Yesterday I did laundry, but today I went for a walk. It was a pretty fun walk, I was joined by a couple of friends and their adorable little boys. Ruby didn't get a chance to be flirtatious because I wouldn't let her out of the stroller's bassinet, but she was still content a majority of the time so I will call it a win. Unfortunately, while I did take my good camera, I was so enamored with Ruby's adorable gaze that I didn't bother to use it to take many photos. I really only got one shot, which I'm going to make you scroll to the bottom of this post to see, because you know how I am.
The thing I love about walking around here is the weather. I think I've probably said as much before, but its still true and I like to repeat myself so there. And with the amazaballs weather comes greenery...so much greenery. There are tall tall trees and small small hedges and flowers I've never seen before because they don't grow in Arizona where--lets be honest--not many pretty things grow. So when I walk I stare at flowers and trees and houses, because apparently it was written somewhere long ago that pretty houses could only exist where pretty flowers grow and people can spend all year in their front yards manicuring the lawn and doing quaint things like tending to their herb gardens.
And on this walk I had girly company so we talked about post-natal bootcamps and little boys on brightly colored bicycles and babies even newer than Ruby because they aren't born yet. It was good times.
Now I'm home though and I'm trying to decide what to watch next on Netflix while the baby enjoys some quiet tummy time and Cedric sniffs her bum... which probably needs changing.
Also I'm trying to decide what to do for dinner, because I think we ran out of left overs last night and I feel bad when Leighton gets home and I haven't even started defrosting anything or given any thought to what we'll nourish ourselves with that night, even though he's hungry and I'm hungry and I know it takes me a while to prepare anything... and then I usually just give up and eat large amounts of watermelon and a sandwich and call it good. C'est la vie. I think I'm feeling a little french right now. Like a french housewife who is perfect and pleasant and good at conversation and cooking. Bonjour. Pomme De Terre. Chou-Chou. That's the extent of what I remember from my two years of high-school french. And now I am rambling and the baby is starting to whimper so I must away.