a lyrical genius?

Monday, June 30, 2014



Jack takes music classes at school once a week.  Since he's 4 going on 14, we don't always hear the details of how music class was, but he drops clues that it's going well.

-- Walking around the house, singing, "Hello.  I love you won't you tell me your name?  Hello.  I love you let me jumpintoyourgame."

-- Observing on TV:  "Mom.  That's just an ACOUSTIC guitar."

Apparently his burgeoning music career has also made him listen more critically to the radio when we are in the car.  Specifically, he isn't sure that most songs are named the right, or most logical, thing.

Jack:    Mom, what is this song called?
Me:      Magic.
Jack:    [listens]  It should be called "I Don't Know."





Jack:     Mom, what is this song called?
Me:       Pompeii.
Jack:     [listens]  It should be called "If You Close Your Eyes."





The one song he hasn't bothered to rename, because we are both far too busy singing it, is La La La.  Don't judge.  It's catchy.

(Editor's Note:  The real video is cool, but seeing Sam Smith live is better.  And then David Letterman comes out at the end and is delightfully awkward.)



So, in the wake of becoming a big brother, that's what Jack's been up to lately.

Hope you rock out today.

Talk soon,
Heather

queso, wherefore art thou queso?

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

I didn't know about chile con queso until I moved to Austin in 2001.  I'm not sure how the opportunity to order a bowl of melted cheese in a restaurant (and eat it in public, without judgment) had escaped me for that long.  I've been making up for lost time ever since.

From Homesick Texan.  Disregard the sound of me, weeping.
That is, until two weeks ago.

My sweet angel of a newborn, Sawyer, is allergic to milk protein.  This happens to some babies; it's different than lactose intolerance; they usually outgrow it by age 1, if not age 3.  Fine.

What that means is that I cannot have any food with milk protein in it.  It also means that I cannot have any food with casein or whey protein in it.

[long pause]

UGH.

And so, as I mentioned, it has been two weeks of a Dairy-Free Heather.  Here are the highlights:

-- I don't miss cheese as much as I thought I would.
-- I haven't killed anyone!
-- Coconut milk creamer is awesome.
-- Almond milk yogurt is NOT awesome.
-- I miss yogurt more than I thought I would.
-- Thank God for peanut butter.
-- There is NO DAIRY in Oreos.  (Stop and think about that for a moment...)
-- I really like celery.  Plain.
-- Vegan chocolate chips are expensive.
-- I am not likely to make vegan chocolate chip cookies.
-- I like Lara bars.  Especially the blueberry ones.

The most important observation is that Sawyer is flourishing with my new diet.  His cheeks are rosy.  He's smiling.  His, um, digestion is vastly improved, shall we say.  (That is also how we diagnosed there was a problem.  It was in his diaper.  I'll leave it at that.)

Happier than Pharrell to be dairy-free.
I'm also avoiding as much soy as possible.  I am having NO dairy at all, and as little soy as I can.  Damn, Gina.  Soy is in EVERYTHING.  

We were already drinking almond milk at our house.  No big change there.

When you completely rule out dairy, you get really hungry, really fast.  

To be clear, I don't think formula is the devil.  But I do know that the formula that is both soy and dairy-free is approximately the price of our mortgage.  And that I can create milk for free, and it's better.

Also, yesterday I would have kicked a puppy for a cheese pizza.  And then, I saw Sawyer, that little bundle of dairy free awesomeness, and I didn't give a shit (pun not intended) about pizza.

Hope you do what you have to do today.

Talk soon,
Heather

what preemie?

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

This morning, Sawyer sat on Jack until he begged for mercy.


Sawyer doesn't really look like a preemie, does he?  In fact, I think he looks more like he is (1) outgrowing that onesie, which is a 6 month size, and (2) going to play rugby in college.

Jack, on the other hand, is more of a tennis player, I think.

Hope your calling is apparent today.

Talk soon,
Heather


big brotherisms

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Jack has decided that Sawyer looks like him, and that he looks like Sawyer.  This is endlessly pleasing to him.

I dug up some pictures of Jack at this age (pre-head control but ever so cute) to see how similar they are.

What do you think?  (They're easy to tell apart because of Sawyer's pesky hemangioma, but take a gander.)

Wiggles Lafitte, aka Sawyer.

Jack, featuring Ironic Onesie #1.

Jack, featuring Ironic Onesie #2.

Sawyer, preferring oxymorons to irony.
*     *     *     *     *

Aside from the unbearable joy of birthday parties, aging is a bit complex for four year old Jack.

After Sawyer's first week at daycare, Jack thought he would walk.  I am pretty sure Jack wanted Sawyer to morph into a four year old playmate, and I think that is heartrendingly adorable.

Ever the pragmatist, when that didn't happen, Jack adjusted his expectations.  So much so that when I asked him the other day what he wants to do when he grows up, he responded: 

"Feed Sawyer with a bottle.  Daddy does that.  When I get big, I want to do that."

He also wants to be a vet, but priorities, people.

*     *     *     *     *

Quick note regarding hemangiomas (or unexplained red bumps on my son's head).  They're harmless, unexplained vascular tumors that shrink and go away.  They're often called "strawberries" or "stork bites."  (Which is weird because ouch! stork!)  We have been assured that Sawyer's will go away, and I daresay we don't even really see it anymore.

I've told Jack's inquisitive classmates that it's a cross between a birthmark and a boo boo, and that it will go away.  One of his friends has thoughtfully told me upon repeat inspection that she's sure it's getting smaller.  (It's not, but Addie, you are a dear.)

The general public, however, does see it.  The best question I have been asked is this one, by a wonderfully innocent young man:

"Oh!  Did he get into a fight with another baby?"

Nope.  He didn't.  But when he does, I bet he'll win.

Hope your questions are innocent today.

Talk soon,
Heather

there shall be poo

Monday, June 16, 2014

Before Jack arrived, I was given this golden nugget of parenting advice:

If the blow-out is too bad, throw the onesie away.

When blow-outs happen, they scramble your brain.  You don't want to do what you know you have to do.  You panic nonsensically that you might have to use like TEN WIPES.  You don't understand why you went to graduate school.  It didn't prepare you for this.  Nothing has.  And how does the baby choose THAT MOMENT to smile at you, looking so pleased with himself?

I've shared the advice.  I've had friends come back to me and thank me for it.  Because their babies' blow-outs scrambled their brains, too, and the one clear thought they could muster was that it's okay to toss the bit of cotton and snaps that probably came from Target.  You don't have to clean it.  You are already demeaning yourself enough.

*     *     *     *     *

Sawyer and I took Jack to the dentist the other day.  He chose that moment to have a massive blow-out.  And, with the grit and determination of a second time mother, I cleaned it up and saved the onesie.  Because it's the fancy onesie with Texas and the guitar on it.

When you finish that selfie, you will realize that I have just shit in your lap, Mom.
I love you.
Sawyer was pretty pleased with himself.

Sawyer:  One
Mama:  Zero

Hope your dignity remains intact today.

Talk soon,
Heather

is he twelve?

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The other night, Durel and Jack had "man time."  This entailed a haircut (Jack), a sports bar for dinner (Jack and Durel), and a trip to Menchies (ostensibly Jack, but who doesn't love Menchies?).  

When I say "sports bar," I really mean a restaurant with a lot of TVs.  TVs that are turned to sporting events, not to Bravo for Project Runway reruns.  (Although, that's not a bad idea.  Ten kinds of white wine by the glass and TVs showing The Golden Girls, Felicity, and You've Got Mail?)

The hostess was trying to assess whether Durel and Jack were eligible to sit in the bar area for dinner.  She sized them up, turned to Durel and asked, "Is he twelve?"

[long pause]

No.  Nope, he is not.  He is FOUR.  He looks nothing like a twelve year old.  From Earth.

So, they sat outside.

This snapshot from the dinner gives a pretty good overview of where Jack is these days.  He is a little man.  He loves cheeseburgers and Star Wars.  And he does not look twelve yet.


Gratuitous froyo shot:


Hope your devil may care attitude is adorable today.

Talk soon,
Heather


to sleep or not to sleep

Friday, June 6, 2014

Sleep is so awesome.

From what I remember.

OK, that's not entirely fair.  Sawyer is sleeping pretty well.  He's doing extremely well when you consider that he was a preemie.  And Durel takes a night feeding every night, because he's awesome like that.

Regardless, being woken by a screaming imp at 3 AM totally stinks.  No matter how cute the imp is.  No matter how good the coffee tastes.  No matter how much you like the quiet stillness of the morning when it's just you and your vanilla-scented baby.

Sawyer is perplexed by my deep desire to sleep during the nighttime hours, uninterrupted.

You want me to sleep through the night?
Mother.  I'm doing the best I can here.
Eat, sleep, poop, smile, repeat.  It's a lot to remember.
However, he is open to discussion on the topic.  He attempts to sway me with his amazing cuteness.

I'm cute, right?  Doesn't that help?
Like, so cute that 3 AM is totally fine?
Ultimately, we reach a BATNA.  I cannot accept less than this, but I can work with this.

I know, I know.  I'll work on it.
And yes, I am so awesome.
Hope you get to yes today.

Talk soon,
Heather


the unbearable cuteness of being

Thursday, June 5, 2014

One of the questions I am getting most these days is:  "How is Jack handling being a big brother?"

People are asking because getting a sibling can cause a chemical reaction.  That reaction can be cool and interesting, like the requisite science class volcano eruption experiment.  Or, the reaction can be uncool and scary, like whatever happened to The Joker's face.

Luckily for us, even though we do love Batman in our family, Sawyer has been welcomed into Jack's world with open arms.  

Jack wants to change his diapers (no); help to bathe him (OK); teach him to walk (eventually); and help us to drop him off and pick him up at school each day (OK, but please hurry up putting your shoes back on).

Despite knowing deep down what a good heart Jack has, I had visions of eye-poking and "accidental" hitting when the baby arrived.

I should have known better.


Hope you get to cuddle with someone you adore today.

Talk soon,
Heather

coming soon

Monday, June 2, 2014

We'll be back soon.  Life is good and cute pictures and stories abound.


Hope you are rocking the life aquatic today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Monday, June 30, 2014

a lyrical genius?



Jack takes music classes at school once a week.  Since he's 4 going on 14, we don't always hear the details of how music class was, but he drops clues that it's going well.

-- Walking around the house, singing, "Hello.  I love you won't you tell me your name?  Hello.  I love you let me jumpintoyourgame."

-- Observing on TV:  "Mom.  That's just an ACOUSTIC guitar."

Apparently his burgeoning music career has also made him listen more critically to the radio when we are in the car.  Specifically, he isn't sure that most songs are named the right, or most logical, thing.

Jack:    Mom, what is this song called?
Me:      Magic.
Jack:    [listens]  It should be called "I Don't Know."





Jack:     Mom, what is this song called?
Me:       Pompeii.
Jack:     [listens]  It should be called "If You Close Your Eyes."





The one song he hasn't bothered to rename, because we are both far too busy singing it, is La La La.  Don't judge.  It's catchy.

(Editor's Note:  The real video is cool, but seeing Sam Smith live is better.  And then David Letterman comes out at the end and is delightfully awkward.)



So, in the wake of becoming a big brother, that's what Jack's been up to lately.

Hope you rock out today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

queso, wherefore art thou queso?

I didn't know about chile con queso until I moved to Austin in 2001.  I'm not sure how the opportunity to order a bowl of melted cheese in a restaurant (and eat it in public, without judgment) had escaped me for that long.  I've been making up for lost time ever since.

From Homesick Texan.  Disregard the sound of me, weeping.
That is, until two weeks ago.

My sweet angel of a newborn, Sawyer, is allergic to milk protein.  This happens to some babies; it's different than lactose intolerance; they usually outgrow it by age 1, if not age 3.  Fine.

What that means is that I cannot have any food with milk protein in it.  It also means that I cannot have any food with casein or whey protein in it.

[long pause]

UGH.

And so, as I mentioned, it has been two weeks of a Dairy-Free Heather.  Here are the highlights:

-- I don't miss cheese as much as I thought I would.
-- I haven't killed anyone!
-- Coconut milk creamer is awesome.
-- Almond milk yogurt is NOT awesome.
-- I miss yogurt more than I thought I would.
-- Thank God for peanut butter.
-- There is NO DAIRY in Oreos.  (Stop and think about that for a moment...)
-- I really like celery.  Plain.
-- Vegan chocolate chips are expensive.
-- I am not likely to make vegan chocolate chip cookies.
-- I like Lara bars.  Especially the blueberry ones.

The most important observation is that Sawyer is flourishing with my new diet.  His cheeks are rosy.  He's smiling.  His, um, digestion is vastly improved, shall we say.  (That is also how we diagnosed there was a problem.  It was in his diaper.  I'll leave it at that.)

Happier than Pharrell to be dairy-free.
I'm also avoiding as much soy as possible.  I am having NO dairy at all, and as little soy as I can.  Damn, Gina.  Soy is in EVERYTHING.  

We were already drinking almond milk at our house.  No big change there.

When you completely rule out dairy, you get really hungry, really fast.  

To be clear, I don't think formula is the devil.  But I do know that the formula that is both soy and dairy-free is approximately the price of our mortgage.  And that I can create milk for free, and it's better.

Also, yesterday I would have kicked a puppy for a cheese pizza.  And then, I saw Sawyer, that little bundle of dairy free awesomeness, and I didn't give a shit (pun not intended) about pizza.

Hope you do what you have to do today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

what preemie?

This morning, Sawyer sat on Jack until he begged for mercy.


Sawyer doesn't really look like a preemie, does he?  In fact, I think he looks more like he is (1) outgrowing that onesie, which is a 6 month size, and (2) going to play rugby in college.

Jack, on the other hand, is more of a tennis player, I think.

Hope your calling is apparent today.

Talk soon,
Heather


Tuesday, June 17, 2014

big brotherisms

Jack has decided that Sawyer looks like him, and that he looks like Sawyer.  This is endlessly pleasing to him.

I dug up some pictures of Jack at this age (pre-head control but ever so cute) to see how similar they are.

What do you think?  (They're easy to tell apart because of Sawyer's pesky hemangioma, but take a gander.)

Wiggles Lafitte, aka Sawyer.

Jack, featuring Ironic Onesie #1.

Jack, featuring Ironic Onesie #2.

Sawyer, preferring oxymorons to irony.
*     *     *     *     *

Aside from the unbearable joy of birthday parties, aging is a bit complex for four year old Jack.

After Sawyer's first week at daycare, Jack thought he would walk.  I am pretty sure Jack wanted Sawyer to morph into a four year old playmate, and I think that is heartrendingly adorable.

Ever the pragmatist, when that didn't happen, Jack adjusted his expectations.  So much so that when I asked him the other day what he wants to do when he grows up, he responded: 

"Feed Sawyer with a bottle.  Daddy does that.  When I get big, I want to do that."

He also wants to be a vet, but priorities, people.

*     *     *     *     *

Quick note regarding hemangiomas (or unexplained red bumps on my son's head).  They're harmless, unexplained vascular tumors that shrink and go away.  They're often called "strawberries" or "stork bites."  (Which is weird because ouch! stork!)  We have been assured that Sawyer's will go away, and I daresay we don't even really see it anymore.

I've told Jack's inquisitive classmates that it's a cross between a birthmark and a boo boo, and that it will go away.  One of his friends has thoughtfully told me upon repeat inspection that she's sure it's getting smaller.  (It's not, but Addie, you are a dear.)

The general public, however, does see it.  The best question I have been asked is this one, by a wonderfully innocent young man:

"Oh!  Did he get into a fight with another baby?"

Nope.  He didn't.  But when he does, I bet he'll win.

Hope your questions are innocent today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Monday, June 16, 2014

there shall be poo

Before Jack arrived, I was given this golden nugget of parenting advice:

If the blow-out is too bad, throw the onesie away.

When blow-outs happen, they scramble your brain.  You don't want to do what you know you have to do.  You panic nonsensically that you might have to use like TEN WIPES.  You don't understand why you went to graduate school.  It didn't prepare you for this.  Nothing has.  And how does the baby choose THAT MOMENT to smile at you, looking so pleased with himself?

I've shared the advice.  I've had friends come back to me and thank me for it.  Because their babies' blow-outs scrambled their brains, too, and the one clear thought they could muster was that it's okay to toss the bit of cotton and snaps that probably came from Target.  You don't have to clean it.  You are already demeaning yourself enough.

*     *     *     *     *

Sawyer and I took Jack to the dentist the other day.  He chose that moment to have a massive blow-out.  And, with the grit and determination of a second time mother, I cleaned it up and saved the onesie.  Because it's the fancy onesie with Texas and the guitar on it.

When you finish that selfie, you will realize that I have just shit in your lap, Mom.
I love you.
Sawyer was pretty pleased with himself.

Sawyer:  One
Mama:  Zero

Hope your dignity remains intact today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

is he twelve?

The other night, Durel and Jack had "man time."  This entailed a haircut (Jack), a sports bar for dinner (Jack and Durel), and a trip to Menchies (ostensibly Jack, but who doesn't love Menchies?).  

When I say "sports bar," I really mean a restaurant with a lot of TVs.  TVs that are turned to sporting events, not to Bravo for Project Runway reruns.  (Although, that's not a bad idea.  Ten kinds of white wine by the glass and TVs showing The Golden Girls, Felicity, and You've Got Mail?)

The hostess was trying to assess whether Durel and Jack were eligible to sit in the bar area for dinner.  She sized them up, turned to Durel and asked, "Is he twelve?"

[long pause]

No.  Nope, he is not.  He is FOUR.  He looks nothing like a twelve year old.  From Earth.

So, they sat outside.

This snapshot from the dinner gives a pretty good overview of where Jack is these days.  He is a little man.  He loves cheeseburgers and Star Wars.  And he does not look twelve yet.


Gratuitous froyo shot:


Hope your devil may care attitude is adorable today.

Talk soon,
Heather


Friday, June 6, 2014

to sleep or not to sleep

Sleep is so awesome.

From what I remember.

OK, that's not entirely fair.  Sawyer is sleeping pretty well.  He's doing extremely well when you consider that he was a preemie.  And Durel takes a night feeding every night, because he's awesome like that.

Regardless, being woken by a screaming imp at 3 AM totally stinks.  No matter how cute the imp is.  No matter how good the coffee tastes.  No matter how much you like the quiet stillness of the morning when it's just you and your vanilla-scented baby.

Sawyer is perplexed by my deep desire to sleep during the nighttime hours, uninterrupted.

You want me to sleep through the night?
Mother.  I'm doing the best I can here.
Eat, sleep, poop, smile, repeat.  It's a lot to remember.
However, he is open to discussion on the topic.  He attempts to sway me with his amazing cuteness.

I'm cute, right?  Doesn't that help?
Like, so cute that 3 AM is totally fine?
Ultimately, we reach a BATNA.  I cannot accept less than this, but I can work with this.

I know, I know.  I'll work on it.
And yes, I am so awesome.
Hope you get to yes today.

Talk soon,
Heather


Thursday, June 5, 2014

the unbearable cuteness of being

One of the questions I am getting most these days is:  "How is Jack handling being a big brother?"

People are asking because getting a sibling can cause a chemical reaction.  That reaction can be cool and interesting, like the requisite science class volcano eruption experiment.  Or, the reaction can be uncool and scary, like whatever happened to The Joker's face.

Luckily for us, even though we do love Batman in our family, Sawyer has been welcomed into Jack's world with open arms.  

Jack wants to change his diapers (no); help to bathe him (OK); teach him to walk (eventually); and help us to drop him off and pick him up at school each day (OK, but please hurry up putting your shoes back on).

Despite knowing deep down what a good heart Jack has, I had visions of eye-poking and "accidental" hitting when the baby arrived.

I should have known better.


Hope you get to cuddle with someone you adore today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Monday, June 2, 2014

coming soon

We'll be back soon.  Life is good and cute pictures and stories abound.


Hope you are rocking the life aquatic today.

Talk soon,
Heather
 
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