Grace, pensive at the library on Sunday.
I like the Hopper-esque light.
Sometimes I think I give the erroneous impression that Grace is serious all the time. She can be serious, yes, and she is certainly, more than anyone else, my clanging gong of truth and clarity, bringing me back to awareness.
But she’s also a seven year old girl. Who likes a good giggle, Judy Moody, Taylor Swift, and, well … shoes. I came downstairs after putting Whit to bed the other night to find this. You can’t really see that she is also draped with several sparkly necklaces she had hand-selected from my closet. And the shoes, which she had also picked out herself (from a fairly large set of options, I confess). Good taste, no? This child never met anything sparkly, spangly, or sequined she did not love. She may have been a Vegas showgirl (with an old soul and an introspective streak) in another life.
What strikes me most is how huge her feet are. She can wear these pretty soon.
And, this guy. Where Grace is my grace, Whit is my wit. I didn’t have any idea when I named them how they would come to embody these traits (well, Whit/wit, go with me, please). He is my clown (not the creepy kind), my reminder, always, to look at the hilarity that is there in every situation. His young soul and joyful spirit is such a nice counterpart to my more melancholic leanings.
On Tuesday night I took both the children out for pizza. After we sat down, the waiter arrived, asking for our drink orders. I’ve been encouraging them to place their own orders, because I think it’s a good way to practice such important and incredibly difficult (why?) life skills such as looking someone in the eye. Grace ordered water. We all turned, expectantly, to Whit.
“A Lone Star, please,” he said. The waiter’s head snapped to look at me. He was clearly appalled and, simultaneously, trying not to laugh. I did a double-take at my own child and said, “He’ll have a chocolate milk.” My first reaction, I admit, was to be proud that he had said please.
But, a Lone Star? Where did he get this? We have never, to my knowledge, had Lone Star beer at home. Neither Matt nor I drink it. I have no idea. I immediately thought of the day that I asked him, shaking my head in resignation, “Where did you come from, Whit?” and he answered, point blank, “Texas.”
Maybe he really is from Texas. Grace, as a baby, was nicknamed “Gracie Big Pants” because of the photograph below. To this day I still call her GBP. I have an LL Bean bag monogrammed “GBP.” I’m thinking Whit From Texas needs one with “WFT” on it.
A cowboy and a Vegas show girl – you should come visit. We could tour Whit around SouthFork and Sarah and Grace could sparkle bright enough to rival the stars in the big ole’ Texas sky. We could probably even rustle up a LoneStar or two!
Love Gracie Big Pants and her choice of shoes. Also love the Lone Star request — and WFT is better than WTF!
The love of all things sparkly (and all things Texan) will take them far in life … oh, along with that spectacular grace and wit. Thanks for this little look into your life!
He looks so bewildered in that last picture! Adorable!
And of course, I LOVE it that he ordered a beer!
LOVE the shoes 🙂
And the Texas thing cracks me up, because my husband was actually born in Texas (was an Army family, moved around a lot…) so he actually says that to me when I ask him “where did you come from???” whenever he does something totally bizarre 😉
Happy Friday!
He ordered a beer! HILARIOUS!
love the story…and the shoes!
So if I dropped by for coffee (and dress-up), could I try on those shoes??
Love this post… Your kids are beautiful.
I love that their names ended up being literal.
And the whole post is truly full of laughter. Thank you for sharing this view into your life with your sweet grace and wit. 🙂
You made me laugh out loud 🙂 I love this – all of it.
i think your Whit is my Lola, the best counter for my serious nuerotic mind.
Love the Lone Star thing, sounds like some past life sort of recollection (but it could be he saw an add on TV)… and reminded me about when I ended up having “the talk” about drugs in the car one day on the way to school and mentioned that that the most addictive drug was heroine, to which my then third-grader said, “I though the most addictive drug was Miller Light.”
What a hilarious story about your son ordering a beer! Could have been an answer by my son, too… When my now 7-year old daugther got her yellow belt in taekwondo last year, he (then 3 1/2 years old) proudly told our guests we had over one day he had a yellow belt, too. Everyone looked puzzled, he went upstairs and came down with his bathrobe belt, which indeed is yellow. His answers crack me up regularly!!!