A picture is worth a thousand words. In high school I always dreamed of turning in a paper with two pictures printed on it. "David, what am I looking at?"
"You wanted 1,500 words on the Spanish-American War. You're looking at a photo of the Battleship Maine, and another of William McKinley. May they both rest in peace. That's 2,000 words, granted, but I can crop one of those down if you think my paper's too long.
I got off topic. Pictures is why we're all here. Behold, the embodiment of adorable:
One for the books: sun, food, family, baby. Like a Rockwell painting, or a Gwen Steffani album. Magnus doesn't seem to fit in, but he was there, quietly awaiting scraps underneath the table. Good dog. Someday we'll look back in amazement that she was ever so small, so dependent. She will walk up and ask for the car keys and Tom will fish them out of his pocket and say "Seat belts; I mean it." as he hands them to her. She will walk away, and we'll bring up that time we sat outside and passed her around, taking pictures. Seems impossible, but nothing, I suppose, stops the onward march of time.
