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A Child’s Morning Time Wonderland

Saturday morning started out as usual – John John being peckish from the word Go. He ate a purple pluot while the remainder of breakfast was being made.

“Mama, this pluot is made from grapes,” he told me.

“Hmm,” I said, “Weird.”

John responded more appropriately, “You mean it’s a similar color to grapes.”

“Yeah,” said John John.

Then he watched me at the stove from a stool for awhile.  After a bit he said, “I don’t feel good, Mama,” in the most normal voice. He didn’t seem like he didn’t feel good, so I asked him, “Why do you think you don’t feel good?”

“It’s because I ate too many bugs!”

He wasn’t sick, by the way.  Moments after eating a hearty breakfast, he was dancing around like a crazy bird flapping to Mendelssohn.

Speaking of birds, on Sunday morning, also during the breakfast making ritual, he says to John,  “Papa, you know the one where the pigeon turns into a black pigeon at the end?”

“No,” said John, “Which one?”

“The one where the pigeon turns into a black pigeon at the end when the music stops.”

“I don’t have any idea what you are talking about,” John said.

“I don’t have any idea, too,” was John John’s reply.

I did, but I kept that to myself because of the cuteness.

Dinner Time Stay-cation

The experience was akin to an International Cafe commercial (Anyone remember those? “Jean-Luc!”).  Sitting at the dinner table with my family – imagine it:

I’m holding a bowl of soup up, inhaling the rich scent, looking through the gently curling steam at my loving husband, chef and creator of this amazing dish.   The buttery-richness of homemade stock mixed with kabocha squash.  Every sip brought the soft focus back to this dinner time pastoral, blurring out the loud and fussing toddler just out of frame to my left, probably throwing food on the ground and shouting no or something like that.  Another sip.  I look out the sliding glass door to see the fading colors of yet another beautiful sunset.  The perfect end to what must have been a perfect day.  “Honey,” I didn’t say because I don’t call anyone that, “this soup is perfection.  Every swallow is like going on vacation.”  I actually did say that second part.  And it was true.  So rich and sumptuous.  So yummy.

That’s when I learned that, in addition to kabocha squash and chicken stock, the soup also had an entire stick of butter in it.

Whatever.  I don’t care.  Calgon, take me away…