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Today we went on a spontaneous day trip with Paul and MacKenzie to Mt. Airy—the home of Andy Griffith, a.k.a. Mayberry, about 40 minutes north of here. I'd never been before, and frankly I was surprised and disappointed there were no life-size wax figures of Andy placed in various locations around town. That was a major opportunity missed, Mt. Airy. Also, I thought Ron Howard would be hanging around the candy store, or getting a Snappy Lunch, but no.
We did, however, purchase a piece of pie heaven at Heavenly Pies, where we bought an assortment from Miss Angel herself. As Barney Fife would have said, They were legit, yo.
A local sporting goods store advertised a going out of business sale, so we moseyed in for a gander (I'd started moseying and gandering from the moment I stepped out of the car).
Since becoming a mother I'm even more sensitive than I was before, so I felt very sad for whoever's children it was who opened the sporting goods store and was now having to close it. My sadness didn't prevent me from purchasing a pair of Keen hiking boots for TWENTY TWO DOLLARS. Also two hardcore snow sled discs (in orange and green) for $4 each. We've lived in this house with a giant hill in the backyard and this is the year we're doing something with it, dadgummit. The snow will never again catch us unprepared.
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Afterward we had dinner and our Heavenly Pies at Paul and MacKenzie's. Their daughter Lily and Ethan have been forging a strong friendship lately (thanks to a couple lunches and an afternoon play date), and tonight he was the knight and she was the princess.
When Lily resisted pausing their games for dinner, he held her hand and led her to the table, and on the way SHE. KISSED. HIS. CHEEK. He rubbed his cheek with a sheepish look on his face.
"Haha!" I chuckled. "That was an I-kind-of-liked-it-but-I-kinda-didn't cheek rub."
"Eh, I liked it," Ethan said nonchalantly.
"OH REALLY," one or more of the parents said, I can't remember, I was dizzy at that point.
"I'm going to marry her," he stated.
"I thought you were going to marry me!" I said a little too loudly.
"Well, things change," my five-year-old son replied. I think the rest of the evening went well, I'm not sure, I was unconscious for most of it after that.
|At a recent play date with That Redhead.|
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Oliver is seven months old and sitting up and trying to self-feed every bit of "human food" (as Ethan calls it) he can get his hands on, which is all sorts of human food, because he's become Mr. Grabby McGrabberhands lately. He sits up on his own, scoots occasionally, is trying to figure out crawling, rolls himself over like it ain't no thing, and takes baths sitting in the big tub.
In that last photo, he's grinning because I don't yet know he's sitting in a blowout diaper with poo up his back. That'll teach me to put him in hipster onesies!
He is still pretending like he doesn't know how to sleep all night, and I'm like, dude. I KNOW you can. But I'm also sort of like, Your brother is moving on so if you need to snuggle me every 12 minutes or so, I'm okay with that.