Throw-together pasta when foiled by take-out plans

Made it home, got the boys in bed, and plopped down in PJs, in full agreement with T that take-out might be a good option tonight. We got excited for Indian, made our selections, called and found they were too busy tonight to deliver. Mamma mia. Back to the drawing board. Rummaging commenced, and I found some whole wheat orecchiete, an on-its-way-to-sad bunch of lacinato kale, a shallot, and some lovely chanterelles I'd forgotten I'd recently bought. Not wanting to go the more assumed path of mascarpone (not least because I didn't have it) and/or super-savory, I decided to go earthy and sweet with a solid tablespoon of fresh tarragon + a dash of cinnamon and red pepper at the end. Lots of parm, a smashed clove of garlic. Voila. Not awesome, but not bad and quite solid for an improv dinner. Only bummer is that I microplaned my hand and arm while getting jiggy with the Parm. It's actually a little gross, what with 8 distinct skin squares missing. Please give your microplane the respect it's due.

Funny boys story of the day: We're on the way home, Oliver has spied a spotlight in the dark night sky and is transfixed, and Jack is kinda looking/kinda doing his own thing. I say, "I love you boys so much; you are such wonderful children." Jack says, "I love you more," and O says, "I love you spotlight." I cannot even tell you how typical and illuminating of their personalities this brief exchange was.