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

my village

As I mentioned a few days ago, I have been recovering from an emergency surgery for the past 2 weeks.  Everything about this experience has been challenging.

Physically, getting over a surgery stinks big time.  Regrowing blood from lots of blood loss is more exhausting than I can describe.

For me, though, the biggest challenge is always asking for help.  I am really, really bad at asking for help.  (I didn't even join a study group in law school.  I was all, Nah.  I'll just LEARN ALL THE THINGS by myself.)

And so, the experience of this emergency and the surgery and the recovery is being defined, at least to me, by the help we've asked for, the help that has been provided, and the easy love that we've received from our village.

My dear dad drove me to the emergency room so that we didn't send our children into years of therapy by making them watch an ambulance cart Mommy away.

Andy just happened to be in town from Pennsylvania for work.  So, of course, he came to our house and watched the kids so that Durel could jet to the hospital to see me before surgery.  Oh, and he didn't just hang out with Jack.  He taught him to play chess. 

 

Cristy dropped everything and flew to Austin.  She arrived from Albuquerque a few hours after I got home from the hospital.  She walked Jack to school, made me breakfast burritos, and kept us going for those first days home.

Jenny dropped everything and flew to Austin.  She arrived from Delaware the day after Cristy departed.  She walked Jack to school, made me breakfast burritos, made sure I napped enough, and kept us going for the next days home.

Liz brought me a delicious lunch and freezer-friendly dinner, even though she's 9 months pregnant and I should be making her dinners, not the other way around.

Jen and Trevor knew, before Durel and I even realized it, that the best gift for us may be quiet time. And so, they whisked Jack off to the pumpkin patch with their family on a balmy Texas afternoon.  (Durel, Sawyer, and I promptly slept the entire time our little dynamo was gone.  I mean, has anyone had a five year old boy wear a Fitbit?  I would love to know how many steps that kid gets in.  My guess is like 40,000 a day.)

Megan brought me coffee and donuts and changed poopy diapers when I couldn't lift Sawyer and the rest of my boys were on the soccer fields.

I am so lucky.  To be alive.   (This was a life-threatening event.)  To have these friends (and everyone else that I didn't specifically mention, thank you).  To have this family.  To have safe and accessible health care. (I didn't say affordable.  Ambulance rides cost a grand a pop, by the way.  HEYOO, deductible.)  

I'm about to turn 40.  A friend asked me how I felt about it.  I told her that I think it's fantastic.  I get to be 40.  And I'm lucky for that, too.

Hope someone lifts you up today.

Talk soon,

Heather

oh say can you see

Last night, my parents came over for dinner.  We had a great time.  We ordered Chinese.  Jack, in his inimitable style, ate seaweed and cucumber salad, shu mai, and a crab rangoon.  We chatted and laughed, caught up on life, and enjoyed one another's company.

Jack finished his dinner before the rest of us and went to play in the living room until the (dreaded) announcement of bedtime.  

Shortly thereafter, I saw something in the living room catch Durel's eye.  I turned to look.

The football game was beginning.  The national anthem was being performed.  Jack had stopped his play to stand quietly with his hand on his heart and listen.

Oh my God.

I hopped up and joined him without saying a word.

Durel wasn't far behind.  We stood, together, hands over our hearts.

I was filled with pride and gratitude.

Hope you feel pride and gratitude today.

Talk soon,

Heather

eight months

Sawyer has been here for 240 days.

(That doesn't sound like that long, does it?)

Sawyer is eight months old today.

Now that sounds impressive.

Sawyer is a happy and Zen baby.  He hardly ever cries.  He smiles and laughs easily.  He loves to watch people, especially Jack.  He likes to eat, especially bananas.  He likes to sleep (finally).  

He rolls around with tenacity and remarkable accuracy.  He pets Pablo and Lucy with surprising acuity.  He is *this close* to crawling.  He claps up a storm.

Jack has found a new side of himself as a doting big brother.  He wants to "have breakfast with Sawyer," as in, eat his Cheerios while I feed Sawyer his baby food in the morning.  He wants to cuddle with him on the couch while watching Blaze and the Monster Machines (new show on Nick Junior which should be avoided at all costs.  It's too late for me, but you can save yourselves...)  The first thing Jack does every morning is run into the nursery to see his little brother.

Durel and I marvel at our boys.  We are lucky.  We are grateful.  Our family is delightfully complete.

Sawyer with Uncle Fooshee during their recent, awesome visit.
If you're in or near New Orleans, check out the brilliant Inner Light Photography.

Hope you marvel at something today.

Talk soon,

Heather

what say ye, Scots?

It's an historic day in Scotland.  Voters will go to the polls to decide if Scotland should be an independent country.

Granted, new countries form.  It's a done thing.  But it's not a done thing in the United Kingdom.  The ceremony was televised when Hong Kong was handed back to China in 1997.  I watched intently.  I was a newly-minted college graduate living in a studio apartment in Baltimore at the time.  Ick.  But, I digress.  

I was nerdily fascinated to watch an ancient contract expire (perhaps a nod to my future law career) and to watch the United Kingdom change (as I am an unabashed Anglophile).

I also used to live in Ireland -- the Republic of Ireland, that is.  To be there is to learn by osmosis of the history and pride of their hard-earned independence from Great Britain.  It's also nice to be in a packed pub in Galway and announce that your grandmother was a Kelly -- and to have the entire pub cheer and raise their glasses to you.  (That happened.)

And so, it's on my mind that I am proudly part Scottish.  My mom's grandmother was a Scot -- a MacDonald, in fact.

In other words, I can't wait to see what the results are.

Sawyer wants to know, too.

Hoping that you feel interested and independent today.

Talk soon,
Heather

hanging out

When Jack says "hang out," he pronounces it with a hard "G."

So, Jack doesn't hang out.  He hanGs out.

I guess Jack sees Durel and I enough that time spent with us doesn't qualify as "hanGing out."  However,  it's quite the opposite with Aunt Kiki and Uncle Dagwood.

See?

I hope you get to spend some time hanging out (hard G or not) with someone you totally dig today.

Talk soon,
Heather

the one where we fly with two littles

Jack is not a seasoned traveler.

Trust me, we tried.  We flew to South Padre Island with my parents when Jack was a baby.  He was cute until the plane took off, at which time he started screaming so loud that other mothers on the plane rushed to my aid.  We did manage to get a cute picture of him near the cockpit.

Looking back at this, I clearly see in his eyes that he is about to let us have it.
I think the stewardess can feel it, too.

We also flew with Jack to Florida when he was slightly older and had a broken leg.  I can't even describe this flight in any more detail or I'll start to sweat from the memories of it all.  The blog post describing that was titled "Toddlerpocalypse." 

But we hadn't been to Albuquerque in ten years, Durel and I.  Which is entirely unacceptable.  And so, with the courage that comes from a few stressful weeks at work and a nice Pinot Noir, we had plane tickets and a plan.  The Bernards were going to the desert.

How was that, you ask?  

Can you fly direct from Austin to Albuquerque, you ask?

No, you cannot.  

Sigh.

Durel and I got up at 4:30 a.m. to shower, have coffee, and load the car.  We got the boys into the car (Jack even got dressed!) and were on our way.  We used the family friendly valet at the Austin airport which is THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD, and were through security without too much trouble.  My friend had lent me one of those things where you tie your baby onto you (the name of which I can never remember, but it's less cumbersome than a Moby).  

We felt good.  Really good.

We were scheduled to change planes in Dallas at Love Field.  They've recently renovated Love Field and it's totally nice now. 

Thank goodness for this.  

We had some breakfast.  We had more coffee.  We colored a picture.

And then, we learned that our one hour layover was extended, oh, indefinitely.  I'll save you the suspense.  It was extended to five hours.  

Did we lose our minds?  No.  Did we give our children to wandering gypsies?  No.  Did we tear our hair out?  Not really.  

We had lunch.  We visited all the shops.  We explored the terminal.  We colored pictures.  We made paper airplanes out of those pictures.  We learned that it's harder than you remember to make a good paper airplane.  We practiced our letters on the dry erase board.  We had snacks.  I adversely possessed the family bathroom.  All in all, we thrived and survived.

And arrived.

And as a testament to his awesomeness, not that we needed one, Sawyer slept most of the day.  Praise be.

Cristy and Dagwood were not only happy to see us, but they were prepared to reward our long day of travel with beverages containing alcohol.  We were happy to see them, too.  

It was not that bad.  And it was the only 'bump' in a great trip.

Hope you tell the first part of a super awesome story today.

Talk soon,

Heather

stewardesses, then and now

Once upon a time, a long long, time ago, my family played Pictionary.

It was new then.  We were excited.  The Davies family is a creative lot -- skewing toward the nerdy side, even.  And we LOVE to get our board game on.

The time came for my beloved Dad to draw.  His word was "stewardess."  (Again, this was a while ago.  People still totally used that word.  Pre-PC.)  He drew an airplane.  He tapped on it.

We guessed everything we could think of related to planes and flight.  We didn't, however, go inside the plane with our guesses.

Dad grew frustrated.  He continued tapping on his pencil-drawn 747.

TAP TAP TAP.

We kept guessing.  In retrospect, we weren't that smart, because how many flight-related words do we really know?  And we STILL didn't guess stewardess?  

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP!!!

We didn't get it. The timer ran out.

STEWARDESS.

That was the first and last time Dad ever played Pictionary.  We told him that we're glad his brain works differently than ours.  Business school and all that.  What would we do without him?

*     *    *     *     *     *     *     *

In some ways, raising a 3 1/2 year old is a lot like playing Pictionary with my Dad.  If you don't know what they're talking about, it's really up to you to get creative and figure it out.  They are going to TAP that picture until you do.

Last night, Jack asked me on the way home if he could watch "the Michael movie."  I wracked my brain.  There are no characters named Michael on any of his favorite shows or movies.  I told him that I didn't know what he meant.

"Momma, I want to watch the Michael movie!"  (TAP TAP)

"But, Jack, I don't know what that is."

"The MICHAEL MOVIE!"  (TAP TAP TAP)

"Ok.  If you can show it to me or find it, we'll see if you can watch it."

When we got home, Jack efficiently went through the drawer containing his DVDs and proudly pulled out the Michael movie.

It is called An American Tale.

Michael = Fivel.

STEWARDESS.

Phew.

Movie night was, of course, a great success.  (And wouldn't have been complete without a shout out to Uncle Dustin and Aunt Geri, who are fond of that movie and their nephew.)

Hope your streets ARE filled with cheese today.  Because that would be awesome.

Talk soon,
Heather

the one in which we leap tall curbs in a single bound...

I've dressed up as Wonder Woman for Halloween before.  It was sort of during Durel and my courtship.  I'm sure Emily, Sean, Sally, and Okie Roy remember that evening very well.  Clay might remember, too.  Other than that, we shall leave it in the annals of history.

This year, I will be dressing up as Wonder Woman for Halloween again.  I will not be wearing the same costume I wore 12 years ago.  Nope.

I will be wearing a cool-yet-mom-appropriate costume.  Because, after all, I am Superman's mom (new origin story; take note).

I am not really cool enough to know what origin stories are.
Durel totally taught me the term.

We debuted our costumes for the Fall Festival at Jack's school last week.  There were hot dogs, cake pops, frozen yogurt, a bouncy slide thing, a band, and games in every room.  Jack's school does not mess around.  It was completely awesome.   (There was also a silent auction, where we bought things.  It really was fun for all ages.)

And, with one more origin story being shredded with disregard by our family, Durel was super, too.  He brushes off comparisons to Hugh Jackman.  Okay, Wolverine.  

This photo was taken with Durel's insanely awesome
Windows phone.

Anyway, Jack and his buddies got down to business.  Who needs a mosh pit when you can stand on a hay bale?  And, I mean, the SWAT team is already there, so you know it was NUTS.

And, it was nuts.  SuperJack danced, bounced and slid, ate hot dogs with wild abandon, gamely posed for pictures, played games, zoomed around with his cape streaming behind him, and only melted down at 8:30 when we informed him, gravely, that it was time to go home.

Even supers have their limits, you know.

Hope you zoom around like a super today.

Talk soon,
Heather

my cute mom

The other day, I had the pleasure of a luxe Sunday brunch with my parents and two dear friends.

They charmed, as they always do, that Jan and Morris.

In fact, my sisters and I have a running list of our friends who would like to be adopted by the Davies, should they suddenly start adopting extra, fully grown children.  That's a testament to their unique brand of cute and cool.

This picture was taken that day, and it's too damn cute not to share.

To know Jan is to love her.  And to help you know her just a smidge, here are a few things about her that I find notable/fascinating/funny/cool.

1.  Though she humors Dad and I in our tastes for fancy food, she would really always prefer a cheeseburger.

2.  She lurves her some John Denver.  

3.  She also lurves her some lavender.  It is her favorite color.  Big time.  (Note:  Her blouse in the picture above.)

4.  When I was in 7th grade, she had a benign brain tumor the size of a grapefruit adjacent to her occipital lobe (related to vision and short term memory).  After 13 hours of open-head brain surgery, she essentially did her own physical therapy by doing daily crossword puzzles and resuming her intricate sewing and embroidery.

5.  She never curses.  (And wishes I wouldn't, either.)  

6.  She LOVES Christmas.  And boy oh boy, so do I.  We decorate, play Christmas carols as early as possible; decorate huge trees -- the whole nine yards.

7.  She taught me to embroider.  She taught my sisters, too.  Admittedly, Cristy is doing the most with this knowledge.  

8.  At her linguistic peak, she was fluent in Spanish, Portugese, and conversational in French and Italian.  She is still fluent in Spanish.  It's awesome.

9.  She cares not one bit about cars.  She doesn't know a Gremlin from a Rolls.  My dad and I marvel over it, but it's endearing nonetheless.

10.  She does not "do the computer."  Therefore, to be fair, I will print this and show it to her.

Hope your day is all fun like a top ten list.

Talk soon,

Heather

Zen and the art of crab eating

Every Father's Day, we had a crab feast.  

Granddad would drive to Rock Hall early in the morning to get a bushel of Number Ones.  We would all go to the house in Worton and sit in the shade of the huge evergreen trees in the backyard.  It was the only time I remember using the back door of my grandparents' house, and it felt special.

The picnic table was covered in several weeks' worth of the Kent County News and the Cecil Whig.  There was a fancy dancy crab mallet holder in the center of the table.  It even had a spot for the roll of paper towels, which is imperative.  The grown ups drank beer.  I have no idea what I drank.  Probably ginger ale.

We would eat crabs until we were full.  But you know, that's pretty hard with crabs.  So, I'll say that we all ate crabs until we were tired of picking them, tired of washing our hands when we had to get anything other than a crab, etc.  Tired of Old Bay getting into the increasing number of nicks and cuts on our fingers, because crabs, well, they get you.  Even when you're from Maryland, born and raised.

Granddad didn't ever get full of crab.  The rest of us would have cashed in long ago, washed our hands, gotten something fresh to drink, shaken off all of the Old Bay crumbs that had accumulated everywhere, and come back outside to hang out.  Granddad just kept going.

He was methodical.  He opened every single leg, even the ones that usually "aren't worth it" to me.  He got every single piece of meat out of every crab.  He enjoyed it.  It was sort of Zen to watch him eat crabs, now that I think about it.  He wasn't fast.  It was not gluttony.  It was thorough, measured, enjoyment.  

At some point Mom and Grandmom would give in to the realization that they had to pick the rest of the crabs, so that someone could use the crabmeat.  Someone had to make soup or crabcakes or something, and you know ... "those crabs don't pick themselves!"  Someone would always say.

* * * 

This year for Father's Day, Durel, Jack, and I were in Houston.  PapaDu and Dustin drove to Kema in the morning to get crabs.  Then, the Bernard men boiled them with seasoning and "groceries" (sausage, garlic, celery, mushrooms, pure deliciousness) in the driveway.  Then, we put our own spin on the Father's Day tradition and ate them.  

They're going to hate me for posting this.
But it was so awesome.
D, I kept it small.  Does that help?

It's a little different.  Plastic on the tables instead of newspaper.  Shrimp in addition to crab.  Groceries in addition to just crabs.  (I love that, maybe the most.)  A new backyard.  A new tree (or lack thereof) to sit under.  A new back door to use.

And a new person to partake.

Jack did not pass Go.  He did not collect $200.  He sat down and started eating some serious crab.  As fast as Donna and I could pick it, he would eat it.  He easily ate 4 or 5 crabs' worth of meat.  And that's really saying something.

Granddad was so proud.  I could feel it.

Hope you feel some love from above today.

Talk soon,
Heather

like a shark that eats Cheetos

We went to the beach recently.

Jack loved it beyond words.  He's kind of like a shark.  He never stops moving and never wants to get out of the water.

Food and rest were annoying distractions.  He would obligingly eat the sandwich I had packed for him hastily, keeping his eyes on the water the whole time.  You know, because it might disappear.

Also?  We introduced him to Cheetos.  We don't keep chips or anything like that in the house, but hey man, it was vacation.  He approved.

Epiphany #742 of Parenting:  It really is fun to take your children to the beach.

Sandy bums, Cheeto fingers and all.

Hope someone tells you you're like a shark today.

Talk soon,
Heather

an ode to the Davies

My family rocks.  That is the truth.

We are pale Irish folk who love potatoes and wine and do not tend to excel at sports.

We are well-read, stubborn, interesting, and interested.

We like music.  We like board games.  We like wine.  (It bears repeating.)

We like Christmas.  We never give useful gifts.  We give cool gifts, like Rosie the Riveter bobble heads and mythology books and Wonder Woman mugs and black and white photos of the Brooklyn Bridge.

We drink too much coffee.

We stay up late and hate getting up in the morning.  

We all, and this is really something, if you think about it, CREATE something.

Cristy embroiders like sarcastic wildfire.

Dagwood papier maches like only Melvix can.

Lisa forges handmade glass beads and creates jewelry with them.

Lindy builds stuff.  Like, all the time.  

Eli write computer programs.  

Francie writes poetry and dances ballet.

James is an awesome photographer.  And also has a really, like totally popular podcast.

Jenny, well, she is an Artist.  There is nothing she can't do.

Durel was a mixologist before the advent of hipsterism.  He also tends to win things like Rib-Offs with aplomb, after making his barbecue sauce from scratch and being all nonchalant about it.

I write.  Two blogs in theory.  One blog in reality.  But great things are brewing, FYI.

We live all over the country and don't see one another nearly enough.  But we were all together last week to celebrate Mom and Dad for their remarkable 50 years of marriage.  And when we did that, we all realized how much we like one another, which is nice.  And how grateful we are to our amazing parents for teaching us to be who we are and who we want to be. As a parent, I now realize how selfless, expensive, and just plain HARD that is.

And as they watched us gire and gimble in Austin, all together for a brief and giddy moment, they were happy.

Hope you know a Davies.

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

Dapper

We started off the holiday festivities this year with a Christmas Eve Eve dinner graciously hosted by my parents.  Let's just say that it involved wine and pie and it was lovely.  And that we dressed up for it.  All of us.

You can't see Dee Dah's bow tie, but trust me, it was there.  (Not really, but in Jack's mind it was.)

Hope you dazzled someone with your holiday duds, too,

Heather

Breakfast Buddies

Jack has been in the same school since I returned to work after maternity leave.  As a result, he's grown up with a handful of best buddies who have done the same.  It makes my heart happy every day to see him greeting Gabe, Linley, Eli, Mac, and Jazmin, among others.

As luck would have it, Gabe recently became a big brother.  (Yay to Gabe and his awesome parents!)  And as fate would have it, Gabe's little sis decided to come late in the evening on the night before she was to be coaxed out into the world, aka, induced.  She knew she was being evicted, that is.

So, Gabe's parents dropped him off at Casa de Jack so they could rush off to the hospital and become a family of four.  Jack and Gabe were in for a pleasant surprise the next morning, when they realized they'd just had their first sleepover!  We hooked them up with yogurt and sippies of milk and let the fun ensue.

Gabe!  Gabe is here, Momma!

WAY too excited to eat breakfast.  Seriously, this is so cool!

After the pure adorableness of breakfast, imagine our delight when we realized that Gabe's momma had carefully packed an outfit for him that included the Very Same Shirt we had just bought for Jack!  As we dressed them (divide and conquer, also known as man-to-man defense), I hollered upstairs to Durel to put Jack in the same shirt.  Because I think I'm funny like that.

Thing 1 and Thing 2?

I am happy to report that Gabe and his *entire* family are doing great.  Jack wants Gabe to come over for another sleepover soon.  And I think breakfast with a best buddy is one of the best things in the world.

Hope you do, too,

Heather

Thanksgiving by the Numbers

Turkeys I cooked this year for Thanksgiving:  0

Turkeys I purchased from Central Market to reheat and serve:  1

Ranking of the quality of that turkey, on a scale of 1 to 10:  10

Number of pictures I took this Thanksgiving:  0

Number of pies I baked this Thanksgiving:  5 (4 pumpkin; 1 cherry)

Number of large pieces of pumpkin pie Jack ate in one sitting:  2

Number of pieces he would have eaten if we hadn't cut him off:  Unknown

Number of guests we had for Thanksgiving:  5  (Grammy, Pop, Cristy, Dagwood, and Schatzi, their adorable dog)

Number of nicknames we considered for Cristy:  1.  She is now known to Jack as "Kiki."

Number of nicknames we considered for Dagwood:  0.  Jack has, practically enough, simply shortened his name to "Dag."

Number of books read to Jack by Dag and Pop this weekend:  Unknown.

Photo by Dag.  Because I didn't take any, remember?

Hope your Thanksgiving numbers are off the charts, too.

Heather

Pho

Durel and I love pho.  We could eat it every day.

[Quick side note:  Pho is a Vietnamese noodle soup.  It is magically delicious.]

Yesterday, we were feeling lazy and like eating huge bowls of soup.  So, we got pho.  As we sat around the table, lunching, we gave Jack some.

First, we gave him some noodles in his bowl.  That went pretty well, which is amazing, because he doesn't like pasta.  I stand corrected.  He *likes* rice noodles.  He has a discriminating palate.

Then, since that was going so well, I gave him some of the soup in a cup.

What is this stuff?  [Note the noodles on his face, arm, the table...]

You guys have been holding out on me!  This is GOOD!

More!  Get in my cuppy!

I'm not gonna lie.  I was kind of amazed that he liked it.  Yes, it's delicious.  And yes, he eats like crazy, and enjoys most everything.  But to see my 20 month old Little Dude slurping down beef pho like it was, well, totally delicious, blew a little bit of my mind.

What's next?  Sushi.  (Not kidding.)

Hope your weeks are filled with yummy soup,

Heather

Oysters

When Durel and I were dating, we realized that we both love seafood.  We also realized that each of us firmly believe that *we* are from The State With The Best Seafood.  I am from Maryland. Durel is from Louisiana.

Enter, debate.  Maryland has the idyllic Chesapeake Bay, replete with oysters, rockfish, and, of course, CRABS.  

Louisiana has the epic Gulf of Mexico, replete with oysters, redfish, shrimp, and, of course, CRAWFISH.  How on earth do you decide the victor of this debate?

You don't.  Marriage is about compromise, people.  We took it as "meant to be" that we're both such seafood lovers, not afraid of eating crustaceans with our hands, and rocked on.

While on vacation, we rocked on in the kitchen with some fresh oysters.  I didn't make a recipe, per se, but tried to replicate something incredibly delicious that we enjoyed years ago at Drago's in New Orleans.

Here's what I did:  We left each oyster on the half-shell.  I made a topping of Italian breadcrumbs, minced fresh garlic, oregano, lemon juice, and Parmesan cheese.  I sprinkled that on top of each oyster, and we grilled them that way.

Works in progress.

They were delicious but, after I ate one, I decided that they were a bit dry.  So, I whipped up a white sauce with butter, flour, milk, garlic, and more oregano, salt and pepper, and topped each grilled oyster with a spoonful of that.  The results?  AWESOMESAUCE.  If I do say so myself.

My beautiful sister-in-law, Geri, enjoying the oystery goodness.

Did Jack have an oyster?  No.  He was already in bed.

Will Jack eat oysters?  I'm sure he will.

Will one of us take more credit for Jack's hereditary love of seafood?  Probably.  We'll have to wait and see.

Sprinkle some Parmesan on it,
Heather

Boyz

While on our recent vacation, we were able to catch up with two of Durel's cousins, Marshall and Shelly, who were also vacationing in Florida at the time.  Marshall and Shelly have two adorable sons named Colton and Caden.  They are All Boy, and they thought Jack was pretty cool.

We all head out into Key West and stopped for a refreshing beverage.  While there, PapaDu became ground zero for all of the boys' activities.  See here?  He was surrounded.  And you know what?  

He loved it.

Colton watches Jack beat on the table with approval.  Caden watches the camera.

Hope your day is filled with cuteness and adventures.

Heather

PS:  Happy birthday, Marshall!  Hope to see you guys again soon!