Happy Birthday Patrick Stewart, and others

First things first: Happy birthday to my handsome and tolerant husband Dan! We kicked it off with some waffles and homemade blueberry sauce (just cooked down a bunch of berries with some water and agave nectar). Also coffee with steamed milk and homemade chocolate syrup. Don't worry, I didn't roast the beans or milk the cow or anything. This year's offering was presumably superior to last year's birthday pancakes, which were deemed "not my best," probably because I was in the middle of having a baby.

To be fair, it was pretty early in the labor.

Anyway, everyone please give Dan a nice birthday shout out because chances are he's going to get sick of me saying "Hey remember when you turned 30 and then I gave birth?"

Yesterday I spent $8 to get into the Austin Children's Museum only to realize that Anna seemed to have just as much fun in the bank lobby last week.

Anna, as directed by Fellini.

See what the museum made me do? It made me pretend to know something about surrealism in cinema, which I do not. Thanks, museum. Thanks for that.

The only time she seemed genuinely excited was when she found a toy cat and tried to devour its face.

Just like at home.

Maybe once she's walking it'll be better? I don't know. The other babies seemed to like it. (Secretly wonders if her child is challenged.)

Last night I bravely marched right back into the world of liquid dinners with Thai Avocado Soup. From the, um, Runner's World website. What? I'll have you know I ran seven tenths of a mile yesterday. In a row. Lady's gotta refuel. Which also explains why I added bacon and some hard boiled egg on top.

I don't want my healthy fats to get lonely.

It was actually really good, like a Cobb salad without all those pesky greens. So I'm declaring an end to my run of soup incompetence. Maybe I'll forget how to make sandwiches for a while or something.