No It All

James has been checking my blog visit analytics and apparently one of my highest hits is for “tooth chart for children.”  Number 1 is “weimaraners dressed as people”… go figure.

So here I am, juking the stats for more visits from total strangers who will hopefully become hopelessly obsessed with reading original anecdotes and autobiographical confessions… propelling this page to one of the most addictive Mommy Blogs according to Parenting magazine.  Studies no doubt show long term sleep deprivation is directly correlated to delusional aspirations…

Natesy currently has 3 teeth on the bottom and 3 teeth on the top.  I’m not really down with the tooth lingo, but I have to comment that I found a “deciduous tooth” chart… I didn’t know teeth were like maple trees.  And then I just noticed the “exfoliate” reference below.  Perhaps I’ve been thinking of the Tooth Fairy as a distribution specialist when in fact, she’s more of an esthetician?

Last weekend Jacob and I were learning and practicing the concept of rhyming.  Bee, Tree.  Log, Frog.  He’s been quite the fan of repeating, “Yummy in my tummy!” ten gazillion times— one of those catch phrases he brought home from school.

So, I ask him, “What rhymes with Jake?”

Without hesitation, “Nake!”

It’s a big election year.  There’s the incumbent, who clearly has strong name recognition, years of experience and some wealthy backers.  And then there’s the up-and-comer.  He doesn’t play by the rules.  An outsider.  The “Maverick” if you will.

Blue versus Red.

Who will be elected President of mess-making?  It’s a tight race.

The candidate who says “No to high-speed rail!” and decimates the project in a pile of wooden rubble?  Or the candidate who pledges to put an end to the passage of spicy foreign imports, sweeping them to the floor with unmatched rage and indignation?  The candidate who vows to end homelessness via couch cushions and afghans, or the green candidate waging war on stray junk mail and product catalogs, ripping them to shreds?

Decision 2012: I think it’s likely to be a hanging chad year.

Shining a light on bullying has been all the rage… that and apparently there’s some new trend in child rearing where you have your baby sleep on a mattress on the floor, rather than a crib, so as “not to constrain them.”  Thank you to my friend Sarah for making sure I’m up on the latest in alternative parenting…

So back to bullying.  Happens to just about everybody.  For some, it can scar them for life.  For others, it remains a dark cloud over the adolescent bliss that is Junior High (Ah, Letti… you know what they say about karma…).  Worse now that kids can torment each other via text message.  And I had no idea it could start so early.

A couple of weeks before his third birthday, Jakey started the transition to the “preschool” classroom.  The stakes are higher.  You have to be potty trained, you eat in the cafeteria and you learn double-digit numbers.

I get home one night and Jake recounts the following story to me:
“Mom, the kids were making choco lattes today at school.”
“Uh, huh.  They were making cho-co-la-te?” (Spanish pronunciation)
“I wanted to make choco lattes today.  And the kids, the kids told me I was too little to make choco lattes.”
“They did?  That’s not very nice.  You make chocolate all the time.  Then what happened?”
“They told me I was too little and I had to go back to the little kid classroom.”
“What?  They said that?  What did you say?”
“I said, no.  No, I’m big!”
“That’s right, you are big.”

It’s probably important to note that this new class is made-up mostly of little girls, who are the same size or smaller than Jacob.  Who knew “go back to where you came from” could start as young as two?  James had a little “keep an eye on it” talk with Miss Chethi and Miss Hedidi (That’s what Jacob calls his other teacher, Miss Letti.  Coincidence?  Perhaps he was born with an innate sense of the injustices that were forced upon me at the age of 13 and therefore cannot pronounce her name in good conscience.  At least that’s what I’ve decided.)

Miss Chethi said she witnessed what was going on a day or so later.  As she put it, “You don’t need to worry. Jake can handle himself.”

Those little girls better keep an eye on their choco lattes.

I am hungry.

Every night we sit down to dinner and there’s a little birdie in a highchair, bouncing up and down and making monkey sounds until I shovel bite after bite into his open mouth.  When he’s decided he’s full he spits it back out just as fast as he was swallowing it one spoonful before.  And then the windshield wipers come out until every speck of food has been swept to the floor.

Meanwhile, Jakey has eaten all of his steak and vegetables and is leaning over, beginning to scarf mine down.  James is smart.  He eats his up right quick.

The last time we had spaghetti, we all agreed that one package is no longer enough.  You should see how much the little one can pack away.  And apparently Jake ate half a pizza one night this past weekend.

Last time we went to Kelly’s, Jacob told me not to order him the kid pancakes.  “I want the big ones.  The big pancakes.”  There is no kid’s menu… he’s been polishing-off the adult size all along.

Natesy’s started at Jake’s school now and fortunately they have a food program.  I think we’ll be getting our money’s worth.  The day form came back on Monday and it said Nate ate 200 graham crackers.

Maybe it was a typo… maybe.

Lately we’ve been utterly astounded by the memory of this three year old.  Case in point:

A few months ago James and Jake were up early and on their way out to the car.  It was still dark outside and Jakey asks, “Where’s the taxi car?  Are we going on an airplane, Daddy?”  Last time he left the house in the morning and it was dark outside was in May… when we took a taxi to the airport.  That was almost 9 months ago.

Last week James was getting the kiddos dressed and was pulling a shirt over Jake’s head that has a graphic picture of a french bulldog.  “Daddy, where are those people with the white truck?  And the doggie?”  He was remembering a morning in December when we met Alesia, Charles and their daughter Eleanor for coffee.  We walked them back to their truck to say goodbye and pet their french bulldog, Gallagher.

Then yesterday, James and I went to pick the boys up from school.  We saw Jake peeking out the window, wedged between the glass and the blinds.

Once inside, we began the new and lengthy process of wrangling him into leaving his new classroom, “Wait, I forgot somesing!  I need to get my car.”
“What car?”
“My orange car.”
“Where did you leave it?”
“It was in my cubby.  It’s missing!  Somebody taked it.”
“What orange car?”
“My orange car.  We got it at the milk shop.  Last time I had it.”
“The milk shop?”
“When we had smoodies.  Last time I put it in my cubby.”
“Smoothies?”
“It’s a sticker.  I had it right there.  Somebody taked it.  Last time…”
“Huh?  Is it a car or a sticker?”
“It’s a sticker.  It’s a puzzle!”
Now I’m completely puzzled.  Is he making this up as some kind of stalling tactic?  This is crazy talk.
“Is it a car, a sticker or a puzzle?”
“When we watched airplanes.”
“OK, I don’t know what we’re looking for.  You can find it tomorrow, let’s go.”
Frustration builds… insistent pleas follow.
Just in the nick of time, Daddy finds it on the window sill behind the blinds.

It’s a 3×3 inch square piece of paper… made up of stickers… that were a puzzle… that once placed properly, created a picture… of an orange car… parked in front of In ‘N Out Burger… where we drank milkshakes and watched airplanes… in October.

Probably about six months ago, Jakey and I were in his bottom bunk chatting before bedtime.  “Let’s talk ye-ster-day.  Whadwedo ye-ster-day?”

We’d been reading books and came across some racoons dressed as robbers.  Jakey says, “I be a bad man, Mama.”
“What?  No, you will never be a bad man.”
“Yes, I want to be a bad man.”
“No, you never want to be a bad man.  Do you mean Batman?  You want to be Batman?”
“I be a robber.”
“Robin?  Are you talking about Batman and Robin?”
I let it pass, hoping I’d misunderstood my 2 1/2 year old with aspirations of incarceration.

For the record, I’m now 100% sure he knew exactly what he was saying.

Tonight we’re driving home after he’d been playing with Costa who’d been pretending to be a bad guy.  “I’m a bad guy, Mama.”
“No, JJ, you were just pretending to be a bad guy.  You’re not a bad guy.”
“Yes, I was pretending.  I’m not a bad guy Mama.  I’m a nice guy.”

Yes, yes you are.

Last weekend it was disturbingly quiet.  I found Nate in the bathroom, surrounded by what used to be an entire roll of toilet paper, reading magazines.

On Friday during our last parent/teacher conference, Noemi told me Nate has exceptional patience and focus.

In January I was up in the city, in the ballroom of the Palace Hotel, prepping for the rehearsal of our annual department awards show.  I was gathering-up my things from under the table, I look down, and there is a Cheerio resting on the patterned carpet designed to walk that fine line between tasteful and hideous.  A Cheerio.  I totally tried to pretend like I didn’t see it and it must have been left behind by some 400 person baby breakfast held earlier that day.

A few weeks later, James had to work so the boys and I met Grandma and Granddad at Gayle’s for gourmet goodies followed by grass and gophers.  Granddad volunteered to put Nate’s leftover apple sauce in his cooler and then told me he’d forgotten it at the bakery.

The next evening I find James peering out the front window at my car, sitting in the driveway.
“What’s that on top of your car?”
“Hmmm, what is that?”

Turns out I’d been driving around with an open container of organic apple sauce on the top of my car for two days.

Then about two weeks ago I was getting ready for work in the morning.  One of the last things I usually do is forage around for my watch.  I’m about to put it on and notice the glass is all smeared and sticky.  Before applying important critical thinking skills, I bring the watch up to my nose and smell it…

BBQ sauce.  In hindsight, this is probably a fairytale ending to this story.

I’m super excited to report: I have a new BFF.  He’s the perfect Best Friend Forever.  Here’s a list of of why we’re inseparable:

• He’s super fun: “Drive faster!”  “Louder.  I want cowboy music.  Louder!”
• He’s very handy… and I always have a long list of projects: “I can fix anything, Mama.”
• We both have the same favorite color: “I like green best.”
• We both like to eat: “I can eat spicy food, Mama.”  This weekend he finished his dad’s lox.
• He’s always there to protect me: “I will scratch him with my sharp claws.”  (Hands poised menacingly.)
• He’s highly talented… he’s taught himself to use chopsticks. (His trick?  Just don’t break the wooden chopsticks apart.)
• He’s really funny: “If you eat an orange.  You’ll turn into an orange!  If you eat pajamas, you’ll turn into pajamas!”
• He has perfect hair, and also loves to get ready with me in the morning: “I need my make-up to look pretty for school.”
• And he’s generous.  He gives me special pink flowers every weekend: “Here Mom, I bought this for you at my work in Santa Cruz.” (And by his work in Santa Cruz he means the camellia bush in the backyard.)

“You’re my best friend, Mama.”  And then he gives me the sweetest kiss.  Have you ever heard anything better?  “And Daddy and Nake, too.”  Well, at least I’m in good company.