Jack at roughly eight months:

Yellow?  Blue? Which one?  I DON'T KNOW!

Sawyer at eight months:

L.  I.  V.  I.  N.

I will say this:  I think different personalities are emerging.  As well as different looks.

Hope your own observations entertain you today, too.

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

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

everything looks like jello

One of the things I love about the boys' school is that they Really Celebrate Halloween.  

Durel and I recklessly missed the (amazing) Fall Festival this year because we chose to go to ACL and wear our "grown-ups" costumes (see what I did there?).  So, there was no collective family costume this year.  

Don't worry, we're already discussing what we will be next year.  Jack's current suggestion is that Durel should be a hot dog, I should be a cookie, he is a french fry, and Sawyer is a piece of popcorn.  

(We'll see how negotiations go.  We have a good ten months before I have to begin construction.)

Anyway, their school has a costume parade on Halloween.  Bless the infant teachers, who wrestle all their adorable little babies into their costumes and take pictures of them.

Bless the pre-K teachers for harnessing the collective energy of more than a dozen 4 year olds who are in costume and ABOUT TO EAT ALL THE CANDY.

Here's how this panned out:

Of course, we took it to the streets that evening.  More on that to come.

In the meantime, ponder Jack's statement that, with his Darth Vader mask on, "Everything looks like Jello."

Hope you have a gelatinous view today.

Talk soon,

Heather

all hallows eve EVE

Jack has been counting down to Halloween for two weeks.  He proudly informed me last Friday that it was "the last day of the row before you get to the row with Halloween!"

I deduced that he was talking about the big calendar at school and jumped promptly onto the Halloween bandwagon.

We are going to trick or treat with good friends for the third year in a row.  We all sort of love that it's become a tradition at this point.  We meet at their house because they are in PRIMO trick or treating territory.  We eat pizza.  The grown ups have a drink.  And then we take our spastic children out to go spazz out in the streets and get candy from friendly neighbors.

Flashback:

That was last year.

Double flashback:

That was two years ago.  Wow.

Anyway.

This year, the boys are older, bigger, and more spastic.  And Batman's little sister (top right; being held by mom; dressed last year as Robin) will be in charge of her own area this year, for sure.  

AND.  And.  Sawyer is here.

And he's ready.

Stay tuned for updates from the candy-laden streets.

Hope your belly is ready for Halloween.

Talk soon,
Heather