This post not approved for use on your spleen.

Beat the cold this February...hold an Abigail to your face! It works!

As it's creeping in on midnight, I'm going to relinquish any ambition I have for a pulitzer prize winning post and simply devolve into a summation of our day.

Jen went to the mall this morning to go shopping with Grandma, but the girls and I managed to get ready and stowaway with them so we could spend some time at the Ridgedale play area. Being the weekend, it was jam packed with the sticky fingered youth of Minnetonka. I pointed out to Lily that another girl was wearing the same shirt she was, but in a different color. Lily said, "Shirt!" and poked the girl, who looked at both of us like we were morons and walked away without a word.

I knew it was time to leave when Abby ran straight out of the play area and I ran to get her, and Lily said, "Walk!" which is code for that she wants to go take a stroll. So walk around the mall we did. I spent at least 10 minutes trying to mentally put together a civil suit against Abercrombe and Fitch for being so absurdly, ostentatiously offensive in the olefactory sense. I actually get a little light headed just walking by the place, and I'm not sure if it's the smell or just the overtly douchebaggy vibe that seeps out of it. How do people bear to shop inside?

In the afternoon, we went on a wee walk around the block. Lily slipped on ice and bonked her head a bit, but otherwise it was uneventful. A hat would have softened the blow but, of course, she steadfastly refuses one at every offering and insistence.

I'm going to end there, since Abby is now crying, and that's not good. Not at 12:06.

Day three hundred and fifty five. (Ten days! Pele's number was 10. 10 is an exciting number.)

Walking!

Still....walking.


...and this one hurts my spleen to even look at.