With all the buzz about kinder in these parts, it's important to remember the other little dude who amazes and delights us on the daily.  We are 17 months into life as a family of four, and there is no way our family would be complete without the mellow cuteness of Sawyer.

For Sawyer, a perfect day would be spent eating three or four breakfasts, unplugging some things, playing with electrical sockets, getting stuck in tight corners, two or three lunches, crawling up the stairs, beating on the dogs like drums, crawling into any kitchen cabinets he could get into.  And you know, anything else that came up and seemed interesting.

Sawyer has little interest in walking.  He walks on his knees, fully upright, carrying things, huge grin on his face.  His little knees are red and calloused.  He cares not.

Apparently, you don't need to be on your feet to rock a splash day.

Sawyer loves the dogs.  And they love him right back.

Let me be clear:  Pablo spent the first two + years of Jack's life in the backyard because he found it stressful and infuriating in equal parts to have a small dictator in the house.  Sawyer's mellow demeanor and Pablo's increasing maturity seem to gel well together.

Sawyer loves Jack.  Sawyer's first wish each day is to wake Jack up by crawling on him while he pretends to sleep.  Sometimes, he'll even fart on Jack's head.  Sawyer's delight at playing with Jack means that he will tolerate "wrestling," even when it makes Mom nervous.

Sawyer's love of Jack means that he will even do hard time with him just to be close.

Hell.  He'll even bring a dinosaur.  Just in case time out requires a bronchiosaurus.

Hope somebody has your back today, and doesn't even have gas.

Talk soon,
Heather

BatChristmas, 2013

I hope you had a fantastic holiday.

We did.  In no particular order, I will remember this Christmas as the one with a lot of homemade candy, turkey, and Batman.

(Note:  I hadn't actually made fudge before.  I made it on Christmas Eve. I didn't broadcast that it was my first attempt in life at making fudge.  I attempted to vibe out an air of expertise on the matter, actually.  And it must have worked because apparently, it was quite good.  Because, compliments aside, it was eaten.)

(Note:  I am a stalwart defender of the baked turkey.  Aside from the obvious issue that fried turkey gives me flashbacks to my Torts exam in law school, which are certain to last forever in something which may or may not resemble emotional distress, I just don't see the point in the extra calories.  But you couldn't have told me that as we gobbled (intended) the fried turkey as soon as it came out of the fryer.  A point which Durel hastened to make.  I think I actually growled at him.)

As for the Batman stuff, well...

This photo has, starting at the top and going clockwise:  insane Christmas morning hair, Superman Underoos, the BatBoat, Ironman sneakers, and the Gotham City prison.  This is serious, people.

This one has, clockwise from the top:  the BatBoat, Gotham City prison, (partially obscured) BatCave, and in the center, the BatStare.

This one features Tow Mater pajamas (soon to become hopelessly uncool, I suspect), and the BatBook (which I will soon have memorized).

And, to round it out, we have the BatSmile and the BatJammies.

Also, despite the fact that Jack has never seen the Adam West Batman show, he's learned that the right thing to say when you race around your grandparents' house with the BatBoat is:  "Nananananananana nananananananana BATMAN!"

Because, how can you not?

Hope your new shoes make you feel like a superhero today.

Talk soon,
Heather

i hope the sky is listening

Photo courtesy of the talented Betsy

It's been raining for the past few days in Austin.  We're in a serious drought, so the rain is awesome for the scorched earth and thirsty plants.  And for the diminishing (but still beautiful and boat-able) lake.

It is not, however, so good for Jack and his buddies, who missed their regularly scheduled Tuesday Splash Day and haven't been able to rock the playground time as much as they would like.

This morning, on our way to school, Jack pointed an admonishing finger at the sky and said sternly, "You stop that raining.  Jack and his friends need to play."

He couldn't see my smile in the front seat.  I paused and said, "Well, how do you think the grass and the trees feel now?"

With his chin to chest, all pouty-like, he responded, "Better... But Momma, I told it to STOP.  So I can play."

Is it too early to wonder if he will be President?

Hope you feel empowered to give orders today.

Talk soon,
Heather

things that make you go WOO WOO

Durel and I have a new favorite thing:  THIS NOISE.

Because, hello.  The passion.  The expression.  The emphatic arm.

Hope something makes you really stinking happy today.

Talk soon,
Heather

what's cool, yo

Before I had Jack, I had no clue how to keep up with other people's children.  As in, how old they were, what that meant they were doing developmentally (Oh, she's 2?  Is she driving yet?), or what toys were cool.

So, courtesy of our lovely friend and photographer, Betsy, here's a little insight into what's cool in Jack's world these days.  (She took some amazing pictures of us recently.  This is a teaser.  Stay tuned.)

This net.  Thanks, Jazmin!

Legos.  Thanks, Uncle Dustin and Aunt Geri!

Sweeping.  I have myself to thank for this little miracle.

Staring into space and odd moments of shyness.

I hope you feel fulfilled by your hobbies 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

the patience of a saint named uncle james

For a place that is perpetually in a drought, Austin has a lot of fountains.

Don't get me wrong, I love fountains.

So does every three year old on the planet.

The other evening, Aunt Jenny, Uncle James, Jack, and I were walking to the restaurant where we met Grammy and Pop for dinner.  

(For locals, we tried to go to Buenos Aires in the Hill Country Galleria.  It's amaze.  However, the rest of the world has discovered that it's amaze, and they told us we would have to wait an hour.  Which, in toddler speak, is a big HELL NO.  So, we ended up at Cafe Blue, which I am meh about.)

It was a lovely evening, so we walked.  The shortest path from Point A to Point B involved passing enticing fountains.  

I held Jack on the edge for a while so that he could splash without falling in.  (Mother of the Year, right here.)  However, he wasn't done.  The water was still flowing, and Jack wanted to be there.

Enter, Uncle James.  He's a patient, patient man.

Jack flailed a bit.  He wanted to Be One with the water.  James was unsure of exactly how to do that -- in a parent approved way.

Rest assured, he figured it out.  He ran Jack up and down the row of fountains, which made everyone giggle or squeal or smile with glee.

So clearly, this is the conclusion:

We ate, we drank, we made merry.  We ran up and down the row of fountains.  We splashed, we smiled, we lived in the moment.

Hope you get a decent splash in today.

Talk soon,
Heather

wearing my heart on my wrist

Aunt Jenny and I took Jack to the playground the other weekend.  

(This is the first in a long line of posts where I catch you up on ALLTHEFUNSTUFFLIKEWOAH that we've been doing.  This is me starting at the beginning, which is a very good place to start.)

We went to Central Market.  It's one of our favorite places.  We were there before the mad crowds on a lovely Sunday morning.  Jenny and I got coffee.  Jack got a smoothie.  Some pastries were eaten.  (Apple scone blew my mind a little bit.)

Jack keenly spied another kiddo with a balloon, and immediately and irrevocably decided that he needed one.  I totally get that.  So does Aunt Jenny.  So, off we went.

We found the Balloon Lady and she was happy to give Jack a green balloon.  He wanted yellow, but they only had purple and green to choose from.  On a lesser day, this could have caused a serious meltdown.  On the great day that was this day, Jack happily chose green and we went on our way.

Three minutes later, the green balloon was bobbing in the rafters of the store.

We went back to the Balloon Lady and she was happy to give Jack another green balloon.  He had forgotten all about wanting a yellow balloon, thank goodness.  He now just wanted ANOTHER BALLOON to replace the First Green Balloon that had surely been the Best Balloon Ever.

So, we got another one.  And Jack was happy.

Jenny and I were happy, too, because this one had a slip knot in the ribbon, so we could secure it on Jack's wrist.

We went back to the playground, because we had lots of errands to run that day and weren't quite ready to start being all efficient yet.  More playing was in order.

Jack:  "Mama, can you hold my balloon?"

Me:  "Uh...sure, buddy.  Here, give it to me."  

I removed the balloon from Jack's wrist and put it onto my wrist.  He ran off to play.  I kept drinking my coffee, and turned to Jenny for some more playground sister talk.

She smiled at me.

Jenny:  "You are a good mom."

Me:  "Aw.  Thanks!  That's sweet of you to say."

Jenny:  "No, I mean it.  And, it's so clear how much you enjoy it."

Me:  [melted from truth bomb and love of son and sister]

Hope you have an apple scone, a balloon, and an awesome family today.  

Talk soon,

Heather

early Christmas, part one

We celebrated Christmas last weekend.  On purpose.  Early.

No, it's not because I get so DIALED UP to give out presents that I just forced the issue.  Nope.  

In fact, it was because Dustin and Geri are about to move back to Houston from Austin (sniff sniff) and we needed to get together before they were lost in paper and boxes, or better yet, playing caravan with the moving truck.

(Yes, I am aware that Houston is very close to Austin and is not, in fact, on the moon.)

But anyway, we told Jack that it was Christmas and he thought that was GREAT.

It looked like Christmas, after all.

It tasted like Christmas, even.  I had made cookies for the occasion.  Chocolate cookies with peppermint patties inside, to be specific.  I found the recipe on Two Peas and Their Pod.  Deeelish.

And so, sure enough, it was Christmas.

The first order of business on Saturday was Jack's stocking.  I'm not sure why, other than that between Durel, his mom, and I, we really couldn't wait to start giving Jack presents.  And the stocking seems, well, innocent enough to start with.  

Inside, young sir found a new pair of boots and a brand new slinky.  It is important to wear one's pajamas when trying on new boots.  And it is best to wear one's newest boots when examining a new slinky.

I'm not good at math, but it worked something like this:  Slinky = joy.

Well, let me clarify.  Slinky = joy for Jack, and for us watching him.  But if I show you the full picture that I took here, you might spy some family members who were a little less enthused about it all.

I mean, Lucy got over it because she was soon in Pupperoni heaven.  (She has a stocking, too.)  And Bunny is never set aside for long, so he was happy soon enough.  (Though he had pirate goodies to reckon with, as well.  More on that later.)

So, you know, a good time was had by all.

Hope everyone is happy where you are today.

Talk soon,
Heather

ninja at rest

Our "parent homework" for Jack's school this week was to discuss with him what we do for a living.  His entire class was scheduled to discuss it today.

I sort of forgot about it until yesterday but then, in true Type A fashion, didn't want Jack to be unprepared for this fundamental moment of toddler sharing and caring.  (I know.)

So, I started.  

"Jack, do you know what I do for a living?"

[blank look]

"Momma's a lawyer.  Can you say lawyer?"

"Woyah."

"Cool."

I thought about trying to explain what lawyers do, and quickly decided against it.  A) He's 2.  He doesn't care.  B) It's hard to explain to adults, much less children.  C)  It's boring.  I mean, I really love my job.  But I'm a nerd.  It's really boring.  D)  Being a lawyer makes you itemize your own thoughts into bulleted lists.  Case in point.

And then I thought -- Dude, he's young for this.  I am happy to do it, but I mean.  I don't know.  We should have some fun with this.  Luckily, Durel and I have very similar senses of humor and he was On My Wavelength.

So, then Durel took over.

"Jack, do you know what I do for a living?"

[blank look]  (See?  He's bored by this.)

"Daddy's a ninja.  Can you say ninja?"

"Minja!"

"Cool."

So yes.  We sent him to school full of his parental occupational knowledge, which is that Momma is a Woyah and Daddy is a Minja.

And then he played it out.  Even ninjas need naps, you know.

Baseball

My grandfather was a huge baseball fan.  I mean, huge.  He was of the classic, gentlemanly variety.  When he went to a baseball game, which he did as often as possible, he got a bag of peanuts.  And as he watched the game, analyzing each player's statistics (which he knew by heart in that magical way real baseball fans did before smartphones), he methodically ate the bag of salty treats.  Shells on the ground, of course. 

Naturally, my grandfather raised my father to be a huge baseball fan.  And while the team of choice for this father-son duo was the Baltimore Orioles, my dad also has (still) a soft spot for the New York Yankees.  

Of my siblings, I am probably the child most interested in sports.  And that is, shall we say, generous.  But I did grow up knowing that baseball was cool.  I knew that Cal Ripken, Jr. played shortstop, was awesome, and was cooler than his brother, Billy.  (I would apologize to Billy, but that chip has been on his shoulder for so long that it doesn't even matter.)

In fact, we had a short-lived fundraiser at my high school where we were supposed to sell "Cal Bars."  I recall them being a lot like a candy bar.  They cost one dollar.  No one sold very many; we just ate them.  I have no idea what they were supposed to be "for."  But, thanks to the magic of the Interwebs, I found proof that they did, in fact, exist:

Durel, of course, is a Houston Astros fan.  

Jack knows what a ball is at this point (and throws them with impressive speed and accuracy, actually), but doesn't know one sport from another yet.  He is in the crucial formative years for his lifelong sports franchise allegiance development.

I'm dabbling in clothing that might have an effect.  I didn't realize that I was amassing a baseball wardrobe for him until the other day, when he wore his Red Sox shirt one day, and his Phillies shirt the next.  That's not to mention his Cubs shirt, which is awaiting its debut.

For my friends not on the East Coast who might be squinting at that picture, this is what you're looking at:

Though this might be even cooler:

I love me some Liberty Bell.

Anyway, candy bars and cracked bells aside, I think this is a cool thing for us to embark on with Jack as he truly becomes a Little Dude.  This probably means that I have to do something about my spaghetti throwing arm and not so awesome catching ability.

Sigh.  For now, I'll just keep buying Jack t-shirts.  And, I think, playing catch in the yard.

Batter up,
Heather

Balls

[Jeez, people.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  Not that kind of balls.]

This Presidents' Day, Jack and his buddies had a date at the local bouncy house/ball pit/run until you're tired place.

It's Extremely Difficult to take pictures of toddlers at one of these places.  First, they move way too quickly to capture any quintessential moments on your camera.

Case in point:

The other reason that it's hard to take good pictures at the bouncy house place is because I found myself on my feet, running, climbing, chasing, spotting, and otherwise ensuring the relative safety of my child the entire time I was there.  That said, I even managed to lose him a few times.  Luckily, we moms traveled in a pack, so we all had a running tab on the whereabouts of all five kiddos.  (Except that time I forgot to watch where Mac was going.  Sorry, Marci!)

I do recommend going to this place.  But, I recommend a few preliminary measure to ensure success.

1.  Caffeinate before you go.  I cutely bought myself a Starbucks to take with me and enjoy while the kids ran around.  I drank it (you know me too well to assume otherwise, I hope), but I also had to make all of my friends hold it for me at some point while I dashed off into the climby ropey thing to make sure Jack was OK.  

2.  Wear comfortable clothes, including SOCKS.  Socks are required for everyone at the bouncy house place.  I now have a new, $2 pair of crappy socks that I purchased there because I naively wore my Toms.  I wore jeans, so my unintended acrobatics were not uncomfortable, but I saw lots of moms there in yoga pants.  I was jealous of their comfort and mobility.  I really was.

3.  Don't be too ambitious.  We had so much fun that we, the mommas, decided to go to lunch after.  (Yay!  Awesome plan!  We're friends and we're hungry!)  Great idea, except for the part where it wasn't.  Jack was tired.  It was naptime.  And honey badger didn't give a shit if I wanted lunch.

So, we had some queso which we ordered for the table, and then beat a hasty retreat for naptime and eating our food (now take-out) at a later time.

Hey, Jazmin, want some of my queso?  You can totally have some.

Queso?  Check.  Mardi Gras beads?  Check.

So, you know, that was our Presidents Day.  Hot coffee, bouncing toddlers, and shared queso.  It pretty much rocked.

Hope yours did, too.
Heather