Jack's latest craze is a game he calls "hopscotch" but involves batting a balloon around the family room. I think that he just likes the sound of the word "hopscotch," and we're not quite sure where he picked up that term because I certainly have not been playing it, and they don't have any hard, chalk-able surfaces on his school playground...presumably to save face.
Hopscotch can be played with two people, but usually all three of us participate, and it's imperative to squeal and giggle a lot while you try to keep the balloon in the air. ONLY Jack is allowed to catch the balloon (everyone else must only bat it), and if you allow it to touch the ground, Jack wins. Unless he lets it touch the ground, in which case, Jack also wins.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
OVERHEARD
Jack: (Flailing around in a small foam chair in the middle of the family room) Somebody help me! I can't get up! Aiyeee!
Dan: Jack, enough with the DRAMA!
Jack: I can't help myself!!!
Dan: Jack, enough with the DRAMA!
Jack: I can't help myself!!!
Friday, September 25, 2009
"Emergency"
I know that pregnancy has side-tracked my life lately (and brain, and stomach, and wardrobe--I'm down to THREE outfits that fit), but there is a lot going on in our house. Mostly EMERGENCIES. In Jack's world, everything is an emergency. He has emergency toys, emergency clothes, emergency cups, an emergency backpack...you name it. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of emergencies, only that to label something as such makes it much more exciting and therefor way better.
All of this emergency-ing doesn't really bother me. You have to remember who I grew up with: someone who watched certain BETAMAX movies 500 times in a row (like My Little Pony: The Movie). Someone who watched these moves SO MANY TIMES that they ceased to have a grip on reality and started to believe that her family members were actually characters from this movie, and, on more than one occasion, called her mother "Scorpan" in public.
But I digress. This drama doesn't bother me, but it does bother Dan (much to my delight). Dan is not a daydreamer, so he cannot yet appreciate Jack's ventures into his imaginary emergency world. Dan is learning to tolerate the constant chatter and inane ramblings of his almost-four-year-old progeny. I, fortunately, am a pro as I already have had lots of practice from the first 7 years of my pre-parenthood relationship with Dan. Ahem.
All of this emergency-ing doesn't really bother me. You have to remember who I grew up with: someone who watched certain BETAMAX movies 500 times in a row (like My Little Pony: The Movie). Someone who watched these moves SO MANY TIMES that they ceased to have a grip on reality and started to believe that her family members were actually characters from this movie, and, on more than one occasion, called her mother "Scorpan" in public.
But I digress. This drama doesn't bother me, but it does bother Dan (much to my delight). Dan is not a daydreamer, so he cannot yet appreciate Jack's ventures into his imaginary emergency world. Dan is learning to tolerate the constant chatter and inane ramblings of his almost-four-year-old progeny. I, fortunately, am a pro as I already have had lots of practice from the first 7 years of my pre-parenthood relationship with Dan. Ahem.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The fetus who cried wolf...
Sooooo I've started to go into labor three times now. The first time was exciting, and then it stopped after a few hours. It prompted me to pack a bag for the hospital and shave my legs. The second time, a week later, it felt more real, and I actually started telling my "emergency people" to be on red alert. Then....nothing. This last time it felt ALARMINGLY REAL and I actually sent Jack to my Mom's in anticipation of checking into the hospital in the middle of the night. But no dice. It's like my uterus is an old engine that just won't turn over. Or else my daughter is in there going, "SIKE!" like some obnoxious neon-clad 80's version of myself.
I've tried painting my toes different colors thinking that maybe my daughter is holding out for a cuter mom. I've tried lunges, spicy food, you name it. My issue now is that when I actually do go into REAL labor I am not even going to know because I am so used to having contractions that I will be that woman who has her baby in the bathtub. I guess I had better buy some Scrubbing Bubbles.
I've tried painting my toes different colors thinking that maybe my daughter is holding out for a cuter mom. I've tried lunges, spicy food, you name it. My issue now is that when I actually do go into REAL labor I am not even going to know because I am so used to having contractions that I will be that woman who has her baby in the bathtub. I guess I had better buy some Scrubbing Bubbles.
The Fourth Trimester
So I've decided that my daughter is going to be one of those kids that takes an extra year to finish college. Hopefully because she is double-majoring, and not because she drank a fifth of bourbon every day of her senior year.
The doctor called this morning to schedule my "induction" for October 1st. Now, for you not familiar with the joys of obstetrics, induction does not indicate the day that I will be welcomed into the Guinness Book of World Records for being the pregnant-iest woman in the world. It is the day that they will pump me full of synthetic hormones in an effort to trick my uterus into expelling my child into the world. Actually with Jack they "augmented" my labor (which means that they give you the juice to speed things along) and that worked pretty well, so hopefully this will too. The only foreseeable problem is that October 1st is A WEEK AWAY.
I don't know if you've ever been really uncomfortable, but when you are REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE every other thing that might normally just roll off of your back just doesn't. It becomes ONE MORE ANNOYANCE to your already INCREDIBLY ANNOYING life. Now, I can safely say (as a normally quite cheerful person) that most people should not be allowed to talk to pregnant ladies. Especially pregnant ladies in their 4th trimester. It's right up there with super-fat people wearing too-small jean shorts and really old people still driving (horribly).
Let me just tell you how often I get asked (IN PERSON); "Are you STILL pregnant?" What I can't surmise is exactly what response these idiots are expecting. I'm clearly not carrying an infant, and I am (fortunately) one of those ladies that just looks very pregnant and not supremely fat (at least when I'm not eating). This, for me, is the all-time WTF moment. Along with this particular comment are these: "Haven't you had that baby yet?" and "When are you going to have that baby already?" I personally feel that all three of these questions deserve a punch in the lips. Thus I suggest that all stupid people give me a berth of at least 5 feet at all times. I'm a lunger.
Another really annoying topic of conversation is this baby's name. Now, we've been referring to her as "Cheeto" forever b/c a) my son is a Frito-Lay lover and b) we have NO IDEA what to name her. But trust me, if we did, we would not tell because guess what? People love to dump all over your name of choice. Or suggest an alternative. Like "Peggy." Or they tell you that the name that you've chosen sounds like a stripper name. Lovely! Most of the reason that we have not settled on a name is because I want the option to change my mind at the last minute. I don't know WHO this person is that is squatting illegally in my uterus, so when I finally meet her, in 2010, I would like to reserve the right to spontaneously choose an appropriate name at that very moment...like "Bertha."
And one final issue (understatement of the year). Pregnant ladies do not like to be prodded and touched and especially do not like you to scream into their bellies as if their belly-button is a direct line to the fetus. Guess what, the fetus can already hear you and probably is even more reluctant to come out because there is some nut shouting too loudly. And attempting to jiggle my protruding belly is CERTAINLY not going to dislodge anything except some teeth from your mouth.
The doctor called this morning to schedule my "induction" for October 1st. Now, for you not familiar with the joys of obstetrics, induction does not indicate the day that I will be welcomed into the Guinness Book of World Records for being the pregnant-iest woman in the world. It is the day that they will pump me full of synthetic hormones in an effort to trick my uterus into expelling my child into the world. Actually with Jack they "augmented" my labor (which means that they give you the juice to speed things along) and that worked pretty well, so hopefully this will too. The only foreseeable problem is that October 1st is A WEEK AWAY.
I don't know if you've ever been really uncomfortable, but when you are REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE every other thing that might normally just roll off of your back just doesn't. It becomes ONE MORE ANNOYANCE to your already INCREDIBLY ANNOYING life. Now, I can safely say (as a normally quite cheerful person) that most people should not be allowed to talk to pregnant ladies. Especially pregnant ladies in their 4th trimester. It's right up there with super-fat people wearing too-small jean shorts and really old people still driving (horribly).
Let me just tell you how often I get asked (IN PERSON); "Are you STILL pregnant?" What I can't surmise is exactly what response these idiots are expecting. I'm clearly not carrying an infant, and I am (fortunately) one of those ladies that just looks very pregnant and not supremely fat (at least when I'm not eating). This, for me, is the all-time WTF moment. Along with this particular comment are these: "Haven't you had that baby yet?" and "When are you going to have that baby already?" I personally feel that all three of these questions deserve a punch in the lips. Thus I suggest that all stupid people give me a berth of at least 5 feet at all times. I'm a lunger.
Another really annoying topic of conversation is this baby's name. Now, we've been referring to her as "Cheeto" forever b/c a) my son is a Frito-Lay lover and b) we have NO IDEA what to name her. But trust me, if we did, we would not tell because guess what? People love to dump all over your name of choice. Or suggest an alternative. Like "Peggy." Or they tell you that the name that you've chosen sounds like a stripper name. Lovely! Most of the reason that we have not settled on a name is because I want the option to change my mind at the last minute. I don't know WHO this person is that is squatting illegally in my uterus, so when I finally meet her, in 2010, I would like to reserve the right to spontaneously choose an appropriate name at that very moment...like "Bertha."
And one final issue (understatement of the year). Pregnant ladies do not like to be prodded and touched and especially do not like you to scream into their bellies as if their belly-button is a direct line to the fetus. Guess what, the fetus can already hear you and probably is even more reluctant to come out because there is some nut shouting too loudly. And attempting to jiggle my protruding belly is CERTAINLY not going to dislodge anything except some teeth from your mouth.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Home is where the...heart is.
So Dan has migrated home to help build the nest and stay to raise his second child. No more travelling to VA on a weekly basis for work. Needless to say, we're all extremely happy about this (in theory). I'm sure that once he's been home for weeks on end things will "come up," but for now we are all very excited to be together for good.
One big adjustment will be for Jack to learn how to manipulate another parent. When Dan was only home for the weekends, we all basked in the glow of finally being together again and got along great. But now that Daddy is here to stay, Jack is going to find that the stuff he uses to charm me is not going to work so well on his father. Namely, his smart-assed comments.
Jack was using the bathroom (a common theme?) in my bedroom as I supervised from my bed (another theme?). I called in to him to stop turning the fan on and off, and his response was: "You zip it up Mommy!" Well, Dan was walking into the room at that moment and heard, and quickly assured Jack, "You keep talking to your mother like that and you'll be in big trouble!" to which Jack replied, without missing a beat, "You zip it up too!"
I laughed.
Dan did not.
I foresee a lot of neck-squeezing in Jack's future.
One big adjustment will be for Jack to learn how to manipulate another parent. When Dan was only home for the weekends, we all basked in the glow of finally being together again and got along great. But now that Daddy is here to stay, Jack is going to find that the stuff he uses to charm me is not going to work so well on his father. Namely, his smart-assed comments.
Jack was using the bathroom (a common theme?) in my bedroom as I supervised from my bed (another theme?). I called in to him to stop turning the fan on and off, and his response was: "You zip it up Mommy!" Well, Dan was walking into the room at that moment and heard, and quickly assured Jack, "You keep talking to your mother like that and you'll be in big trouble!" to which Jack replied, without missing a beat, "You zip it up too!"
I laughed.
Dan did not.
I foresee a lot of neck-squeezing in Jack's future.
We Are Family
I constantly find myself saying, "he gets that from me," in a proud manner, or, on the other hand, "ARRRGH! YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!" As much as Jack has inherited his parents' combined ridiculousness, he does manage to come up with a lot of weird crap on his own.
We were at my Mom's house last week and apparently Jack needed to use the bathroom while playing upstairs with my Mom. Well, that toilet had been recently plunged (and not because of ME) so there were still some floaty bits of toilet paper swirling around, obfuscating the water in the bowl. Jack was immediately offended and refused to pee in it. So I watched incredulously as the two of them marched passed me (I was in the recliner downstairs, where a pregnant woman should be) with the bucket of toilet cleaning supplies.
"What are you DOING?" I asked them.
"We're cleaning - the toilet!" sung Jack. My Mom just smiled.
So upstairs they went where Jack industriously scrubbed the bowl with the toilet wand and flushed away the offensive debris and (finally) peed happily in his pristine john.
WHO WANTS TO MARRY THIS MAN? I'm taking names.
We were at my Mom's house last week and apparently Jack needed to use the bathroom while playing upstairs with my Mom. Well, that toilet had been recently plunged (and not because of ME) so there were still some floaty bits of toilet paper swirling around, obfuscating the water in the bowl. Jack was immediately offended and refused to pee in it. So I watched incredulously as the two of them marched passed me (I was in the recliner downstairs, where a pregnant woman should be) with the bucket of toilet cleaning supplies.
"What are you DOING?" I asked them.
"We're cleaning - the toilet!" sung Jack. My Mom just smiled.
So upstairs they went where Jack industriously scrubbed the bowl with the toilet wand and flushed away the offensive debris and (finally) peed happily in his pristine john.
WHO WANTS TO MARRY THIS MAN? I'm taking names.
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