Thoughts from the Tundra

It's snowing lovely big, fat flakes right now and Lil' Bit is taking an early nap. Ahhh. Just finished the coffee pot and wish I had some profound thoughts to spatter here but, alas, I got nothin'.

So I'll share a random memory.

Growing up with my younger brother was often a lesson in patience when it came to the dinner table. Josh was the quintessential picky eater in our family. He often turned his nose up at the most simple of meals. I remember (fondly?) the night when my dad warned him that if he didn't finish the rest of his hot dog, by God he was gonna get a spanking. Josh sat for hours with that 'dog stuck in his chaw, after the plates had been cleared, the table wiped down...and eventually in the dark when we all simply left the room. Kid had an iron will.

Anyway, as he got older Josh discovered barbecue sauce. But by "discovered" I mean that it became like his mealtime blankie, something that was required for him to hold a fork in hand. It was often my job to set the table for meals and I frickin' hated when my Mom would ask, a bit anxiously, "did you remember the barbecue sauce?"

As a Southerner, it's a requirement for you to be a fan of barbecue. But after years and years of smelling that crap doused over all kinds of food - eggs, sandwiches, pork chops, tacos - I got to the place where just the slightest whiff of barbecue sauce could turn my stomach. Even long after I had moved away and lived on my own, I still had a bad reaction. Once at Kanakuk, someone saw me turn my nose up at the mention of BBQ and asked, "girl, what kinda person hates barbecue? You must hate kissin', too!"*

You guys have any bad memories associated with certain foods?

*no, indeed kissing is still on my list of favorites.

Back From the Grave

I know you've been checking back here repeatedly, dear followers (Mom), and must be curious about my absence. It's nothing exciting. Just a stomach virus. Last Monday night I lived through the one experience that I had been dreading: baby projectile vomiting. I used to see friends posting all the time on Facebook about their child being sick and throwing up all over the place. Each time I read something like that I'd begin furiously praying, "please God no may it never be" over and over.

And yet - it happened. I was putting D to bed after a normal day and a normal bedtime routine. While I was wrapping her blankie around her she softly coughed, spat out her pacifier, and proceeded to go all Exorcist on me. Wow. A wall of chewed tomatoes, corn, string cheese, yogurt, blueberries and milk sprayed across the bed, missing the bed entirely (small thanks) and landing on me and the floor. I was stunned. I was literally frozen while it happened, much like I'd imagine most folks are during extremely traumatic moments.*

Anyway, it happened um, around 11 more times that night so after 5 loads of laundry, 3 sessions of floor mopping, and two more baths, I knew I had been baptized into a more mature level of motherhood. That's the worst that motherhood gets, right? RIGHT? Okay, whew.

On a not so funny side note, both Russ and I got sick as well. Only Russ got sick hardcore, as Russ has been known to do - summer of 2007 anyone?* 8 And now, even though he's better, he's losing weight as if, oh, say he's training for a half marathon. Only he's not. But I am. But I have lost jack diddly and am starting to think about secretly adding mayonnaise to everything I cook for him. Can anyone tell me why this happens with men? I can't figure out how I can run 25 miles a week and still hold onto weight like my body is some toddler clutching her toys to her: MINE!

*Yes, I just compared my child throwing up to the trauma of say, refugees in a war-torn nation or surviving cancer. Don't you want me for your therapist?

**Ugh. I don't even like remembering the summer that Russ had some impossible to diagnose virus that made him run a high temp for 3 months and zapped all strength from him. Everyone avoided us like the plague and I had to mow the yard. THE TRAUMA I'VE ENDURED, PEOPLE!

Love in a Choke Hold

The other day I stopped by Chelsea's to talk and we let the girls run amok while we drank wine talked about important things. I glanced over to see Caroline gingerly putting her hands around Davy's neck and thought, "uh oh - let's see where this leads" only to watch as C placed a very tender kiss upon her cousin's cheek. Caroline is practicing to become the world's best big sister. (Get on the ball, Chels) Anyway, we made her do it about 30 more times so I could score a quick video...

Ode To My Baby Girl, on Her First Year

(Warning: long hormonal post to follow)

Lovey, nigh upon a year ago you went and turned my life upside down...



See that? That's me, suddenly wondering who I am, and terrified that I might get lost in the terror of a newborn baby, something I up and did real quick so that navigation back to my former self would prove impossible. Dear Kathryn Davy, this past year you took me on the ride of my life. And I would do it over...and over...and over again. Because I've never experienced the kind of love that makes you realize the bridge to who you used to be has been burned and you can't go back and you're even GRATEFUL for that loss of your bearings. Onward ho! With no other choice!




Davy, you had only been a part of my life for a month or so when I realized that suddenly my life had become scarier. It wasn't just that your Daddy and I didn't know why you were always crying, though indeed that was terrifying. It wasn't that the whole breastfeeding thing had me flummoxed and teary-eyed in the middle of the night, though I really thought it might be the death of me when I came down with the dreaded mastitis. It was on an ordinary afternoon early on in my maternity leave and you were laying next to me on my bed while I was watching "Hotel Rwanda" for the first time ever. I'd seen many movies like it in the past. But suddenly! My heart was in my throat and I felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on! Those children! They could be you! Suddenly all the sorrow in the world was my own and my fear was choking me! Little did I know that from that day on, every sad Today Show story, every news article about children trapped in an earthquake or talk of an orphan's home in South Dallas...those children felt like my child. There would never be enough hugs, or tears, to push away the fear that every parent encounters: that they might lose a child. It haunts me to this day - the notion that life has upped the ante, that I have more to lose today than I did a year ago.

But. Aside from the crippling fear came joy beyond measure.



I never understood how people could carry around photos of their children and expect me to care. And yet: a quick study of my iPhone will reveal hundreds of photos of you. Daddy and I would find ourselves calling each other only to discuss the barely perceptible new thing you had accomplished during that day: "Guess what." "What?" "Today she turned her head and was watching TV." "Seriously?!" "Yeah. And she smiled when the dog barked." We continually marvelled over your obvious talents. Someone call the Gifted Program.



Davy, I'm not gonna lie. Becoming a Momma was HARD. Every step stressed me out. Your father can attest to this: I am an anxiety hound and the lack of sleep only made it worse. But, bless your heart, you really were a good baby. By six months you slept through the night (though that damned Babywise had me thinking it would only take 9 weeks!). We learned quickly that as long as you were fed, you were up for whatever. After about 7 months of you and I hanging out I realized that you recognized me and maybe even really liked me being around. By 9 months I was certain that I had never really lived before you.

Your life has given me a whole new way of looking at mine. Let's take Daddy, for instance. Honey, you'd only been born for a few hours before it was painfully clear that I was never intended to marry anyone but your daddy. I remember holding you sometime around midnight on the day of your birth and looking over at your father who was fast asleep on the chair/couch next to me. I just burst into an estrogen cry fest because I suddenly realized something Jesus must have known for a thousand years or so - that Russell Page was always meant to be with me and meant to be your daddy. No one else would do. And Oh! The joy it brings me when I think of the totally different way you will know him as Daddy. Trust me: I know a thing or two about good daddies and you got yourself a good one.




Little girl, your personality is out like Clay Aiken. You are so intensely yourself. Here are some things to remember: everywhere we go, people say, "Oh my gosh! What a beautiful baby!" I used to think this was just something folks said to most babies until total strangers stopped me to ask if they could hold you. You smile at everyone. Hell, you'll babble coyly to anyone, too. "Those blue eyes!" If I had a nickel for every time I heard that. My prayer is that you will somehow escape the pressure that most girls feel by the time junior high rolls around: may you never measure yourself by your looks. It's too fleeting a weight to carry. May you somehow get it through your head that the stuff that lasts is the stuff the years can't change: your love for others, your tender heart. But if you succumb to those demons that your own mother bowed to - may you realize quickly that freedom lies in your Heavenly Father, the One Who loves you regardless of anything you can do for Him. Who knows your worth has nothing to do with performance, behavior or beauty.

Little girl, God brought you into my life to teach me the Great Lesson: how to love without being loved in return. Oh my. I never knew how selfish I was until you came along. For as long as I live I'll never be able to thank you for relieving me of the burden of ME. I just don't matter as much today as I did a year ago. And I know this is of God. Only He could use such a little thing to give me such a great gift. I can say with tears running down my face that you've taught me that this ol' life is full of surprises and pain...and that I would never trade it.



I love you, baby girl.

Love, Momma.

Some Nights are Just Good Nights...

It was yellow tonight in Dallas as we labored under a tornado warning. If by laboring I mean: watched two good movies over two bottles of wine with my husband.

Simple pleasures: we found out that Davy loves grape popsicles. We sat on the front porch and watched the sky go from yellow to orange to gold. Then we quoted Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay." Russ said, "Stay golden, Ponyboy." Which just made me love him more.

Sometimes you just gotta rejoice in the little things, you know?

This One's For You, Michael Paul

My husband and his brother have an uncanny talent of meeting someone and immediately ascribing a celebrity look-alike to them. For example, when Russ and I first began dating, Michael shared with me that I looked like the character Stands With a Fist from the movie "Dances With Wolves."


I tried not to hate Michael in that moment.

So I guess Mary McDonnell, aka Stands With a Fist, is my celebrity look-alike, or as I like to call her, "Ugly Becky." (no offense to Mary McDonnell but she looks pretty haggard in that movie and I choose not to believe that I resemble a 52 year old, talented actress)

This morning I saw a D-list celebrity on tv and told Russ, that girl looks like an ugly (name of a friend we have). Then I asked him if he could think of an Ugly Russ. Here's who he came up with:


Listen, my husband is MUCH more handsome than Mark Chesnutt, the country singer. But I love that he had this guy in mind when I asked him the question!

So, I'll ask you: is there a celebrity that might be an ugly version of you? (Again, let's just assume that we all have great self-esteem and we mean no offense to any celebrities!)

In closing, we have never been able to watch Lost without calling Hurley the "fat Michael Page." So Michael, I'll answer the above question for you here:


Just so you don't think I'm needlessly cruel - here's a photo from our wedding of the two boys...see? They're very handsome.

Hiatus

So...I took a little break...sort of unintended. I have been feeling somewhat worn down after a week of poor sleep. But after going to bed at 9:30pm for two nights in a row, here I am!

Little recap:


Ricky was in town for a portion of Spring Break. He got to see Miss Chunk in all of her chubby glory. (We were low on laundry that day. I promise I don't usually dress her in the free tee from Baylor hospital and just a diaper...I'm a little bit white trash, but not full blown.) We're all going to see Ricky graduate from the University of Arkansas (Go Hogs!) in May.


We drove to San Angelo two weekends ago to visit Sutton & Johnna. This one photo captures the entire visit: it was all about being laid back, comfy and simply enjoying them. Davy was great - she slept, she barely cried, and she got plenty of attention. We ate lots of heavenly food (not Dr. Brown approved) and paid the price for it. But my favorite part was having plenty of time to simply sit and talk. That's one of our favorite things to do with them. I loved that I caught a shot of Johnna with a camera since she is our family historian, a talented scrapbooker, writer, and creative mind as you can see here.


Remember how Davy got a new jumper? One day while I was working on my Spring cleaning she was being awfully vigilant in her jumping skills. I noticed she enjoyed spinning round and round in the bouncer. I stepped out on the front porch to sweep and got caught for no more than 3 minutes talking to a neighbor. When I came back in a quick look let me know that D was still happy and content. A second look piqued my curiosity: what WAS that stuff?

Prunes. From an hour before. It appears the spinning worked it's magic on that little tummy. Here's my question: how do you puke that much and not even lose your pacifier? "W'sup, Mom?"

For anyone still reading, we had to re-do our family room this weekend. What worked pre-baby was no longer working. Also? We felt terribly cramped in our charming 1600 sq. ft. 1930s home. This table used to sit against the back wall displaying what was probably too many family photos.


Here is the room mid-move. I ran to get my camera and Russ goes,
"What are you DOING?"
"I need it for the blog!" (He doesn't understand that everyone enjoys a good before and after!)

Our couch used to float mid room with a walkway behind it and that table up against the back wall. Why? I don't really know. It worked for the first 2 years. But then the pack n play was jammed somewhere between the floating couch and the fireplace. The whole room began feeling claustrophobic. But here are some after pics.


The photo table has been removed and the couch pushed back against the wall. That chair used to be in front of one of the corner windows.


The table that once showcased an over-display of photos got downsized (I love that table - it can serve as a dining table or a card table!) and is now in the corner where the other chair used to be. The pack n play is still a major fixture but, hey! that's life for a little while. (Let's be honest - it's only going to get worse, right?)

P.S. Russ will read this and call "bull$*t" on me if I don't confess that one of the main reasons I haven't updated my blog is because the only time I've been online lately is to play Mafia on Facebook. I am filled with shame to right this. but if you want to play will you let me know so that I can add you to my Mafia?

The Job No One Wants

I've been sort of quiet this week about the shooting at First Baptist Maryville, IL that occurred last Sunday. I'm sad every time I hear about a shooting that reminds me of what happened at Wedgwood Baptist 10 years ago. It's been ten years, you know? Honestly, there are times when I think, "now we can just move on...now we can finally be done with it all." But the minute I heard about what happened to Fred Winters last week, I immediately knew that my dad would be in the spotlight. And that troubles me - only because it seems depressing at times that he is sort of the go-to guy for shootings. I honestly don't like that my dad is known for being the pastor of the church where one of the first large-scale shootings occurred, for several reasons: it cost us quite a few precious lives to gain that kind of notoriety. Also, it somehow seems to taint his ministry - to make his shepherding be about trauma & crisis instead of the longstanding passion and commitment that it has been. This kind of recognition is weird - I feel uncomfortable when folks say, "Wedgwood? Al Meredith? How do I know that name?" People are unnaturally drawn to tragedy - and I include myself here - like each one of us rubbernecks as we drive past an accident.

If September 15, 1999 had never happened, Dad would still believe that God is present, near, and faithful in tragedy. Were you to know him like I do, you would know that he came to believe this not due to the shooting, but due to his own personal pain. He would tell you that he isn't a good counselor, that he often lacks in mercy and compassion. But he loves to preach the Truth. And he is just messy enough as a person to be approachable as a pastor.

So, I am really grieving for the family of Fred Winters, and for his "flock." There is an imperfect fellow headed their way this weekend. I know he never wanted this job of being the expert on church shootings...but then again, that's the thing about signing up with God.

If you've stopped by here, say a prayer for them all.

Homeboy Needs a Job

Go here!

Seems like I have about 10 friends (along with almost 30,000 other strangers) competing for The Best Job in The World. But I gotta go with my blood here & ask that you click on the link above to vote for my brother, Josh Meredith, by watching his video and giving him 5 stars.

Please have mercy on him. This is the brother who I once gave a cup of feces to in order to trick him into drinking it. Hasn't he suffered enough? The kid deserves an awesome job and I can say honestly that he would be good at it! (A little biased? Yes.)

More proof of his past suffering can be seen here and here.

You can also listen to his music here.

Six Months!

Sweet Davy girl,
You turned 6 months old yesterday and it feels like I blinked and half a year just zoomed by! It was hard to believe that six months ago I was in labor with you, completely oblivious to how much my life was about to change.

So many people told me I would be in love with you from the very moment I saw you. I can honestly say that the first feeling I had for you was awe...and then...fear. I loved you, for sure, but more than anything I was a little scared of you.

Since you were just a day old, the first comment that most people make about you is that you look like your Daddy. Man, that kills me! I love your Daddy and personally think he's hot, something that you'll most likely never want to hear again from me - but you're my little girl and I really want you to look like me, too! This photo of you, however, proves that we'll never need a DNA test for you - you are definitely your father's daughter.

You were such a little thing six months ago. I had to work hard to give you those thunder thighs you're hauling around now. Even since your early days you've been a really, really good little baby. You took to a schedule right away, even though it took awhile for us to get the whole feeding thing down. You have such a sweet countenance and easy going manner. For your first 3 months it was mostly just you and me, day in and day out. I was probably a little obsessive at first about taking you anywhere - so you and i just BONDED.

Your dad and I have bonded too over these six months. We never knew we had it in us to be your parents. I'm thankful that God knew we did. I have to say that your dad has really surprised me. I always knew he'd be a good Daddy but I had No. Idea. that he would be so great at all that goes into it! His favorite thing is to race me to your room when it's time to wake you up. He likes to be the one that picks you up and gets to see your face the moment you open your eyes. That's something I'll always love about him.

We have a whole new respect and joy for family now. I love that you will know your grandparents and your cousins (even the ones yet to be born) and that they will play such a big role in your life! You are so blessed to be born into this family - every single person in our big ol' extended family loves you so much and is someone that I want you to get to know. We are relying on all of them to help us raise you.

For me, you've already taught me so much about myself. Your Dad always says that getting married makes a man grow up and that having a baby makes a woman grow up. I do feel like I've grown more since you've come into my life than ever before. Having you makes me feel confident about myself, helps me to think less about myself. God is using you to take away some of my insecurities, partly because they pale in comparison to the joy of being responsible for you. Now, He's also shown me again just how fearful and controlling I can be. I promise to work on this before you become a teenager!

We took you to Ft. Worth this weekend and I loved all your new changes: eating baby food (hating the peas and loving the applesauce), laughing with us, and generally just being a very happy baby.

My greatest prayer for you in the next six months is only that I would be grateful for each day spent with you. I don't always understand how God works and why He does the things He does...but I know He is good. I want to be able to live in a way that teaches this to you.

I love you, little baby girl.

As Promised...

Mmm Mmm Good!

So some of you (Aunt Diane) have noticed the lack of Davy photos for the past few weeks. She is just Jim Dandy, however. She's babbling up a storm (I'll post a video soon) and has become a very happy, fun little baby. I love walking into her room when she's woken up and seeing her beam at me from her crib.

We started rice cereal and though she can't keep much of it down, it's fun watching her open her mouth with the vigor and excitement of a sorority pledge downing a shot.

p.s: Yes, it's a blue Bumbo seat and a blue bib. Trust me, sister ain't hurting for pink in her life.

What Are You Doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?

Chelsea was singing that little tune over Christmas and it has been in my head since then...and is finally appropriate.

No champagne, little black dresses, lipstick or dancing tonight. All three of us are sick with colds. But there has been Chinese takeout...and a few movie rentals. And I'm loving this new Macbook that I'm currently toying with.

I will most likely be in bed by 10pm tonight - a thought that fills me with glee!

4 months

Yesterday we went to the pediatrician for Davy's 4 month check-up and vaccinations. My big girl held her own bottle while feeding herself (sort of) as we waited for Dr. Becker to come in. Then I worked on my iPhone camera skills as D. just chilled there. Dr. Becker noted, "She seems really laid back." Oh, those words were music to my ears, though there have been times when I was sure we had a high-maintenance kid on our hands. Hmm, maybe I should just be quiet - we all know what happens when I brag...


I opted for a flu shot yesterday. After hearing about the McCroskey family's nightmare with flu hitting both babies and Chris and Erin, I'm not taking chances.
I think the nurse perceives me as a little mean for taking this pic. I had to explain, "It's not because I like seeing her cry! I just feel like someday I'll want to see a photo of her getting vaccinated!" Please don't call CPS!

Davy girl, you have been so much fun these past few weeks. My friend Rachael kept telling me, "something happens after 3 months so hold on!" and I'm glad I did. You now love making motorboat noises, cooing to yourself, squealing loudly from your swing, and grabbing Mommy's hair. You're also a big fan of being tossed in the air, something that used to make me cringe but now I do it daily. Yesterday when we came home from the doctor, I put you on your tummy for "tummy time" and you immediately rolled over. So I put you on the floor to watch you do it again. Good ol' Fatty had to get in on the action and everytime I would say, "roll over!" to you, he would lay next to you and roll over himself...too bad a camera was no where nearby because I was dying laughing.

Photo Recap

Last week, the day before my maternity leave ended, I came down with a bad case of mastitis. If you don't know what that is, may you never. Thankfully, my momma came over to help out with a very cranky Davy. If you see my mom, ask her about her dream about D. calling her by "name." I love this photo.


Halloween at the grandparents. While I only saw a handful of trick or treaters in my neighborhood, a mere 3 miles away in HP I think we saw several hundred. Amazing. We never made it off the front porch. But Caroline did don her costume at the end of the night for a photo op.
Somebody refused to stand up with his costume on so he was left at home that night. Sir, you will wear this costume next year and you will wear it with a smile, by God! I didn't pay $6 at Joanne's fabrics for nothing!
Only a handful will get this photo. It's morning time with Beth Moore. As a few of us have joked in the past, "I accepted Beth Moore into my heart." In all seriousness, I'm doing the Breaking Free bible study again and this morning's lesson was especially good. I forced myself to get outside, away from my laptop, phone and television. I have been really spiritually dry and this morning was exactly what I needed to hear from God...

Halloween in Review: Part One

I had mentioned awhile back that Halloween brought back certain memories for me as a child - both good and bad. While I relish the fall season and all the fun memories of trick or treating (back in the 80s, before all the razor blade apples and "Fall Festivals"), I need to share a little bit of the trauma that Halloween once was to me.

I need to first say, again, that Sweet Kay was and continues to be the very best mother in the world. She excels at SO many things; listening and being a source of peace and comfort being the best of her talents. At some point in her life, my mother had a seemingly endless well of creativity in her - she painted, sewed her own clothes...she was a Renaissance woman of sorts.

And then she had children.

I can now speak with a sense of authority on the notion that having a baby depletes your creativity supply. Perhaps it has something to do with the hormone levels in your body, or possibly the constant sleep deprivation...Anyway, it is with sorrow that I must now point you to Exhibit A:


No, your eyes do not mislead you: that is, in fact, a garbage bag with the words "The Thing" painted on it. Indeed I AM wearing my father's motorcycle helmet under that bag and I DO have my face painted in some sort of be-goggled mess. I think my 7 month old brother lying on the floor next to me, his young face contorted in a Mr. Blackwell-esque look, belies the truth that my mom was surely worn out that year. She had a not-quite 3 year old and a baby to contend with and we all know my father probably offered up the helmet as his only means of support. (The photo that I wish I did have has me sitting next to my best friend who is dressed as a girly, beautiful Raggedy Ann doll. It is a Yin and Yang of costumes, for sure.)Fast forward 2 years. We have moved to a new home in Georgia where all our Halloween photos would be taken next to a lovely backdrop of damask (?), patterned curtains. This young girl (?) appears as if on center stage. I remember wishing, hoping against hope, to be a princess for Halloween. Wish Granted! I believe my mom drove us to Sky City, my small hometown's version of K-Mart, and probably hurried me down the aisle of picked over costumes where I found this plastic apron/cape combo of what seems to be Cinderella. It's not even a dress. It's more of a montage of a princess, all hearts and swirlies and a cameo of the lady in question.

What's even sadder is that it was cold that night. Enter blue sweatshirt, sorrily rolled-up jeans and BROWN SHOES. I do remember that my mother had a Come To Jesus meeting with me over the shoes. It involved tears (probably on both our parts), pleadings, and much pouting. Looking back, it is the brown shoes that are really the nail in the coffin on this outfit. Mom? Seriously? Were you mad at me?

In all truth, I totally get how this happens. It's called time, folks, and how mothers have very little of it. My daughter is 3 months old and already I feel myself playing the comparison game with other mothers who have not only found outfits of homemade splendor for their child but have had the little one take professional photos in said outfit and have used that photo for their blog's monthly masthead. I went to Target last week and bought a onesie that says "Boo."

Oh Davy. I can't make you any promises. You come from a long history of mislaid plans, procrastination, and tired mommies. But I will let you eat as much candy as you want that night. And I will keep your father from picking out his favorite pieces first. After all, that's what a truly good mom does on Halloween.

More to come!

Another Weekend, Another Win by Tech

Poor Johnna had to endure the Tech vs. A&M game with a household of Red Raiders, the loudest of whom was Nancy*! But she did it with class and humility, even when our kicker failed on the extra point. Such a good sport, though now she'll have to fly the Tech flag at her house this season.

*I promise to have a photo of the little one with her Gigi soon - it's not for lack of time together!

A sidenote to Katy: Chels and Johnna had never heard one of my, you know, poop stories so I shared one of them while we were munching on aged cheese and drinking wine. Girl bonding, and all.

For Future Reference

Tomorrow is Fatty's 2 year birthday. I'll write more about him then. Just wanted to let you know so you could, you know, like leave him a happy birthday voice mail or get him a Starbucks card or just, maybe, a birthday lick on the cheek.

Next week I'll begin to also post some pre-Halloween photos of what it was like growing up under the creativity of Sweet Kay...who I adore...but who I fear has influenced me when it comes to costumes for my kiddos.

Until then, here is what it would look like if Fatty had been raised by Sweet Kay come All Souls Eve:

p.s.: that is not my house or my dog...there is a Doc Marten's sandal in the corner of that photo and you should know that I would NEVER have one of those in my home...ungodly beast of a shoe.

Over the River and Through the Woods...

...to (insert future name that is yet to really be determined)'s house we go!

I'm not sure if she should be Grandma, Grandmommy, Momma Kay, Momsie (heard that one last week and loved it), Gram or what. And I don't know if my mom knows what she wants to be called yet either. My dad is still struggling not to call himself "Dad" when Davy is around. (By the way, that green blankie in the photo above was made some 30 years ago by my grandmother who we lovingly called "Bumba.") Anyway...we went to Ft. Worth:

This photo was taken right before she ralphed all over him. He hasn't learned the importance of the burp cloth yet. Ah, grasshopper - vomit will teach you; it will be your master.
After this weekend there will be more photos of D. with her Gigi (a name with a perfect fit) and her daddy's side of the family. We are looking forward to seeing Sutton & Johnna as they haven't been in town since D. was born. Bring on the big family breakfast, the football games, the wine & cigars on the back patio, and the endless teasing of Sutton.

Weekend Wrap Up

All I can say is thank God for the iPhone. Without it, there might be virtually no photos of this time in our lives. Much like my mother, I have the best intentions when it comes to things like chronicling our lives with photos in a creative way but when I'm in the midst of a special moment, my camera is nowhere near me. (note: we shall see if I am like my mother when it comes to Halloween costumes for my kids - but that's an entirely different post.) Anyway, I present one of maybe 2 pictures of me with my daughter:

Nice trash can, huh? Well, we're at the doctor's office preparing to get vaccinated. See how alert and sweet she looks? She was all smiles, was kicking away on the table, completely oblivious to what was coming. It broke my heart.
You can't see but those are REAL TEARS in her eyes. Not the crocodile infant tears they cry for the first few months but real drops coming out. The nurse had left us but suddenly came back in the room only to catch me snapping a shot of D. weeping. I'm sure she thought it was the height of cruelty but I'm just trying to capture all the important moments!
Ahhh, so like I was saying last week - one of my favorite things about this weather is that it inspires my husband to cook, especially to grill. These are the green chilis stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon that he made along with steak, new potatoes, and mushrooms sauteed with onions and garlic.
As you can see, I'm not very good at "tablescapes." And yes, we are that type of family that typically uses paper towels for napkins. People, I can only work on one thing at a time! And right now that's taking pictures with my iPhone! But it was a lovely night sitting outside with Russ, music playing from the kitchen, the sound of Highland Park football being played from a distance, the wind sort of dancing around the backyard. It was romantic right up until we spotted some rats running along our neighbors' fence. Big sigh. Texas Tech football at the Gillhams - you can tell it was a nail-biter by the intensity of both their faces! I think Russ and I watched college football from 10am to 10pm. Congrats to all Oklahoma State fans! (I purposely will not congratulate those from another Texas school...I have too much Red & Black loyalty to do so.) This is going to be an amazing season for the Big 12.
Everyone was tuckered out after all that cheering.