I cannot get enough of the sunshine that keeps playing hide and seek with us this spring.
Saturday was a perfect example of its fickle tendencies.
Our friends suggested a Ruth's breakfast date.
And we never, ever say no to Ruth's.
Or to the Wheatleys.
So up Emigration Canyon we went.
Not many experiences are as satisfying (or fattening) as sitting on the Ruth's patio munching on a Mile-High Biscuit on a 75-degree morning.
Though the fried pickles Reece insisted on ordering almost ruined it for me.
Yeah, it may sound like classic pregnant chick food, but this pregnant chick almost threw up when the plate hit the table.
Sometimes I think Reece fits the part of pregnant chick better than I do.
Lola decided to assume her regular role of diva when we tried to take the obligatory "girl" picture.
Probably because poor Sofi resisted Lola's attempts to choke her with a bib.
The following was about as good as it got.
"No picture, daddy! No picture!"
Already avoiding the paparazzi, I see.
It's a good thing she's got the perfect hiding place.