Nursing Buddha

We went to a wedding. A grown-up wedding. A baby-free wedding. OH my! The bride wore red. I wish I had a picture of her dress. I’m not even a dress girl but this dress…wow.

Speaking of red, The Man’s tomatoes have come in with a vengeance. So our meals have a running theme.

Between weddings and wrestling maters, we roadtripped. Baby Buddha was really great. She looked like this most of the ride:

At the hotel, she met the love of her life…the floor level air conditioner. She spent most of her indoor time in front of it, wispy hair blowing 80s video style, beating her little arms on the top and squealing like a demented piglet.

On the trip, there was a never-ending farmers market with at least 15 places waving freshly sliced peaches in the air, hoping to be the one to lure a shopper in from their stroll down the middle aisle. And beyond peaches, oh the blueberries, the plums, the squash, the tomatoes, the melons. All the beautiful things from the ground and the summer.

On the trip, there was bbq and dumplings and pad thai and sea bass.

There was a baby in her first swimsuit, too ridiculous and over-the-top to be worn by anyone except a person not quite one year old or perhaps a little over 65…so perfect.

And we built upon her love of water by taking her beyond the kitchen sink and introducing her to the roadtrip pool. Splashing, howling, hooting, more splashing, laughter, a very wet hat, splashing.

And then it seemed nearly as soon as we got there, it was time to go. We said good-bye to the new places with its new things.

The ride home as quiet as the ride there.