Lingo

In the words of Jack...

• hush puppies = hubbies or hush chubbies
• granola bars = canola bars
• coins = circle money
• paper money = foldin' money
• Sydney Michelle = Cindyshell or CINDY A'SHELL
• potatoes = tatoes or matoes
• noodles = noodoos
• chocolate = chock-o-wit
  
• yeah = weah
• you = woo (as in, "Mommy, WOO do it!" and I'm all, "Who is Woo?!?!?!")
  

The spooky thing is that he can, with unerringly correct pronunciation and enunciation yell at 8pm, "MOM! NO, I AM NOT TIRED AND I DO NOT NEED TO GO TO BED--LET'S STAY UP AND WATCH SEVERAL MOVIES!"

It takes two...

Two hands.  To handle this enormous baby.  16lbs of enormous baby.  SIXTEEN POUNDS.  At the age of 2 months.  I am still reeling from our visit to the doctor, and judging from the nurse's comments, so is she.  There was a brief moment in there that I thought we were going to have to buy a scale.  It literally CREAKED when I laid her on it.  I have no idea what we're going to do when she's 4 months.

We have had/are having a super holiday season with a pretty steady trickle of awesome through this place since September 30.  I've had all sorts of amazing people visit and stay, and I really miss them all already.  I'm thinking turning the house into a very messy (and authentic!) bed and breakfast.  We have lots of beds and cereal.

Last night Jack and I wrote our letter to Santa, and I have to share a few quotes:

"Santa I am sooooo 3."
"This year I was bad.  And good!"
"For Christmas this year I would like a snow shovel."

I don't really know what he is going to do with the shovel, as we get snow maybe once/year here, and even then it's dubiously shovel-able.  Mostly we just wait for it to melt by noon.  But I was really impressed that he limited his Christmas requests to only three items, and bonus, they were all ones I could find for him.

Thank You

Thank you for checking in today!  On Thanksgiving I remind myself that I am so thankful for the many things that I take for granted 365 days of the year:  my safe home, my beautiful, healthy (and LOUD) family, the means to take care of them, and a wonderful job that I love (most of the time).  I'm thankful that I can do so much because of the opportunities that I have access to, which in most part are the benefits of a good education, good health and a wonderful upbringing.  I hope that I am able to give all of this to my kids, and help others in their endeavor to do the same.  (Oh, and I'm also especially thankful for beer, and the inventor of earplugs.)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and God bless you and your loved ones today, and every day! 

Family (a four person word)

Jack is in love with his sister.  I can remember feeling that exact sentiment...when they are little and can't talk, or steal (and ruin) your stuff, or rat you out to Mom and Dad.  When they let you hold them and smile at you as opposed to accusing you of hitting them when you're in the next room, or making you watch the My Little Pony movie 269 times, OR getting out of their bed in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve only to vomit the lovely combination of fudge and olives all over your bed (with you in it).  No, all of those things are in Jack's future!  For right now he is content to occasionally hold his sister, to talk to her constantly, and to squeeze her chubby cheeks.  Soon enough he will be complaining about her, and I will empathize, the way that my father did with me, about the pains of having a younger sibling, and attempt to comfort him with the same notion my dad tried: that imitation is the highest form of flattery.  And Jack will undoubtedly say to me what I said to my father, which is... "DON'T GIVE ME THAT BOLOGNA, and WHEN CAN WE GET RID OF HER?"

But when he gets older he will be so glad to have someone who understands exactly what it was like to have parents like us, good and bad.  Someone who he can commiserate with about how we tortured them, and who will agree that we no longer behave like "Mom and Dad" but like two batshit-crazy old people who dress ridiculously and like to embarrass them in front of people that they're trying to impress.  They will watch each other's kids, pay our nursing home bills, and have us over on the holidays to tell funny, exaggerated stories of how ridiculous it was to grow up together under this roof.  And we will yell, "WHAT?" and make them repeat themselves, give them unsolicited parenting advice, and refuse to take our Beano.  I can't wait.

These are all of the things that I think about when I am lying in bed listening to Dan snore, Jack snore, and Sydney do her semi-conscious mating-shed bit.  I remind myself that building a family is like building a house, brick by brick, day by day, into a place that you can live and feel loved forever.  And also have someone painstakingly record your childhood on the internet.  Forever.

Rhetoric

Me:  JACK.  Eat your food.
Jack:  How many bites?
Me:  All of them!
Jack:  So...about three?
Me:  Jack, it is the official policy of this household that we do not negotiate with terrorists.
Jack:  Four?
Me:  I'm leaving.
Jack:  No way.

Poopface

Preface:  Do you remember your parents lovingly telling you, "I can't wait for YOU to have kids, then you'll have to deal with this sh*t!" ??

When Stanley was a puppy, (and I was living my ignorantly blissful life in an apartment with NO BOYS), he pooped everywhere, as puppies do.  I remember telling him loudly, "I can't wait for YOU to have kids, then you'll have to deal with all of this doodie!"  (I'm almost positive that I used the word "doodie.") And then I realized, sadly, that that could never happen... 

Fast-forward 8 years and he finally receives his comeuppance, courtesy of Sydney.

He got too close to the business-end of a very powerfully built infant.  That is what you think it is on his nose, and I finally feel vindicated.  AREN'T WE ALL RELIEVED.  I realize the irony of feeling superior to the dog when I am the one who had to de-poop his nose...its like two degrees of fecal torture.  But as it wasn't MY face, I will laugh.

It is mystery!

Lately Jack has taken to exclaiming, after a huge belch, "'Scuse me!  I burped my cubes out!"  We have yet to determine the origin or meaning of this phrase.  I'm learning that, with boys, sometimes it's better to stay in the dark.