Sometimes you see strange things when you travel.

I am truly at a loss for words.

Anybody remember this picture?

Happy day.

I’m a little behind schedule with the reminding you all, but Theo turned five years old two weeks ago.

I also didn’t get a picture of the birthday pie.  (It was the same one as last year‘s.)

Happy, happy birthday, big guy!

You’ve made the last five years . . . uh . . . well, they wouldn’t have been the same without you!

[As I'm pulling out of the driveway] “Okay, Theo, did I remember to buckle Amos in?”
“Yup!”
“Okay, you get buckled, too, now.”
“WAIT!! MOMMY!!  STOP!!”
“What?!”
“I forgot to put on my SHOES!!!!!!”
“Oh!  Okay.  Well, run inside and get them.”
“OKAY! THANKS!”
[a little while later]
“Mommy, thanks for stopping and letting me get my shoes.”
“Of course, sweetie.”
“I’m sorry about forgetting them.”
“Oh, hon, that’s okay.  I’m just glad you noticed it before we got downtown.  It would have been seriously annoying to get all the way there and then not be able to stay because you’d forgotten your shoes.”
“Oh.  Yeah.”
“So I’m glad you noticed, and I’m glad we won’t miss out on the bookstore.”
“That happens sometimes.”
“What?”
“People.  They forget their shoes.” [negligent wave of hand] “It just . . . happens.  Sometimes.  It does.”
“Oh.  Uh, yes.”
“I guess it’s just something people do.”
“Um . . . yes.”

Yes.  I know it’s Monday.  Shut up.

(Theo: “Mommy, you said a bad WORD!!!”)

:insert forced smile and annoyingly perky voice:

Morning, everybody!

(Is that better, Theo?)

Stephen asked me to make some homemade ice cream for a big meeting he’s having tomorrow.

(Actually, he told me he was going to go to Cold Stone and buy ice cream for fifteen people.  This gave me heart palpitations and so he soothingly urged me to make homemade ice cream instead.  I’m fairly certain this was a nefarious plot and I fell for it.)

I’ve made two batches so far and am so impressed with the results that I thought I’d share the recipes with you.

For the chocolate ice cream, I was using Scharffen Berger chocolate, so I decided to use their recipe as well:
Dark Chocolate Ice Cream

I don’t like to brag or anything, but I would be willing to pit this against any flavor of Talenti, any day of the week.

And that’s saying something.

So then I decided to make Salted Caramel ice cream, since, well, you know, it had salt caramel in the name.

Salted Caramel Ice Cream

This was a huge mistake.

Pairing it with the chocolate ice cream above would probably be an even huger mistake, wouldn’t it?

If I do that, they might be getting Cold Stone after all.  Definitely shouldn’t do that.

And then I have one more round to go before the meeting.  I think I’m going to try this:

Toasted Marshmallow Ice Cream

Because . . . well, because.  Isn’t that reason enough?

I’ll promise to let you know how it turns out, unless I go into a sudden diabetic coma from eating six quarts of ice cream in a single evening.

Little turtle:

Big turtle(s):

Yes, it really was that big.

---

The zoo has a Lorikeet Room where they give you little cups of nectar to feed the lorikeets.

Theo loved feeding the lorikeets.

(After an initial hesitation, anyway.)

He got over his initial hesitation and . . .

(Anybody see where this is heading?)

“OUCH!!!  Mommy, it BIT me!!”
“Darling, you did put your finger in its mouth.”
“Here.  Daddy can have the rest of this stupid bird feeding nectar thing.”

“Dude, how dumb do I look?  You’re not the first four-year-old to come to the Lorikeet Room.”

Little Rock Zoo, Giraffe Enclosure, October 2008.

Little Rock Zoo, Giraffe Enclosure, June 2012.

Plus ça change . . .

I had had my doubts up until today.

But there are actual hummingbirds in Pennsylvania.

I had a feeder up all last summer.  Nothing.  Not a single visit.

So I bought a new feeder.  And three days later:

It has perches.  I’ve never seen a humminbird perch eating, or eat perching.

Now I need to get a couple more feeders. 

The Setting: Wegman’s, Monday morning.
Cast of Characters: Long-suffering and slightly distracted Mom, Sarah; Big Brother, Theo, in shopping cart, Little Brother, Amos, in backpack.

So, as I’m pushing Theo and carrying Amos through the grocery store, everyone–everyone–coos over Amos.  He is the epitome of cute babyhood, even if I say so myself.  He kicks, he smiles, he laughs, he blinks his big blue eyes, and the world sighs happily.

Theo rarely misses the opportunity to share the spotlight.  This usually involves tickling his brother to make him laugh, yanking on one or both of us, making baby noises, offering disinterested commentary (“He’s a happy baby, isn’t he?”), or causing the sort of injury and squalling that makes us all the center of attention.  (It is his favorite place to be, after all.)

This morning, in particular, Amos and Theo were En Forme.  Amos kicked and played in the backpack, receiving the adulation of some twenty shoppers, stockers, and sweepers, while Theo played the role of Doting Big Brother to perfection.

Then we went to the dairy aisle, where the young man stocking the shredded cheese had other things on his mind than cooing over adorable babies.

I passed him, and he politely moved out of the way.

I paused, a few feet beyond, to get some yogurt.

Theo popped his head around me and said, with a convincing note of authority and expectation, “Amos is a cute baby, isn’t he?”  :dramatically-raised eyebrows:

The young gentleman laughed, answered in the affirmative, and cast about for something else to say.  (He was clearly at a loss how to meet Theo’s expectations.)  “You . . . uh . . . you must like him a lot!”

Theo then permitted me to move on.  He did ask, a few feet later, in a stage whisper, “Is there something wrong with that man, Mommy?  He didn’t say very much about Amos.”

I tried to explain that some people just don’t say a lot, in general, but that was not a concept that Theo could quite grasp.

Sarah: 0
Bird Feeder Mounting Pole: 0
Mountain: 1