No It All

At one point Jakey was trilingual.  At least in the case of one word: mo.  He could express the word “more” in English, Spanish, and his own version of American Sign Language.

I wonder what the odds are for two babies, born two years apart, to have the same first word?  Mama and Dada are expected, but “more”?  It’s not even in the top 15 most common first words.

Even more importantly, what are the odds that said two babies would both use the exact same inaccurate sign language motion for “more”?  At school there are no teachers who will fess up to teaching any sign language.  Miss Dulce mentioned a Spanish song with hand motions, but it hasn’t solved the mystery.

Natesy points his right index finger into the palm of his left hand while uttering “mo, mo.”  As I previously reported, this is the sign for “you owe me.”

Dining room déjà vu.

Jacob has kind of an interesting accent… and its origins are fairly murky.  I have a hard time replicating it in writing, but I always notice it when he’s talking.  It comes out not only in his pronunciation, but also in his use of the various parts of speech.

It’s especially prevalent when it comes to pronouns.  He says things like, “Nake’s looking for him toy,” or “Mama, Nake’s crying in him bed” or “Why her naked?” (if a lady runs by in a sports bra).

Then last night, James and I watched the Bob Marley documentary.  Must-have music, must-miss documentary.  But we did finally find a clue to the puzzling pronouns of Jakey Patois.

For example, here’s a Jamaican parable: Cow nevva know de use of him tail till him lose it.

It was truly an aha moment… must have picked it up during his Rastafarian phase.  Yeah mon.

Tonight at the dinner table, Jakey told me his very first joke:

Mama, what do cats say when they get hurt?
Meeeoooooouch.

It was hilarious.  Guess you had to be there.

Admittedly, I’ve always been unsympathetic to what I’ll call Mom Frump.  Jeans with white Reeboks.  Scrunchies.  Headbands.  You’ve seen their pictures in Glamour magazine—  unsuspecting moms sporting fashion faux pas and black bars over their eyes.  Just because you have kids doesn’t mean you grab your appliqued sweatshirt, slip-on your Crocs and leave the house, right?

Wrong.  I’d like to issue an apology:

Dearest frumpy moms,

My sincerest apologies for spending the majority of my life, up until this point, judging your fashion choices without thought, empathy or understanding.  I silently disdained your overabundant accessories, your pilly sweaters, your ill-fitting outfits, and your expired trends.

And then I had two little boys.  And I found myself with infinitesimal time, money and patience.  I consciously pined for my TV.  I spent more on daycare in a year than the U.S. median annual income.  And over the course of 4 years and 2 pregnancies, I found it almost impossible to predict when I could buy “real” clothes again.  I wondered when I was supposed to go shopping?  No one wants to stay home, and yet no one can manage the agony that is being trapped in a dressing room.  Online, you say?  If I can muster the energy to open my laptop during the 60 minutes of free time I might piece together at the end of the day.

And in the last year I’ve mixed colors in combinations I’m too embarrassed to repeat.  I tell myself I’m just emulating JCrew, but in my heart, I know my standards have declined.  I’m not proud.  It appeared to match when I got dressed in the dim light of my closet at 5:30 this morning.  Really.  My sleep-deprived friends confess to wearing mismatched socks.  I slap on mascara and lip gloss in under 30 seconds, otherwise a certain 3-year-old must apply eyeshadow to his forehead.  So:

Here’s to the Frumpy Ones.  The soccer moms.  The WoMos.  The minivan owners.  The women who used to carry Coach and now drive one.

The ones who sport a wet ponytail.  They’re not fond of spaghetti, but it gets the job done.  You can snap their picture, disparage them, celebrate, or pity them.  About the only thing you can’t do is compete with them.  Because they keep the world running.  They push the miniature human race forward.  And while some may see them as the frumpy ones, I see brilliance.  Because the moms who are crazy enough to think they can raise amazing children— are the ones who do.

Every night at bedtime we have an elaborate routine that begins with bath time and ends with “talking yes-ter-day.”  Talking yesterday is basically going over what we did yesterday.  The last few nights Jake has changed it up and now likes me to tell him a story and then he reciprocates.  His requests have been primarily for Goldilocks and Little Red Riding Hood.  I must admit I take a bit of creative license, as does he.  Jakey does a mesmerizing rendition of Little Miss Muffet:

Little Miss Muffet
sat on her tuffet
eating her muffin and coffee…

On Sunday we went to Jakey’s friend Brady’s third birthday party at the Children’s Discovery Museum.  It was all about dinosaurs, those little roll-up party horns and unnatural colors of frosting.  After we got hopped-up on sugar and paraphernalia dinosauria, we decided to check-out the museum.

Jake’s favorite stop was at the wheel of a real fire engine.  Nate’s favorite stop was the “no shoes” infant climbing room with carpeted ramps, steps and plexiglass walls.  He was so emboldened by his ability to speed around the baby maze that for a few short seconds, he forgot his fears, limitations and negative self-talk and took at least 8 steps in a row… before noticing that he was walking… thus crashing back to earth (well, not really crashing as Nate is highly coordinated and really just adeptly lowers himself back to a kneeling position).

I wonder how many kids can say they discovered walking at the Discovery Museum?  There’s an ad campaign in here somewhere…

Last Friday I received the following video from Miss Dulce at lunchtime:

http://youtu.be/wed_o_xb6JQ

It started with him laying on his side to look up at us.  It was so funny— like a little super model posing for the camera with a hand behind his head and the other on his hip.

Then he started dragging his little legs behind him.  And finally he was crawling and I wished I could stop time.  He’s now so fast, with his hands turned in slightly.  We’ve gone through a long period of constant standing.  And there’s the climbing… that deserves its own separate blog.

Now Natesy is on the verge of walking.  Two weekends ago he stood by himself without touching anything and scootched one foot.  Last weekend he took two steps while Nonna and Papa watched via the iPad.  By the way, where is the FaceTime record button… hello Apple programmers?  I know Steve Jobs didn’t believe in market research but you have to admit… this is a brilliant idea and now you’re wondering why you didn’t think of it…

This week he’s been leaping from the couch to the table with a couple steps in between.  He’s gaining so much confidence that tonight I caught him on his tiptoes, attempting to use the microwave.

“Mama, I’m the Daddy froggy and you’re the Mama froggy.” (squeaky voice which I guess is how amphibians and puppies talk)
“OK.”
“What are you doing Mama froggy?”
“I’m changing Nate’s dirty diaper.”
“I’m the Daddy froggy.”
“Oh good.  Then how ’bout you change Nate’s diaper.”
“Nope, I can’t.  I’m the Baby Daddy.”

Those Baby Daddy’s… never there when you need ’em.

This week we got a flier with Jacob’s first pre-school assignment.  I thought I had at least another two years before I’d have homework hanging over my head again…

So, instead of blogging I should be creating a poster that is all about Jake’s life up until this point.  James got clarification from the prof, uh Miss Chethi, today and we are to include JJ’s bio.  I’m thinking of something like:

Jacob James Fucillo showed-up 10 days early on Saturday, March 14th, 2009 in Mountain View, California.  He was aiming for Friday the 13th.  As a Pisces, he rarely exits the bathtub of his own accord.  He has several nicknames including JJ, Jake and Jakey (Cakes).  When he is grumpy, his mom has been known to call him Crab Cakes.

Before attending Saint Elizabeth’s Day Home, he studied under the tutelage of Dr. Seuss,  Patricia and Richard Scarry and Mother Goose.  He works in Santa Cruz at a highly top secret job— something to do with jet shoes, horses and broken computers.

His favorite foods are chocolate, cupcakes and chocolate cupcakes.  He lives with his baby brother, Nake, and his Mommy and Daddy in San Jose.  In his free time he enjoys making soup, building barricades and “driving” his dad’s car.

I had lunch with my friend Clara today and she told me her second grader has already given two Powerpoint presentations this year.  We were attacked by a crazy case of the giggles as she told me about their foray into a multimedia deck on “Harry the Dirty Dog.”  Apparently the teacher pulled her aside and suggested incorporating more clip art…