Monday, February 6, 2012

What kind of milk is this? Is this from a cow?

Is it me or is the Monday after Superbowl Sunday particularly exhausting?  And we didn't even attend a Superbowl party!  Last night, we all gathered around the table for dinner, Madonna's half time show echoing in the background (it's certainly not a common practice for us to have the tv on during dinner but it was the Superbowl) when Leanne looked up from her plate and said "What kind of milk is this?  Is this from a cow?"  Travis and I looked at each other, thoroughly confused, until we realized that Leanne had poured herself a nice, hearty glass of the half & half I use in my morning coffee...

Never a dull moment.  Period.
We had a hectic day.  Miss Josie was extra cooperative during feeding therapy and extra uncooperative during physical therapy.  I guess it didn't matter because Leanne seemed to think that Josie's physical therapist had driven all the way to our house with an armload of equipment to receive a very detailed explanation of every word search puzzle book Leanne brought with her (there were at least a dozen).  God bless Bea and her patience with both of the Divas!

As he does every night, Travis came home and immediately changed from his dress shirt and slacks into his "nightgown"...
...which prompted Leanne to write this manifesto on the Etch-a-Sketch.  Apparently it says something like "Travis, don't wear your nightgown to work or you'll get fired."  Point taken, Leanne.  Travis will hereby refrain from wearing his "nightgown" to the office.  In fact, he was even shamed enough to change into jeans before running his evening errands.
Speaking of evening errands, Leanne had a very special appointment with Trish, my hair stylist, tonight.  Although we learned awhile back that it's not a great idea to leave Leanne in a hair salon unattended, I gave her a firm lecture about sticking to a natural look and I left her in Trish's very competent hands.  I returned to find Leanne in all out Diva mode, admiring her new coif:
I can't say that I blame her.
Looking good, girlfriend.  Looking good!