What would George eat?

If you're wondering what runs through Luke's mind as he is going to bed at night (and I know you were), here's a little insight: Last night as I was tucking him in he told me that he told his friend Lucy that he would marry her someday.

Luke: "...And then Lucy told me that Eve is her best friend. But she can't marry Eve, because Eve is a girl. And a girl can't marry a girl. You have to be a man and a lady marrying each other. That's the law, right? Who made that law, George Washington?"
Me: "Uhhhh...."
[thoughtful pause]
Luke: "Mom, what does bald eagle taste like?"

We are currently lizard-sitting for our friends' bearded dragon named Lizzie. Lizzie is odd, prickly, cold, and somewhat smelly. And you have to feed her live mealworms. And she naturally carries salmonella, so after you touch her you have to scrub your hands with warm soapy water. In other words, not my ideal pet.

The boys were thrilled to bring her home last night, and Zach couldn't wait to touch her this morning, but now that the initial spark of interest has faded, it's basically my pet for the rest of the week. I guess it's OK, but in theory I don't love the idea of any pets in cages. I always feel bad for them, like they really would rather be out there in the world than stared at through glass by the rest of us. And every time Lizzie looks at me with her beady little eyes, I think she's plotting her escape out the top of the case, over the counter, onto the floor, -smoosh- under the door, and then off into the great sandy mealworm-y beyond.

We're also feeling a little sad in the void left behind when globe-trotting Grandma and Papa left for their glamorous train trip up the Pacific coastline. Fortunately, we had a long list of things on our to-do list, so Dave spent the day in the garage with Luke building a light saber and the "JB K-9 Walker" (an impressive machine for which Luke had spent days drawing up the plans); while Zach and I did some planting in the garden.

Zach seems to have moved one or two maturity levels up from last year. Example: Last year during our t-ball games, I spent the whole time chasing him around and holding him back from running out on the field. This year, he seems content to sit with me for the games and/or play with toys or explore. Oh, and we watch and commiserate with one of the other moms on the team, who spends the game chasing after her two-year-old boy.

Happily, this maturity extends to our work in the garden, where Zach has become super-serious and task-oriented about planting the seeds and watering the dirt. (I think back to last year, when he might have flung the seeds and watered himself or his brother.) After we put the seeds in the holes, he took extra-special care to pat the dirt gently on top of them ("putting the seeds to bed") and stood the markers exactly where we put the seeds (parsley, dill, carrots, zucchini, cucumbers, and melon, in case you're wondering).

Our compost pile is abuzz with decomposing-type activity, and even though it's smelly and covered with fruit flies, it's kind of fun to look down into it. It's kind of like going down memory lane and reviewing all of your past meals. Pretty soon we'll spread all of that richness over our garden. I've also sprouted an avocado pit in the kitchen and am hoping to grow a giant avocado tree as well. We are gearing up for an incredible home-grown feast at some point in the future, with fresh fruits and vegetables galore. But no bald eagle. Or mealworms, thank goodness.