Boba! Boba! Boba! Boba!

If you aren't on the West Coast or in a college town with a large body of Asian and Pacific Islander students, you may not be familiar with "Boba" or "Bubble Tea".  Boba joints are all over San Diego, and are fairly dense in our immediate area.  We have a particularly good offering right next door to the local Babies-R-Us (sharing space with a Vietnamese sandwich shop that makes a decent Bahn Mi', by the way), so it has become somewhat of a weekend tradition to add "getting Boba" to our semi-regular runs for diapers and baby-food.

Somewhere along the line, thinking that either she wouldn't like it or couldn't manage the massive straw, I let Annika take a pull on my "50/50 Orange Cream" (think of a blended version of the old Good Humor 50-50 bar).  Whoops.  She loves it.  Once she spots the Bobalicious store front or one of the plastic-covered cups, she starts in with the chant: "Boba! Boba! Boba! Boba!".  The only way to stop the run is to jam the straw in her mouth.  She will pull as much slush as you let her (she is apparently immune to Brain Freezes), then take only a second or two to swallow after you claw back the straw before she starts back up with "Boba! Boba! Boba!" again.  Boba-savvy parents rest-easy, I get mine without the Tapioca balls, no choking hazard here.

For today's diaper run, she and I split a sandwich while we waited for Mom.  Eventually, she wanted a seat of her own and full control over the cup (I usually hold it so I can meter her intake).  It won't be long before we have to buy a third drink just for her... at least then she won't chew my straw.