So, to celebrate the holiday of loooove, we went to a little bistro in Bay Ridge called Provence en Boite (which is French for "Provence in Mookville"). It appears to be a family-run joint (an apple-cheeked lad of no more than 13 served as host-boy) and the owners are very charming and flirtatious. The food was tasty, too: cauliflower soup, sea scallops au gratin, tiny little lamb shanks, and for dessert an amazing mousse whose ingredients we couldn't quite suss out. There was some chocolate and raspberry in there, that we know for sure. (Hey, I don't have a discerning palate like some dames I know.) We washed it all down with a light and young-tasting '98 Beaujolais. The French: they know what it is to taste but not gorge!
Monkey gave me a swell pair of black jeans and I gave him a checked button-down shirt that makes him, with his latest very short haircut, resemble a driver's ed instructor circa 1964.
When I opened my mouth at the beginning of my class this morning, these words fell out: "Take in the fact that we've all been given another day. Here we are, alive on the planet for one more day." And I found myself getting choked up about this. Another day! That is so gigantic. I felt a lot of weight lift off my shoulders after saying that.
Shopped for the many impending babies on my list today at Terra Verde, a wondrous store in Soho specializing in organic home furnishings. They have great nursery items...Monkey accompanied me on his lunch break, and watching him pick out baby clothes made my heart melt...
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