Pun involving the word halibut

LND: Baked halibut with braised red cabbage and steamed broccoli. Sometimes things just get healthy up in here.

I took about 700 pictures of it, but they all looked like fish with vegetables.

And then I think better of it and make strawberry cobbler.

This picture makes it look like The Saddest Little Cobbler, but that's because it was taken in the dark by someone drinking rum.

Actually, though, it's a recipe from the Whole Foods Market Cookbook, so obviously it is healthy as well. Plus, the two glasses of rum were necessary to accompany our one-day-late viewing of 1776, and everyone knows that thematic consumption doesn't count against you. Verdict: a fully virtuous evening.

This morning we went to a moms and babies meetup at Kneaded Pleasures. No pictures of it, so you will just have to envision a long table with about 14 women attempting to wrangle 14 infants while drinking coffee and eating bagels. The fun thing about this particular meetup is that we always sit right by the front door, which causes the majority of patrons entering the restaurant to have a brief "I....am...in...the...wrong...place" moment when they see us. Today one woman actually gave us a semi-horrified "Wow." I'm basically just living for the day that we cause someone to turn on a heel and immediately abandon the premises.

Anyway, Anna was pretty good for the coffee meetup, although she kept leaning over to the woman sitting next to us in what I believe was an attempt to lick her wristwatch. That probably wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't been eating freeze-dried blueberries, which gave her a fairly ghoulish look about the mouth area.

This afternoon we went to a wading pool in order to use her awesome floppy hat and little wet-shoes, all of which are conspicuously absent in the following pictures because her goals were, in this order 1) remove shoes and hat 2) attempt to drown self in order to spite mother for this outing. I'll just leave you with a visual portrait of her general boredom and exasperation with me. In a way, I'm proud of her precociousness, because that last expression demonstrates at least a seventh grade proficiency in disgust.