"Are any of Joey's romance magazines in there?"

This morning as I was juggling two enormous children, Jack declared that he had to use the bathroom as I was feeding Sydney in our bed.  He disappeared into our bathroom and shut the door. (He has a new interest in privacy.  This, I applaud.)

After many minutes had gone by, I set the baby down and went into the bathroom to investigate. 

"Jack?  Are you pooping?" I asked through the door.

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine."

I listened at the door for several minutes longer and eventually heard pages turning.  Extremely curious by this point, I opened the door a crack and peeked in to find Jack perched on the toilet reading one of Dan's Playboy magazines.

Uh huh.

Interestingly, he was reading an article about cars.  SERIOUSLY.

Meat Products

Jack is becoming increasingly curious about "what cookers make" out of certain foods, and where we get certain foods.  This past week we had to break it to him where chicken nuggets come from ("but where do they get THE CHICKEN?") and also what sausage is made out of.  I carefully explained that we actually eat some animals, and he took it in stride, which shocked me but not his father.  "Tarkentons love meat." Dan reminded me.

The funny part of this conversation is the way that Jack pronounces sausage.  He actually sticks a double sh in there so it comes out as a Bogart-esque "shaushage."  It cracks me up.  His initial question was actually, "What is shaushage made out of?  Shaush?"  I couldn't stop laughing, so Dan had to take over the explaning.

An open letter...

One of my absolute favorite blogs is written by Heather Armstrong at dooce.com.  She regularly (or used to) write letters to her daughter to document various milestones.  I thought that emulating that would be a great way to capture Sydney's fleeting moments of being a baby (which are sandwiched between growth-spurts of elephantine proportion).

Dear Sydney,

This week you will be 4-months old.  This I cannot believe without scrutinizing a calendar.  You are gigantic, both in body and spirit, and often will go a solid week without crying at all.  Your enormous smile and blue eyes often are the first thing I see each day (at 4am) and I am, amazingly, happy to greet you at that ungodly hour. 

This month you have breached the 19-lb mark (and my muscles' capacity to hold you while taking the stairs two-at-a-time) as well as discovering your voice.  Since you have made this discovery, you have not stopped using your voice, and love to issue high-pitched, squealing noises at all times.  You like to watch your brother's (and the dogs') antics, cartoons, and your most favorite sight is Daddy eating.  It is bizarre. 

When you are trying to fall asleep, you turn your face to the side, clutch your blanket to your face and snuggle into it and make tiny slurping noises.  Your favorite place to sit is in your bouncy seat which you can bounce yourself by lifting and swinging your right leg in small circles.  Your amazing coordination is matched only by your ability to produce boogers, as you have been sick for an entire month, but happily.

You are indubitably a huge sweetheart and, while sometimes frightened by bearded men, have only nice things to say to everyone and a huge smile to top them off.  I hope that you will continue to have this level of bonhomie your whole life, my little sunshine.

Love,
Mama

Job Placement

[This is for Dan.]

Last night we were talking to Jack about what he wanted to do when he grows up.  This talk was prompted by his declaration that we needed "more dogs and more babies" in this house.  I was explaining to him that when he grows up he can get married and have as many dogs and babies as he wants.  (I hope that he finds an accommodating wife.)

As this discussion continued, Jack consented to MAYBE getting married, but declared that what he really wanted to do when he grows up is to drive a race car.  A red race car.  With lots of toys in the back.

Thanks (Warning: Sob stuff)

Tonight as Jack and I said our prayers, I mentioned the people of Haiti and asked for God to please spend extra effort helping the souls in need in that terrible situation.  Jack inevitably wanted to know about a) earthquakes b) if our house could break and c) where people slept when they had no house.  So we talked at length about blessings, and not taking things "for granite" as Dan would say.  Jack, in a rare moment of quiet contemplation, said, "They should come live in our house."  I absolutely started tearing up.  I wish it were all that simple.  I wish that our luck and success were that easy to extend to others, especially long-distance.  I wish that there were something more that I could do besides donate the money I would normally spend on having someone clean my house to this cause. 

As I scrubbed my bathroom yesterday (it only took 2 hours...anal much?) I thought, with each puff of breath I took to blow my hair out of my sweaty face, that it seems ultimately unfair that such an unforeseeable and unpreventable tragedy should strike a place that is already so down-trodden and angst-ridden.  How can people who are already living in poverty, fear, and hunger deal with an EARTHQUAKE?  It's not like they even had houses to crumble...the slums simply collapsed.  My frustration and helplessness is unassuagable, and I wish I had a solution besides a simple monetary donation.  I decided that the least that I could do was to not take one iota of my amazing life in America for granted, to remember evertime I look in my sweet baby's perpetually grinning face that we are so very lucky, and so very fortunate to have been born here, to have parents that gave us everything they could in order to succeed.  I will try to remember with my every (numerous) gripe and worry that things could be SO MUCH WORSE, and that I am a spoiled, spoiled girl.  Spoiled with love, shelter, food, and freedom from fear.  I would share it all if I could.

Close call

Yesterday evening Jack suggested that we call Daddy, who is on a business trip.  Eager to accommodate him (because he, like me, is not a phone person) I called Dan and handed the phone over.  Just like his father, Jack took it and strolled around the house talking loudly.  He was on his way back towards me when he tilted his head back, let out a Hollywood chuckle and said with a smirk, "Daddy, you're full of shhhhhhh...ugar."  I think that my heart skipped a beat during that long "shhhh".

I don't know where he picked that up, but it's hilarious.  (I suspect it was my father, who used to answer the phone with "Jello!?")

Where's Baldo?

Jack has an interesting habit of describing people with little-to-no hair as "brain-heads."  Like much of his vocabulary, we do not know where this came from.  So often he describes the baby as a brain-head or a baldo.

Jack was interrogating me last night about exactly when our baby was going to grow discernible hair.  I had no good news for him--I'm pretty sure that I was a baldo until at least 2 years old.  Looks like I will soon be in the market for some gigantic baby-hats.