Tomatoes.

The summer routine we have fallen into has been Marty going out to work in the garden between 6 and 6:30 while I man the house waiting for our sleeping beauties to stir (or sleep another half hour or so myself--no complaints here!). Lucy tends to wake up a little earlier than the rest of the kiddos, and when she sees her daddy (and often grandpa as well) working out front she tells me she is off to get her shoes and help in the garden, too. Marty is good about keeping her busy with all sorts of toddler-appropriate jobs, and she feels like such a big girl she just beams.

It just so happened that our first big heirloom tomato was ripe enough to pick the other morning, so one of the chores papa passed along to Goosey was to bring that lovely garden gift inside to mama. Well, something got lost in translation, or my sweet produce-loving girl just couldn't help herself, and by the time I saw that tomato it looked a little something like this:

I love this girl:) Marty even tried to let her redeem herself a day or two later by giving her the same job to do. The results? The same. We decided that Lucy can no longer be trusted for safe transport of ripe tomatoes into the house. Luckily I caught her a little earlier the next time, and we all got to have a few slices of cherokee purple with our hash browns and eggs that morning. It worked out perfectly:)