He is My Child After All

Because we live in San Diego (you know what's next... I'm going to talk about the weather. That's always where, "Because we live in San Diego" is going...)

Because we live in San Diego, it's been in the seventies and sunny. In an attempt to look like I live in San Diego and not Fargo, I put on some shorts and laid a blanket in the back yard, carefully arranging lawn chairs and draping a blanket to provide shade for the baby, and we headed out to bask. I brought a cookbook, because I read them like novels.

And like novels, they fascinate me and distract me from the fact that my son is pulling up the grass by the roots and eating it.

As if our grass stood a chance without his help. I barely water anything.

Once I did look up from the page on Coeur a la Creme with Raspberries (I know you're about to google it, so let me save you the trouble... here and here)... so once I looked up and noticed my ruminating offspring, I grabbed a basil leaf from the garden for him to chew instead. The first one I picked had a spider on it and despite the fact that he's an experienced spider-eater, I threw it away and got him a clean one.

He loved it.

He may be blonde and have blue eyes, but he loves basil. He is my Italian son.

When we were in Bolivia, building an orphanage (which means, when we were in Bolivia, trying to keep up with the Bolivians who were building an orphanage), the construction workers chewed Coca leaves... as in Cocaine. It was addicting, but they did it because it kept them from feeling hungry, since they couldn't afford food for lunch.

That's kind of depressing now that I type it. But as we were leaving the airport, we peered into the giftshop, where a shirt read, "Coca es no droga" (Cocaine isn't a drug). As if that wasn't funny enough, the only person on duty in the Drug Control room was asleep when we passed.

I see, South America. It all makes sense now.

Basil. Coca leaves for babies.