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Sparkly pink tiara, hand on chin pose - ready for baseball.

Peyton is a girly girl, no question. But she does seem to enjoy the idea of going to a baseball game. She loves wearing her pink and white D-backs jersey, eating junk food, and looking out for Baxter the Bobcat. She even told me the other day that baseball is her favorite sport (as opposed to football, I presume, which has taken over our televisions this fall).

We stole Grandma and Grandpa's tickets to watch the Diamondbacks take on the Washington Nationals (ironic, no?), spent $5,000 on chicken fingers and french fries at the concession stand, and settled into our seats for the game.

I would be remiss if I didn't note that while Martin and I were living the life in New York a few weeks prior, Grandma and Grandpa also took Peyton to a baseball game. As luck would have it, a foul ball landed right at Grandpa's feet, and Peyton (totally unimpressed with the whole thing and even a slight bit scared of the baseball) got to keep it as a souvenier.

"It's kind of dirty."

Sure enough, another foul ball sailed into our section, landing just one row behind us. The nice gentleman saw Peyton flutter her amazing eyelashes, and promptly handed her the baseball (good work, PK!) Upon receiving it however, Peyton looked at it and said, "But I already have a ball!! I got one last time."  Martin immediately ssshed her and put the ball away.

"Why is everyone making such a big deal about this? I get one every time I come here."

Foul ball #2.

In true kind-hearted Peyton fashion, when we got home, she said she wanted to give the ball to Scott because she didn't need two, and he would probably like to have one. That girl kills me.

"Foul ball? Whatevs. I just came for the pink ice cream."