i crack myself up

What can I say?  It's a classic Mom move to display your child's artwork in your office.

It compels colleagues to make vague, complimentary remarks like:

-- Oh, you must be very proud.
-- Look at all those colors!
-- What a nice ... picture!
-- How old is he again?

He's three.  You don't have to think his pictures are great.  I do.  And luckily, I do.

To wit, a recent picture of my office door:

He told me that's what the picture was.

I'm pretty sure he's a genius.

Hope you are flattered in the abstract today.

Talk soon,
Heather

i went to the grocery store on mother's day and was fine with it

Jack and I went to the grocery store  yesterday afternoon.  We were out of dog food and milk and fruit and other things that we need for our survival as a family.  

We are at that awkward stage where Jack is far too "grown up" to sit in the cart like a baby -- but far too distractable and headstrong to walk alongside the cart, particularly if I have a long list of pressing things to buy.

That means that The Plan is to get one of those monstrous carts that looks like a car and drives like an 18-wheeler, and yet, has a pathetically small basket for groceries.  I brazenly promised Jack one, and then couldn't find one.  

However, I did find a bright-eyed HEB employee who was probably 18 but looked 11 to me.  I asked him if there were any car carts left, and he trotted off to the parking lot to find me one.  I breathed a sigh of relief and told Jack to hold tight -- his chariot was coming.

As the 11 year old HEB employee drove the cart back to me, a momma interloper snagged him and asked for it.  He politely explained that he was delivering it to someone else and that he was sorry.  Phew again; Jack and I were saved.

On her way by with her two children, the momma interloper gave me stink eye.  Happy Mother's Day, indeed.

For me, Mother's Day is like my birthday.  I super duper mega love it.  I feel special all day.  I will happily be showered with flowers, cards, gifts and compliments.  I will not turn them down.  You can make me a martini.  You can buy me dessert.  Yes, please.

But, like on my birthday, I also realize that real life calls.  I go to work on my birthday.  It's OK.  

I go to HEB on Mother's Day.  And that's OK, too.

Because you know what?  I would be sad if I didn't have Pablo and Lucy to buy dog food for; Durel to buy fruit for (he loves fruit, man), and Jack to buy milk for.

You know what I mean?

Hope someone needs you today.

Talk soon,

Heather

move over, lynda carter

First, I saw this, which is pretty much the best thing ever.

And then I realized I had to share the superhero obsession currently taking root in our home.

I've always loved Wonder Woman.  My childhood doll was not Wonder Woman, but she had brown hair and blue eyes and a yellow top with red piping and blue pants.  So, duh.  She was *totally* Wonder Woman.  I still have her.

I have Wonder Woman in my office to help me be an Amazon lawdog.

I dressed as Wonder Woman one Halloween.  That was right around the time Durel and I started being all flirty pants with one another.  I am 100% serious when I say that the Woman Woman costume contributed to our success.

Jack is really into Batman now.  He often refers to him by his full name, "Batman, the Dark Knight."  (He also refers to himself as "Jack Attack, The First."  We are big on full names right now.

He asked me the other day, "Momma, are you Wonder Woman?"

I replied without hesitation.  "Yes."

He was unfazed because he knew that I was.  "Momma, I want to go to the store and get you some Wonder Woman clothes."  (By the store, he means Target.  Obviously.)

I replied without hesitation.  "OK."

So, I'll let you know how that goes.

I doubt they have this at Target.
If they did, I doubt I would buy it.
If I did, I doubt I would share.
If I did, I doubt I would ever leave my house again.

Hope you feel invincible today.

Talk soon,
Heather

this one's courtesy of the who

My dear brother, nephew, and son playing kickball on a fine spring day in Austin not too long ago.

I can't explain how my brain works.  Because I looked at this picture for a while, and then this happened:

Even in the backyard

He can beat your best.

His uncle leads him in

And he just does the rest.

He's got little feet of fury

Never seen him fall...

That little Jack Attack kid

Sure plays a mean kick ball!

Not that Lindy and Eli don't also play a mean kickball.  But you know, I'm partial.

Hope Roger Daltry inspires you today.

Talk soon,
Heather

we don't really condone this type of thing...

But we did do a little friendly family wagering on the Kentucky Derby last weekend.  We put all the horses' names into a hat (OK, a bowl) and each drew two names.

We put in I think $5 per person per horse?  Yes, that adds up.

Anyway, then we watched the race.  We had paused it whilst we finished up our horse-picking.  I may or may not have made the mistake of picking up my phone just as we were about to watch the race.  I may or may not have seen, courtesy of the NBC News push notifications that I may or may not have authorized, that Orb was the winner.

None of us had drawn Orb.  (There were seven of us.  We each drew 2 horses.  That's 14.  19 ran the race.)

We had agreed that if no one had drawn the winning horse, we would observe a second place winner.

The second place finisher was Golden Soul.

And the rest, they say, is history.

But, for the record, I am not *really* teaching my three year old son to gamble on horse races.

Durel is.

Hope you have a buck to pass today.

Talk soon,
Heather

thanks, costco, for reminding me how old my baby is getting

Jack used to love the pizza at Costco.  (Flashback) case in point:

Remember the time he ate two pieces?  I do.

He now prefers the hot dogs.  FYI.

Yes, he ate an entire one pound Costco hot dog.  Don't judge.

And if you are at the South Costco, I recommend the potty in the tire section.

Jack recommends taking a break to count the tires after your break for the potty.

We grow, we change, we count things.

Hope you have a surprisingly cheap meal today.

Talk soon,
Heather

an ode to the Davies

My family rocks.  That is the truth.

We are pale Irish folk who love potatoes and wine and do not tend to excel at sports.

We are well-read, stubborn, interesting, and interested.

We like music.  We like board games.  We like wine.  (It bears repeating.)

We like Christmas.  We never give useful gifts.  We give cool gifts, like Rosie the Riveter bobble heads and mythology books and Wonder Woman mugs and black and white photos of the Brooklyn Bridge.

We drink too much coffee.

We stay up late and hate getting up in the morning.  

We all, and this is really something, if you think about it, CREATE something.

Cristy embroiders like sarcastic wildfire.

Dagwood papier maches like only Melvix can.

Lisa forges handmade glass beads and creates jewelry with them.

Lindy builds stuff.  Like, all the time.  

Eli write computer programs.  

Francie writes poetry and dances ballet.

James is an awesome photographer.  And also has a really, like totally popular podcast.

Jenny, well, she is an Artist.  There is nothing she can't do.

Durel was a mixologist before the advent of hipsterism.  He also tends to win things like Rib-Offs with aplomb, after making his barbecue sauce from scratch and being all nonchalant about it.

I write.  Two blogs in theory.  One blog in reality.  But great things are brewing, FYI.

We live all over the country and don't see one another nearly enough.  But we were all together last week to celebrate Mom and Dad for their remarkable 50 years of marriage.  And when we did that, we all realized how much we like one another, which is nice.  And how grateful we are to our amazing parents for teaching us to be who we are and who we want to be. As a parent, I now realize how selfless, expensive, and just plain HARD that is.

And as they watched us gire and gimble in Austin, all together for a brief and giddy moment, they were happy.

Hope you know a Davies.

Talk soon,
Heather