Love is being *this* happy in a windy ass parking structure in Oklahoma City.

Ten years ago, two kids hopped into a silver Jetta and zoomed away from the DC Beltway.  They headed straight back to Austin.  They didn't pass Go, but they did pass a few Stuckey's and a LOT of Cracker Barrels.  

(I maintain:  Cracker Barrel is a fantastic place to stop and go to the bathroom on a road trip.  The restrooms are clean.  They are always in the same place, straight back through the "nostalgic goodies" from the door.  You can get an iced tea to go (sweet or unsweet, thankyouverymuch) and you don't have to stop and eat a Grampy's Breakfast.  But you can.  Up to you.)

Durel and I have decided that I can never get Botox because it will
inhibit my ability to make crazy expressions ALL THE TIME.
I'm a little bit disappointed, but whatever.
Also, this was taken at our amazing engagement party
 held on the DC rooftop of my dear Kristina's apartment building.  

Those kids were named Heather and Durel and they were gonna get married.

*     *     *     *     *

Today's Heather and Durel live in the suburbs, have two human kids and two furry kids, and go to bed earlier than they ever have.  I can't speak for Durel, but I've had bunion surgery and may or may not have Tums in my nightstand.  I have lawyered for a double digit number of years.  We are legit adults now.

We look back at those kids and think, "Damn."  

Young Heather and Durel were unencumbered by hangovers and fear of the unknown and guilt about debt and any thoughts whatsoever about 401(k)s.  I mean, they got their taxes filed and didn't run out of gas regularly (though I've come close more than I care to admit), but you know.  They were...kids.

*     *     *     *     *

On October 22, 2005, young Heather and Durel locked it down with one hundred-ish of their family and best friends watching.  I cried, as I knew I would.  (I'm a crier.)  When I got dressed, I had tucked a Kleenex into my cleavage, "just in case," and as I teared up I realized that I couldn't reach into my cleavage to get it in front of one hundred of our nearest and dearest.  Fat lotta good that Kleenex did me, standing in the oak trees before sunset.

Durel could read my mind then, as he still can now.  He saw the tears coming and saw a thought cross my mind and promptly get nixed.  He smiled a little and reached into his pocket, only to hand me a pressed handkerchief.  

We also look back at those kids and think, "Damn right."

Thanks for the decade, D.  The next ones will be even greater.  I know it.

Hope your big decisions are good for many, many decades.

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 we're thankful for

Right this minute, Sawyer is thankful for his thumb, that toy, his awesome teachers, and his cozy bouncy chair.

Right this minute, Jack is thankful for his new "blue and green running shoes" and his favorite dinosaur socks that he made at school recently.

 

Right this minute, I am thankful for this day, my beautiful boys, wonderful husband, and quite possibly a million other things.  I haven't counted.  But it's a super mega lot.  I'm a lucky gal.

Hope you take a moment to marvel in what's good today.

Talk soon,

Heather

wishing for adventure

This morning, the sun wasn't quite up as Jack and I left for school and work.

Jack:     Mama, is the sun still in bed?
Me:       Yes, but it's getting up.  See, the moon has gone away.
Jack:     There's a star!  Where are the rest of the stars?
Me:       Well, they're going to bed, too.
Jack:     Star light, star bright
             First star I see tonight
             I wish I may I wish I might
             Have the wish I wish tonight.
Me:       [initially speechless]  What's your wish?
Jack:     I wish ... I could go up in an AIRPLANE.  With YOU, Mama.
Me:       [melted]
Jack:     Would that be an adventure?
Me:       It sure would.  Let's talk to Daddy about taking a trip.

Hope your day is full of adventure planning, sweet moments, and wishes made.

Talk soon,
Heather

trees, tears, and elevators

We've gotten into a pretty solid book routine at bedtime.  I read Jack two books and then tell him it's time to get into bed.  Then, he cons me into "a last one in bed."  So, we read a third book while he's under the covers.  I kneel on the floor and lean in with the book.  (He's got a tough life.)

The other night, he insisted on a book from the top shelf of his bookcase which incidentally, is where I put books that we will grow into.  I have vintage hardbacks of things like The House at Pooh Corner and Robinson Crusoe.  I look forward so much to reading those with Jack, but never want him to grow big enough that it's time.  (Freezing time.  Isn't someone working on that?)

Anyway, the other night, Jack insisted on "that one!  that tree book!"

He was pointing at this:

I tried to talk him out of it.  He insisted.  We sat on the couch and read it.

About halfway through, I remembered why my first instinct had been to try and read something different.

It's beautiful and heartbreaking.  It's simple and complex.  It's sweet and devastatingly philosophical. 

(In short: I was sobbing.)

Jack looked up at me and said, "Don't cry, Momma."  

(SOB)

I was recently talking to a friend who isn't sure she's ready to have a baby.  She's scared of losing herself.  And I totally get that.  I mean, it's a real fear.

In response, I said this: 

It's like, all your life, you've been living your life and things are awesome.  You believe that you've taken the elevator to the top floor -- house, marriage, family, pets, etc.  Life rocks.  

But then, you have a baby.  And you realize that there's another floor above you.  So, you take the elevator one floor higher.  And when you get there, it is SO MUCH BETTER than where you were before.  And so many people you know are there!  And you wonder:  How the hell did I ever think that what I had before was the best it was going to get?  THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER.

She teared up.

I didn't mean to make her cry.  I was just sharing what I feel to be true.

Shel Silverstein didn't mean to make me cry.  Hell, maybe he did.  I'll never know.  Either way, he was sharing what he knew to be true.

Ain't life grand?

Hope you can enjoy some truth today.  Even if it makes you cry a little.

Talk soon,
Heather

P.S.  Just to end on a happy note, wasn't Shel Silverstein a bad looking dude?

love

From our recent photo shoot, a few that leave me speechless with joy:

Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... 

but how much love we put in that action.

-- Mother Teresa

Out of Office: gone to the book signing in the sky

I had the pleasure of attending law school at the American University Washington College of Law.

Yes, I just used the words "pleasure" and "law school" in the same breath.

WCL is a special place.  People don't steal books from the library there.  They circle the answers (in pencil, because we respect books, yo) and put them back.  That sums up how different it is from other law schools, particularly those in the top tier (of the arguably meaningless US News rankings) and those in DC (Georgetown, I'm totally looking at you.)

I developed some seriously great mentor relationships during my time at WCL.  To me, finding a kindred spirit in an educator casts a bright light on my learning experience.  I was lucky to have several such bright lights.

One of these lights was recently extinguished, and I am sad.  

Jim Day taught me Oil and Gas Law and Energy Law.  He was an adjunct professor at WCL because, as he would have put it, he was far too busy working in the business and making "real money" to profess full time.  He, shall we say, believed in incentives.  Each semester, he chose one final exam essay which was the best in the class, and awarded that student a monetary prize of one thousand dollars per course credit. 

Oil and Gas Law was 2 credits.  I didn't win.  Energy Law was 3 credits.  I did win.

Jim Day was sartorially talented -- quite the snappy dresser.  He was unapologetically capitalist and conservative.  He believed, and proved, that the pursuit of petroleum engineering was the source of bounteous financial gain.  He believed, and proved, that knowing the law and the policy was the key.

Jim Day wrote books, and published them.  He held book signing parties where everyone drank bourbon.  Those were fun.  He had a razor sharp wit and a perpetual gleam in his eye.  He gave you the feeling that he was thinking faster than you.  Like, a lot faster.  He was.

Jim Day sent me a handwritten Christmas card every year, in response to my unapologetically cute family photo cards. 

When I got married, Jim Day sent me a wedding present.  It was a really nice Calphalon soup pot, which I still use almost daily.  When I thanked him for the pot, he raised his eyebrows, "Oh, is that what we sent you?  Good.  My wife did a good job.  I told her to get you something nice."

Jim Day was a straight shooter, a smart man, known to have a cocktail, proud of his boots, well-traveled, and well-read.  He saw great things in me.  He constantly challenged me.  

"What are you reading?  What's your next job going to be?  Are you making enough money?"  

I stammered, sometimes, in response.  I tend to be self-effacing and he had no time for that.  

"Buck up.  Be confident.  You are smart.  Get in there and kick some ass, little lady."

And now that he's gone to the great cocktail party/book signing/oil well in the sky, I feel reminded.

Thanks for everything, Professor.

Hope someone tells you to kick some ass 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

new strength

Jack and his amazing teacher, Miss D.

With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts. 

-- Eleanor Roosevelt

It's been a hard week.  

I wish for new days, new strength, and new thoughts for us all.

Hope you feel it.

Talk soon,
Heather

runners

On Sunday, I ran a ten mile race in Austin.  It is the longest race I've ever run.  It is the first race I've run in quite a while.  

It was significant to me, physically, emotionally, and mentally.  I have trouble making time for myself, as a busy working mom, though I know that I'm a better lawyer, wife, mother, and friend when I am rested, healthy, and well-balanced.  I have trouble thinking of myself as a runner, though I've been one for many years, when I am not actually lacing up and getting out there.

As I crossed the finish line, I felt powerful (and exhausted and sore).  But I had reconfirmed to myself that I am a runner, and I was proud to be "back" in that community.

I made a couple of friends during the race.  These ladies are just about the cutest thing ever.  They told me which Garmin to get and that I'm their children's age.  They said running had changed their lives, and I silently agreed.

Durel and Jack met me at the end of the race.  Jack told me that he wanted to go do a race, too!  I told him that he could come with me next time.  (Because I am not ready to push a jogging stroller ten miles.  No sirree.)

We all know what happened in Boston on Monday.  As I hobbled around my office, sore from the previous day's triumph, I heard the news.  Part of me doesn't want to give it legs by talking about it.  And the rest of me knows that we're all thinking about it, so I might as well share my thoughts as part of our collective healing process.

It's particularly vicious to go after a crowd of people who have united to celebrate such a unique triumph of the human spirit and the human body.  The fact that the Boston Marathon is such an important part of the culture of Boston, of Massachusetts, and is part of their Patriots Day celebration make this act of cowardice and evil even colder.

I'm proud of the good.  I'm proud of Boston.  I am amazed by the runners who crossed the finish line and then kept running to Mass. General to donate blood.  I am more determined than ever to complete, if not a full marathon, then a half. 

I was welcomed back into the running community, as I knew I would be, with open arms.  And I don't give up on my friends.

For another beautifully worded perspective, read this:  http://anothermotherrunner.com/2013/04/15/undonebostonmarathon/

Hope you stay strong today.

Talk soon,
Heather

quakers

Jack's Pop (my dad) went to Penn.

To be clear, he went to the University of Pennsylvania, which is an Ivy League university located in Philadelphia.  Without any judgment whatsoever, it is not Penn State.  (How's that, Brynn?)

My dad is also a die-hard college basketball fan.  To Penn's credit, they have the coolest basketball arena in the country.  It's The Palestra, and is the oldest basketball stadium in continuous use in the United States.  It opened in 1927, and is still used by Penn and the rest of the Big Five today.

Image credit.  
I didn't realize it is also referred to as the Cathedral of College Basketball.  Nice.

My dad and I used to go to Philly to see Penn games together.  Afterward, we would go out to dinner, usually somewhere on South Street.  Those evenings are some of my fondest memories.  Quality time spent hanging out with my dad, seeing his pride for his alma mater, and learning about basketball from him.  Good stuff, indeed.

Penn's basketball program is, well, filled with spirit if not with success.  Penn's last trip to the Final Four was in 1979.  

But, as we know, true fans never give up.  And Pop knows that.  And so does the next generation.

Hope you don't give up on anything today.

Talk soon,
Heather

my heart

I'm not sure if I read this quote or made it up.

To have a child is to know what it feels like to have your heart walking around outside of your body.

Regardless, it's true.  And it's the first thing that came to mind when I saw this picture.

*  *  *

Jack's Aunt Kristin gave him a flashlight when we saw her recently in Louisiana.  It has become His Favorite Thing Ever.  The other night, he shone the flashlight up through the banister of the stairs, which is currently wrapped with evergreen garland.  

When he saw the resulting shadow, he got super excited.  

"Momma! It's a shadow!  I made a shadow!"

I came to look and appreciate it.  

"Yes, Jack!  That is awesome!"

"Momma, it's for Peter Pan!"

OK.  Hold the phone.  My heart literally burst into one thousand pieces.  Where he got this, I have no idea.  But I knew just what he meant.  He meant this:

This kid.  He has the heart of a poet.  I'm not even kidding.

Hope your day has some unexpected poetry in it.

Talk soon,
Heather

football season, then and now

I'm not a big fan of football season.

To me, its only redeeming quality is that it's an excuse to make delicious appetizers from Pinterest.  And that the weather is usually cooler.  And that if you want to hang out on the couch, that's totally acceptable.

Durel is, quite obviously, a Saints fan.  I am pretty sure this means that Jack is one, too.  

In fact, I have proof that Jack is evolving into *quite* the Saints fan.  Watch this:

Last year:

This year:

Now accepting all metaphors for HOW QUICKLY TIME IS FLYING.

Hope your day has a cool Brees in it.  Mine sure does.

Talk soon,
Heather