A Year In Mill Valley

We had Sunday lunch at home today. Rachel made a summer Niçoise salad with tuna, green beans, tomatoes, lettuces from a neighbor’s garden, croutons and a light dressing.

Sebastian ate most of what we’d put in his bowl, but complained that the last couple of beans were too spicy for him. “They’re not spicy”, I said. “They are for me”, he grumped. “Probably the garlic” Rachel said, and took the beans to the sink, washed the dressing off, put them back in the bowl and said “no muffin until you finish those”. With a look quite like disgust, but more likely recognition of failure, he popped the beans in his mouth.

Then I said, “ok, let’s have that last piece of lettuce and you’re all done. Why don’t you wash it down with your milk?” “I don’t have any milk” he said with a self-satisfied grin. “Oh don’t be so officious” I sallied. “I’m not a fish!” he complained.

Rachel and I looked at each other and couldn’t help but roar with laughter.