Statues in jeans

Today we made it out to Market Days on Broadway for the first time since Owen’s birth. Bought some organic arugula from a local farmer, a pack of purple coneflower seeds from the master gardeners and this scrumptious loaf of organic honey wheat bread (made with local honey) from the new Downtown Baking Co. We meandered down to the river walk, gawked at the low water level and the vast expanses of exposed river bed, and talked about why we don’t waste water at home with Will (who has discovered the joys of turning the kitchen sink tap on and off but at least has outgrown his days of trying to flush the toilet multiple times).

Then we parked ourselves on a bench, opened up a jar of peanut butter as a topping for the bread and called it lunch. (Owen called it stroller naptime.)
On the way back to the car, Rob suggested that we stop and talk to this girl, in her '80s era tank-top-and-baggy-sweater garb.

“She might not talk to us dad,” Will explained, “because she’s a statue.”