Today, after a week of single-parenting while Andy is in England, I took Martha to Kelsey Creek Farm in Bellevue. There are sheep, pigs, cows, horses—all of the animals from her books, alive in the flesh. What a fantastic final hurrah to our week of mother-daughter bonding!
Martha sat in the gravel pathway and ate rocks.
A few minutes later, she found a set of steps near the sensory garden and climbed up and down them four times.
One of the horses did manage to hold her attention for a bit. She reached out and offered him a rock. I grabbed her hand away from the beast's giant teeth and she cried.
I have decided to gradually start blogging again, while making no promises and keeping expectations low. I probably shouldn't have even written that sentence.
Over the past month I've fallen back in, and then back out, of love with blue cheese. Throughout July it blanketed my salads, filled my MorningStar Farms® Chik'n Nugget pitas and even replaced cream cheese on my bagels.
Andy and I went out to dinner last weekend and I ordered a cobb salad.
"Instead of the bacon and chicken, can I just get extra blue cheese?" I asked, knowing the answer would be yes, for this is America after all.
Andy, who enjoys foods in moderation, looked at me in disgust.
But sadly, my Stilton love affair is over. I made the mistake of buying Trader Joe's blue cheese and after a few helpings, something switched. The tanginess was too tangy. The closer to the rind, the more disgusting. Even writing this now, I'm on the verge of throwing up.
Worst thing is, I smell blue cheese everywhere I go. I've been washing my hands all afternoon and still can't scour the stench off my fingers. I'm the Lady Macbeth of poor dairy choices, haunted and sick to my stomach.