No cooking (or drinking) today. Mark is working the nightshift, it's the 4th of July, the house is still a chaos of tarps and paint fumes, and I'm exceedingly crabby. Bitchy, even. Just ask the ticket taker at the Sequoia theatre, the one with the Barry Manilow haircut who tried to explain to me that there are no bargain matinees on a holiday no matter WHAT it said in the San Francisco Chronicle.
So, I took Isabel and Owen to see The Visitor. I didn't know how it would go over with them, and Lord knows I've made some monumental mistakes in this department. But it was fantastic! The Visitor won't insult your intelligence, your 11-year-old daughter will be curiously enthralled, and even an excitable 7-year-old boy may find the thoughtful drama -- about illegal immigrants, draconian post-9/11 bureaucracy, African drumming, and one very lonely man -- touching. (Though he probably won't be able to articulate why.)
The film didn't make me feel particularly patriotic, but it was a perversely good choice for this dismal 4th. I highly recommend for all stir-crazy mothers whose children have not yet started camp.
I promise, tomorrow I will cook.