Yes, Drill Sargent

Today at Barnes and Noble, Lola mined through all the shelves of stuffed animals and picked out ONLY the puppies.  She then began placing them in what seemed at first to be a random assortment.

It soon became clear that the puppies were being lined up in a very straight line.  Nose to tail.  One behind the other. 

We watched on, trying to control our laughter, as each one received a big hug, and then was lovingly placed in its proper spot in the line up. 

With two Type-A parents, the poor thing never stood a chance. 

This weekend

Lola's first words to Ben when we got home from our long weekend in Atlanta were "Gigi.  Fun."  I guess that pretty much sums up her experience.  Mom, you can pick yourself up off the floor now.  Love you.

Day Drinking

Currently at Starbucks treating myself to a skinny vanilla latte after dropping Lola off for her first day at a new school. Could I get a little shot of amaretto in that, please?


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Now this is living.

Ahhhh . . . The good life.



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Maternal instinct

Lola carries her babydoll around the house repeating the words, "change, cry, sleep, hug." Which, from what I remember of those first few weeks (through the hazy fog of sleeplessness and hormone-induced insanity) is pretty much almost everything she needs to know to care for an infant.


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Mixed Emotions

As impressed as we are by Lola's ability to mimic animal sounds, we are equally as disturbed when she makes the sound of a chicken [bok, bok, bok] while we are presently feeding her chicken for dinner. 

Jalape-NO!

Ben FINALLY had a day off today (well . . . "off" after he spent several hours at the hospital this morning rounding on patients . . ) so we decided in light of the oppressive heat and humidity to have a little indoor fun. $1 kids meals at Salsaritas - home of all of Lola's favorite foods (beans, rice, and cheese) followed by a little time at the book store - sounded like a great plan.

To celebrate their $1 kids meal promotion, there was a man dressed as a giant jalapeno. (Or a lime. This detail is still up for debate.) When we arrived, Ben and I noticed him/it waving to cars across the lot and we figured as long as he stayed there and Lola didn't notice . . we'd be safe. And we were. Until he came into the restaurant for what was, I'm sure, a much needed break from the weather. As soon as she laid eyes on him, all hell broke loose. It was the Chick-Fil-A cow all over again. We had to take her out of the restaurant (crying, pleading, holding on to Ben for dear life) until his break was over and she spent the rest of the meal looking over her shoulder. We were able to ease the post-traumatic stress with a bit of queso (which she happily shoveled directly into her mouth with her bare hands) . . . but it's safe to say you can cancel those tickets to Disney World you were planning to give us.

One hand in the queso. Both eyes on the lookout for dangerous over-sized peppers.