12-Grain Smoothie

Before I chronicle our Williams Family Current Events, I have to say that we had heaps of fun with the Ramptons last weekend. I'll be the first to admit that hosting company gives me unnecessary anxiety for reasons that have very little to do with the company, and very much to do with my own quirky control issues. But stressful personal moments aside, having Rebecca and Marcus and their kids was like five solid nights of rockin' slumber parties complete with snacks (mostly popcorn and smoothies,) punchy late-night laughter, and engaging conversations about everything from the war in Iraq to discipline wars with toddlers who get a very stubborn mind of their own for their third birthday. Marcus made us the yummiest pina colada smoothies our taste buds have ever experienced. Jack taught Henry how to pull chairs up to countertops, which opened up a whole new plane of mischief making opportunities in the kitchen sink and cupboards -- thanks, Jack!

Eliza graced us all with her delightful presence, squeezable infant charm, and intensified our desires for baby #2...even Henry's:

He always wanted to be where "Baby 'Liza" was.

And Rebecca gave me the moral support I needed to pay full price for a new black dress from Target, (that's a lot of support! Thanks, Bec.) The dress makes me feel AudreyHepburnClassy. I love it more than Reeses. Rebecca also ironed said dress and my white blouse for me on Sunday morning--which, in light of my intense dislike for ironing, was a favor for which there are not sufficient words of gratitude. She also prepared our whole Sunday dinner. For those, and a myriad of other reasons, I also love her more than Reeses. Way more.

But the greatest thing about spending five days with another couple, the thing that cannot be compared to the likes of any chocolate covered substance, is that by the end, you've warmed up so toasty to each other that you're willing to divulge secrets like the fact that you like to spice up your board/card games with the removal of clothing. (A-hem!) I'll leave it up to you to surmise which of us two couples is risque enough to dabble in such sultriness...and speak about it! (Hint: you've got a 100% chance of guessing the right answer, which commonality is just one of several scads of reasons why we so thoroughly adore the Ramptons and can't wait to go see them in San Anton' real soon!)

Regular ol' life at the Williams' house hasn't been so regular ol' as it usually is. I don't really feel like I can or want to blog about all the reasons why--just a lot of decisions to make, the possibility of impending change, cycles of painful disappointment, and some head-scratching issues to ponder. I guess it all keeps life from being dull. But sometimes I think I could stand a little more dullness, a little less change, a little more predictability, a little more of things working out just like we planned.

Here's what I can say for sure: we love Texas with big chubby hearts! Our friends here are neater than blue-tooth technology and we love them to bits. We, (and our garden plants,) are growing like weeds in ways that we never imagined this season of life would promote. And Henry...AAhhhh! That boy brings sunshine and consistent cuteness no matter the circumstances.

We can always count on him for a dependable dose of darling. Friday morning he brought me this and asked if I could "pees make a smoovie, mommy?":

It's our miniature blender with two heels of bread stuffed down inside; he even stuck a straw in there 'cause he knows that "smoovies" just taste better when they're sipped through a bendable straw. But I don't think there's a drinking device in this world that could make a Double Slice of 12 Grain Bread Smoothie taste anything but dry and, well...dry.

His curiosity expands hourly. We used to stroll in silent serenity on our morning walks. It was an exercise in contemplation and meditation for me. Now it's an exercise in toddler-sized explanations and voice modulation.

"Whuss 'at, mommy? Whuss at?"
"That's a mailbox, Henry."
"Whuss it say, mommy?"
"Uh...mailboxes don't really say anything, Henry."
He wants to know what everything says. The other day we saw several large cranes at a construction site.
"Whuss 'at, mommy?"
"That's a crane, bud," I answered with ease, but for the follow-up,
"Whuss it says, mommy," I had to get right creative. If you'll allow for a bit of self-promotion, I'd say I dazzle when it comes to mechanical impersonations, but it would be an onomatopoetic miracle to transcribe my crane impression here, so I won't attempt it. I sometimes wonder what passers-by think of me when we're out walking and I'm sputtering my lips, grunting and groaning, imitating the sounds of weed-whackers, lawn mowers, "mo-tow-cy-cows," and buses. I'm not too worried about what they think 'cause Henry thinks it's as great as smoothies sipped through bendable straws and he's the only one I'm trying to impress.

Last night Nate and I threw caution, (and every ounce of concern for good impressions,) to the wind and made absolute fools of ourselves on the karaoke machine at a BBQ with our friends. We sang all the wrong notes, at the totally wrong tempo, to the very long tune of "American Pie." It was fun, but mostly uncomfortable and awkward. Before bed, we vowed that we would never let each other make such overtly dorky fools of ourselves again. I thought we learned that lesson when we went to a well-attended Halloween party two years ago--Nate clad in my bathrobe, supposedly as the white ninja (think Karate Kid,) and me in a feathered flamingo zip-up jump suit intended for a pre-pubescent child. Just thinking about those incidents makes me wince with embarrassment.

I'll leave you with some pictures of our outing to the lovely surrounds of Hall Financial Office Park to visit dad at work on Friday afternoon. I think it may have been the highlight of Henry's life so far.

He threw lots of sticks, reeds and debris into the water, with his left hand.

He's a south paw.

He ran up and down and all around and then made sure to show me the dirt on his fingers.

Nate and I just sat and looked cool in our shades.

This afternoon Nate spread creamy peanut butter on a banana and asked me to smell the PB to see if I thought it was rancid...it was a sneaky ploy to get my unsuspecting face within smooshing distance. Needless to say, the clean up process was a delicious pleasure for me. Would have been better if it was crunchy, though.

Hope your week is full of tasty little surprises!