I made the spring rolls--they turned out great and not particularly hard except to make them neat. They weren't all neat, but they were very tasty.
This is what I did: I chopped up good lettuce, spinach, mushrooms, etc, cooked some whole wheat thin spaghetti (for vermicelli), put warm water in a plate, soaked the rice paper, laid it on another plate, put the stuff in the center and rolled it up envelope style. The rice paper is a little sticky and sticks to itself. I made a sauce for it (two kinds, actually) with a dab of balsamic vinegar, water, pom pomegranate juice (a dab) and a tiny sprinkle of Chinese 5-spice powder. The other dip was soy sauce based.
Then, since it was still snowing and Biker Buddy and Piano Boy had not returned, I went out and shoveled the driveway again. While I was writing the above, they arrived home with the new guitar. I know this only because I peeked out the window. Neither of them mentioned it to me or told me about it or showed it to me. And I never said that I didn't want to go because Graham was bad. (Not to Graham, anyway). Nor did they mention how he did at Festival. I had a nice lunch made for Biker Buddy, which he thanked me for. (He didn't thank me for shoveling. Which is fine, except I have the feeling that this is turning into one of those things. Those lets all not talk to each other all day sort of things. I didn't start it, at least not intentionally. I just felt he should do his chores FIRST.)
PB called his friend Skater Boy and told him about his guitar--from another room. I could hear some of what he was saying, but not all of it.
Ironically, last night PB sat on my lap for hours and begged to have his back scratched and his cheek and hair stroked. He was bored at the restaurant and was wishing he could be at a sleepover at Skater Boy's, where he'd have been if we were visiting his brother, Soldier Boy. But I reminded him that Soldier Boy would soon be returning to Iraq and we would see him for a while. I was happy holding PB on my lap and hugging him. Today I am sad and unhappy and feeling left out.
Yesterday, the LAST of the required papers from my side came in the mail, a divorce decree from my first husband, PIUS. We were supposed to have completed all the paperwork by Feb 29, but it didn't all arrive on time. Now that PB is 14, he has to agree to being adopted, but he is so immature that if he is annoyed with me, he will not want me to be his mother and refuse to cooperate. I should have asked him last night when he was sitting on my lap.
And I'm so immature that I was thinking while they were gone without me that I should refuse to adopt him and give all my money--lol--to my two older children. BB is telling PB that he can't go to Skater Boy's until he cleans the birdcage and . . . and what? Will he make him do his practicing? Dunno. He should. I guess we disagree about parenting. And since PB is not legally my kid, I'm going to back off and let BB do it--even if he does it all wrong. I guess I am the evil stepmother for wanting him to do what he is supposed to do before he gets rewarded. Not where I want to be in life. It makes me question the whole marriage and move to Detroit. Grow up, self.
Well, PB is down there practicing. I usually go down and listen. But since he didn't bother showing me or telling me about his new guitar or even speaking to me when he got home . . . Now the question is, is it today's practicing or yesterday's--the one he missed? Guess I will find out later. If he practices again for today.