wild*life

I just had another flash of brilliance: Sea Monkeys.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again… we need a puppy like we need a hole in the head.

And every chance they get, both boys tell me how many puppies they “need.”  Last night Jake told me he’s going to have five or six dogs and Nate informed me of a more reasonable two.

Fortunately, Hot Lava and Boobooboos are doing swimmingly.  Boobooboos is so cute.  Every morning she greets me and swims around excitedly when she sees me.  Really?  Yes, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but a fish can be both cute and excited.  She swims like she’s wagging her tail.

And in the spirit of puppy postponement, we’re now the proud owners of TWO Uncle Milton’s Fascinating Ant Farms.

The ant farms were a Christmas gift from Uncle B and Auntie T.  They may have been my idea.  But when Jakey found out we were going to have to wait 4-6 weeks for the ants to show-up, he went with Plan B, which is to catch your own ants.

I think he caught four or five, got them in the farm, and got them inside the house.  Unfortunately, it appears he miscalculated the size of native San Joseants.  All of the captives went missing overnight.  We had to revert to Plan A.

The ant farms started off quite well.  I wasn’t there for the initial set-up, but I’m told an ant crawled up JJ’s arm and he freaked out because at the wise old age of 5, he already has gained the knowledge that red ants bite.  And Uncle Milton makes ’em big and red.  The harvester ants were industrious as expected, except for a few unfortunate souls that seemed to have lost their heads either in transfer via US Mail, or in transfer via the hole that is the gateway to the farm.

Over the last few weeks, visiting the ants first thing when you wake up and last thing before you go to bed has become a new routine.  There was one suspenseful evening when an ant was buried alive when a tunnel collapsed.  We watched and cheered and breathed a sense of relief when he finally dug his way out, one grain of sand at a time, unharmed.  And whenever it’s quiet and I can’t find James, it’s because he is silently leaning over the kitchen counter… watching our fascinating ants.  Uncle Milton delivers on his promises.

Although things started out well, the ants have slowed down and the burial grounds have grown, turning the majority of the farm into a cemetery.  We recently came across the care-taking instructions that we should have been following.  I don’t think the ants are going to make it through our trip to Hawaii.  The last survivors may be destined to buy this farm.

That said, Project Puppy Postponment is going well and I’m pleased with the progress.  Next up: Butterflies!

They have a kit for everything.

Except puppies.

Thank goodness.

I’ve started a bit of a tradition.  Every night when I come home I greet all my boys with a kiss.  The littlest ones are usually mesmerized by Wild Kratts, but I can generally get them to break eye contact with the TV for a quick smooch and a hello.  I also seem to have taken on the persona of Chief Confessor.

The first thing they do is blurt out a summation of the day in terms of the latest behavioral improvement we’re working on.  For Jacob, we’ve been working on managing emotions… for the last five years.  Jake usually exclaims, “No tantrums!  No incidents!”  And of course I dole out significant praise.

Nate eagerly shares things like, “No accidents!” or “Behavior, Mama!  I had behavior.”  He’s missed the relevance of adjectives.  Nate almost never has any incident reports to confess… though last week he had an altercation over a book with his buddy Logan, and Logan ended up with a bruise near his eye.  Apparently neither kid would talk and Logan wouldn’t rat-out Nate; clearly he’s a keeper.

So yesterday I come home and the boys are watching Team Umizoomi.  James says something like, “Jakey, are you going to tell Mama what happened?”

I brace myself for the worst.  Did he misbehave at school?  Over the last few months, the reports have been glowing— he’s really worked hard to calm himself down quickly anytime he feels frustrated or upset.

And Jake says, “Granddad caught a mouse at his house in the grotto.  (This is the garage closet under the house where my dad generally keeps his hunting gear and other things that you shove into the earthen crawl space under your home over the course of 30 years.)  He brought it today to show us.  Nate put his finger inside its ear and touched its tail.  Then I tried to touch it and it bit my finger.  I got blood on my shirt.”

Yes, my mom and dad brought over a wild, possibly disease-carrying rodent into our house and let my kids touch it.

No… I did not see that coming.

Last night I came home from soccer and Nate eagerly greeted me on the porch.  He was wearing his size 2T Buzz Lightyear pajamas, which might be more aptly described as his Pixar halter top and leggings.  He still likes these because they depict someone that flies.

He followed me into the laundry room and helped me remove my socks.

“Did you play football games?”  (He calls soccer futbol.  He’s got a bit of a knack for Spanish.  Even when I say soccer, he continues to call it futbol.)

“Yep.”

“When I grow-up I’m going to play futbol, too.”

“I bet you will.”

“And when I grow-up I’m going to be a big mom like you.”

“You are?”

“Yesh.  I’m going to be a big mom like you…  I’m going to be your mom!”

“You are?  But Grandma is my mom.”

“I’m going to be your big mom.”

“Wow.  OK.  So when I tell you I want to eat ice cream for breakfast, what will you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?  Can I wear my Superman shirt every day?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.  And can I watch TV all night long?”

“Yeah.”

“You seem like a really fun mom.”

“Yesh.  I’m going to be a really fun mom.”

I’m going to take this entire conversation as a compliment… even that last part.

Recently I was poking around in our basement and came across our old TV tables.  They look totally better than that sounds.  I still remember when we bought them— they’re very sleek, made of dark wood and they fit into this rectangular base that turns them into a slim, streamlined vertical rectangle of pure apartment living bliss.

I came to the very troubling, yet real realization that we may never need our beautiful TV tables ever again.  Or at the very least, we’ll remember them just in time to notice that Jacob has smuggled them into his hatchback as he takes off for college…

Back before kids, I think we ate dinner in front of the boob tube almost every night.  What extravagance.  What luxury.  What indulgence!  Clearly, we had no appreciation for the freedom of eating over carpet.

Speaking of indulgence, last night might have been the first night James and I have been home in our own house, at night, together, while both boys enjoyed adventures at Grandma and Granddad’s.

We ate in the kitchen, but we didn’t even need to Swiffer the floor or scrub down the chairs.  We watched the Americans on super high volume, without closed captioning.  James even made a quick trip to the corner liquor store to bring home It’s It’s.  We ate them on the couch and stayed up till 11.  What extravagance.  What luxury.  What indulgence!

I wish I’d thought to bring up the TV tables…

I’m kind of ready for 2014 to be over.

Wait, it’s only April— how can I wish away almost an entire year of my life?  It’s not so much that I want to hurry the days along, Lord knows I’m the youngest I’ll ever be right this very second.

It’s more that 2014 has gotten off to a rocky start.

Black cats are darting out in front of me day in and day out.  Every restaurant we frequent Nate spills the salt, and then licks the shaker (stop doing that).  Or maybe it’s Nathaniel’s unwavering determination to open umbrellas inside.  Or all that crack-stepping Jakey does is finally taking me down?

Whatever it is, let’s just say that I am in no position to be playing the lottery. I should be calling State Farm and upping my coverage.  The gods are pissed and I have got to find a way to make it up to them if I’m going to make it to 2015.

Here’s how it’s going so far.  Exclamation points for bad luck, dollar signs for good:

!) We started the year with a bizarre and overinflated incident at preschool that stressed us out for two weeks.  Fortunately it evaporated, but I could have done without those two weeks.

!) I was then sick for two weeks… turned into bronchitis.  Then I went to Vegas for work for a week with bronchitis and an inability to drink alcohol.  So fun.

!) I got a summons for jury duty.  As did my boss, my HR manager and all three people on my team.

!) I took the train home early with exactly 15 minutes to get home so James could go to an evening appointment.  Upon arrival to my car, the battery was dead and I had to walk-run home so he wouldn’t be late.  I left my car parked near the station for the entire weekend.

!) We got a flat tire on 280 with everyone in the car.  James’ car.  He had just bought new tires.  He bought another new tire.

!) That very day I went home, looked at my car (which we had moved from the station) and found a tack in my tire.  I sucked it up and bought all new tires, too.  I also had to buy a new battery.

!) One of my key partners at work resigned.

$) I got some good news regarding Lionel Richie, which I had hoped was a sign my luck had turned.  Yes, I know this one sounds a bit wackadoo… but you don’t know how much I love Lionel Richie.

!) My dream bilingual immersion kindergarten that I have been thinking about for almost ten years was a major disappointment.  Back to the kindergarten drawing board.

!) I missed our neighborhood school kindergarten (read: default) tour because… I was in Jury Duty.

$) We booked that trip to Hawaii we’ve been contemplating.  Turns out early May is actually a good time to go— strategically positioned between Spring Break and summer vacays.

!) And then yesterday we got our kindergarten lottery letter and we’ve landed lucky #109 on the wait list for our new dream kindergarten.  Plus I got a parking ticket for being too close to a fire hydrant while drudging back to my car in a torrential downpour perfectly timed for when I detrained.

I really thought our luck was going to change when it came to the kindergarten lotto, I really did…

So… what do you think I have to throw into a Hawaiian volcano to appease the gods?

I sure hope it’s not Lionel Richie.

About three weekends ago, it was late afternoon and I was enjoying some quiet time with my iPad in the living room.  Then, I heard the most amazing and wonderful thing…

Scrape, thunk… flush, running water… little pounding footsteps.  And then Nate’s smiling, sleepy face.

In my best southern accent: I do declare, this one is officially daytime potty trained!

Natesy’s learning curve has sky-rocketed in just a few short weeks, quickly decimating my Girl Scout stash of Samoas.  There’s just one hitch— he will not go at school.

I’m a bit worried that he is holding it in all day.  When Daddy come to pick him up at 5, he wants to immediately go home to use the facilities.  Plus he’s always crazy thirsty.  The other day I heard James whisper under his breath, “Come on Buddy, don’t be that guy.”

Fortunately, he rarely has accidents.  My hyper-vigilance has faded and I almost never bring back-up clothes anymore.  It seems he will use any restroom, as long as we’re with him… including the restroom at school.

His teachers still put diapers on him at nap time, but he can be trusted at home, even in the top bunk.  At school I guess it makes sense because it’s his once a day pit stop.

On Sunday the boys had quite an adventure at their cousin Devon’s house… catching chickens, crawling out the dog door three hundred times, hugging Scruffy.  I warned Angela and Nate that he needed to take a restroom break while we were gone.  When James and I came back, Nate quickly took me up on my offer to use the commode.

I’m following his little curly towhead through their sunroom and Nate has his arms out to the sides with a big, overexaggerated shrug and a skeptical furrow of his eyebrows, “There’s no potty here?”

Auntie Angela assures me she showed him at least one of their two-and-a-half baths.  “Nathaniel, you really think Uncle Geoff’s house doesn’t have a bathroom?”

“No?”

He’s totally that guy.

My dearest JJ,

On Friday the 14th we celebrated your fifth birthday… fifth!  It is somewhat incomprehensible to me that my first baby boy is such a kid.

We celebrated both your birthday and Nate’s birthday with a pirate-themed pool party at AVAC.  I’m not sure you’ve ever looked happier than swimming with your best friend, Helen.  Then you gobbled up two slices of cake… and a slice every night for the following week.  You still like being called Jakey Cakes.  Cake is your favorite, despite being born on Pi Day.

On Friday morning you woke-up and told me all the things you still wanted for your birthday.  You are always keeping lists.  You said you wanted a puppy like Nate, and a watch.  Fortunately I had gotten you Pepper, the American Girl puppy, plus dog bath accessories.  Coincidentally, it was sharing day at school for the letter “P.”  Pepper the puppy fit the bill perfectly.

And so, I thought I’d take a moment to try and capture 5-year-old Jacob at this moment in time.  You are always changing, but some things remain the same.

You are insanely creative.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been around someone as imaginative, original and determined to get what they want.  On Sunday you wanted some kind of penguin zoo toy you saw.  When I wouldn’t buy it for you, you spent two hours building yourself an entire zoo… it was a masterpiece.  Tonight you asked Daddy to add words to a book you wrote.  You directed him to write the names of “the author and the illustrator.”

All weekend you wanted to build a trap to “catch a leprechaun.”  You negotiated with your dad to take all sorts of things to school in order to build it.  I overheard you say something about needing a crane.  He said if you could carry it by yourself, you could take it, but that you guys were not taking the pick-up truck… though you negotiated hard.  You were the only kid at school building a trap.  It involved a potato for bait, a box, plus countless unknown booby traps,  and glue for the leprechaun to step in.  Your teacher sent me a text that read:

Hey FYI, your son has been amazing and super smart and creative with the leprechaun trap.  But he is really pissed he didn’t catch one.  So he put his trap away in his cubby…

You came home with a green note from a shifty little gnome that read:

Dear Jacob,

Oh you are a smart one!  Trying to catch me all day!  But I’m small, fast and sneaky and I got away.  I admire your effort and planning in all that you do.  Until next year, I will leave this treasure for you.  Great job!  Maybe next time!

With sincere admiration,

Lucky Leprechaun.

You felt a little bit better.

You love swimming and riding bikes and running as fast as you can.  You delight in the wonder that is your body running at top speed.  When I think you will be exhausted from a long, active day, you still run circles around the living room, or jump like a kangaroo for two more hours.

Speaking of active, you have always been “busy.”  Busy building things, busy cooking things, busy drawing things.  You are a boy of many projects.  As someone with six extracurricular projects of my own currently in progress, I’m afraid I may be to blame.

You get an idea in your head and you are determined to make it happen.  You’ll decide that we should go into the backyard and build a treehouse.  Now.  Your projects never lack for ambition.

When you grow-up you want to be a cook and a race car driver and a farmer.   I think you got the Purnell-family animal lover gene.  You fantasize about the day when you can have a house and a farm and whatever animals you want.  We talk a lot about my allergies and how much you want a cat.  We’re still working through the details.

You are a loving big brother.  Nate is your best friend, strongest ally, and most loyal audience.  You ask me why Nate was born saying naughty words.  You claim zero responsibility.

I love you, Jacob James.  I love every single thing about you.  Happy birthday big boy.

xoxo,

Mama

On Sunday night, it was the season finale of the latest HBO television phenomenon, True Detective.  If you’ve found that, recently, you’re having trouble following the normal office banter or morning radio show repartee, it’s time to get with the program.

If you are really far behind, start with Breaking Bad.  Then you can graduate to Orange is the New Black.  I’d also recommend The Americans.  Though not as well known, putting this suggestion out there may get you back on the offensive.   If you never saw The Sopranos, there’s probably no hope for you.

Let me be clear— these shows are not for the faint-hearted.  My trick is to cover my ears during the intense/scary/I-don’t-need-that-in-my-brain parts.  It’s amazing how much less disturbing things are without the soundtrack.

So, once you’ve been fairly desensitized to violence and the most cringe-worthy elements of human society, you can now enjoy True Detective starring Woody from Cheers and the newly appreciated character acting skills of Matthew McConahottie.  I’m told the cast will change next season.  I don’t yet know how I feel about that.

For those of you who are still watching network television, I will be careful not to spoil this for you.  But, I do want to set your expectations appropriately.  In summary, it’s a crime show.  I guess maybe you got that from the title.  But, here’s what makes it different— they’ve taken pieces of all the other good shows and movies and mixed them up into 8 episodes of binge-worthy viewing pleasure.

Here’s the formula, though this series is not formulaic:

A dynamic Castle detective cop duo + a Sons of Anarchy motorcycle gang + The Wire drug gang + a Breaking Bad meth cook + corrupt government House of Cards-esque officials + the supernatural gifts of The Sixth Sense + my worst Hoarders nightmare of a house + piles of filthy Chucky dolls + mysterious pagan symbolism à la The Davinci Code + those incredibly disturbing sticks from The Blair Witch Project + the creepy music from Lost + the cinematography of a movie = the show everybody is talking about.

It’s hard to tell, but I really do like this series.  It’s really good.  The only thing that would’ve made it better is if they had added colorful yarn to their evidence wall.  You know, when they take string and use it to show the relationship between all their clues?  I love that.

When the finale was finally over and my neck was aching from cringing through an hour of intense crime drama and action, I was not ready or able to hit the hay.  I needed something to erase the images that had been burned into my brain.  What to do… What to do…

“Hey James, want to watch an episode of Max and Ruby?”

Max and Ruby; photo courtesy of Milk and Cuddles.