rescued by a hipster

Monday, March 2, 2015

We didn't mean to give up on Jack's hair.

We were just sort of out of ideas.

You see, Jack didn't really have any hair until he was close to 2 years old.  When he did start to grow some lovely locks, they defied our best attempts at styling.

We would let it grow.  We would comb it to the side.  Nanoseconds later, all the hair had come to a neat little point on Jack's forehead.  

We tried pomade.  I am inept with pomade.  

We cut it short.  That was OK.  But not, like, amazing.  Like Jack is.  It just wasn't the hair he deserved.

Here is a summary of our hair challenges from the past 2 years.


We had taken him to the place where you sit in a car and get your hair cut.  We didn't really like that place.  It was expensive and it smelled weird.

We took him to the cheap place.  You get what you pay for.

We took him to the "not as cheap also sports themed" place.  They're sort of (really) rude there.

Sooooo, for lack of a better idea, Durel took Jack to the barber where he goes.  It's a retro hipster man barber.  You know.

EUREKA.



Jack now has the hair he deserves.  We were saved by our hipster barber, suspenders and all.


Hope you feel ridiculously good looking today.

Talk soon,
Heather

motherhood amnesia

Friday, February 27, 2015

When Jack was about a year old, he stopped drinking from a bottle.  He went to sippy cups.  He didn't look back.

Durel and I facilitated this change with intent, care, and thought.  Jack's teacher had expressed a strong preference for one year olds to be bottle free, and with the earnestness of first-time parents, we obliged.

We were quite successful, as I recall.

Exhibit A:  Jack at 13 months or so, eating scrambled eggs with basil, biscuits, and drinking from his sippy cup.

What?  No Eggs Benedict?  What kind of a joint is this?

Exhibit B:  Jack at school around the same age, sitting with his classmates in a chair, at a table, eating rice krispies with a spoon (and his hands) and drinking from his sippy cup. 

I was told there would be pain au chocolat.
Take that, Rice Krispies.

(Also, please note the lack of hair.)

Exhibit C:  A very suspicious looking Jack at around the same time, eating toast and drinking from ... wait for it ... his sippy cup.

What?  The hair will come.
 Now leave me with my toast, woman.
And now, there's Sawyer.  Dear, sweet, Sawyer.  Drinking from his bottle without a clue in the world.  Turning one in like two weeks.

I swear to you.  I just realized, like last week, that I should be doing sippy cups with Sawyer.  I haven't bumped my head.  I haven't stopped being a hands-on mom (far from it!).  I just plain forgot.

Second kids do that to you.  You're more relaxed.  You're certainly busier.  You feel more confident.  You buy your one year old a sippy cup packed cutely for "ages 4 months +!!"

Whoops.

But, Exhibit D:  I copped to it on the Great App of All Truths, Instagram.  

In my own defense, it's not like I've totally lost my mind. (No comments, please.)  He is, as Jack was at this age, eating actual food.  In fact, he's quite fond of pot roast.



Hope you're quite fond of your dinner this evening.

Talk soon,
Heather

Mardi Gras, part three. The Property.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

When I was in third grade, my parents took us to New York in November.  To see the windows, of course.  (Christmas window displays in Manhattan are hard to beat.)  We took a horse drawn carriage ride around Central Park.  We ate breakfast at some fancy place where I got a hot chocolate that was literally to die for. We rode in checker cabs.

Checker cabs could seat four passengers, because they had flip-down seats attached to the back of the driver and passenger seats.  Checker cabs are not safe and are extinct.  I thought they were amazing.  I thought pretty much everything was amazing.

I also gaped at the world from the top of the Empire State Building.  I couldn't believe all that city below me.  I couldn't believe all the cabs.  I started counting.  I got to thirty or so when the light changed and they all zoomed away.  

*     *     *     *

As a kid, Durel recalls his Uncle Larry's property as a huge place full of adventures.  There were pigs.  There were trees, maybe hundreds.  There were alligators in the creek (right, Durel?).  There were fishing trips.  There was always a boat.  And there was Uncle Larry and Aunt Sue.

I'm sure "the property," as it is still known to us, is smaller to Durel now that he's a legit grown-up, but we saw a glimpse of the mystique it had to him when we took Jack and Sawyer there on our recent trip to New Orleans.

Jack will never forget it.  He is already asking when we can go back.

Because:

Baby chickens!

Grown up chickens!

Eggs to gather! (And pants to pull up!) 
Crawfish to eat! (Once Mom peels them for you.)
His world was busier that day than my view from the top of the Empire State Building.  He had to feed the baby chicks (Green grass.  GREEN, Mom.)  He had to feed the grown-up chickens.  (Bread, Mom.)  He had to gather the eggs with Uncle Larry.  (So carefully, Mom.)  He had to play with the dogs.  He had to eat the crawfish.  He had to do it all again.


Watching him gave us all a rosy glow.

As for SawDog, he had a rosy glow, too, in the arms of his new favorite, Aunt Sue.


He's still deciding about Uncle Larry.


I think that means another trip is required.  (And this time, I want a drive-through daiquiri.)

Hope you remember the grand scale of things today.

Talk soon,
Heather

are those bad guys?

Monday, February 23, 2015

Jack knows the difference between good guys and bad guys.

I didn't realize there was so much treachery in Star Wars, but though his love of the trilogy, Jack has honed in on the  phenomenon of "started as a good guy, turned into a bad guy."

Oh, George Lucas, you bard of eternal themes.

*     *     *     *     *

We don't watch the news when the children are around.  Sawyer is too young to understand it, of course, but Jack certainly is not.  We made an exception and watched about five minutes of the news last night.  Jack was playing; he wasn't really paying attention.  

There was a snippet about the current terror threat and response in Egypt.  Jack's head snapped to attention and turned to the TV.

"Are those bad guys?"

"Yes, they are, Jack."  [CHANGE CHANNEL]

*     *     *     *     *

I know that it is my responsibility as a mother to not only protect my children, but to teach them to be safe and wise and use common sense.  Jack has my cellphone number memorized (and has for some time!) and knows that he is to run away from strangers who try to offer him gifts or get him into their car.  He knows that if he can't find a parent, he is to turn to a police officer, firefighter, or teacher for help.  We are doing what we can.

However, one of the most profound things no one tells you about becoming a parent is this, the fear.  I'm sure my parents felt it -- they brought us into a world with a Cold War and nuclear weapons and the Cuban Missile Crisis.  They taught us with love and compassion.  They rock.

And now, we've brought children into a world with mutant viruses and too many terrorist groups to name.  And we will teach them with love and compassion.

*     *     *     *     *

For the present time, though, I am glad that Jack's concept of bad guys is as simple (and adorable) as this unscripted and unprompted display from this weekend.




Hope your day has some classic literary themes in it.

Talk soon,
Heather

Mardi Gras, part two. The parade.

Friday, February 20, 2015

I like to think that after ten years, I speak "conversational" New Orleans.  I'm not fluent.  I'm not a native.  But I can get by.

Mardi Gras involves a whole new set of vocabulary, though.  I knew what a king cake was.  I did *not* know that they make king cake flavored daiquiris.  (They are delicious.  I know you doubt me, but they are.)  I did not realize that you can (and should!) buy daiquiris by the gallon.  I'm sorry, by the *multiple* gallon.

I did not realize that going to a party at a house on a parade route is the Holy Grail of Mardi Gras experiences.  

Party = fun and people
House = bathroom
Parade route = beads
All of those things in the same place = victory

We were lucky enough to spend Saturday with friends (and friends of friends) at such a party.  The parade was Endymion.  (I also learned that which parade you are watching makes a difference.  This is advanced, folks.  There's a lot to learn.)  

Endymion is a big parade.  And it's not in the French Quarter.  Or, at least, we weren't in the French Quarter, so we weren't packed like sardines in a tin. (So slip off your shoes and put on your swim fins...nevermind.)

Despite our relative personal space for the Endymion experience, we still had to get to the party like four hours before the parade started.  So that we could park in the same ZIP code as the house where we were meeting our friends.  The whole city really does shut down, and you have to do your best to strategically locate yourself, despite the gridlock.

No, four hours of partying before the parade starts is not a hardship.  We had food and friends and (as previously mentioned) bathrooms.  However, when you are five years old and REALLY EXCITED for the parade, that can be a lot of time to kill.


Jack chilled out with a bubble gun he found, and his Moto GP headphones, which we brought just in case.

Sawyer gave us baby side-eye at the entire experience.

Seriously?  Plastic beads.  Seriously.
I passed the time with selfies.  As we do.


And when the parade started, we were prepared.


The headphones were quickly abandoned.


This whole "kids on a ladder" phenomenon is like, a done thing.  They build little "box seats" on top of the ladders so the kids can sit there and catch beads.  Seriously, I felt like an anthropologist.

As the sun set, the parade continued, but we took our tired selves and our kiddos home.  I can say with confidence that the party continued.


Hope your weekend is culturally enlightening.

Talk soon,
Heather

Monday, March 2, 2015

rescued by a hipster

We didn't mean to give up on Jack's hair.

We were just sort of out of ideas.

You see, Jack didn't really have any hair until he was close to 2 years old.  When he did start to grow some lovely locks, they defied our best attempts at styling.

We would let it grow.  We would comb it to the side.  Nanoseconds later, all the hair had come to a neat little point on Jack's forehead.  

We tried pomade.  I am inept with pomade.  

We cut it short.  That was OK.  But not, like, amazing.  Like Jack is.  It just wasn't the hair he deserved.

Here is a summary of our hair challenges from the past 2 years.


We had taken him to the place where you sit in a car and get your hair cut.  We didn't really like that place.  It was expensive and it smelled weird.

We took him to the cheap place.  You get what you pay for.

We took him to the "not as cheap also sports themed" place.  They're sort of (really) rude there.

Sooooo, for lack of a better idea, Durel took Jack to the barber where he goes.  It's a retro hipster man barber.  You know.

EUREKA.



Jack now has the hair he deserves.  We were saved by our hipster barber, suspenders and all.


Hope you feel ridiculously good looking today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Friday, February 27, 2015

motherhood amnesia

When Jack was about a year old, he stopped drinking from a bottle.  He went to sippy cups.  He didn't look back.

Durel and I facilitated this change with intent, care, and thought.  Jack's teacher had expressed a strong preference for one year olds to be bottle free, and with the earnestness of first-time parents, we obliged.

We were quite successful, as I recall.

Exhibit A:  Jack at 13 months or so, eating scrambled eggs with basil, biscuits, and drinking from his sippy cup.

What?  No Eggs Benedict?  What kind of a joint is this?

Exhibit B:  Jack at school around the same age, sitting with his classmates in a chair, at a table, eating rice krispies with a spoon (and his hands) and drinking from his sippy cup. 

I was told there would be pain au chocolat.
Take that, Rice Krispies.

(Also, please note the lack of hair.)

Exhibit C:  A very suspicious looking Jack at around the same time, eating toast and drinking from ... wait for it ... his sippy cup.

What?  The hair will come.
 Now leave me with my toast, woman.
And now, there's Sawyer.  Dear, sweet, Sawyer.  Drinking from his bottle without a clue in the world.  Turning one in like two weeks.

I swear to you.  I just realized, like last week, that I should be doing sippy cups with Sawyer.  I haven't bumped my head.  I haven't stopped being a hands-on mom (far from it!).  I just plain forgot.

Second kids do that to you.  You're more relaxed.  You're certainly busier.  You feel more confident.  You buy your one year old a sippy cup packed cutely for "ages 4 months +!!"

Whoops.

But, Exhibit D:  I copped to it on the Great App of All Truths, Instagram.  

In my own defense, it's not like I've totally lost my mind. (No comments, please.)  He is, as Jack was at this age, eating actual food.  In fact, he's quite fond of pot roast.



Hope you're quite fond of your dinner this evening.

Talk soon,
Heather

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Mardi Gras, part three. The Property.

When I was in third grade, my parents took us to New York in November.  To see the windows, of course.  (Christmas window displays in Manhattan are hard to beat.)  We took a horse drawn carriage ride around Central Park.  We ate breakfast at some fancy place where I got a hot chocolate that was literally to die for. We rode in checker cabs.

Checker cabs could seat four passengers, because they had flip-down seats attached to the back of the driver and passenger seats.  Checker cabs are not safe and are extinct.  I thought they were amazing.  I thought pretty much everything was amazing.

I also gaped at the world from the top of the Empire State Building.  I couldn't believe all that city below me.  I couldn't believe all the cabs.  I started counting.  I got to thirty or so when the light changed and they all zoomed away.  

*     *     *     *

As a kid, Durel recalls his Uncle Larry's property as a huge place full of adventures.  There were pigs.  There were trees, maybe hundreds.  There were alligators in the creek (right, Durel?).  There were fishing trips.  There was always a boat.  And there was Uncle Larry and Aunt Sue.

I'm sure "the property," as it is still known to us, is smaller to Durel now that he's a legit grown-up, but we saw a glimpse of the mystique it had to him when we took Jack and Sawyer there on our recent trip to New Orleans.

Jack will never forget it.  He is already asking when we can go back.

Because:

Baby chickens!

Grown up chickens!

Eggs to gather! (And pants to pull up!) 
Crawfish to eat! (Once Mom peels them for you.)
His world was busier that day than my view from the top of the Empire State Building.  He had to feed the baby chicks (Green grass.  GREEN, Mom.)  He had to feed the grown-up chickens.  (Bread, Mom.)  He had to gather the eggs with Uncle Larry.  (So carefully, Mom.)  He had to play with the dogs.  He had to eat the crawfish.  He had to do it all again.


Watching him gave us all a rosy glow.

As for SawDog, he had a rosy glow, too, in the arms of his new favorite, Aunt Sue.


He's still deciding about Uncle Larry.


I think that means another trip is required.  (And this time, I want a drive-through daiquiri.)

Hope you remember the grand scale of things today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Monday, February 23, 2015

are those bad guys?

Jack knows the difference between good guys and bad guys.

I didn't realize there was so much treachery in Star Wars, but though his love of the trilogy, Jack has honed in on the  phenomenon of "started as a good guy, turned into a bad guy."

Oh, George Lucas, you bard of eternal themes.

*     *     *     *     *

We don't watch the news when the children are around.  Sawyer is too young to understand it, of course, but Jack certainly is not.  We made an exception and watched about five minutes of the news last night.  Jack was playing; he wasn't really paying attention.  

There was a snippet about the current terror threat and response in Egypt.  Jack's head snapped to attention and turned to the TV.

"Are those bad guys?"

"Yes, they are, Jack."  [CHANGE CHANNEL]

*     *     *     *     *

I know that it is my responsibility as a mother to not only protect my children, but to teach them to be safe and wise and use common sense.  Jack has my cellphone number memorized (and has for some time!) and knows that he is to run away from strangers who try to offer him gifts or get him into their car.  He knows that if he can't find a parent, he is to turn to a police officer, firefighter, or teacher for help.  We are doing what we can.

However, one of the most profound things no one tells you about becoming a parent is this, the fear.  I'm sure my parents felt it -- they brought us into a world with a Cold War and nuclear weapons and the Cuban Missile Crisis.  They taught us with love and compassion.  They rock.

And now, we've brought children into a world with mutant viruses and too many terrorist groups to name.  And we will teach them with love and compassion.

*     *     *     *     *

For the present time, though, I am glad that Jack's concept of bad guys is as simple (and adorable) as this unscripted and unprompted display from this weekend.




Hope your day has some classic literary themes in it.

Talk soon,
Heather

Friday, February 20, 2015

Mardi Gras, part two. The parade.

I like to think that after ten years, I speak "conversational" New Orleans.  I'm not fluent.  I'm not a native.  But I can get by.

Mardi Gras involves a whole new set of vocabulary, though.  I knew what a king cake was.  I did *not* know that they make king cake flavored daiquiris.  (They are delicious.  I know you doubt me, but they are.)  I did not realize that you can (and should!) buy daiquiris by the gallon.  I'm sorry, by the *multiple* gallon.

I did not realize that going to a party at a house on a parade route is the Holy Grail of Mardi Gras experiences.  

Party = fun and people
House = bathroom
Parade route = beads
All of those things in the same place = victory

We were lucky enough to spend Saturday with friends (and friends of friends) at such a party.  The parade was Endymion.  (I also learned that which parade you are watching makes a difference.  This is advanced, folks.  There's a lot to learn.)  

Endymion is a big parade.  And it's not in the French Quarter.  Or, at least, we weren't in the French Quarter, so we weren't packed like sardines in a tin. (So slip off your shoes and put on your swim fins...nevermind.)

Despite our relative personal space for the Endymion experience, we still had to get to the party like four hours before the parade started.  So that we could park in the same ZIP code as the house where we were meeting our friends.  The whole city really does shut down, and you have to do your best to strategically locate yourself, despite the gridlock.

No, four hours of partying before the parade starts is not a hardship.  We had food and friends and (as previously mentioned) bathrooms.  However, when you are five years old and REALLY EXCITED for the parade, that can be a lot of time to kill.


Jack chilled out with a bubble gun he found, and his Moto GP headphones, which we brought just in case.

Sawyer gave us baby side-eye at the entire experience.

Seriously?  Plastic beads.  Seriously.
I passed the time with selfies.  As we do.


And when the parade started, we were prepared.


The headphones were quickly abandoned.


This whole "kids on a ladder" phenomenon is like, a done thing.  They build little "box seats" on top of the ladders so the kids can sit there and catch beads.  Seriously, I felt like an anthropologist.

As the sun set, the parade continued, but we took our tired selves and our kiddos home.  I can say with confidence that the party continued.


Hope your weekend is culturally enlightening.

Talk soon,
Heather
 
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