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

Biscuits

I fully embrace my Irish heritage.  I think a misty morning is heavenly.  I think a cold(ish) pint of Guinness is divine.  I think a curse word here and there is not only appropriate, but required.

There is a problem with that last one.  

Jack is a sponge.  And when I say "sponge," I mean little walking, talking person with no filter who likes to repeat every word you say that he can make his mouth form.  

He has not cursed, yet.  To avoid this unfortunate occurrence, I have cut way back on my cursing.  This is hard for me.  So, I had the *brilliant* idea -- or maybe Durel had it -- that we need to replace our curse words with another word that's innocent.  We didn't want anything that sounded too close to the offending word (as in, "fudge" is not an appropriate substitute for the "F" word because it's too close).  

What did we choose?  Biscuit.

Why?  Because!  How can you hate a biscuit?  With all of its buttery carbohydrate loveliness?  You can't.  Even if you hear your parents saying things like this:

• Don't be such a biscuit!
• Oh, BISCUIT!
• I'm telling you -- that butters my biscuit.
• That guy is a rotten old biscuit.

You get the idea.  So far, it's working pretty well.  And we're cracking ourselves up in the process.  

What do you think?  Are you more virtuous than me, so stopping cursing was no problem for you?  Or have you done something creative?  Do you think we're nuts?  (Maybe don't answer that last one.)

With butter and jam, even,

Heather

Surf's Up

Without a leg cast to crimp his style, Jack took to the beach like, well, a fish to water.

Is that the water?  I should go check it out.

Ooh, Dad's going!  I have to go with him!

Dad time on the beach is the double best.

More to come.  Hope all is well where you are.

Heather

Beach Boys

I'm not usually wordless, even on Wednesday.  But I think this speaks for itself.

Don't you?

Heather

Toddlerpocalypse

This picture gives you a false sense of security that the story below is happy.

Our recent vacation began with a flight.  It has taken me several days to figure out the best way to blog about this flight.  Because this flight need to be blogged about.  I've decided that the numbers speak for themselves. Here they are:

Magnadoodles rock.

Days before trip that I started planning how to survive a flight with a toddler:  10

Toys in Jack's travel bag:  10  (red truck, blue truck, stretchy frog, stretchy dinosaur, 2 books, stuffed animal, Magnadoodle, Weeble Wobble, rubber duck)

Toys in Durel's bag for Jack:  2, as in one DVD player with Yo Gabba Gabba and SpongeBob DVDs

Snacks in Jack's travel bag:  10  (2 Nutri-Grain bars, goldfish, mini grahams, Kix, applesauce, 2 packs of mini muffins, cheesy crackers, fruit leather)

Minutes we arrived at airport before plane boarded:  60

Number of gates that Jack marched up and down prior to boarding plane, which we smugly thought was sure to tire him out:  8

Level of fear that Durel and I felt prior to boarding plane (on a scale of 1-10):  4

Empty seats on plane:  0

Minutes of flight from Austin to Fort Lauderdale:  150

Minutes that Jack screamed, wailed, sobbed, kicked, and flailed, while in flight:  130

Number of minutes Jack slept on flight:  0

Number of people around us on plane who offered food, medication, or other assistance:  5

Number of things that worked to calm Jack down:  0

Level of fear felt by Durel and I during the flight:  10

Minutes of drive time from Fort Lauderdale to Marathon, Florida Keys:  180

Minutes of drive that Jack slept, when Durel and I actually could have handled crying because we wouldn't have been worried about pissing off more than one hundred people:  160

Amount of wine consumed by Durel and I once we arrived at our destination and put Jack to bed:  Lots

We're calling it the Toddlerpocalypse.

How's your day going?

Heather

Rock On, Dad

Jack loves his dad.  He wants Durel to hold him, play with him, take him outside, and hang out and be dudes with him.  

Durel loves his Jack.  He chooses the best outfits for him, plays ball with him, teaches him how to pet the dogs (gently!) and shows him the ropes.

I love seeing them together.  As the wife and the mama, it brings joy to my heart that I can't describe.  I can't wait for my guys' adventures to include fishing, camping, ball games, and all that other guy stuff that they'll do together.

To this wonderful dad and his wonderful Little Dude, a heartfelt happy Fathers' Day.

To the dudes, big and little,

Heather