life of the party.

This weekend, we made our first trip up to Dallas to visit the family. While it was a bit of a whirlwind (thanks Aunt Judy for staying up late to let us in at night) we had a great time and were glad to get to share in Zoey-girl's second birthday.


While the cousins weren't exactly immediate best buds, I think they'll grow to appreciate one another more and more every time we're together. By next year, I predict they will be partners in crime.
Now Jack has met most of the members of my family. Next up we'll tackle the British relations. (But as he cried from Waco to William Cannon, we'll need to work on his travel skills because Abergavenny is a whole lot further away.)

i'm the king of the swingers.

As the party was winding down, we stole away to the swings. These buckets looked like they were perfect for a first attempt at swinging (on a real swingset. we all know how the first real attempt at swinging went. ahem.)

Jack tolerated this quite a bit better. If he hadn't been exhausted, he might have even enjoyed himself. I enjoyed seeing my big boy looking so little in the swing. Time flies and I know soon so will he. In the meantime, Daddy and I are trying to enjoy this time when he prefers just a bit of gentle rocking.

mommy's little baby loves suppertime, sort of...

Here are an obnoxious number of pictures of Jack's
first attempt at solid food:

these are the cheeks that milk built.

first food: rice cerealthere is more to life than milk? i'm intrigued.

sceptical

dubious
disgusted
resigned
resolute
revolutionary

I tried to make it to six months without solids, but after more than a week of sleep regression (with J-baby waking up every hour and a half to eat), something had to change. Jack took his first few bites with skeptism. I think, though, that he has the Stafford appetite and willingness to try new things. By the end of his first meal, he was reaching for the spoon.

All the books tell you to watch for food allergies, and as I am a sufferer (strawberries, some yellow dyes, shark meat--long story for another time), I wanted to be vigilant about this. Jack ate a couple of "bites" and then started to sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. At first, I thought that it might be an allergy, albeit an odd one as mine present with hives. Then I realized it was just his way to efficiently get rid of the offending substance. Hilarious.

We haven't seen his sleep get significantly better just yet. I think that is because his schedule (and the number of ounces of milk he drinks at a time) are the same as they were three months ago. And he is about three times bigger.

I guess that with balancing the job and Jack, I sort of let what was working work until it didn't. We'll get sweetie baby sorted out before long. Once Daddy finishes school for the summer, we plan to get him eating in a way that makes more sense for a six-month-old. AND we'll get him sleeping in his own bed. In his own lovely little room. Maybe even through the whole night.

A girl can dream.

jumping for the vertically challenged

My dad grew up in a small town. My mom grew up in a really big city, the kind that eats small towns for lunch. I was born in that same monstrous metroplex. This accident of birth may explain why my mom and I love sprawling malls and chlorinated pools. Meanwhile, my dad sort of secretly believes that the whole world knows that he is Roseby Wright's son and therefore should be afforded certain rights and privileges--the last room at a packed hotel, the freedom to pause rather than stop at an intersection. It's an attitude that amounts to: "civis campbellsvillus sum."

When I was a little girl, we spent at least a week each summer in Dad's hometown. We ate gigantic tomatoes and went calling on people and hugged on teeny-tiny great-aunts. I had a matching pair of them--Mae and Bootsie. They were my grandfather's older sisters and though they were in their seventies by the time I was born, they always seemed like perfect playmates. This was in part because of their propensity to get the giggles and in part because they were about my size. My grandfather, all 5'6'' of him, towered over them.

What can I say? We Wrights are a short people. So it should come as no surprise that once, we were sitting down to a meal at my grandparents' table and I wasn't really able to reach my plate properly. I needed a booster seat, but this was the 80s and people didn't have such things in their own homes. They didn't have bouncy seats either. It was the dark ages.

When my mother asked if we could use the phone book (a tried and true substitute in the big city) my grandparents looked baffled. Mom repeated the request until they acquiesced. The county phone book was about as wide as a standard bible and not a whole inch thick. Cue the giggles.

Jack has just about reached the age where he can start enjoying some slightly more "active" toys. He's just shy of four months and definitely more alert every day. He also reaches for things constantly and sometimes control his hands enough to grab and object and inevitably put it in his mouth.

One of my major sources of mother guilt is that when I am at work, we are always together and I get the chance to cuddle him and nurse him, but we don't do a lot of serious play. I think he gets bored by the end of the day and I know he gets tired of moving from one reclining position to another. So last night when we got home, we pulled out the jumperoo to give it a try and found a familiar problem. (Note the distance between feet and floor.)

Lucky for us, we remembered a familiar solution. It's just a good thing that our city is growing so fast!

we are family.

easter bunny 101

"you won't believe it, but mommy and daddy say that there is this big bunny, right, and he
brings all the little children a basketful of goodies on easter morning.
And here's the best part..."

"and these 'treats.' Well the bunny brings chocolate and eggs and chocolate eggs.
and not breast milk. not one drop.
i know. totally unbelieveable."

"please sir, may i have a little more?"

little boy blue

At this time of year, the earth begins to warm, the skies open with gentle rains, wildflowers turn highways into pointillist masterpieces, and across Texas--families pull off onto the shoulder of the road and hall their kids into the grass for photographs. Who am I to mess with tradition?

Worse, I woke Jack from a nap for this adventure into the weeds. He was dazed and confused at first and then a little bit incredulous. There were a few smiles, but he was very uncertain about the hat. I, on the other had, felt sure that it was adorable. Richard said he looked like an aging Englishman with questionable taste and pasty skin who decided to vacation on the Riviera this year. I told him that Jack looked nothing of the sort. Socks and sandals were NOT a part of this carefully crafted bluebonnet outfit.

Still, we were only out in the unremitting sunshine for about fifteen minutes before we started to worry that our English rose was getting to, well, rosy.

We'll be back next year to try again, though I am already wondering where to go so that he can't wander onto the road. By that time, I doubt only the flowers will be wild.

bumbling along

sitting up is overrated.

up to the highest height

Austin Kite Festival 2010

My grandfather learned to fly kites when he was a kid. He used to write his address on little parachutes made of tissue paper. He expertly sent them up the kite's line and then shook it until they dropped and were caught by the wind and carried to far-flung places. Sometimes a stranger would write to him and tell him that his parachute had been found.

Maybe these early experiences with kites contributed to his lifelong passion for flight and an unquenchable wanderlust that made him curious about all of those far-flung places and the people to be found there.

This year, we wandered past the Austin Kite festival. I hope next year we'll be back with our own kite. I want Jack to learn how to fly. I want to hold anchor for all of those connections that might just float away. I want us all to remember our own wanderlust, to remember our wonder.

we're dreaming...

Two days ago, we were sweating in our sweaters. It was a still seventy degrees. Then that funny thing happened that sometimes happens here in Central Texas. The sky goes grey and fluffy and we wake up, ready to go about our routines, and realize that there are big fat snow flakes falling in our backyard.

Today, Jack and I did just that. I raced to get us both dressed so that we could take a picture before the sun came out and our wintery white vision was gone.

As you can see, it was tough to take a picture of the two of us that did justice not only to our exquisite mother/son beauty, but also to the white stuff. Basically, it looks like I have a bad case of dandriff and Jack is disgusted, but tolerant of me--what with that whole giving him life thing. In reality, I think he was a little bit miserable. The flakes were absolutely huge and when they fell on his face, he blinked and shuddered and gave me the evil eye.

Eventually, mean mommy took him back in, but I had to get proof that he had really seen snow. What with the global warming and the general lack of frozen precip here in the heart of the lonestar state, it could be a while before he has another opportunity.

We made our way to my office carefully and we had a chance to see the snow fall and melt a couple more times that afternoon. Jack particularly enjoyed watching the squirrels from my office window. Then, when we thought there was break between fronts, we headed home to do a little bit of snuggling while we waited for Daddy to get home.

After all, like surprise snow, the number of days that Jack will voluntarily snuggle with me are limited too!

Nanny the Great!

My mom always says that Nanny has a special relationship with every one of her grandchildren--that each of us would swear up and down that she really does like us best. She's right. (Except that I really am Nanny's favorite.)

Nanny has been "raising" grandchildren and now great-grandchildren for more than thirty-five years. All told, she has three boys and three girls. She's got at least three that are mechanical and at least three who could currently care less. (That's me and the two great grandbabies.) She's got three in Dallas and three that are a little bit farther flung. Ahem...she's only got one brown-eyed girl. (I told you I was the special one!)

Our time together--Nanny, Jack, and me--was an absolute treasure. Jack took to Nanny the way all her grands and greats do. He smiled and flirted and cooed and wooed her, determined that he would be her favorite, too. We laughed and cuddled and dressed him up. We ate and told stories and escaped for a couple of adventures. It was vintage Nanny time and Jack fit right in.

love the one(s) you're with...

I've never had two men in my life before. I never had to juggle dates and times or remember which chit-chat I had already shared. Generally speaking, my guiding principle has always been: feel free to date this guy if you are absolutely sure that you have already fallen giddy in-love with him.

This Valentine's Day, I had two guys for the first time. It required a flexible schedule and some small (tiny baby) talk to keep the little one happy. But my principles are still intact. No doubt about it. I'm crazy in love.

hit the road, jack.

Twenty ounces of milk. Twelve diapers. Six hours of running around. Three changes of clothes. Two diaper bags. One beautiful boy. And a really big cup of coffee.

Jack and I took our first road trip together yesterday--a quick jaunt to San Antonio to see Bibi and Grandaddy, who were both in town for work. We were anxious to get together even for a short time as I was sure that Jack had grown visibly in the three weeks since we had last seen my parents. Plus, he really does get cuter every day.

I am willing to out myself as a card-carrying member of over-packers anonymous. (There was the time I broke a toe dropping a 50 lb suitcase on my foot after dragging it six blocks and toting it down two flights of stairs. Of course, I only needed to lug it up two more flights of stairs, through a train terminal, on and off an Amtrak, onto a bus, and around two airports. With the foot. No sweat.) But I felt like I was reaching new heights as I packed us up for the afternoon. This is the thing, though: when you travel with a person who eats eight times a day, can't walk or talk, and may at any moment end up with bodily fluids all over his clothes...you just need lots of stuff.

We met up with Grandaddy at about 2 and headed to the hotel where Jack played and ate and slept and ate until Bibi arrived at 4!

Then we headed to Luciano's. Jack slept through the meal and only woke up at the end so that the mamarazzi and bibirazzi could get their fill of photos. There was a quick diaper change and then Jack and I were on the road again. We stayed later than we had planned, but it is hard to tear ourselves away from the grands.

Sweet boy made it to the Austin City Limits before he started to cry and then I couldn't wait to get home. We woke Daddy up when we got in. Then my big sleepy guy helped get my little sleepy guy into bed. Then a very sleepy mommy got to join in soon after.

Who knew that a trip to San Antonio could be such an adventure!

welcome home again.

A baby really does change everything. This morning we were up and ready to go to church by 8:30 when only a month ago we found ourselves struggling to be ready by 11. It was the weekend afterall. But as babies don't seem to understand the concept of weekends (every day is play day!) Jack got us up and going before we could say "This Week with George Stephanopolous."

He fell asleep on the five minute ride over and continued to snore softly (although at one point i shook his foot to stop him as it seemed really loud) through the entire hour. When we were gathering our things to leave, the little boy sitting behind us said, "he is so cute. i started looking at him when you came in and i just kept looking." So sweet!

We'll brave the bigger service once the peak of flu season is behind us, but in the meantime, I so much wanted Jack to go there--to the church that has been my home for fifteen years, to the people who have been our family when our family couldn't be present.

I started thinking that the first Sunday my family was at Oak Hill, I was sitting with another John Phillip. (Luckily Pawpee didn't sleep through the service! But he did sing off key.) That was the last weekend that my family spent with my grandfather. My grandfather was an extremely friendly person and so he met many people at Oak Hill that Sunday. When he died, they sent literally hundreds of cards. They made dozens of casseroles. They even came in and emptied our refrigerator of rotten food when we didn't return from the funeral as quickly as planned. They welcomed him--they welcomed every member of my family--into their hearts as if we were old friends.

And here I am, so many years later with this John Phillip, who was also welcomed even before he was known.

I hope he always calls the holy ground of this place home.

face the nation.

like so many, we had high hopes for our horns.

it was an agonizing defeat.

but nothing that a good kiss and cuddle couldn't cure.
at least until next season.

until then, hook 'em horns.