Rest

Grandpa John and Gramma Patti visited this weekend, allowing Harlow some face time with folks who could spoon feed her grownup yumminess (to date: bananas and sweet potatoes!) and shower her with affection. Babydoll was literally screechy with happiness. So was mama when she got an hour and a half to hop in the car sans baby and run some errands. Finally allowed some grownup time, the first thing I do is revert back to my teenage self and head straight to the mall. For some reason the burbs (and not downtown) are snagging all the good retail - like Sephora - so I drove out to Wolfchase, still puzzled that Cordova is not the sleepy, countrified little burg I encountered as a teenager but a nightmarish sprawl of chain restaurants and jorts. But I got some new makeup and briefly considered jumping into the mosh pit forming in front of the Chick Fil-A before speeding back home. Caleb folks also pledged to babysit, so we had a rare night out. Of course, neither one of us could tell the other we were dog tired and would rather curl up with a book or a blog, so we rallied at 9:45 and saw the 9:55 showing of Eastern Promises, a film that reinforces why it's never a bad idea to read reviews and stay current with film before heading out to see one. (For the record, I liked it. I just could have done without the throat slashing, teen sex slave hemorraging, typical Cronenbergisms of the Cronenberg film we elected to see. Maybe Superbad wouldn't have been so superbad.)

As for Miss Harlow, after two weeks of supine living, the little lady is back in true form. Cast? Not slowing this one down. Two days ago I noticed that she was starting to move her bad leg around, and by move around I mean swing up in the air and send it crashing back down. While this caused much teeth gnashing for her parents, she didn't blink. She has rolled over on it, folded in half on it, grabbed the end of it, and by the end of this evening, she was stuffing her cast-ed foot in her mouth. I think it's safe to say she's feeling better. So am I.