I would like to say, "hear! hear!" to Mother's fine show of Brazilian food. Next, I suggest we have Dad provide a meal native to his mission. Unless that means macaroni noodles with butter and garlic salt, because, well, that meal sucks. Maybe we should just skip Dad all together and move on to Zach.

In food-related news, if you're looking for a good lemon bar recipe, I suggest you turn to that yellow Mormon cookbook with the beehive on the front. It's good, people.

And in case anyone was wondering, Caleb's drive home went like this:
Stage 1: The car seat! I HATE the car seat! Waaaaaahhhhh!
Stage 2 (after sweet Mama provides various toys): A-bah. A-bah. A-bah. A-tah. Bla bla bla bla!
Stage 3 (clunking self on tender head with massage ball thing weighing approximately 15 pounds): WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! I HATE ALL OF YOU!!!
Stage 4 (comprising Redwood Road on 90th to Lindon): Mmmmm, biter biscuit. Mmmmm, smearing biter biscuit on Mama. Mmmmmm, smearing biter biscuit all over my face and hands and hair.
Once home, he fell promptly asleep.

The end to another lovely Sabbath.