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We just got back yesterday from our annual Fall trip to Boston in search of caramel apples and other fun autumn in New England activities, like perusing the Halloween section of Target and taking naps. We had so much fun. My only complaint is that when you visit a place like Boston after spending many months in a place like where we live, you tend to go nuts the first few days trying to pack in as much excitement as possible, and then you crash a few days and really relax. Since we were there for only three full days, we did all the excitement-packing but none of the crashing, so we're all completely and utterly exhausted. It was worth it.

One of the big Fall traditions for us is going to Arena Farms to eat as many caramel apples as we can. (Well, I eat two and Dave eats as many as he can.) We remembered that the caramel is usually melted and ready for dipping around noon so we waited until then before heading over on Saturday. When we got there we were greeted with a big sign that said Arena Farms had been sold. (After snooping around online I found this article dated from last Spring which give an idea of what happened.) To rub salt into the wound, when we got to the caramel apple stand there were a bunch of people standing around a big unmelted vat of caramel looking confused. Apparently they were having some trouble. So no caramel apples were had. It was a very sad day indeed. Instead, we procured some apples, caramels, and peanuts at the grocery store and made them ourselves, which led to two questions: 1. Is it better to use a double-boiler to melt the caramel or put it over direct heat; and 2. Should you add something to the caramel like butter or apple cider? It was a decent substitute for Arena Farms except Dave only got two instead of his usual six. I enjoyed eat melted caramel with nuts in it and forgoing the apple altogether which is what I tend to want to do anyway.

Henry had a great time with his grandparents. He fell madly and completely in love with his Grammy. Since we got back, every other time I buckle him into his car seat he says, definitively, "Grammy's house." I explain that we're eight hours away from Grammy's house but I think he's perfectly willing to spend the day in the car driving back. Today when we stopped by the library he climbed up on a bench and patted the seat next to him and said "Grammy's chair." I asked him where my seat was and he leaned all the way over and indicated a teeny-tiny square inch of space that had a hole in it and said "Mommy's chair." I was offended until I realized it was better than what was set aside for Grandpa and Daddy, which would be nothing, so I crowded onto my square inch and thanked him for saving me a spot.

The other great thing about this weekend that I'd like to share with you all, mainly because I'm thinking about it right now and could really go for one, is a drink my dad made for me. It's a version of the Caipirinha cocktail:

1 lime cut into eight pieces
2 Tbsp sugar
1.75 oz cachaça

Muddle the lime with the sugar in a cocktail shaker. Add the cachaça and a couple of ice cubes. Shake, shake, shake, and pour everything into a rocks glass without straining. Yum!