Mother's Day morning at the farmers market

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms, grandmothers, aunts and women who serve as mother figures in my and many others' lives. I hope you're all having a marvelous day. It was a cool morning here, but it's warming up and is beautiful out. Jack just hadn't gotten enough of that blasted report done, so while he continued to work, Oliver and I headed out to the market. First stop Bonaparte for an eclair for O, raspberry palmier for J, and a hulking piece of flan for moi. Divine. We bought pounds of fresh rhubarb, some sausages, cheese, flowers for moi, asparagus and so on.

I've never seen such a little guy eat such a large eclair so quickly. It was extremely impressive! And then he requested two chipotle buffalo jerky sticks. An indulgent, sweet morning with my littlest one.

Did y'all ever read Fifteen by Beverly Cleary? It was one of my very favorite books growing up; I'm sure I read it at least two dozen times. When I saw these snapdragons this morning, I remembered the scene in which Jane is babysitting the mischievous little girl who traps flies in snaps. What is that little girl's name? I know it'll come to me later, but anyway, Jane gently releases all the ensnared flies after her charge loses interest. I told Oliver that story and showed him how to squeeze the snap blossoms open, which he found fascinating. Nanny always grew snapdragons; she had plenty of sun and they seemed to like the Louisiana heat. Anyway, I love them too so bought a half dozen stems this morning to arrange in with the sweet peas and few ranunculus I also purchased.

On our way home, Ol and I called Nanny to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. She sounded good, and I told her she had more lives than a lucky cat. She laughed and said, "I guess so." I wish I could go visit with her right now.

Wonderful dinner, riveting film

Oh my god, y'all. T and I just finished watching The Impossible, and I was on the edge of my seat about 80% of the time. My stomach felt like a damn tsunami was wreaking havoc inside it. What an absolutely horrifying, beyond-words experience that must have been. The little boys who played the sons were wonderful. As soon as the credits rolled, I raced to Oliver's bed and held him tight. I wished Jack were here so I could have done the same with him (he, T, Ol and T's Dad went to the Nats game this afternoon, and then J spent the night with his grands). I settled for Nutmeg instead but it's really not the same. Having been on the couch the entire day, except when I forced myself to the market for milk and fruit and, once there, realized I should have simply stayed home (you know when you just should not immerse yourself in a crowd of strangers? I was annoyed to beat sixty, for no good reason really except that I felt like arse and should have stayed on the couch), I was hungry and funked out and dead set on making dinner.

I'm so glad I did.

Roasted Brussels sprouts and a bit of leftover cauliflower plus my whole wheat spaghetti with chicken, fennel, currants and mascarpone. SUCH a good dish.

Random thought

Do you know what I find preposterously strange? When a restaurant boasts of serving two or three disparate cuisines. Say what? Sushi and pierogies! Tapas and chow mein! Pizza and  gyros!

Don't y'all find that suspicious?