The Secret is Half and Half

Our Cedar City neighbors are ridiculous. Ridiculously friendly, ridiculously kind, with ridiculously meticulous yards. I'm telling you, this city is so -gosh darn darn- nice.

Our chipper neighbor gave us some ridiculously big carrots. Over the fence, no less!

And because he has been quite the neighbor Caroline and I decided to make carrot soup for him and his wife.

Displaying IMG_5789.JPG
That's not even the biggest one!

It was so cute and of course I felt like Mother of the Friggin' Decade. (I shouldn't say friggin' since in Cedar it is the "F word," as asserted by my six-year-old).

It was a shining parenthood moment. I have them sometimes, even though my M.O. is generally "look at me! I'm a slob and crappy at life! Like me because I'm super relatable!"

She washed carrots, she peeled. She even chopped them with close supervision (because, you know, M of the F D). She loves carrots. Loves them. Asks for them all the time.

But she would not eat the soup. Even though it had half-and-half in it. Is it possible to dislike anything with half-and-half in it?

As I was saying. Neighbors.