Fruit and Fluff

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What is it with kids and rashes? Ouest is covered in hives again. This time it seems like an allergic reaction to something. So we’re eliminating the obvious problems one by one but if it is the dog or grass there isn’t going to be much we can do about it. At least they don’t itch.

We went to the Hollywood Farmer’s Market the other day to load up on fruit. It’s about all the kids will eat these days. Seriously, neither of them will touch meat all of the sudden. We have yet to find a vegetable that anybody loves, and even the go-to pasta seems to have hit the skids. Throw a piece of fruit in front of them though and they’re like hungry wolves.

At the Market I went to a tamale stand and couldn’t resist, or simply couldn’t help, speaking Spanish. The Mexican/American couple working the stand wouldn’t reply a word in Spanish though. I always wonder if I’m stepping on toes when I do that. Is it rude? I wouldn’t think so, I don’t get offended when somebody speaks English to me in Mexico, but what do I know? What I do know is that the tamales were made for an American market. Huge, Chipotle burrito sized tamales. Tamales are probably Ouest’s favorite food yet it came as no big surprise when she wouldn’t eat it. She did come around later that night when I offered it to her an hour after dinner.

Hollywood Farmers MarketHollywood Farmers MarketHollywood Farmers MarketHollywood Farmers MarketLTentWashing UpWinston

Ali was bent-over-laughing at me when I had to carry my mom’s dog home from a walk to the store the other day. I can’t understand how men could ever allow themselves to have a dog like this in their home. Nothing feels quite so ridiculous as walking down the street with something white and fluffy. Add the name Winston into the mix, as my mom has, and it’s a recipe for embarrassing. Winston is twelve and basically just stopped walking while we were on our way home. Oops, Winston is twelve and a half. My mom corrected me. Apparently he has the same maturity as a child who is four and a half.

LLShelling Peas

The whole family shelling peas on the couch. Why we couldn’t sit at the kitchen table I don’t know. We thought this would be the least hygienic way apparently. Anyone want to come over for dinner?

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