An Open Letter to left-lane cruisers

Dear fellow drivers of the I-85 corridor between the Georgia state line and Anderson, SC,
Allow me to explain how this stretch of highway should work (and furthermore, how ALL similar stretches of highway should work).  The left lane is generally considered a "passing" lane.  If you use it effectively - you will never find yourself in a position where there are no cars in front of you and yet a line of cars (many flashing their brights or following precariously close) behind you.  If you do find yourself in that situation, it's probably time to head on over to the right lane and allow those of us with a destination and a desire to get there to pass on through. 

Very sincerely.

The Hungry Little Caterpillar

We took Lola to lunch at Strossner's today (a little bakery/cafe in town).  I splurged and got her own kid's meal, which I instantly regretted as she refused to touch any of it.  We finished up our own meals and I got a to-go box and packed up Lola's lunch to take home.  Right as we were ready to go, Lola decided she was ready to try a bite of her lunch.  Apparently everything looks better jammed into a clear plastic to-go container. 
She then proceeded to eat:
an entire grilled cheese sandwich
a cup of fruit
a cheese cracker
a slice of toasted garlic bread
a pickle
a full-sized cookie
and approximately 16 ounces of apple juice

Post Script

So it turns out . . . all of the aforementioned incidents in my previous post were clear cut signs that our little baby was about 12 hours aways from coming down with a nasty virus.  Which she did.  And we spend the rest of the week together, alone, in the house. (Ben was out of town all week).  Suffice it to say these were not our finest moments.  However, all's well that that ends well - and the week certainly ended on an upswing.  Ben got home on Saturday morning and his parents arrived in town Saturday night.  I was rescued from my isolation, and extra hands certainly made light work in terms of caring for Lola as she finished out the last few days of virus-o-rama-2011.  Inlaws are in town for the rest of the week and I'm headed to Atlanta this weekend for a wedding.  Even got to go out to dinner Tuesday night for "Moms' Night Out" with the ortho girls.  Now if I can just convince my inlaws to stay a little longer . . . . maybe just until the start of November.  2012. 

Dinner of Champions

Good ol' peanut butter and jelly (or in this case - peanut butter and delicious homemade peach preserves .... Thank you, Libby!!). This was the ONLY perk of Ben being out of town last week.


I'm pretty sure if I didn't have a husband and daughter to feed I would eat this every night.

Baby of Mine

Today . . .
Lola played in the playhouse at the mall crying and yelling "I SHARE!" to anyone who tried to join her (which is her strange translation of "Get out.  I'm not willing to share this space.") 

She had to be put in Time Out in the Gap Kids for screaming at a little boy when he tried to come near her (we're going through a bit of a territorial phase). 

She ate an ENTIRE bowl of macaroni at Panera, except for a small handful of cheese sauce which she preferred to smear through her hair.

She wailed for 15 minutes straight, about nothing in particular.  She didn't want to be held. Or touched. Or eat. Or watch a show. Or anything.  Apparently she just needed a good cry.

She required 6 (very messy) diaper changes between the hours of 3:00 and 6:00 pm - admittedly perhaps a result of the very adult-sized portion of macaroni and cheese.

She pooped in the tub.  Not a solid poop that can be easily contained.  But the other kind that involves a mop, a ton of bleach, and a new set of bath toys. 

That being said . . . tonight she fell asleep in my arms while we listened to Baby of Mine from Dumbo and all was right in the world again. 

Reserved Parking

This is just silly. In 9 months of pregnancy I never remember being incapacitated to the point that I was unable to walk a few extra yards in order to access a non-reserved parking space.

Now that I have an (almost) 19 month old, I could really use a reserved space up front, and I'm wondering where the sign is that reads: "Reserved Parking. Moms with small children who insist on walking all by themselves, despite the fact that you could walk to the moon and back in the time it takes their sweet little legs to propel them just 10 feet and who are still learning the meaning of "holding hands" in a busy parking lot and don't want to be carried except for when you are halfway to your car and loaded down with bags and digging for your keys and THEN they decide to cry hysterically until you pick them up, all while avoiding being hit by a car. Only."


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Abject Terror

In case you are wondering what it looks like:

Here's the blown up version.  But first - I should explain why I am laughing at my sweet daughter's terrified response.  For almost the entire car ride to the pasture, Lola talked about Cows.  Cows moo.  Cows milk. Nice cows. Happy cows.  Ride cows.  Yes . . . ride cows! But once we actually came within earshot of the cows - she wanted nothing (NOTHING) to do with them.  I am also smiling in enjoyment since it is a rare occasion indeed that our child gives hugs.  So we take them however we can get them.  [Note to child services: I removed her from the situation immediately after this photo was taken.]