A Declaration of Independence

So we had a very nice, damp 4th of July, with hot dogs and hamburgers at the home of Roger and Janet, the site of our wedding. All officially-sanctioned fireworks were called off for the weather.

We returned to Providence around 10:00 or so, while the city was demonstrating its usual teeter on the edge of utter lawlessness. Opening the car door was like stepping into a war zone, the air thick with firework smoke while bright explosions burst into the air from a house on every block. The occasional police cruiser rolled slowly down the city street, in passive appreciation of our neighbors' investment in thousands of dollars of illicit pyrotechnics.

We hit the hay around 11:30, while the bombs bursting in air continued indefinitely. Zora had different ideas, though. Despite repeated attempts to nurse her to sleep, I kept stirring awake as she crawled all around us. The last time, I woke to a squeal of delight and caught her STANDING, having pulled herself up on the edge of her bed. Did you hear me? I said STANDING. Damn, chile. And tomorrow is just six months.

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This evening, Z decided to stage a reenactment, to quell any doubt about her Super Baby skillz. You can follow along step-by-step, if you have a hard time with this maneuver, yourself.

and . . .

HUP!

Just in case there are still any doubters, here it is on the flip-side:
(and yes, she is trying to climb up onto the couch. Lucky for us all, she hasn't figured that out. Not this week, at least.)

Cray-Zee!