Supper? Um, I think I'll pass...
It was a beautiful day today.
Well, if you subscribe to my idea of "beautiful".
It poured all morning, complete with a little requisite thunder and lightning, for dramatic effect. Which allowed me, once again, to skip my garden's fairly extensive watering routine. (Truth be told, I have only been forced to drag out all of the hoses, set the timers, and then play a merry game of musical-sprinklers ONCE so far this year-- it would seem that the Gardening Goddess has mercifully given me a season "off", for a change. Of course, now that I've actually written that down and sent it out into the ether, I'll be cursed by drought for the next month-and-a-half.)
Just after lunch, the heavens cleared, and the bright sunshine broke though... but not with the sweltering heat and humidity that we are accustomed to here in July. It was a perfectly manageable 26 degrees (Celsius) on my patio.
The girlies and I raced down to the pool to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon.
Wee Three is becoming quite a proficient little swimmer, so long as she stays in the comfort-zone of her Mickey Mouse inflatable ring. She bobs happily around the shallow end (where she can touch the bottom on tippy-tippy-toes... if she stretches a bit), and actually gives her older sisters a run for their money, when they all engage in speed-races. More often than not, though, the older girls go splashing off to the deep end to practise their "mermaid" routine, leaving Wee Three with only me for company. And it is then that we play her favourite game, which we call "Swim-Up Restaurant".
I sit lazily in a deck chair by the edge of the pool, and my youngest child bobs up beside me.
"What-a you like to eat?" she demands, firmly but sweetly.
It is then that I am able to spend a few blissful moments, casting in my mind for a delectable imaginary meal that I would devour with great relish, if only someone else were willing to concoct it and serve it to me.
Once my order has been taken, my tiny, watery waitress scoots off, little legs kicking away, as she darts around the shallow end, pretending to gather ingredients, and mix things together. This goes on for several minutes, after which time she swims back to where I am seated, and pretends to present me with her culinary masterpiece.
I make ecstatic faces, and sufficient snorfling noises to indicate that I have enjoyed my "repast", and once the mandatory **burp** has been proffered, she eagerly inquires:
"NOW. What-a you like to DWINK?"
Which sets me off on a whole other fantasy. (I secretly fear that the extensive amount of vocabulary I have recently given my child in this area might one day set her off on a career in professional bartending... And me on a career as a professional drunk, for that matter. Hey, I am nothing if not supportive of my children...)
This afternoon, however, the restaurant-game took a slightly different turn.
Wee Three swam up beside me, and asked me what food my heart desired...
And all of a sudden, I had an intense craving for rich, creamy pasta. Not just ANY pasta, but tiny, fresh, hand-made dumplings... smothered in a delectable, pungent blue cheese sauce.
"Mmmmm..." I closed my eyes for a moment, and could almost SMELL the buttery-garlic-y aroma as I requested, "I'd really like a big bowlful of fresh gnocchi, in a lovely, silky, Gorgonzola sauce..."
She immediately splashed off to "prepare" my meal, and I enjoyed a solitary reverie, imagining exactly how the pasta would taste... what wine I'd like to drink with it... and, of course, the chocolate I would eat for dessert...
It seemed like only a moment before she was back at my feet once more, offering me an upturned Frisbee as a makeshift "plate", and shouting a hearty, "Here-a go!!"
I let my mind wander to the food once more, as the wet Frisbee dripped on my lap, and she began to swim away.
Suddenly, she stopped, and whirled around to face me:
"Mama! Just so-a know..." she said with an enormous grin:
Well, if you subscribe to my idea of "beautiful".
It poured all morning, complete with a little requisite thunder and lightning, for dramatic effect. Which allowed me, once again, to skip my garden's fairly extensive watering routine. (Truth be told, I have only been forced to drag out all of the hoses, set the timers, and then play a merry game of musical-sprinklers ONCE so far this year-- it would seem that the Gardening Goddess has mercifully given me a season "off", for a change. Of course, now that I've actually written that down and sent it out into the ether, I'll be cursed by drought for the next month-and-a-half.)
Just after lunch, the heavens cleared, and the bright sunshine broke though... but not with the sweltering heat and humidity that we are accustomed to here in July. It was a perfectly manageable 26 degrees (Celsius) on my patio.
The girlies and I raced down to the pool to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon.
Wee Three is becoming quite a proficient little swimmer, so long as she stays in the comfort-zone of her Mickey Mouse inflatable ring. She bobs happily around the shallow end (where she can touch the bottom on tippy-tippy-toes... if she stretches a bit), and actually gives her older sisters a run for their money, when they all engage in speed-races. More often than not, though, the older girls go splashing off to the deep end to practise their "mermaid" routine, leaving Wee Three with only me for company. And it is then that we play her favourite game, which we call "Swim-Up Restaurant".
I sit lazily in a deck chair by the edge of the pool, and my youngest child bobs up beside me.
"What-a you like to eat?" she demands, firmly but sweetly.
It is then that I am able to spend a few blissful moments, casting in my mind for a delectable imaginary meal that I would devour with great relish, if only someone else were willing to concoct it and serve it to me.
Once my order has been taken, my tiny, watery waitress scoots off, little legs kicking away, as she darts around the shallow end, pretending to gather ingredients, and mix things together. This goes on for several minutes, after which time she swims back to where I am seated, and pretends to present me with her culinary masterpiece.
I make ecstatic faces, and sufficient snorfling noises to indicate that I have enjoyed my "repast", and once the mandatory **burp** has been proffered, she eagerly inquires:
"NOW. What-a you like to DWINK?"
Which sets me off on a whole other fantasy. (I secretly fear that the extensive amount of vocabulary I have recently given my child in this area might one day set her off on a career in professional bartending... And me on a career as a professional drunk, for that matter. Hey, I am nothing if not supportive of my children...)
This afternoon, however, the restaurant-game took a slightly different turn.
Wee Three swam up beside me, and asked me what food my heart desired...
And all of a sudden, I had an intense craving for rich, creamy pasta. Not just ANY pasta, but tiny, fresh, hand-made dumplings... smothered in a delectable, pungent blue cheese sauce.
"Mmmmm..." I closed my eyes for a moment, and could almost SMELL the buttery-garlic-y aroma as I requested, "I'd really like a big bowlful of fresh gnocchi, in a lovely, silky, Gorgonzola sauce..."
She immediately splashed off to "prepare" my meal, and I enjoyed a solitary reverie, imagining exactly how the pasta would taste... what wine I'd like to drink with it... and, of course, the chocolate I would eat for dessert...
It seemed like only a moment before she was back at my feet once more, offering me an upturned Frisbee as a makeshift "plate", and shouting a hearty, "Here-a go!!"
I let my mind wander to the food once more, as the wet Frisbee dripped on my lap, and she began to swim away.
Suddenly, she stopped, and whirled around to face me:
"Mama! Just so-a know..." she said with an enormous grin:
"I put lotsa Gorgons in it!!"
Medusa (the Gorgon) by Arnold BöcklinEw.
Come to think of it, I'm not so hungry, after all.
Damned Greek Mythology...
2 comments:
It's okay, simply eat while looking in a mirror! But once again, your blog has made me hunger for something yummy and my fridge, alas, has Post Holiday Syndrome. Rats. Will have to drink more wine.
Wait! Cream cheese? Crackers? Haha!
LOL Kids and their imaginations.
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