Rice, rice, baby

Elle can hold her head at ninety degrees. You know what that means... solid food! We started yesterday with a delicious rice cereal slurry. Yum, right?

Not so sure about the whole spoon thing.

Rice, it's what to wear.

A first-world problem

For some reason my sister has decided we should play tennis. For some reason I agreed to this tennis-playing scheme. So Laurie has a racquet and a canister of bright yellow tennis balls, just waiting for us. All I need is a racquet. Now Nick and I own a tennis racquet - yes, one single, lonely tennis racquet. Problem solved, right?

Of course not. Why would I be telling this story if it were that easy? The lone tennis racquet is hanging out somewhere in our storage unit. So I went tennis-racquet hunting earlier this week, only to discover a) I don't have the code to get into the facility then b) I don't have a key to open our individual unit. After correcting these deficiencies, the hunt really begins. I climb (literally) a mountain (well, maybe a molehill) of random furniture, ripping open boxes as I go. I find my framed college diploma, a snorkel, and a chainsaw, but alas! No tennis racquet.

In short, I ended up going out and buying a new tennis racquet. And I try not to think about how we're paying a monthly fee to store stuff we can't find even when we do actually want to use it so we end up buying new stuff when we already own the same stuff.

At least now the lonely tennis racquet will have a friend.

Battle of the sexes: First impressions

I thought about saving this for my anniversary, but I knew I'd forget by then. So while the idea is fresh, here we go, cyberfriends.

Nick and I pretty much hit it off right away. After our first date, we spent every possible moment together before he had to leave Waco for Hawaii, which ended up being about three weeks. However, we didn't know that. When we decided to go to The Olive Garden that fateful Friday night, we both thought it would be dinner and nothing more.

As I sat across from him at the table, I found myself thinking...Oh, no. I like him. I like like him. This isn't the kinda guy you mooch dinner off and then go about your business. This is the kinda guy you fall in love with. You take home to meet your mom. You marry him. Big, heavy sigh. What am I gonna do now?

A few years ago I asked Nick what he was thinking during that fateful first date. His reply: "Wow. She's hot." Flattery will get you everywhere, my friends.

And that's how two fools fall in love.

Memory lane

I have a sudden urge to watch Clueless on VHS. And eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. And stay up very, very late for no particular reason. It can only mean one thing...

Roommate reunion is almost here! Waco, here we come.

And that, my friends, will be the happy thought to get me through the week. Happy Wednesday!

Abracadabra, alakazam!

Today is a story about being a doctor.

People go to the doctor for lots of things. Sometimes it's "stabbing chest pain with shortness of breath." This is bad. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go directly to the cath lab.

Sometimes it's "I hurt all over" or "My lupus test is positive." But that's old news.

Sometimes it's "I have a rash." Disgruntled sigh. Looking at people's unusual rashes is one of the least pleasant aspects of my job. But part of my job it is, so I look at rashes. Red rashes, raised rashes, itchy rashes, even butterfly rashes. It's enough to make you break out in hives. Hee, hee. Pun intended.

But sometimes, people point to their cheeks or backs or ankles or whatever, and I see... nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I'm not talking about the it-used-to-be-there-but-went-away-before-my-appointment kind of rash. That happens. But sometimes people just keep pointing and gesturing and saying, "Look! Look! Do you see that?!"

No, frankly, I do not. This leaves me in the awkward predicament of trying to gently suggest that there is, in fact, no rash.

Or maybe I have a healing gaze. Just by looking at your skin, I make your rash disappear.

Lazy Sunday afternoon

I have no excuse for the lack of tales of hilarity or pearls of wisdom today, folks. My paper is edited, my presentation complete, and the baby asleep on my lap. I'm just being lazy for once.

I'm going to distract you with a cute picture of my cute baby. Hey, maybe I'll make this a weekly Sunday thing. It would motivate me to take more pictures.

Yup, yup, yup

I had an unfortunate realization the other day. What, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.
I realized that I am...a yuppie. Big sigh.

Signs and symptoms of yuppie-ness:
1) I am 30 years old.
2) I am a doctor.
3) I drive an SUV. A big one.
4) I live in the burbs.
5) I have a baby.
6) Most of my wardrobe came from Ann Taylor or Banana Republic. I even have a Kate Spade bag to tote stuff for the aforementioned baby.
7) I watch HGTV. And the Food Network. Double whammie.
8) I've had an argument with my husband about whether we should choose the "ivory" or the "off-white" tile for our kitchen remodel.
9) I not only know what "New American" cuisine is but like it, too.
10) I recently upgraded my Blackberry to a Droid.

Do not despair! Before you decide you must friend-divorce me, listen to my redeeming factors.

Bethie's anti-yuppie traits and tendencies:
1) I do not and will never drink coffee.
2) I don't do Volvo or Subaru.
3) Organic doesn't matter to me.
4) There are no Apple products in my house (or car).

Um, I can't come up with 6 more. You'll just have to love me for my mostly-yuppie self.

PS If loving Kate Spade is wrong, I don't wanna be right!