Dessert

Some friends of ours went to Mark's recently and posted about dessert on their blog. I wasn't the one who made the dessert or who came out to visit them while they were there or who sent them a plate of chocolates because it was her birthday, but I still felt so flattered, as if I had been featured on their blog. When, really, it was Sam who was featured. Or, more precisely, Sam's dessert was featured. It made me realize that it's been a while since I've posted about any of Sam's creations. Here are a few things he's come up with for the restaurant recently:

Because really, if you're going to have dessert, HAVE DESSERT. And while you're at it, have some shell molded artisan chocolates, too. Or order a cake!

I'm pretty sure I'm going to get no better than the bronze this year in the Wife of the Year competition because I can't tell you exactly what all is in those delicious looking desserts, but I can assure you they are great. Sam brought me two mini german chocolate cake bite things last night and I wished he'd brought home a hundred more.

Daddy, Daddy!

Just about every day, Cate spends some time walking around the house finding pictures of Sam and saying, "Daddy! Daddy!" She doesn't even seem to recognize me in any of our family pictures, but then again, I was thinner before she got here. I blame my face fat, not her little brain, for her not being able to recognize me in, say, wedding photos. Some day she'll thank me for bringing her (AND a brother) into this world in less than two years and that will make up for it, I'm sure.

One of the cutest places Cate finds pictures of Daddy is in our wedding album. She honestly spends a few minutes each day, several times a day, flipping through the pages and finding Daddy. Here she required a little prompting, but typically she just goes from one page to the next, "Daddy!" "Daddy!" until she gets tired of it:

Oh, Boy!

Cate has a special friend here in Houston named Booker. He comes over on Tuesday afternoons and she goes there on Thursday afternoons and boy oh boy do they have a fun time together.

I've made the mistake of telling Cate too early in the day on a Tuesday that Booker is coming over and she dashes for the front door to wait for him. (I figured out that you can't really explain "he's not here now, but he's coming later" very effectively to a 17-month-old, so now I just wait till he's here to tell her.)

Today when I told her we were going to Booker's she ran into the playroom, grabbed her purse and her sunglasses, and was standing by the back door before I could find my flip-flops. When we pulled up to his house, she started clapping. Seriously. And you can see why, right:

Booker's mom took these photos of our cherubs, and I'm in love.

The thing about being 17 months old is that as much as you love blueberries, you really can't eat them very effectively with your clothes on. So these guys often enjoy a fruity snack together in their unmentionables.

And then relax for a little bit.

And now, at the risk of breaking your heart, dear reader, and me ruining my keyboard with tears ... Booker and his family are moving. Out of state. In just a few weeks.

I don't know whether to be happy or sad that there's no real way to explain that to Cate. 

Back to Cate

My brief foray into politics tempted me to post about the Trayvon Martin case, Paul Ryan's budget, and why I don't care that Ann Romney is in to dressage for a hobby, but I am going to resist and stick with a topic I'm more confident my entire readership (how many of you are there, anyway?) is more into: My Cate. Grandma sent her some new duds and requested a photo. So, here she is in her new frog outfit:

And here she is a few days ago making herself comfy in her toy box:

And on a Daddy-Daughter date to the park one morning before Sam went to work:

Possibly on the same day as the toy box photos, but maybe not.
(I really love that dress she's got on, so while it fits I've got her
wearing it as frequently as possible.)

Something a Little Different

As you know, this is not a blog about politics. In fact, except for that one time when I questioned the proceeds of our pumpkin purchases going to support the Methodist youth group trip to Cuba (Cuba!) I've made it a rule to keep this blog out of the political mire. But, well, rules are made for exceptions, right?

I am not a "Birther." Generally, I find the whole Birther thing to be a little wacky.

But it's weird that Obama's literary agent's bio said he was born in Kenya from 1991 until sometime in April 2007, right? And that an actual human being went into the literary agent's website between April 3, 2007 and April 21, 2007 and changed "Kenya" to "Hawaii" without making any other changes? That's weird, right? http://www.breitbart.com/Big-Government/2012/05/17/Obama-pamphlet-in-use-2007

And it's weird that some people think it doesn't matter if he was born in Kenya because, actually, it does matter, right?  Believe me, I've got bigger problems with Obama than where he was born, but um, rules are rules. Usually.

Cate's still cute.

That's all.

Beach Time!

We went to the beach last week, and I actually managed to take some photos. Going to the beach sounds so dreamy, but yowzers it was a lot of work. I found myself repeating in my mind, "We are having fun! This is a good time!" but I'll tell you, the combination of my 8-month-pregnant belly and my fearless 16-month-old made for two of the most exhausting hours I've had in a while. Not complaining, just saying ...

And speaking of not complaining, you will never hear me complain about the beach at Galveston. Yes, it's got lots of seaweed. Yes, it's not white sand. Yes, there is a sort of awkward man-made cement wall just a few dozen yards from the surf. Yes, the parking is not awesome. But you know what? It's a beach. It's closer than the beach has been for the last decade of my life, and I'm grateful for it. (Incidentally, I never miss the Utah mountains that were my home for 10 years, ever, but I have been missing the ocean since I moved away from California at 17.)

And so, here's my official endorsement for Galveston: There's water, there's sand, and there are bikes for rent. There are ice cream cones to purchase and crazy leather-faced people sunning themselves. There's a roller coaster on a boardwalk, and plenty of funny smelling, sand covered shops selling too-thin beach towels and inflatable toys. OH! and a few blocks from the beach there's a street with a dozen or so shops selling Hawaiian print stuff, which some people would find annoying but which I find sort of charming in its naivete, inasmuch as Galveston is decidedly not Maui, or Maui-like in any way.

Galveston, my friends, is less than an hour from home and good enough for me.

Horsing Around

Sam had to work this afternoon (bleh) and I had no idea what Cate and I were going to do for the afternoon once we got home from church. Thankfully, a friend saved the day when she called to suggest we go visit a family from church who hasn't been there in a while. C and I were game! Off we went ... and not only did we get to meet a great family, but that family just happened to have two horses in their backyard. So Cate's afternoon went from being woefully under-entertained by my best dramatic reading of The Little Engine that Could to sitting on a horse for the first time, being pulled in a wagon, and going in a swing at a new friend's house. What a lucky girl.