Love and Top Chef

Yesterday, we took Iain over to the Bizzle house for a little playtime with Callie. Here, you can see him gazing intently at her as she demonstrates the proper method for blowing bubbles. Can I just mention the cheeks? Yeah.


Then they ran around the yard a bit, and Callie explained to Iain that one mustn't play with the grill because "HOT!" "HOT!"

After a delicious supper of cheese, pita bread, almond butter, yogurt (helpfully wiped in his hair so The Mom had to give him an Emergency Morning Bath today), and mango, Iain retired for the night. Or did he?

An hour of screaming and two parental chill-out visits later, he rejoined the soiree. The staff were watching Top Chef (I love you, DVR), commenting on the inadvisability of making clam chowder on a 90 degree day in Vegas (I guess that shows what we know) and getting all weepy about the soldiers enjoying a nice meal. Iain joined right in.

But within a few minutes, he'd monopolized The Dad, Callie's Mom, and pretty much everyone else by being cute, adorable, kissable, squeezable, and otherwise un-ignorable. Here he is, conquering Callie's Mom's heart:

He never went to bed. Not at the Bizzle's, anyway. When we got home, at 10 pm (!!), he was still wide awake, saying "Nie-Nie" every 30 seconds. Once home, though, he pooped out in his own bed with no trouble. And slept until 8am.

So all's well that ends well, I guess.