on firm kisses and unlikely comparisons

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Durel and I were talking the other evening about how, even at our ripe old ages, our parents still kiss us firmly on the heads.  

My family has always been pretty affectionate, so I never thought about it.  Durel's family is less demonstrative, so he did.

Here is my operating theory:  No matter how old you get, you are still your parents' baby.  And they will kiss your head firmly, forever.  Because it's in their parental DNA.  They've been kissing you like that since you were born and there simply is no good reason to stop.

*     *     *     *     *  

So, Jack is huge now.  He has seen the first Harry Potter movie and asks me repeatedly when he can go to wizarding school.  (I see Harry Potter themed parties in our future.)  He will play Quidditch, of course.  He anticipates being in Gryffendor, but Durel and I are quick to posit the virtues of Slytherin.  (Seriously.  Slytherin is cool.  It's how you use your power that makes the difference, n'est pas?)

He's big on cocoa, also.  So, imagine the kismet that occurred when one of the items on his monthly homework calendar was to "drink a cup of hot chocolate and use your five senses to describe it."

We got to work, and here's what we learned.  

Me:      OK, Jack.  Let's use your eyes.  What does your cocoa look like?

Jack:    Clear vomit.

Me:      ...Oh!  Uh...OK.

Jack:     You know what I mean. It's all bubbly.

Me:       Rrrrright.  How about your nose?  How does your cocoa smell?

Jack:     (sniffs)  Chocolate!

Me:       Great.  What about touch?  How does it feel?

Jack:     (unceremoniously sticks finger into hot cocoa)  Oh!  LIKE FIRE!

Me:      Wow.  OK.  How does it sound?

Jack:     (looks at me as if I'm a bit daft)  Like bubbles popping.

Me:      OK, most important one!  Let's taste it!

Anyway, that was a successful (and enlightening) exercise.  Here are a few shots of Jack at his best lately. I took them in between stealing every opportunity to kiss him firmly on the head.

As we do.

Holding a baby kangaroo at his friend Addie's amazeballs birthday party.

We big puffy heart love Menchies. 
He stole my sandwich at Panera.

He also ate about half of my pho.  I swear, I feed him.

Hope kisses are firm and vomit is only theoretical in your world today.

Talk soon,
Heather


the one about pie. and wine.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Christmas is an Olympic event to me.

I train for it.  I plan for it.  I make multiple lists.  I mutter over cookbooks weeks in advance.  I dance in my car to Christmas music in November.  Early November.

I'm into it.

Normally, December 23rd (or Christmas Eve EVE, as I call it in my head), is Baking Day.  If I have the great (biannual) luck of being with my sister, Jenny, we listen to the Pogues and the Waitresses and bake cookies and spike our coffee with Kahlua.  

If not, I bake pies all day.  I usually end up with a 1:1 person to pie ratio.  Not because everyone eats a whole pie, but because I want to make several kinds of pie, and why make just one?  Everyone has to taste it, you know.  And of course, my family requires at least three pumpkin pies.  So. I make a lot of pies.

This year, Durel had a great (yet revolutionary) idea.  He suggested that we go to Fredericksburg with PapaDu, Uncle Dustin, Aunt Geri to breathe Hill Country air and drink wine.  (Frederickburg is a Texas German town a little more than an hour away.  It has cuteness and vineyards in abundance.)

I told him that was a great idea.

My brain was freaking out about OHMAGERD THE PIEZZZZZZZZZZZ.  But I told that inner voice to shut up.  And off we went.

I'm also not good at admitting I'm wrong.  But you can guess where this is going.

Durel was right.  It was a perfect (balmy) day and an amazing way to spend it.

Exploring.




I love these people.  So much.

Getting artsy.

My beautiful sister in law.

Moving.

Maxing and relaxing.

Guess what?  I still made pie.  

Hope your Christmas involved the magic of new ideas.

Talk soon,
Heather

Saturday, January 16, 2016

on firm kisses and unlikely comparisons

Durel and I were talking the other evening about how, even at our ripe old ages, our parents still kiss us firmly on the heads.  

My family has always been pretty affectionate, so I never thought about it.  Durel's family is less demonstrative, so he did.

Here is my operating theory:  No matter how old you get, you are still your parents' baby.  And they will kiss your head firmly, forever.  Because it's in their parental DNA.  They've been kissing you like that since you were born and there simply is no good reason to stop.

*     *     *     *     *  

So, Jack is huge now.  He has seen the first Harry Potter movie and asks me repeatedly when he can go to wizarding school.  (I see Harry Potter themed parties in our future.)  He will play Quidditch, of course.  He anticipates being in Gryffendor, but Durel and I are quick to posit the virtues of Slytherin.  (Seriously.  Slytherin is cool.  It's how you use your power that makes the difference, n'est pas?)

He's big on cocoa, also.  So, imagine the kismet that occurred when one of the items on his monthly homework calendar was to "drink a cup of hot chocolate and use your five senses to describe it."

We got to work, and here's what we learned.  

Me:      OK, Jack.  Let's use your eyes.  What does your cocoa look like?

Jack:    Clear vomit.

Me:      ...Oh!  Uh...OK.

Jack:     You know what I mean. It's all bubbly.

Me:       Rrrrright.  How about your nose?  How does your cocoa smell?

Jack:     (sniffs)  Chocolate!

Me:       Great.  What about touch?  How does it feel?

Jack:     (unceremoniously sticks finger into hot cocoa)  Oh!  LIKE FIRE!

Me:      Wow.  OK.  How does it sound?

Jack:     (looks at me as if I'm a bit daft)  Like bubbles popping.

Me:      OK, most important one!  Let's taste it!

Anyway, that was a successful (and enlightening) exercise.  Here are a few shots of Jack at his best lately. I took them in between stealing every opportunity to kiss him firmly on the head.

As we do.

Holding a baby kangaroo at his friend Addie's amazeballs birthday party.

We big puffy heart love Menchies. 
He stole my sandwich at Panera.

He also ate about half of my pho.  I swear, I feed him.

Hope kisses are firm and vomit is only theoretical in your world today.

Talk soon,
Heather


Wednesday, January 6, 2016

the one about pie. and wine.

Christmas is an Olympic event to me.

I train for it.  I plan for it.  I make multiple lists.  I mutter over cookbooks weeks in advance.  I dance in my car to Christmas music in November.  Early November.

I'm into it.

Normally, December 23rd (or Christmas Eve EVE, as I call it in my head), is Baking Day.  If I have the great (biannual) luck of being with my sister, Jenny, we listen to the Pogues and the Waitresses and bake cookies and spike our coffee with Kahlua.  

If not, I bake pies all day.  I usually end up with a 1:1 person to pie ratio.  Not because everyone eats a whole pie, but because I want to make several kinds of pie, and why make just one?  Everyone has to taste it, you know.  And of course, my family requires at least three pumpkin pies.  So. I make a lot of pies.

This year, Durel had a great (yet revolutionary) idea.  He suggested that we go to Fredericksburg with PapaDu, Uncle Dustin, Aunt Geri to breathe Hill Country air and drink wine.  (Frederickburg is a Texas German town a little more than an hour away.  It has cuteness and vineyards in abundance.)

I told him that was a great idea.

My brain was freaking out about OHMAGERD THE PIEZZZZZZZZZZZ.  But I told that inner voice to shut up.  And off we went.

I'm also not good at admitting I'm wrong.  But you can guess where this is going.

Durel was right.  It was a perfect (balmy) day and an amazing way to spend it.

Exploring.




I love these people.  So much.

Getting artsy.

My beautiful sister in law.

Moving.

Maxing and relaxing.

Guess what?  I still made pie.  

Hope your Christmas involved the magic of new ideas.

Talk soon,
Heather
 
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