lucky number seven

Here is my turd. She is seven months old this week! This is the last picture ever taken of her hair before it retired and moved to Florida.

I love this head chopped one for two reasons:
1. you can not see her chopped off hair.
2. it looks like it was taken with a 110 camera in the 70's and could be any of the 5 pictures taken of me when I was little (ninth children never have millions of baby photos of themselves. It's a well-documented fact. Don't worry mom, I'm not hatin'.)

The pic above is what I call her "Lindsey Lohan" smile. She has that grin on her face because she knows that her panties are showing in both of the remaining pictures and she doesn't care because she is hopped up on girlie-girl.


There you have it. Seven months.

Just kidding. I can think of more to say. I'm not just going to punctuate the images. Anyway, you don't get to hear from me that often anymore 'cause I'm off living the sexy, glamorous life of a hollywood starlet (now that they are all pushing forty and pumping out offspring.)

We have a young fella, Caleb, living with us for a few weeks to help out with added childcare need while I'm getting acclimated to my new job. He's absolutely precious. He is in the kitchen as I type, Internet: making me a smoothie. And when I got home, I could make out the distinct aroma of lysol. Utah churns out the most polite young people.

We have been fully launched into our annual Summer-Fun-A-Rama. Shopping at the Beverly Center, China Town, Melrose, Hollywood Farmer's Market, the Fairfax High Swap Meet, Amoeba Records, Hollywood Boulevard, and so on... We've gone to Friday Night Jazz at the LA Contemporary Museum, the Lake Shrine Self-Realization Center Garden, saw a Dodger's game, eaten tons of Indian food, rode bikes down Venice (with baby in a trailer), walked the Santa Monica Pier, and lounged on a Malibu beach. The last is the only one we have a picture of!
Whew. I'm out of breath. That's a lot of fun.