Lately I've been feeling a little bit claustrophobic and cooped up. I have a newborn and we spend our days indoors, while I beg him to nap and he begs to differ. So when the weekends roll around, all I want to do is have FUN. And my definition of fun is getting redesigned, since there are only a handful of places that we can comfortably take our newborn child. Without getting glared at. I wish we were in a phase where would could easily tote our little babe along anywhere, but that's just not the case. Enter the perfect solution/afternoon plan: the picnic.
Ah, the picnic. A great American pastime. The darling weaved basket, the iconic food, the oh-so-slurpable wine. Picnicking is what adorable people do, like couples in endless love or families with golden retrievers and approximately 2.5 children (probably donning Land's End polos. Yes, the retriever, too.) Then it dawned on me. WE THREE SHOULD PICNIC. I mean, we live in Georgia again. There are lawns around here. We might not have a precious pup or an assortment of prepster gear, but we like to eat! We should be having some picnics.
|// Lake McIntosh //|
|// What a babe. Both. //|
|// We thought we would read. The folly. //|
|// How bout them Braves, son. //|
|// Perfect view for feeding my little man. //|
|// Happy feet! //|
We munched, Everett lunched, and we got to be OUT TOGETHER. As a family. Because we're a family now :)
Best of all? Everett could yelp until the cows came home and no one cared. Stupendous.