blueberry, blueberry, blueberry pie

Man, I am just not sure life gets any better than this. We had leftover T-bone steak in steak salad for dinner, with devilled eggs, followed by leftovers of the best blueberry pie I have ever made (I have finally perfected the art of crust, I think) and Isaly’s vanilla ice cream, which came as a pleasant surprise – it tastes, indeed, just as Simon says, like “whipped cream from Tazza d’Oro.” Dan is off to play guitars, Jude is lying on the floor of the office/library playing with his trains, and Simon is upstairs playing his guitar. Life is good. Someone remind me of this when I need it, please. Which unfortunately is probably a lot more than I should, to be honest.

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Yesterday was the big Father’s Day extravaganza. My husband’s family managed to be as uncharmingly dysfunctional as usual. (I say this with the smugness of a wife with two dead parents, and two brothers three hundred miles away who visit occasionally, help us with the kids when they do visit, send them exorbitant amounts of money, and don’t ever really create problems - probably due to the foregoing factors.)

Dan tried his hand at grilling steaks, and God, were they good! But in true fashion, his father pointed out that Dan should consult with Stephanie-the-Perfect-sister-in-law, since she had a “real touch” with filet. I may be overly defensive, but I know Dan took this as he had grilled them wrong somehow. And I must tell you that these were the best steaks I have ever eaten, in a restaurant or no. All his studying paid off with someone at least. He can cook filet mignon for me anytime he likes.

Then his mother got bitten by a mosquito. You’d have thought I personally directed the mosquito to her legs and arm and shown it exactly where to bite for maximum itch. Jesus Christ – as if she had never in her life been bitten by a mosquito before! It’s because I have all these slovenly habits like leaving my windows open for the fresh air, and sitting out on my porch with a glass of bug-attracting wine in hand. Have you ever seen that episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Cheryl has dermatitis? That’s what this was like by the end of the evening. Must have been one hell of a mosquito. Of course it’s probably nesting in the dust elephants under my couch or harboring itself in the cats’ favorite pillows. Lying in wait for the next time…

And then – how I do not know – the subject of our enormous Christmas tree came up. But apparently my in-laws had never seen said tree. Why ever not? Had they not been in my house for the two weeks preceding Christmas and the week after? Guilt and anxiety flicked across Dan’s face before realization dawned – and bless him, he actually said something – we had invited the various combos of the family over at least three times during the Christmas season and every time, they were busy with something the Perfects had to do. The Perfects reside out-of-state but when they come into town, all must stop and accommodate the Perfects’ schedule. Yes, I am bitter and bitchy, but ten years of marriage has only proved to me that my Perfect-sister-in-law sends me over the edge. (I could probably cope with the Perfect brother and the four Perfect sons, if not for the Perfect sister-in-law. )

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In much happier news:

• There’s an excellent article on Salon today about Jane Eyre, written by a man who finally read it in adulthood. I mentioned before how odd it was to me that Dan loved The Eyre Affair but had never read Jane Eyre so probably missed some plot twists/points. Maybe if I can get him to read this article, I can get him to read Jane Eyre.
  
  
• I finally got the quilt sandwich together for my brother’s baby’s quilt. It’s the part of quilting I hate. I mostly enjoy the rest of the procedure, even the math required in the design phase. But God I hate crawling around the floor on my knees, in this case dragging the pregnant belly with me, sticking my various fingers with needles and pins, and telling the boys every three seconds not to walk on the quilt.
  
  
• When I tell my toddlers that we have watched enough TV today, do they really think I am being mean to them? I have news for them – I am being mean to ME. Of course they don’t realize how much easier my life would be if I were not filled with guilt every time we clicked on the TV. If I could just drop them in front of the damn thing for four hours a day, I could nap and shower and read in relative peace. But NOOOOOOO, I have to worry about their development and do things like read to them and dig in the dirt and take them to the park and the zoo. Darn kids.
  
  
• I read somewhere recently that the average American watches four hours of television a day. At the risk of sounding superior, I cannot fathom that. My brain would explode; I would develop epilepsy; my eyes would permanently cross. And that’s before we even broach the subject of the content of the shows.
  

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Exactly what sort of “scientific research can be performed upon these whales? I am just curious. Anyone?