I went to college in Maine, at a lovely place called Bates.   

Maine is very cold.  Bates is very preppy.  Winter at Bates is very cold, and very long.

When preppy people are cold and bored at college, they have formals so that they can break the tedium of studying in fleece or flannel to drink alcohol in dressy clothes.

Far from casting aspersion on this practice, I fully embraced it and thought it was fantastic.

I think it is the annual Wilson House Formal at Bates that's held in January.  (Friends, correct me if I'm wrong.)  

My friends and I never took our coats to that particular formal, because we didn't want to lose them.

(Read that again.)

We walked across campus in our formal wear (not noted for warmth), without our coats, because we knew that they would be flung into a heap, have beer or punch splashed upon them, and then perhaps go home without their rightful owners.

We were cold.  We were young.  And tough.  And stupid?  (Yet really smart?)

We had our coats, though.  (Not with us.  Nevermind.  You got that part.)

*     *     *     *     *

Jack will probably not go to Bates.

He TRIES to insist on wearing shorts every day.

I know it's Texas, but it was 40 degrees this morning.  By Texas standards, that's time to break out the Uggs and watch out for ice.

We do not let Jack wear shorts when it's cold.  He is 4 1/2 and has zero body fat.  We love him and do not want him to get bronchitis, ear infections, pneumonia, the flu, or become one Star Wars enthused goose bump.

Today was a particularly rough morning in what I'll call ShortsGate.  I had the distinct thought as I dropped him off at school that if there was a pair of shorts in his cubby, he would have them on by the time I picked him up.  I prematurely accepted defeat, even.

His Most Excellent Teachers then sent this about mid-day.

That is not the shirt he wore to school. 

Those ARE the pants he wore to school.

ShortsGate has been averted for another day.  Hats off to Mr. Scott and Miss Hayley.

Hope you keep your pants on today.

Talk soon,

Heather

sawyer pants

This is Sawyer Pants.

(Full disclosure:  I have made up a song entitled "Sawyer Pants."  It is super silly and I will not tell you what it says.  The lyrics include the word "booger," much to my mother's dismay.)

He likes food, especially bananas and oatmeal.

He likes sleep, definitely all night.

He likes Pablo and Lucy, and with remarkable intensity (and dexterity) likes to bop them on the head in affection.

He likes kicking his arms and legs with delight when Durel walks into the room.

He likes the inchworm/Army crawl thing that he's currently mastering.  He's fast, you guys.  And he is so happy to be moving that he shrieks with delight as he inch-inch-inches his way around the house.

He looks damn good in stripes, which makes my preppy heart happy.

Hope you know that life is good today.

Talk soon,
Heather

christmas in these parts

We had a wonderful Christmas.  And we hope you did, too.

Here are a few highlights.

Jack announced that Santa would eat the gingerbread house.
This saved me from making cookies.
How considerate of them both.

He IS a native Texan, after all.

The painfully cute Christmas program at school.
I've blocked out some of J's classmates faces because I don't know their parents, privacy, etc.
Note Jack's red nose, which is required for the "Reindeer Pokey."

We have movement, people.
We're pretty psyched about it, as you can see.

Jack wore these pajamas for a week.
Sawyer spit up on them and never wore them again.
My fantasies of having twin holiday elves were dashed.

2014 was a good year.  Sawyer joined our family and there are no words to express our joy.  However, 2014 was also challenging.   I bid it adieu without much sadness.

Hope you enjoy a fresh start; I sure do.

Talk soon,

Heather

chippy the christmas elf

Well, I did it.  It's the last day of 2014, and we STILL don't have an Elf on the Shelf.  

Jack requested one this year.  He was pretty cute about it (as he is), but I stayed strong.

Jack:  "Mom.  We need an elf on the shelf, to watch us!"

Me:    "No, we don't.  Santa is watching.  We're covered."

Jack:   "But, Mom!  I've already named him!  His name is Chippy!"

I'm sorry for you, Chippy.  I hope you find a nice home somewhere.  I hope you entertain other kids with G-rated holiday antics involving candy canes and powdered sugar and whatever else you get into.  

Editor's Note:  I specify "G-rated" antics not because I have a devious mind (at least, not in this context), but because I can't not think of the Inappropriate Elf contest held by Baby Rabies in years past, which is full of gems such as:

(Image credit)
Because if I can't do this, I'm not doing it at all.

As luck would have it, Jack has decided that the Christmas pajamas I got him (Sawyer has a matching set, natch) are his "elf suit."

And so I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if I have a real life elf, why do I need a fake one named Chippy?

My elf is much cooler, anyway.

Elf Jack accompanied Uncle James and Durel to Central Market for some holiday fixings.
En route, they enjoyed a leisurely holiday lunch at Red's Porch.
These pjs are street style.

Elf Jack listened to some block rockin' beats on Eli's iPad.
These pjs mix.

Elf Jack posed on his new skateboard from Santa,
right next to Durel's new skateboard from Santa.
These pjs don't bail.

Elf Jack likes taun tauns, Green Lantern Legos, and skateboards.
These pjs are ALL BOY.

Hope your street style dazzles someone today.

Talk soon.  Like next year.  

Heather

let them eat (vegan) cake

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