Our first quiche.

It is March here, but it sure feels like summer (at least the summer we knew in Kentucky). The sun is bright. The wind breezy. 80 degrees. The outside begs for company, and the park beckons small children from all over Tucson to gather together. Yesterday Turner and I fed the ducks and played chase at the park where we had his birthday party last year.
Today we went to the "big" park so he could ride his bike and rush his car down the slides. There, he met a little boy named Ha'ini (as best I could understand) whose dad was sleeping in his truck (seriously). I think he was Somoan, and he had a speech impediment. He talked very little at first, but quickly he warmed to Turner and they played all kinds of pretend. Ha'Ini said he was four when I guessed. I'm not sure if either one of us was certain that was correct. When we left, Turner wanted to give him his sunglasses (but the little boy said he had a Diego pair at home so he didn't need two pairs). This is when I notice the child has a large scar down the side of his face. It makes me wonder if his hearing is damaged and that is why he speaks in the way he does. Turner and I spent 40 minutes playing with this little boy, and his father woke up only as we were leaving. The sun was going down already.
Turner and run/ride back to the car and head home to make an egg pie. I've never made a quiche before, and I'm not really sure why I chose now to make it. I don't really eat quiche, but it sounded good. Turner and I get eggs all over the place. I fry him some "Grandmother Bacon" (that 's what I call it because it is bacon that GM told us about). We dump eggs into the pie crust. I get eggs all over the oven (recipe called for 3 eggs. I thought 4 was better. Now I understand - there is not enough room in the crust for 4). Turner says, after I have shown frustration, spilled more, and have started mopping eggs up, "Mom! Be careful. There are eggs falling outta that pie." He was engaged in lining pretzel sticks across the counter.
We do a bath. I realize I have no soap left. Turner looks at the little nubbin and says, "Mom. I will use that little baby soap all up" he throws his hands into the air "it will take that to put soap all over my body" he pauses "well, I guess I'll just have to play instead." We find hand soap and it suds just fine.
We sit down to dinner. Quiche, broccoli, spinach fry, raisin toast, and GM's bacon. Turner eats all of the bacon (5 slices) first. Then three stalks of broccoli. Half the raisin toast. I ask him to try the quiche. He does. It is still too warm and not yet solid enough. Cooked but not set. He sticks his tongue to his plate and relieves himself of the egg pie. "Yuhhck. That tastes like um milk." "Yeah. It is creamy." Then I tell him the ingredients and remind him of our process of making it. He eats more toast and some green things. I ask him to try one more bite of the quiche once it is set. He does. Again, he does not like it. "Mom" he shakes his head "I just am not going to like that tonight. It does not taste like eggs or cream or anything that tasteses good."