Grandma H., Wesley and I went to the North Market today. For those of you who don't live around here, the North Market is part speciality food place, part gourmet market, part farmer's market. OSB and one of Wesley's rabbits went with us. He spent a lot of time saying "Hop, hop, hop. Grrr. Grr. Grrr." Very cute.
Wesley wanted pizza for lunch, but the line was SOOOOOOO long. I got him to agree to a hot dog and some potato chips instead - which totally surprised me since I don't think he's had a hot dog since last summer! Of course, what Wesley ate wasn't just a hot dog. It was 100% beef, grilled and nine kinds of delicious. Calling it a mere hot dog is like calling the Titanic just a boat. Wesley ate almost all of it. I don't blame him. I would have gobbled the whole thing up too!
After we ate, we wandered around the market. Wesley spent a whole lot of time in front of the display for Mozart's Bakery. At first he was taken in by all the yummy looking cakes, pastries and other treats, but then he noticed the signs in front of each item and began reading off the numbers. Don't get me wrong, there was plenty of drool on the display when we were through (he did actually lick it a few times), but he didn't ask for anything. Good thing too! The clerk was a former student of Grandma H.'s and when she discovered Wesley's was related to her former teacher, the boy got a free cookie!
We got some Jeni's ice cream (a food orgasm for sure!) and went outside to eat it at the picnic tables. Wesley didn't really care for the pistachio and honey, and I didn't want him to try the butterscotch with cocoa nibs, but he put a beat down on the Savannah buttermint. The ice cream came with a couple of wafer cookies which Grandma and I fed to the birds. Wesley loved watching the birds come up to us for their bites of cookie and he got very upset when Grandma dared to take a bite for herself!
We wandered over to Yankee Trader so I could get come pirate gear for work. Wesley managed to talk Grandma into getting him a tambourine and an airplane. When we got home Wesley shook the tambourine, Grandma played the drum and I had to wave the shovel. I know, I know. That sounds really strange, but Wesley likes to march around using the shovel like a drum major's baton. I guess it was my turn to be majorette. Guess I better dig those old pictures of Grandma out and let Wesley know who actually has some experience in those things.
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