Ok, I’ve recovered from the grocery store meltdown. Sort of. I can still see that sweet girl’s face, can still feel my insides roil as the memory of that woman and her Klondikes flits in and out of my head, but I have my girls and they need my attention and participation.

Friday we received a large package from Diamond Organics courtesy of Grandma. We feasted on organic strawberries that couldn’t have tasted fresher if they’d come from our own garden on a lazy summer night. We paired them with organic sharp cheddar cheese and whole grain crackers. We peeled pears and giggled at mini-bananas. The girls watched as I peeled a kiwi and cut it in slices. Briar wanted nothing to do with it, but Avery was game.

After the great kiwi test, the girls looked at me expectantly, “What is that one, mommy?”

“I have no idea,” I answered honestly.

“Are we going to eat it?” Briar asked.

“Do you want to?” I replied.

After eyeing it suspiciously she gave ma a rather emphatic, “No!” as her answer.

Avery and I looked at it, she seemed content to continue gnoshing on the kiwi. “Wanna know something?” I asked Briar.

“What, mama?” she asked, her eyes dancing.

“I don’t want to either.”

“Hey, what’re you guys doing?” Sean asked as he walked into the kitchen all scruffy and rumpled from a nap.

“Here. Try this,” and I thrust the artichokey-rotten-mangoey looking “fruit”* at him.

*It was a cherimoya. Generally I find Mark Twain to have been an incredibly witty individual with impeccable taste. If wikipedia is correct in saying that he called the cherimoya “the most delicious fruit known to men,” then I have to wonder about him. I am all for healthy food and trying new things, but the cherimoya and its “custard-like consistency” is officially going to the place where I hold mangos, papayas, blueberries, bread pudding and assorted other food items that seem to come in a pre-masticated consistency.