Charlotte Potts taught me first grade.  

We started every day by writing in our notebooks.  It looked like this:

Today is Tuesday, September 7, 1981.  It is sunny.  Today, we have Gym.

After carefully writing the day's details with our number 2 pencils, we had to write a sentence all of our own design.  They looked like this:

This weekend, we are going to the zoo.

Or:

My mom bought me a new dress.  It is pink. 

But usually, it was some narrow variation of this:

I love Mrs. Potts.

I loved Mrs. Potts with my whole six year old heart.  When the advanced reading group met at the table at the front of the room (on the left, up by the floor-to-ceiling chalkboard, you know?) for Open Court, Mrs. Potts invariably ate a bag of Fritos.  

To this day, I LOATHE Fritos.  I am pretty sure it was her only "flaw."

Also?  By first grade, I was pretty sure I had my shit together.

*     *     *     *     *

Jack completed kindergarten last week.  

He had a marvelous year.  He grew -- vertically, emotionally, academically, and socially.  He learned -- Pokemon, math, reading, and tall tale telling.  He bonded -- with his wonderful teacher, his best new friends, and even some friends who proved challenging to him.

And now, with the intrepidity of youth, he's ready for the next challenge.

*     *     *     *     *

I was pretty emotional the night before Jack's last day of kindergarten.  I can't lie.  I mean -- it's totally relatable and it's also platitude central, right?

The days are long but the years are short. 

Childhood is but the blink of an eye. 

There is no love like that of a mother's heart.

Or, as the Interwebz so poetically puts it:

Time is an asshole. 

The truth is that the years are short.  They fly by mercilessly as a blur of soccer practices, negotiating bedtimes, frantic dinner preparation, and weariness at the end of the day.  

But, dammit, they are also a handful of exquisite, crystallized moments -- our butterflies on the first day of school, the awesome field trip, the wonderful Ms. Voyce, the crazy fun Valentine's Day party, and so many laughs and memories and joyful bits.

And so once again, by first grade, I'm pretty sure I have my shit together.

I know Jack does.

Hope your day is full of sweet memories and free of corn chips.

Talk soon,

Heather

worth at least a thousand words

Without further ado, Jack's kindergarten photo:

Of course, I think it's the cutest thing I've ever seen.

I also think about how, when he left the house, his hair was neatly combed and the plaid shirt was buttoned.  

But that's life, isn't it?  He's almost six.  When he goes out into the world, to *his* world of kindergarten, his hair gets rumpled and he unbuttons his shirt because he's living his life.  He's playing, learning, moving, and growing.  

And so, this picture is perfect, rumples, wrinkles, and all.  Because THIS is Jack.  

Hope your school pictures are the best ever, too.

Talk soon,
Heather

eleven hundred and six

Jack and I spent some quality afternoon time together earlier this week.  We got him a much-needed (and very hip) haircut and then stopped by Soup Peddler to see what we might find delicious for dinner.

We ended up eating a super early dinner there, because Jack was adamant about having a grilled cheese sandwich IMMEDIATELY.  I respect the urgency with which we sometimes need a grilled cheese, you know? (I also wasn't going to argue because they had mulligatawny that day.  SCORE!)

He was a little pensive.  Apparently, when you are almost six, you get pensive.  A few weeks ago, it was about the devastating fact that he IS NOT YET SIX.  This was a cataclysm.  I had the unfortunate responsibility to explain that we cannot fix that.  We just have to tough it out, day by day, until the glorious sixth year begins.

We were also pensive about Nutella this morning.  Jack is allowed to have "chocolate toast," (aka, wheat toast with Nutella) one morning a week.  He had it on Monday.  He knew it.  Durel knew it.  I knew it.  

He demanded chocolate toast.  He whined.  He pointed to the pantry emphatically.  He went to the pantry and handed me the Nutella.  (I put it back, but on the top shelf, with the booze.  Touche.)  

Sometimes, you have to stay strong.  We stayed strong.  We hoped that the five bites of Cheerios he grudgingly ate would hold him over until morning snack time.

The struggle is real, you know?

Really though, the pensive moods are pretty quick and infrequent.  They are vastly overshadowed by the ten gazillion things that we are REALLY PSYCHED about.  These things include:  kindergarten, soccer, Sawyer, Star Wars, the new beanbag chairs that Durel bought, chocolate toast (it's really important, you guys), learning to read, and math. 

For instance, this happened:  

Jack:  Mom.  What's 900 + 200?

Me:    Eleven hundred.

Jack:  Nooooo!  That's not a real number!  Ha ha ha!

Me:   Right, OK.  900 + 200 equals one thousand, one hundred.  But sometimes, you can also call that number eleven hundred.  It's like a nickname for one thousand one hundred.

Jack:   [eyes wide; mind blown]  Oh...

Three days later, every picture Jack drew at home was of eleven hundred.  The pictures are folded up like secret notes from middle school, taped with washi tape, and solemnly handed to their intended recipients.

Eleven hundred, you guys. 

Hope the clouds pass quickly and the realizations are momentous.

Talk soon,

Heather

shot with iPhone pre-K

I hung onto my old iPhone "just in case."

On paper, I did that so I would have a backup phone in case of catastrophe.

In reality, I did that so Jack could play games on it sometimes.  (Including very critical times, like road trips to New Orleans.)

Jack is good with an iPhone.  He's been using iPads at school since he was 2 1/2.  That is both awesome and totally insane to me.

But, before I get all Margaret Mead up in here, my point:

I backed up the old iPhone last night, just because I never do that stuff and even if it's my "just in case" phone, I'm supposed to do that, right?

My computer obligingly asked what I would like to do with the 212 photos on the phone.

Huh?

Jack is a budding photographer.  

"Batter on Fire[place]"

"Treat Feet"
(Editor's Note:  Pablo is 11.  He jumps like five feet into the air for treats.  It's amazing.)

"Petting Station" 

"Self Portrait:  Hoping for Dessert" 

"Still Life with Feet; Two Species"

Hope you share someone's perspective today.

Talk soon,

Heather

for the love of baseball

I can't pretend to like sports.  

Durel and I have been married almost ten years and my favorite part of football season is game day cooking courtesy of Pinterest.

So, I also can't pretend to feel a pang as Jack develops what I assume will be a life-long love of the Houston Astros.

Do I have several Baltimore Orioles t-shirts waiting in Jack's closet for him to grow into?  Yes.  That, I can do.  I can accessorize my feelings about my Maryland heritage.

*     *      *     *     *  

Durel, Uncle Dustin, and Jack went to Jack's first Astros game recently.  They had dude time and pizza.  They wore their shirts.  They took their pictures.  They bought their Legos(?).  

Quote from Jack the other day:  "I like to pull my shorts up, and they have to be above the knee."
Alllllrighty, then.

A good time was had by all.  Including the Lego company.

Hope you invest in a little kid's love of baseball today.

Talk soon,

Heather

mustaches and meaningful looks

Jack's first birthday party had booze.

He stuck to the soft stuff, of course.  As did his one year old buddies.  

We raised our glasses to celebrating one full year of parenthood.  We had sprinted through 365 days of raising a small human who liked to cry, poop, and disrespect our youthful tendencies to stay up late.  

We looked at each other with surprise, joy, respect, and fatigue.  We did it!

Please note that we NAILED the stripe trend AND the mustache trend.  In 2011.

Jack's fifth birthday party had icy roads.

True to form for this freaky winter, the roads were icy the morning of Jack's party.  As the sun rose, people were careening around the highways as if it was good for them.

We soldiered on. 

We had some of Jack's best buddies, pizza, cupcakes, and glow in the dark putt-putt.  Yes, it really was glow in the dark, and it was actually really cool.

I wore Sawyer while bringing up the rear of the putt-putt parade and whispered little gratitudes that he wasn't freaking out about missing nap.

No booze.

Durel and I didn't have time to look at each other and marvel in the majesty of our parenthood accomplishment.   Five years!  Instead, we multi-tasked in that way that two hands-on parents with a near telepathic connection do.  We partied.  We parented.  

It was, as Jack put it, "incredible!"

My guess is that, if we had exchanged a meaningful glance, it still would have been one of surprise, joy, respect, and fatigue.  Five years!  We are still doing it!

And yes, it is incredible.  And scary and fun and inspiring and tiring and...beyond what we could have imagined.

Hope you find yourself at a loss for words today.

Talk soon,
Heather

pure joy

When Jack's teachers post a sign-up sheet on the classroom door, I sign up.

Party?  I will bring food.

Movie?  He can watch it.

Read a book to the class?  I'm on it.

This was actually my first time reading a book to the class, though.  The strictures of a working mom's schedule (with a nasty commute, I might add) tend to prevent me from mid-day mommy duties.  

"You have to do this."

That's what my brain said about story time.  So, I signed up, and I showed up, and I delivered.

I read The Book With No Pictures by BJ Novak.  If you do not have this book yet, I will wait while you click on the link to Amazon and GET YOURSELF A COPY IMMEDIATELY.

The book is genius.

BLORK.

When I finished the book, the kids clapped.  It was obvious that they had been instructed to clap when a parent finished a book, an instruction which I (and Proper Paige) appreciate.

They then bum-rushed me to hug me in a flailing pile of five year old mirth.

You guys.  It was pure joy.  FOR ME.

I mean -- that's it.  It was so stinking awesome.  Motherhood is trippy.

Hope your heart is amazingly light today.

Talk soon,

Heather

magic realism and the car wash

Weekend time is precious.

In reality, weekend time also has to be productive.

Also, I want to superglue myself to my children on the weekends because HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?

In a flash of magic realism, I told Jack one Saturday afternoon a few years ago that we were "going to have adventures."  

In adult speak, this can be translated to "running errands."  

That particular day, I think we went to the "fancy car wash." (The one that's not the drive through.  NEVER the drive through for Jack.)  We went to Trader Joe's.  We probably went to Starbucks.  

The day was a great success.  We returned home happy and accomplished.  

Since then, we've expanded our horizons.  We grocery shop, buy birthday presents for people, explore in bookstores, eat Thai food, tour the Capitol, visit my office, get haircuts, eat sushi, you name it.  

Having adventures is now one of Jack's favorite things to do on the weekend.  And you know what?  It's one of mine, too.

Errands can be adventures.  It's all about your lens.

Hope your lens is clear today.

Talk soon,

Heather

so long, 2014

2014 was hard.  And good.  And scary.  And funny.  And challenging.  And rewarding. 

Here's to 2015, may it be all of those things and more.  Because that's life, and it's wonderful.

Hope you get a drum set this year.

Talk soon,
Heather

compare and contrast

Jack at roughly eight months:

Yellow?  Blue? Which one?  I DON'T KNOW!

Sawyer at eight months:

L.  I.  V.  I.  N.

I will say this:  I think different personalities are emerging.  As well as different looks.

Hope your own observations entertain you today, too.

Talk soon,

Heather

all hallows eve EVE

Jack has been counting down to Halloween for two weeks.  He proudly informed me last Friday that it was "the last day of the row before you get to the row with Halloween!"

I deduced that he was talking about the big calendar at school and jumped promptly onto the Halloween bandwagon.

We are going to trick or treat with good friends for the third year in a row.  We all sort of love that it's become a tradition at this point.  We meet at their house because they are in PRIMO trick or treating territory.  We eat pizza.  The grown ups have a drink.  And then we take our spastic children out to go spazz out in the streets and get candy from friendly neighbors.

Flashback:

That was last year.

Double flashback:

That was two years ago.  Wow.

Anyway.

This year, the boys are older, bigger, and more spastic.  And Batman's little sister (top right; being held by mom; dressed last year as Robin) will be in charge of her own area this year, for sure.  

AND.  And.  Sawyer is here.

And he's ready.

Stay tuned for updates from the candy-laden streets.

Hope your belly is ready for Halloween.

Talk soon,
Heather

he's got a fever

Jack's got a fever and the cure is more cowbell.

Hope the one liners just come to you today.

Talk soon,
Heather

P.S.  If you don't know what I'm talking about, I implore you to click the link above and watch the video.

P.P.S.  No, really.  Watch it.

brussel sprouts and grandiose aspirations

Before you have children, you have grandiose aspirations of what your parenting style will be.  

Those grandiose aspirations are also TOTAL BULLSHIT.  

This is because they are concocted, in large part, as you sip a nice Chilean Malbec at a nice restaurant while you pretend that you are not judging the nice family across the dining room.  You are, in fact, judging them, and you should not be.  First of all, because it's not nice to judge people.  Second of all, you should be applauding them because if they are at the same nice restaurant as you, they are doing a lot of things right.

As a matter of fact, that family might be mine.  So you should definitely be sending over a dessert to congratulate us for doing such a good job.  OK?

*     *     *     *     *

I, for example, was certain that my children would not be the ones eating food while at the grocery store.

[Hang on; let me stop laughing AT MYSELF.]  

Right.  Anyway.  I also was certain that my kids would not be the ones who refused to eat anything but chicken nuggets and french fries.

As for Jack, I will say that much is true.  He isn't that kid.  He will eat almost anything.  However, the route we took to get there and how I feel about it are VERY different than my naive pre-children self would have imagined.

We have always offered Jack bits of what we were eating.  And he happened to like most of it.  We are really, ridonkulously lucky.  End of story.

*     *     *     *     *

Here is Jack the Gourmand through the ages (so far).

*     *     *     *     *

Here's the latest addition to the gallery.

Seaweed salad, with a side of HAM.

Hope you crave something salty and silly today.

Talk soon,

Heather

the eyes have it

When Jack was a baby, his eyes were brilliantly blue.  Like, in a "do recessive genes really work that well?," "holy shit look at those!" kind of way.

See?

Jack, Blue Steel, 6 months old

Also, I apparently really liked that outfit.

I had read just enough books while pregnant with Jack to be both clueless and opinionated.  I tried to deter people from getting too excited about his eyes because I was pretty damn sure that the color would change.

I was wrong.  (You can ask Durel.  I don't say that a lot.  The words just don't feel right, somehow.)

Still blue.

Dude.  Mom.  Chill.

Now, there's Sawyer.  And it's become something of a competitive sport to identify who Sawyer resembles, particularly how much he does (or doesn't) look like Jack, me, or Durel.

My mom insists that "he just looks like Sawyer."  That is kind of her.  We all smile when she says that.  And then we resume trying to dissect what, of his six month old features, we can distinguish in ourselves.

So far, we all agree that Sawyer's eyes, while massive pools of philosophical baby wisdom, are not blue any longer.

We also agree that his pesky hemangioma is getting smaller (under the talented and watchful eye of his pediatric dermatologist) and that he has far more hair than Jack at this age.  (See above.)

Dude.  Bro.  Chill.

And that instead of Blue Steel, perhaps he's working on Brown StinkEye.

Only time will tell.

Hope you observe some distinctions and differences today.

Talk soon,
Heather

to sleep, perchance with your shoes

My dad once described himself this way:  "I never want to go to bed, and then I don't ever want to get up in the morning."

I am The Same Way.  I don't want to miss the party and I have never cared about being the early bird.

It's apparently hereditary.

Jack seems to have inherited it.  While I realize that no four year old wants to go to bed, Jack is no exception.  And while he deigns to enjoy the routine of bath time and story time, he pulls out all the stops after story time to avoid actual sleeping time.

Mom, I'm FURSTY.
Mom, I have to go potty.
Mom, I need to tell you something.
Dad, I need to give you a hug.
Dad, I heard something.
Hey guys, I'm HUNGRY.

Medieval sort that we are, we've acquiesced to one slice of cold bread and a bit of water if he insists that he will waste away from lack of sustenance while waiting for breakfast.  If we have the heel of the loaf, that's what I'm giving him.

(Hey man, if you're hungry, a heel of wheat bread will do the trick.  But, I digress.)

I also realize, in this rubric of sleep, that nap time is about to end for Jack.  This thought fills me with sadness and fear.

These recent pictures from school do my heart a world of good.  Napping is still happening, and for each day that is true, I am glad.

Incidentally, a rogue shoe in the bed or blanket overhead is never one of Jack's avoidance tactics. 

Now I know why.

Hope you exhibit some charmingly hereditary traits today.

Talk soon,

Heather

throwback thursday

The Bernard family took to the air last week and visited the Albuquerque Davies and Reeves.  It was awesome.  Pictures and stories galore will be forthcoming.

In the meantime, as we return to work, inboxes, sleep training, and the (relative) humidity of the Texas Hill Country, I'll ask you to bear with us.

Oh, and it's Throwback Thursday.  Here's Jack and I for you, 4 years ago in the hazy summer days of 2010.

I can't remember who took this picture, but it was one of my Mama Friends from Jack's baby daycare.  I have that outfit in Sawyer's dresser right now.  I wonder if it would fit him, or if he's just dairy-free chunked up right past it.

Also, should I cut my hair?

Hope you ask an existential question inspired by a throwback today.

Talk soon,
Heather

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

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

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

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