I’ve started taking a lot of pictures via Instagram, and for every photo I remember to post on Facebook/Twitter, there are about 13 more just hanging out in Instagram-land, where only the Instagrammed can see them. I thought I’d bring a few of them over here and let them chillax with the other images on the ‘nets.
This dress attacked me at Target. Like, literally there was a showdown, and Gwen Stefani appeared and we wrestled and I lost. I was Harajuku-Minied. Resistance was futile.
Rosie’s Picasso-fied name writing. Can you stand it? I kind of want to start using that many horizontal lines on my Es, too. They’re more festive, don’t you think?
Ballet days are bun days. But ballet nights are for waves and being free.
I remember when we used to go to the doctor every 5 minutes for well check ups. Now they’re all, Sayonara! See you next year! Good luck! In the meantime, he grows like a weed.
Yeah, I can see how RACHEL would sound a lot like that.
Downtown ATL, early in the morning. Getting to work as the sun is rising helps keep me sane, even though the act of doing it is kind of the opposite.
First time on skates and instantly ready to roll with the big kids.
Noah was invited to a Kindergarten friend’s birthday party, and this is the card he made him. So much sweetness in that kid, I suwannee.
There’s that dress again. Also, that girl with that smile.
Every few minutes while painstakingly arranging the pieces, she would faux-whisper, “SORRY!” and then shake her head in sympathy, like, “That poor imaginary person. What rotten luck.”
No matter how ridiculous the premise of a movie (ahem, Mr. Popper’s Penguins, wha?), it is always worth a family movie night viewing it if it produces uncontrollable spontaneous cackles from your kids. This is my theorem.
Also, here is this face for you. The end.