To make milk weed pizza:
1. Pick some milk weed pods, before they have bloomed. Milk weed looks like this and is often found by the side of the road. It’s already long gone in California by now, in Vermont ish type places, it is just blooming, so you want to make your milk week pizza sometime in June, probably.
Make your favorite pizza crust, press it out as thin as you can on a baking sheet greased with olive oil, and throw your milk weed on it. Might want to add some salt and pepper, some more olive oil on top, and you can throw some garlic scapes on there if you want to get fancy.
Throw it in the oven at 450 for a few minutes, until your milk weed starts to get brown and it looks like the crust is getting cooked. Add some chopped up mozzarella (the fresh kind that comes in a ball) and cook for a few more minutes.
I have no natural segue for this, but I think it is an important story to tell, because it’s pretty awesome.
So my mom, because she is rrrrreally into being from Vermont, gets her milk straight from the cow. Well, I mean, she doesn’t milk the cow. The farmer milks the cows, puts the milk in a tank, and then my mom goes the farm and gets it from the tank. The cows are right there though, and so Eli went with her to fetch the milk every few days because boy + farm = true love, is how these things generally go. A whole bunch of the cows just had babies so the calves are tied up in the barn, and if you are in Vermont and you are four and you are in the presence of a bunch of baby calves, you go up to the them and you stick out your hands and they lick your fingers. It’s just what you do. I think it’s in the Vermont state constitution, probably.
The first time this happened, this summer, we were all standing around, me, the farmer, my mom, watching Eli get licked right up by a cow, and then, without batting an eye, Eli turned right around and licked that cow back, right on the top of his little cow head. And that’s how things went down after that, every time at the farm, Eli getting licked by baby calves, and then licking them back.
I am sure that Neil the Farmer has seen his fair share of little boys get licked by cows. However, I think it is safe to say, judging by his expression, that he has not seen too many cows get licked by little boys.
(When asked how the baby tasted, Eli replied, simply: “Cowey.”)
While we were in Vermont, I cut Shorty off from HER milk supply, and since she was also in a general state of displeasure regarding her teeth, air travel, car travel, and United Airlines, it didn’t do much to improve her mood. At first I tried a gradual taper, but eventually I was just done and I cut the girl off. Neither Mr. E nor Katherine was entirely pleased with this arrangement, but hey, they’re MY boobs, so we soldiered on, and I mostly just handed her to Mr. E as she writhed frantically toward my chest, and let him deal with it. It took about a week and a half but she seems to have forgotten all about nursing and is as easily charmed by the bottle as she once was with nursing.
I did experience a brief moment of weepy eyed nostalgia, when I fretted over whether I would still be her favorite when I wasn’t the magical boob lady, and how I would NEVER NURSE THIS BABY AGAIN WEEPING WEEPING WEEPING and how she was still so tiny and blah blah blah and maybe we should hold a “no more nursies” graduation party and release white balloons and burn prayer poems in a copper drum but then I nursed her one! last! time! because things were getting out of control down there and I didn’t have my pump in Vermont, and then I remembered why I was over that business, for certain, because Miss Katherine has some big old front teeth and unlike Eli, that SHIT HURTS. So, no. We are done. No more.
And then I continued to wear nursing bras for at least a week because I totally and completely forgot that I didn’t have to anymore, until this morning when I realized! Ha! I can throw this terrible ass thing with the clips in the trash! And then I sat down and ordered some more bras and I amFREE! FREE AT LAST! I can wear a dress, even! Woo hoo!
P.S. I buy my bras from Walmart, even though I hate hate hate haaaaaaaaaaaate Walmart, but seriously, I spent TWENTY TWO years dealing with itchy, ill fitting, overpriced, poorly made, unflattering and uncomfortable bras and then I found the $8 Walmart bras and they CHANGED MY LIFE. So I have placed my lady bazzers above my moral values on the scale of things I care about in life and I buy my bras from Walmart. Judge not, lest ye be judged.
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