Jack is a pretty happy guy.  

Sure, he has tantrums.  And his tantrums come on fast, hit hard, and end quickly, much like a tropical storm.

But most of the time, he's a chill dude who enjoys life.

And when this is a snapshot of a normal (good) moment on a normal (good) day, how can you blame the guy?

I'm thinking what the equivalent would be for me.  I suppose if I got to hang out with my best friends all day, reading Vogue and Us Weekly, wearing yoga pants and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, wearing a (who?  Sandra Day O'Connor?) mask, and waiting for either my hot lunch and/or naptime, I'd be pretty smiley, myself.

Now that's an image, isn't it?

Hope you can imagine something silly and delightful for yourself today.

Talk soon,

Heather

the thing about Cracker Barrel

In the summer of 2001, Jenny and I drove cross-country.  We took a luxurious three weeks to do it, and along the way, made sure we stopped in:  San Francisco (where we started), Los Angeles, Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, Albuquerque, Austin, New Orleans, Memphis, Nashville, and DC (where we ended).  

Somewhere in Tennessee, we had a realization:  We like Cracker Barrel.

It does not take too many pit stops at terrifyingly dirty and broken down gas station restrooms to see that Cracker Barrel is a shimmering beacon of ladies room loveliness throughout this great land.  

It does not take too many bags of Combos and 20 ounce Diet Cokes, purchased at said gas station after using said restroom to see that Cracker Barrel is a also something of a shimmering (or maybe glistening, but work with me here) beacon on the culinary landscape -- that is, when you are not filming a reality show a la Guy (sunglasses worn backward make me cool, dude) Fieri.

We didn't have time to seek out juke joints and the best ribs off the beaten path in Mississippi.  While our trip was nice and long, we had to get to our next destination, one that was on the map.  And we had to eat.  And we had to go to the bathroom.

We fell into this pattern:  Stop at Cracker Barrel.  Stretch our legs.  Use ladies room.  Discuss whether it was meal time.  If not, get iced tea to go.  Back on the road.  

The other day, we took Jack to Cracker Barrel for the first time (I think.)  We were headed to the beach, so it fit nicely into our "on the road" customer pattern.  I'm not going to lie.  I was excited.  It had been a while.

I steered clear of the country fried steak (sigh) and got a salad.  It was pretty good!  Jack got chicken strips and french fries and broccoli.  Also pretty good!

Jack also got a space shuttle that cost more than this food and mine together.  I did it.  I bought it on my way back from the restroom to make sure we had a peaceful meal and a happy kiddo before getting into the long part of our journey.

I now predict this pattern:  Stop at Cracker Barrel.  Stretch our legs.  Use restroom.  Discuss whether or not we get a new toy.  If not, have meltdown.  Back on the road.

How does Jack feel about this?  Pretty darn good, apparently.

Hope you have a tasty chicken strip today.

Talk soon,

Heather

sass karma

Once when I was in college, my friends and I went to a modern dance performance.  There was a piece performed called "Recess," where the dancers simulated playing on a playground, but all dancey-like.

We were smart asses and it cracked us up, like a lot.  To us, it felt, in a word, sassy. We talked about it for the next few days.  (Yes, this is bitchy.  But dude.  It was hilarious.)

The concept of sassiness infused my group of friends for a while.  Everything was either sassy or not sassy.  In the way that people are killing words like "epic" and "fail" lately, we set out to completely slaughter the word "sassy" with overuse, misuse, and abuse.

I suppose that we were sassy, in the bad way, but you know ... it was college in Central Maine and we needed something to do.  I'll leave it at that.

But apparently, karma will not leave it at that.

Because I have been blessed with the likes of one bona fide Sassy Pants.  

Here's a sample:

• (In response to me telling him to put his pjs on for the thirteenth time, in that voice you use when you are telling someone something basic for the THIRTEENTH TIME)  No, Momma!  You don't talk to me like that!  
• (In response to my "good morning" the other day) I don't want to go to school!  I'm going to stay in bed!
• (While walking downstairs)  Momma.  Wait. Your. Turn.
• I WANT COOKIES FOR BREAKFAST.

You get the idea.

PS:  The kid loves watermelon.

Hope karma is kind to you today.

Talk soon,
Heather

thanks, costco, for reminding me how old my baby is getting

Jack used to love the pizza at Costco.  (Flashback) case in point:

Remember the time he ate two pieces?  I do.

He now prefers the hot dogs.  FYI.

Yes, he ate an entire one pound Costco hot dog.  Don't judge.

And if you are at the South Costco, I recommend the potty in the tire section.

Jack recommends taking a break to count the tires after your break for the potty.

We grow, we change, we count things.

Hope you have a surprisingly cheap meal today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Crisps

Jack's been sick this week.  Oh, the poor dear.

We went to the doctor in the afternoon.  In the wake of cold and flu season and a holiday weekend, I blew up the pediatrician's phone line like a lovesick teenager just to get our appointment late in the day.  After the appointment and (not surprising but saddening) diagnosis of a doozy of a double ear infection, we headed to CVS to get the (much-needed and very strong) prescription.  

Given the time of day of the appointment and the traffic we encountered, this put us smack dab between late snack time and early dinner time.  I had a very real fear of sick toddler meltdown in the middle of the drugstore.

So, I provided a snack.  And, with a twinkle in my eye, what I chose was (1) delicious, and (2) totally new to Jack.

It went well.

I may feel crappy, but I lurve Munchos, Mom!

Hope your weekend is crisp and not chippy.

Heather

**PS:  Feel free to nominate me for Mother of the Year for feeding her sick child potato chips in the CVS.  A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.  And that would be my acceptance speech.

Sick Days

Earlier this week, Jack and I shared a sick day.  He didn't feel good.  I didn't feel good.  We stayed home together.

For those of you without children, please HEED MY WORDS.  

Enjoy your sick days.  Enjoy them to the fullest.

I know that sounds like an oxymoron.  (Duh, if I'm sick, I'm not enjoying it.)  But you know what?  You are and you just don't know it.  Because when you are childless and home sick, you do things like sleep when you want, eat what you want, watch what you want, and lay comatose on the couch as long as you want.

You know what happens when you are home sick with a toddler?  You make breakfast, snacks, and lunches.  You get sippy cups with various beverages on demand.  You watch more Nick Junior than you would like on even a *well* day.  You get up to do things like change diapers, prepare meals (see above) and ensure that your child does not injure themselves, even a little.

Which led me to think that, in fact, it was Jack who was taking care of me the other day.  Because he drove the agenda for our day with a relentless pace.

First, we drew.

Yes, that is the blanket I was *trying* to be sick under.
It may or may not be a Wonder Woman blanket.

Then we drew some more, though we were just about to be distracted by Yo Gabba Gabba.  I was also distracted by that adorably chubby hand.

Also, please note that he's left-handed, LIKE HIS MOMMA.

Then we put all of his favorite things into the box.

Everybody, get in the box.  Dee Dah, you're in charge of what happens in the box.

Then, we took his favorite things out of the box.

That's enough of that, team.  Everybody, get out of the box.

You will note that our living room looked more and more like a toy store exploded in it as the day wore on.  This is a testament to my (futile but consistent) attempts to *relax* and not clean up in cycles, as I do on normal days, like weekends or whatever.  In truth, it probably took as much mental energy to stop myself from organizing and straightening as it did at the end of the day to clean up all the toys (with Jack's help, of course).  Whatever.  I tried.

We also counted to ten in English and Spanish.  We napped (twice).  We ate (me, a little; him, a lot).  We drank water and juice.  And as soon as Durel came home, I passed the parenting baton and promptly excused myself to go crash into the uninterrupted sleep that had eluded me all day.

And...you know you're a mom when even the day I've just described was actually fun, because you got to spend it with your Little Dude.

Here's hoping you contradict yourself (in a good way), this weekend.

Heather

Friday

Jack and I hope you have an awesome weekend, filled with naps, good eats, and football (if you care about that, which I don't, but you already knew that).

We also hope your weekend is free from annoying traffic that makes you want to punch and kick the sky.  Like we had yesterday.

Take that!  Hee-YAH!

Over and out,
Heather

The Almost Two What's Up-Date

The past few weeks have been CRAZYTOWN in these parts.  I've been working my face off, as well as jetting off to our nation's capitol to fete one of my law school besties for the impending arrival of her little bundle of joy. I'm still wading through the pictures and memories of that trip to winnow them down for sharing.

In the meantime, I came home to a Full Grown Boy.  Uh, where did my baby go?  Perhaps the parade of onesies at the baby shower skewed (or focused) my perspective, but regardless, Jack's no baby.  Full stop.

Which means that it's time for an update.  Or, a what's up-date, from the Little Dude.

1.  Hugs.  Jack loves giving hugs.  Especially to Lucy, who is officially the Most Patient Dog in the Universe.  As he hugged her the other day, I noticed that he was gripping her in a way that two of his fingers were actually in one of her eyes.  But, because she was receiving love, she was cool with it.  

2.  Breakfast.  Jack eats three breakfasts a day.  One at 6:30, which we call First Breakfast.  (We're creative in the morning.)  One in the car, at about 7:30.  And then the actual breakfast he's served at school, at about 8:30.  I keep thinking that one morning when I go to get him, he will be six feet tall.  Stay tuned on that.

3.  Fun.  Jack's new favorite things to do are to jump and to spin in circles until he falls down.  Good times.

4.  Style.  Jack officially brings it in the style department.  Thanks, Christine, for this cool shirt to assist with the dapperness.

Hope you're rocking a cool shirt today,
Heather

Dogs with Horns

Last weekend, all of our hearts were made happy by a lovely visit from Nancy.  Nancy and I have been friends for (gulp) 18 years, since our freshman year at Bates in the twin cities of the Androscoggin.  

Since then, we've both had our shares of adventures, moves, new cities, good jobs, bad jobs, treasured moments, and things we'd rather forget.  During all of that, we've remained able to finish each other's sentences and know when it's *just time* for a Diet Coke.  Best friends are your family, and she definitely is.

Last year, Nancy came to visit in October, and we made our merry way to Sweetberry Farm for some frolicking in the pumpkin patch.  (I'm trying to lobby for this to become an annual trip.  Totally doable, right?)  Anyway, last year, Nancy snapped this priceless picture.  Remember?  I do.

That makes my ovaries hurt.

This year, Jack was much less interested in making cherubic poses while calmly sitting among the pumpkins. This year, Jack was super toddler head explosion excited about the fact that the farm has GOATS.  That's right, goats.  That you can pet, and feed, and poke, and giggle about.  Upon our arrival at the farm, we head straight to the goats.

One thing, though, Jack called them dogs.  

In Jack's mind, animals are either dogs, bears, or dinosaurs.  He's on the verge of figuring out elephants, too.  But if an animal is brown-ish and has 4 legs, and is not a bear, then it's a dog.  This means that goats are dogs with horns.

Still good for the petting, though.

Did you know they have dogs here?

I think I might pet one.

I am totally touching this dog with my finger.

I might even stick my finger in its eye.

So, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar...

Hope your day involves some dogs with horns, or at least something furry,
Heather

The New Truth

Just making sure you all knew that.  I've been given lots of lessons lately.

Happy happy weekend (MINE!),

Heather