I never met my mom's father, but tales of his coolness persist.  

His name was Henry.  (Sawyer's name was almost Henry.)  He was a left-handed pitcher in minor league baseball in the 1920's.  (I'm left handed.  I can't throw for shit, though.)  He hurt his elbow and never made the majors, so worked as a contractor building roads, bridges, and the like in Chicago.  In the 1920's and 1930's.  He was a Mason. (He was not a gangster, but HEY Chicago in the 1920's!)

Henry's birthday was on Christmas Eve.  His infinite coolness aside, he always sort of got the shaft for his birthday.  Less presents, and/or birthday presents thoughtfully wrapped in Christmas paper and given to him with his (indistinguishable) Christmas presents, also thoughtfully wrapped in Christmas paper.  You get the idea.

For years, Mom would make a birthday cake at Christmas.  In addition to the legions of cookies, truffles, candies, and the like that my father's customers would send to him, we would also tuck into a birthday cake in honor of Grandpa Henry.  In later years, Mom stopped doing it.  Logical considerations took over, I suppose.

I decided to revive the tradition this year, in large part because I didn't have time to make cookies because I was lawdogging my face off for the entire month of December.  I also recently discovered Capital City Bakery, a local Austin bakery that makes THE MOST AMAZING THINGS, which happen to be vegan.  

Truth be told, I ordered Durel's birthday cake from them in October because I was dairy-free at the time (courtesy of Sawyer) and wanted to have some damn cake.  The cake was so good that I've been looking for an excuse since then to order another one.

Anyway, as I sat at my own breakfast bar to indulge in my Christmas cake, Sawyer decided to join me.  In the spirit of the holidays and all that is dairy free, I decided to let him.

Whatchoo looking at, punk?  This is MY CAKE. 

Good stuff, indeed.

Hope your Christmas was filled with tasty treats and things that were joyfully messy.

Talk soon,
Heather

it's bananas. no, really.

Christmas is next week, you guys!

I'm done with my shopping (just).  I have wrapped exactly zero presents.  I have not yet sent my cards.  (Stay tuned; they're coming.)

And I have not yet told you the ground-breaking news that Sawyer ate a banana!

Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

Clockwise from left:  (1) Inquisitive Sawyer. (2) Cute Sawyer, with banana.
(3) Excited Sawyer.  (4) Slimy, banana-scented Sawyer.

With all the dairy allergy stuff, I sort of forgot that Sawyer was, like, nine months old and that it was time to give him FOOD food.  His pediatrician kindly reminded me at his recent well check.  

We hurried home and enjoyed a ripe banana together.  I mean, Mum Mums are SO a month ago.  

Hope you enjoy something new and tropical today.

Talk soon,

Heather

gravy boats

Durel and I have been busy LIKE WOAH lately.

Work. Colds. Commutes.  Bills.  Duties.  Thoughts.  Things.

But.  (There's always a but.)

Tomorrow is Official Pie Baking Day.

And then, there's Thursday.

Friday is Official Wear Yoga Pants on the Couch Day.

So, I think we should call it Official Calm Down Weekend.

I know what I'm thankful for.  I really do.

Even superheroes go to the doctor sometimes.
They don't have ear infections, though.  [High five!]

So, mugging for the camera is now a developmental milestone?
Because, WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?

Hope your gravy boat is half full, too.

Talk soon,
Heather

Ce n'est pas un blog post.

Jack has started helping me in the kitchen.

Full disclosure:  I ordered him an apron for Christmas last year.  He had no interest.  It's been collecting dust since then.  

However, now at the ripe old age of 4 1/2, he is getting into cooking.  I am valiantly trying to ignore the part of me that can't believe MY BABY is big enough to help me cook.  As an alternative, I am trying to listen to the part of me that is so happy to have a little buddy in the kitchen.

Oh, motherhood.  Why do you have to be such a roller coaster?

Anyway, PapaDu's birthday was last week, which is OBVIOUSLY a critical cupcake situation.

Note Pablo photobomb.
"What?  Dogs like cupcakes."

Jack and I were pleased to find that Randall's selection of cupcake decorations more than suited our needs.  They had, in fact, candy eyeballs, candy mustaches, and colored icing tubes for artistic freehand expression a la cupcake.

It's sort of a chocolaty Magritte situation.  Or Picasso.  With some Jackson Pollack influence, perhaps.  

(Ce n'est pas un petit gâteau?)

Regardless of what influences you see here, rest assured that what was pleasing to the eye was also pleasing to the palate.

Hope you get all surreal today.

Talk soon,
Heather

we've apparently lost our minds

This just happened.

I will now attempt to answer what I imagine your questions to be.

1.  Did you just give Jack a set of drums? 

     Yes.  You are very observant.

2.  Like, at your house?  

     Yes.

3.  Like, six weeks before Christmas?  

Um, yes.  We purchased them as a Christmas gift, initially.  However, the Davies family is genetically incapable of holding onto gifts for very long.  This ailment is apparently contagious, because it was Durel's idea to give the drums early.

4.  Aren't they loud?  

Yes, they are.  Particularly because four year old drummers don't have a lot of, shall we say, percussive nuance.  He just beats the shit out of those things.  Which means that yes, it is quite loud.

5.  DON'T YOU HAVE A BABY?  

Yes, we do.  We have the coolest baby on the planet, and the drums don't bother him.  Even when he's in bed.

6.  Oh, Jack's room is far away from Sawyer's room?  

No.  They share a wall.

7.  Have you lost your minds?  

Probably.

8.  What on earth are you thinking?

Drums are fun.  Childhood is far too fast, and you only get to do it once.

9.  Can your friends come over and play these drums?

Yes. You should bring wine.

10.  So, is it possible that you guys aren't crazy after all?

I knew I liked you.  Don't forget the wine.

Hope you carpe the hell out of that diem.

Talk soon,

Heather