While life at Smith Park West was as mundane and boring as can be, a mile west of here, a beautiful first experience was happening. My little girl was having her very first picnic with her daddy. They walked to the park near their house, settled on a blanket, ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and explored the crunchy pokiness of dry grass. He sent us the prettiest pictures, and I absolutely died of jealousy for not being there.
I'm sure there is nothing I can add that would top that. We had a slow day here, capped by a movie and dinner next door. T cooked for us and outdid anything he has ever done (a spectacular pork loin braised with apples and onions, roasted potatoes and Brussels sprouts on the side). We watched The Two Towers, the second of the Lord of the Rings, and snuggled with the wrong dog (little Hops instead of my giant floofy puppy). As pleasant as that was, it wasn't First-Picnic-Ever good.
Here, look at that baby in the park. Can life get any better than that?
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