. And also a pre-surgery well-wishing.) (The Who is having surgery tomorrow. Have I mentioned that before now?)

I have the PMS and this month, like many months (but not all months) I have the incarnation of it that makes me completely intolerant to touch — mostly from little hands and bodies. And, unfortunately (this week, though fortunately mostly) I have a very physically affectionate little boy. Hair twisting, light finger drumming, the laying of his cheek upon my arm (that’s a big one.) I. Can’t. Stand. Any. Of. It. Today.

I (re)explained PMS to him — all technical-like with the notion of possible pregnancy and the uterus and the hormones. And then the havoc it wreaks. (Is it too early for a boy to understand PMS? He’s going to be dealing with it for the rest of his life, probably.)

I’m making pierogies. Have you been wondering what it was that the water was boiling for? It occurred to me as I was dropping them into the water (which finally boiled while I was writing that first part; I knew that was the key) that I hadn’t said what it was I was making. I didn’t actuallyeven make these. They’re farmers market pierogies. They might be good, but half of them split open when I peeled them from their separating paper. Raw dough and everything.

(How long do you boil raw pierogies?) (Nevermind. I googled.)

They were a little mangled, the pierogies. They’re sort of the dumpling equivalent of how I feel today. I’m kind of holding it together, but some of my caramelized cabbage is leaking out and sullying the boiling water.

Anyway. It’s all about the surgery, I think. And I’m not even really worried about it. It just feels like one of those Important Moments — capital I, capital M. Last night I posted a picture of The Who’s first to-scale drawing. Worthy of note! I captioned it, “Baby’s First Scale Drawing.” The newest in a series of “Baby’s First” photos that I will probably continue to post until it is neither cute nor appropriate to post about your child’s first experiences any longer. (“Baby’s First BJ!” Not so much, right? Which reminds me of a question I often ponder: at what age does it become inconsiderate to remark on someone’s physical growth? Could I say, for example, “Look how BIG you’ve gotten over the summer!” to a colleague?)

Anyway. Dinner’s done and we’ve got a family of five waiting for us at the fro-yo shop. And then tomorrow, feel free to send us all your woo (in whatever form that takes for you) around 9am.

Pierogi out.

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