Back in the day, I was a big 10,000 Maniacs fan.  Laura Werther and I went to see them at the University of Delaware when we were in high school.  Natalie Merchant *spoke to me* you guys.

I am incapable of mentioning the University of Delaware without giving a proper shout out to their mascot, the Fightin' Blue Hen, known locally as the Ass Kickin' Chicken.

These are days you'll remember.

*     *     *     *     * 

In some sort of frantic emotional preparation for Jack starting kindergarten in LIKE TWO WEEKS, he and I have had a few "Mommy and Jack Days."  

We had one on Friday.  It was pretty rad.

We took coffee and breakfast to Grammy and Pop.  Jack waited patiently while we discussed the previous evening's Republican primary debate.  (Ah, so much to talk about.)  He then regaled us with stories of the solar system, which were accurate, detailed, and articulate -- and promptly blew my parents' minds.

We went to the movies and reclined our posh seats and had yummy lunch.  We saw "Shaun the Sheep," which was funny and adorable.  Jack like the burping part the best.

Then, you guys.  We went back to school shopping.  In the grand Davies tradition, we went to the Gap.  OH, how I have memories of our annual pilgrimage to the retail bastion that is Christiana Mall.  (It is also in Delaware, home of tax-free shopping and aforementioned ass kickin' chickens.)  

I had a totally trippy parent moment as I indoctrinated Jack into his preppy legacy.  

 

Clearly, indoctrination suits him.

We rounded out the day with a treat.  I attempted to pitch to Jack his first hot fudge sundae, thinking that this would be a fitting milestone in a day of big moments.  He eyed me skeptically.

Jack:     What's a hot fudge sundae?

Me:       It's a big dish of ice cream, with hot chocolate sauce on top, and whipped cream, and nuts, and a cherry!

Jack:     I just want ice cream.

Me:       Well, do you want chocolate sauce on it?

Jack:     Yes!

Me:       Do you want a cherry on it?

Jack:     Yes!

Me:       So...you sort of do want a hot fudge sundae?

Jack:     No!

Me:       So...you don't want the whipped cream and the nuts?

Jack:     No way.

Me:       Right.  

Hope your day is free of nuts and has the appropriate amount of chickens.

Talk soon,

Heather

the bowling gene

I am a perfectionist.

I am also the world's worst bowler.

I'm not being self-deprecating to be cute or ironic.  I am really bad.

I'm actually OK with this.  Surprising, for a perfectionist.  But I find that when you bowl like once a year, you can stink it up with impunity.

*     *     *     *     *

Durel has also accepted how bad I am at bowling, though he marvels at the sheer crappiness of my game.  He's pretty good.  He's just really athletic, so he's good at stuff.

I switch things up by going from the left gutter to the right.  Every now and then, I get a freak strike. It's like when the really drunk person at the bar sinks the eight ball.  Just the universe playing a little joke on you.  

*     *     *     *     *

Jack appears to have inherited Durel's bowling gene, not mine.  This is good news.

We bowled the other day with one of Jack's buddies.  Team Bernard represented well, no thanks to me.

Universal Truth:  The shoes are a lot of the fun.

Sneaking up on it, as we do.

Go, bowling ball!  Be free! 

A spare!

It's like Uptown Funk meets bowling alley.

Hope you get a spare in the game of life today.

Talk soon,
Heather

little wreckers

Yesterday, I had a Plan.

Get up.  Take Jack to school.  Go to gym, with Sawyer accompanying me.  Have lunch.  Take Sawyer home to nap.  During Sawyer's nap, dominate things like my email inbox.  Cook delicious, Whole 30 dinner.  (OMG, Whole 30.  More on that later.)

Unbeknownst to me, Sawyer had other ideas.

Since I am taller than him and had the car keys, we did get to the car.  We even got on the road to the gym.  Then, I heard a cacophonous baby snore from the backseat.

Shit.

Sawyer's had a cold or an ear infection for like, ever.  I am not at the mercy of random car naps, but I could tell that this was serious sleep, which I respect.

So, I pulled over and did email on my phone.  (Heeeey, data plan.)  He sniffled and snarfled himself awake after a while, and looked at me with those eyes, as if to say:

"Hey Mom.  What are we doing just sitting in the car?"

Sure. 

Back to the Plan.  Back on the road!

Then, I heard a cacophonous baby dissent from the backseat.  

Hunger.

So, we went to one of the closest delicious food serving establishments, Torchy's Tacos.  (You are my true love, TacoDeli, but you weren't around.)  I got Sawyer a kid's combo of fried chicken strips and fried avocado pieces. It's called the Little Wrecker.

Indeed.

You thought we were going WHERE?
No.  We were always coming HERE. 

You have done well.

I love my job.

Since I'm taller than him and still had the car keys, we went home after that.  He napped. 

I can't believe I ever thought I was in charge.  Little Wrecker, indeed.

Hope you find David and Goliath analogous to something today.

Talk soon,
Heather

carnivals and the paradox of fear

Every summer on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, there is a Brigadoon known as the Cecil County Firefighter's Carnival.

Cecilton is forgettable, and that is kind.  But the carnival was always fun.  I give full props to the volunteer firefighters (many of whom I knew from my summer job at the marina, where they worked as mechanics or painters on yachts and sailboats).  They are a dedicated bunch, and they know how to throw a carnival.

I have a fuzzy memory of bright lights, funnel cakes, rides that make you *almost* puke, and the sweet freedom of a pocketful of tickets.

*     *      *     *     *     *     *

Going to a carnival as an adult is different.  

It's sort of like when they turn on the "ugly lights" in a bar at last call.  It looks a lot different than you thought, and not in a good way.

Durel and I learned this last weekend.  Luckily, we had enough Tums and Advil to get through it, and were able to enjoy Jack's view of the event, which is utterly carefree.

[I mean, it's just scary to think of all these rides being taken apart into transportable bits, nuts, bolts, and pieces and then reassembled, ridden, disassembled, transported, reassembled, and then ridden by you and your child, the most precious thing to you in the entire universe.  In retrospect, I prefer the firefighters and mechanics.]

[But you know what?  Everything is scary if you think about it wrong.  So, we got our bad selves in line and rode the rides because that's what you do.]

Jack and I rode the Ferris Wheel.

It's really pretty from up there!

Jack and Durel rode the roller coaster.

Raise'em like you just don't CAYAH

We did not take a camel ride, go inside the weird tent to see the "World's Smallest Horse," which the sign said in bizarre, Wizard of Oz style wording, was "Positively Alive!" or pay $12 for a turkey leg.

Sawyer maintained a Zen-like composure while watching us.  Wise baby, he is.

Hope you feel the fear and do it anyway today.

Talk soon,
Heather

catching our collective breath

You guys.  The past month has been totally ridonkulous.

Here are the highlights:

Durel and I went to ACL.  

We had three day passes because we are nothing if not ambitious.  We got babysitters and cash and went to HAVE SOME FUN, PEOPLE.  We drank beer, saw music, people watched, ate awesome food, slogged through mud, got tired of slogging through mud, and left early to go see a movie.  That might make us old, but it also makes us happy.  

In other news, we've decided that we are now "one day pass" people.  I think it's a sign of maturity.

Bright eyes, full hearts, can't handle that much mud.

Sawyer started sitting up.  

We had been wondering when SawDog would deign to sit up in our presence.  He seemed quite happy to roll everywhere he wanted to go.  I really think he just didn't feel like sitting up.  But then, he decided to throw us a bone in the form of a developmental milestone.  He's thoughtful like that.

This will also [drumroll] signal his transition from a Lamb to a Duck at school!  And that means that crawling and sippy cups are in our near future.  Apparently, I am in a time warp.  

How YOU doin'?

SickFest 2014 happened.

Sawyer had a yucky virus where he coughed a heartbreaking amount.

Jack had a yucky virus where he projectile vomited everywhere.

Sometimes motherhood is harder than law school.

Soccer stars emerged.

Last weekend, at Jack's soccer game, he and his teammates lined up, three kids across, to protect their goal from the oncoming opposing team.

I almost fainted.

They've learned how to play soccer, people.  And they are FOUR YEARS OLD.  And, they're damn cute.

Though they are really in it for the snacks.

Here's hoping you get a snack today.

Talk soon,

Heather

bad movies and debatable lunches

Every city has an Achilles heel, right?  (Except London, maybe?)  When I lived in San Francisco, I realized it is pretty close to perfect.  Except for the outrageous cost of living.  Oh, and the ever-present threat of a devastating earthquake.

Austin often seems perfect, as well.  And then it's 104 in the summer and you think, "Oh, Austin is perfect except for the heat.  Well, I can go get a frozen margarita and handle that."

By January, you feel smug because you only have to read about the "polar vortex" or whatever the hell is dumping feet of snow on my sister and friends back East.  You text them, "How much snow?"  "Are you OK?"  And then you put your flip flops back on because it's Austin.

But then cedar happens.  Mountain Cedar trees pollinate from mid-December until early March, and they hit their highest levels in January.  The wind blows the pollen off the trees in clouds, and misery ensues.

Not even kidding.

If you live in Austin, just skim this because you already know all the pain.  For the rest of you, cedar means wheezing, snorting, your nose running off your face, clearing your throat and/or coughing so often that you no longer realize you are doing it, buying ONLY the Kleenex with lotion or aloe in them, and comparing notes with everyone about what you're taking versus what they're taking in case you need to switch.  (Note to self:  Buy stock in Flonase.)

When you are wheezing and snorting and 7 months pregnant, this trifecta means you are not taking your energetic almost-four year old outside as much as you should.  Because, self-preservation.  It does mean that you start exploring indoor activities with determination.

*    *     *     *     *

Jack and I went to see The Nut Job last weekend.  You know, the one about the squirrels to decide to do a heist of a nut store? 

Don't worry if you don't.  It is bad.  It is a bad movie.  Jack didn't even like it.  

Halfway through he turned to me and said, "Momma, can we go home?"

And since we were at Alamo and I hadn't gotten the check yet, I said no, but that speaks volumes, dude.

*     *     *     *     *

I tried to up my game on Monday, when Jack and I were both off for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  I took him to a "jumpy place" so that he could GET IT OUT while I was safely indoors, blowing my nose and following him around from foam pit to inflatable slide.

That was a success.  He loved it.  He GOT IT OUT.  And then, it was time for lunch.

We went to Whole Foods because I needed a few things.  And, I love eating lunch at Whole Foods.  We picked up our supplies and then grabbed food.

Jack chose some cantaloupe, a slice of pepperoni pizza, and a chocolate cookie.  Oh, and a can of sparkling water, which he calls "bubbles."

Life was good.

*     *     *     *     *

On the drive home, I was feeling good.  Accomplished, even, in that way that only the mother of a small child can feel accomplished when you've pleased them without spending one zillion dollars or losing your mind.  In that way that even involved fruit and exercise!  In that way that knows that "Nap" is the next event on the agenda and that sounds damn good, too.

A voice interrupted my self-congratulatory reverie from the backseat.

Jack:   Momma, I wanted to eat lunch AT A RESTAURANT.

Me:    (making the split-second decision to be just a tiny bit deceptive)  We did!

Jack:   No, we DIDN'T.

Me:    (Thinking - True!  Well, shit.)  Well, what do you call that place where we had lunch?

Jack:   (I swear to you he SCOFFED.)  Momma.  We ate lunch at the SUPERMARKET.

[pause]

Me:    Well, that's one of my favorite places to eat lunch.  So, I guess that's that, isn't it?

[no comment]

*     *     *     *     *

Hope your city is pretty perfect today, your movie choices are solid, and your lunch is just where you want it to be.

Talk soon,

Heather

Enter the Lederhosen

Somewhere, there is a picture of me at an Easter bonfire in Hannover, Germany.  I think the year was like...1998.

I am moderately intoxicated and cheesing it up for the camera with several friends.  We all have little white things on our noses.  Those little white things are the caps of our little mini bottles of schnapps, which we were drinking by gripping the neck of the (tiny; like vanilla extract size) bottles between our teeth and tipping our heads back.

They told me, my friends, that you have to take a picture with the cap on your nose.

So, we did.

In the fifteen years that have passed since then, I have matured considerably.  (She said, convincingly.)  I am 100% sure that I would definitely still drink schnapps that way at an Easter bonfire in Germany.   No doubt.  

But in contrast, I will also take Jack to a Hill Country Oktoberfest to make sure he's adequately exposed to his roots.  And their sartorial history.

Enter the Lederhosen.

This is Jack at the recent Oktoberfest in Fredericksburg, Texas.

He is wearing a vintage pair of grey suede Lederhosen that, I believe, were purchased by my dear departed grandparents in Germany in the 1950's as a gift for my brother, who was then a wee bairn.  (We're Scottish, too.) (Yes, we're spaced out quite a bit.)

Let's just say that the fans were a little gaga over that sweet guy in his Lederhosen.  We bought the hat at the festival, and it definitely added some snap to his outfit.  The little bear is also in Lederhosen.  We named him Freiderich von Lederhosen, but Jack has taken to calling him "Freeder" for short.

Hope your outfit really reflects who you are today.

Talk soon,
Heather

the one where I had an existential crisis with my coffee

Traffic was horrendous today.  It took me an hour and a half to get to work.  It should take about thirty minutes.

To add insult to injury, I didn't have any coffee.  I had water, because I foolishly thought I'd "had enough coffee."  However, I had not had enough coffee for a 90 minute commute.

I stopped at one of my favorite local coffee shops, Thunderbird Coffee.  They're really cool there.  And they know it, but not in that annoying way.

Vintage light fixtures, mismatched chairs, good coffee...
You get the idea.

I was chatting with the baristas when a man came in, very sweaty from what I believe to be a recent run, to get his coffee.  He was clearly a regular and clearly very invigorated by his recent exercise.  He was chatty.

As I said something to the guy making my latte, he turned to me directly and said:

"Are you a hipster?"

Not even intentionally, this image is from an online article about AUSTIN HIPSTERS.  Sigh.

Oh, Lord.

It didn't take me long to answer, but time did slow down a little bit as I stood there and had an existential life crisis.  

Clearly, I am not a hipster.  I am a 37 year old lawyer who's in the Junior League.  Seriously, people.  

On the other hand, I like to thrift and find new music and eat weird things and generally keep it real.  And we compost.  So, you know, not all hope is lost.  AND, I have Warby Parkers.  Phew.  A sliver of redemption.

But, yeah, no.  I'm not.  My days of smoking Gauloises and wearing Doc Martens are over.  I don't even live in South Austin anymore.  And I am not going to tattoo a bird or an arrow on any part of my body.

And so, when time sped back up after I'd candidly assessed my life in order to respond to Ye Olde Sweaty Chatty Man, I simply said this:

"No.  I used to be one.  But now I live in Steiner Ranch, so I can't be one anymore."

He smiled.  The baristas groaned and chuckled.  The legit hipsters agreed with me.  I was an acceptable, honest and humorous, non-hipster.

(Note:  For non-Austinites, Steiner Ranch is a very tony suburb of Austin that I like to refer to as "gracious lakeside living."  Side note:  I actually love living there.)

So, there's that.

Hope your day involves some refreshing self-assessment.

Talk soon,

Heather

hot, hotter, hottest

I moved to Austin in the middle of summer, 2001.  Jenny and I had just finished a glorious cross-country trip, where we argued some but mostly impressed people with how well we were getting along.  (A story for another time, certainly.  Three weeks.  San Francisco to DC.  Southern route.  We drove a pickup truck that we nicknamed Patsy Cline.)

Cross-country trip aside, I was relocating to Austin from San Francisco, where I had been a happy yuppie for several years.  Strike that:  I had been a happy, chilly, yuppie.  San Francisco is gorgeous -- alternately windy and foggy or crisp and sunny.   But it's never hot.

People who live in San Francisco can always spot a tourist.  They're wearing shorts and sneakers (all the walking!) ... and bright new fleeces that they bought in Fisherman's Wharf with the Golden Gate Bridge on them.  Because it's hard to understand how cold you will be when the fog rolls in over Nob Hill.

Anyway, I got to Austin and it was 102.  I was impressed with myself for existing in such brutal heat.  I was taking a hiatus from being a working professional, so I didn't have to wear a suit.  My apartment complex had a swimming pool, so I didn't have to slog through my days without swimming.  I thought to myself, "How do people do this??"

Then, it was 104.  I thought, to myself, in all seriousness:  "Surely, people don't have to go to work when it's 104.  Don't they have, like, a heat advisory or something?"  My overheated brain was scrambling back to the only extreme weather it had ever experienced.  When there is a blizzard in the East, they cancel shit.  Surely, they will do that, right?

Nope.  People still go to work when it's 104.  Some of them wear suits, even.  Some of them work outside, even.  My eyes were opened.  And I was not just a little bit afraid.

So, fast forward (ulp) 12 years.  It's summer 2013.  It was 106 yesterday.  It is probably 106 today, too.  I go to work.  I do things.  I do not expect them to be cancelled.  I sweat.  We all sweat.  I wear flip flops all the time.  I have learned.  Dare I say it, I may have even acclimated.

Anyway, here's what 106 degrees looks like on a sunny day in Austin, Texas.  

Clear skies, cool boots, can't lose.

Hope you feel like you've acclimated to something today.

Talk soon,

Heather

just right

When I met Durel, he shared a house with two other guys.  One of them was Sean.  (The other was Okie Roy, which is an entirely other story for another day.)

Sean was dating Emily.  

Durel, Sean, Emily, and I all worked at the same restaurant.

Emily and I became friends.

Durel and I became flirtypants.

Two weddings and three children later, we're still friends.  

Sean and Emily just started Tipping T, an intimate event venue, family reunion spot, vacation rental, or where I like to gather with the girls and drink lots of wine.  It's awesome.

Earlier this summer, Durel, Jack, and I went to check it out.  Jack quickly abandoned us to hang out with Connor and Cal.  We expected this.  They ran around, got dirty, played with stuff, stopped long enough to eat (just), ran around more, watched a show, got dirtier, and then got bundled up into a serious tickle fest and monkey pile with Durel.

It was one of those summer moments where everything is just right.  

Hope you have one of those moments today.

Talk soon,

Heather