Sweet Home Alabama!

I'm glad at least one of you caught my reference to Sweet Home Alabama with last week's baby-in-a-box post. Good movie, great line: "You've got a baby....in a bar!" Well, in typical classy Peel fashion, Harper has been to not one, but two bars in the last five days!
The first inaugural bar-hop took place at Hooter's where we met Kristin and her boyfriend, Chris, as they headed down "southbound-35" on Friday evening. I didn't have a camera handy to document the occasion, but Chris did catch some rather comedic video footage of Harper and her tongue tricks. I think she was reminiscing the three glorious months she had as a breastfed baby! Boobs, boobs, everywhere!

Since Hooter's is technically a restaurant it may not officially qualify as Harper's first bar experience. I mean, c'mon, they had a bajillion highchairs, so she was obviously not the first tyke to crawl into the place (nor the last to crawl out!). But never fear for she now has gone to the Dancing Bear!



The Dancing Bear Pub is a small, non-smoking bar near the Baylor campus. You know those Baptist's don't get too crazy, so it was all good! As a celebration of Jeff passing a difficult insurance exam, we went to dinner with Harper and Nana and Poppa Peel. Jeff had been itching to hit up the Dancing Bear lately, and because they serve food from Food for Thought--tonight was his chance! Despite being at a highchair-free establishment, a good time was had by Peels of all ages. Unlike any bar experience I've ever had (all former and current partners in crime can keep their mouths shut right about now!), tonight was low-key and laid back. Honestly, there may have been a maximum of eight other patrons at the Pub. Chili's might have made for a more raucous night if that had been what we were looking for!


21 months?

Don't worry - the only thing Harper drank tonight was an 8oz bottle of Similac!

HP was so woozy that she had to be carried out of the bar by her grandpa! How embarrassing!

So, yes, I brought a baby into a bar. I would do it again in a heartbeat if only to recreate the look on the face of the newly minted 21-year old chick who didn't notice our wee babe until we made our exit. Close your mouth, dear - you look like a trout!