739 anklets

After the beach yesterday, we took Lyla back to the hotel for a nap. It failed worse than a Minnesota team in the postseason. She was like one of those sweaty meth heads you see on Maury: twitchy, profane, and unblinking. We ended up not going back to the cabin for dinner with everyone and instead ordered room service and entertained and fed the creature formerly known as Lyla the best we could until 7:30, when we finally got her to bed.

She slept for 13 hours and awakened shiny and fresh, like a laptop with a re-imaged hard drive.

Today it was oppressively hot. My mom and sister came over to the hotel to hang out with Lyla while we drove to an outlet mall in Michigan City, Indiana, a town you shouldn't necessarily visit before you die. We still had fun and could now probably open our own Banana Republic.

While we were gone, Lyla did a little light reading.


Later this evening back at the cabin, my cousin Shauna introduced Lyla to bracelets and anklets.



Lyla kept saying "More" with a whiny desperation in her voice, realizing that for 20 long months of life she has squandered the decorative potential of her wrists and ankles. Alas, we had to leave and put Lyla to bed, lest she become an overtired, shrieking she-beast again.

But tomorrow should be interesting. Shauna was just tying pieces of colored string to Lyla's wrists and ankles, so I wonder how many she'll tie on Lyla before she stops saying "More" and instead says "All done." I'm putting the over-under at 45 bracelets and 739 anklets.