On Saturday, we went to the Roland Park Presbyterian Church's Strawberry Festival–a kinder, gentler kind of church fair (at least in comparison to the three-ring circus that was the St Pius X Carnival we worked the bookroom for), with pony rides, a moon bounce, old fashioned lemon sticks and strawberries six ways to Sunday. Zoë had her first (and second) pony ride ever, and she was all grins; then she dominated the moon bounce for a while as Paula perused the used books.
Finding the works of Franz Kafka at a church fair is, well, surreal. It reminded me how much of my recent life has resembled Metamorphisis (figuratively, of course–I didn't awake to find I had become a giant cockroach).
Sunday, I made my patented french toast and bacon breakfast for mother and daughter (the boys still being at their mom's/my ex's for the day). We went to Fells Point, rode the water taxi, did the carousel next to the Science Center, contemplated touring a Spanish tall ship (not mom not daughter's style, I determined–more of a boy thing), and jaunted back to Fells Point for pizza at BOP.
Then it was home again, to cook dinner on the grill–the neighbors (Anna and Allison) came over, the boys returned (Jonah gave Paula a Mother's Day card he had made, which nearly knocked her off her feet–“from your son Jonah”), and I grilled salmon, chicken, eggplant, mushrooms, zucchini, squash, and onions on the Weber (followed by a flight of toasted marshmallows for the Z).