I spent the bulk of today on a farm field trip with Oliver's kindergarten class. My charges could not have been better behaved, and we saw both a baby goat (darling) and donkey (even more darling), the latter born less than 24 hours before we laid eyes on it. We talked germination and composting, took a hay ride, ate lunch outside, and I was gaga by the bus ride home.
I was not the only one.
Is that not one of the best field trip aftermath picture you've ever seen? I mean, those kids are OUT. The little boy proceeded to flop over face-down onto the little girl, as if he'd fast-forwarded twelve years and this is post-prom. Oddly enough, as the bus stopped at the final red light before school, both of these kids sat up, hair mussed every which way, rubbed their eyes, and acted like nothing had ever happened.
Hysterical. And then there's my child.
Oh, Oliver. How I love this unique little being!
My mother-in-law came over after school and took us out to dinner- my second birthday celebration so far as Oliver's pals sang to me during our picnic lunch today which was adorable.
MIL took us to 2Amy's where we all chowed down, and then we returned home to share three lovely desserts she'd brought over. It was all wonderful, especially since T is out of town right now, and I feel grand.
I will say that despite my long-standing dislike of morel mushrooms, I ordered the Special Pizza 1: morels, garlic, tomato puree and grana.
Why? Because morels are one of those elusive, cultish, ephemeral ingredients that I feel I should like despite the fact that their shape reminds me of a urinary tract probe.
I concluded that, as I already knew, I do not like morels. They taste like soap infused with a soupçon of dirt, an element I never need to have on a pizza. Or anywhere else really. Sorry morels. This almost-39 year old has given up on you.