6 PM Sophie, after mourning (and I mean mourning, lots and lots of weeping even whilst biking) the loss of tonight’s swim team practice*:
“To help myself feel better, I planted one of Nels’ nasturtiums. I named it Big Babie.”
She later went on to make a special half-gallon jar labeled such, for watering that flower only.
8 PM Sign in my children’s “restaurant”, name of Punkin Jack’s:
Attengon, song singers! This week on Tusday is:
Sing your onw song by Tusday
New menu, ibid:
PIZZA *ceese *peperoni *pepers *mushrooms
STIR FRY (prans, boccoi, staek, pork, musrooms, & snow peas)
COMING SOON birthday cacke
(Seriously, with the spelling! You are seven and five! Don’t make me put you in school!)
10 PM Nels, standing on kitchen counter in undies-only, every rib and muscle visible in his long torso, hunting for the many pints of freshly-canned strawberry jam my mom brought us today:
“Jam with… butter… jam… um… urgh…” (swaying and rubbing eyes)
Nels actually spent all day eating, including homemade scones with whipped cream; pizza; most of my salad (iceberg lettuce, mozzarella cheese, black olives, bleu cheese dressing); an abomination of a sundae that included bubble gum and cotton candy ice creams, chopped up bananas, white chocolate chips, strawberry and chocolate toppings, and sprinkles; fresh broccoli and carrot sticks with ranch; a Rice Krispie treat; quiche with basil, spinach, oven-dried tomatoes; cucumbers; milk; and garden asparagus and strawberries. It’s only natural he’d end up staggering on my kitchen counter rummaging for jam like a drunk bear.
* Story to follow.