wild*life

Dear Santa,

I’ve been thinking about what I’d like for Christmas and here is the list.  I want a lot of things.

1. A boiling water maker to make stew and everything with hot water
2. A real pirate ship high to the clouds
3. A bike that shoots puffs of smoke out the back
4. A TV set that makes the electricity for the boiling water maker
5. New garden gloves for gardening flowers
6. A Jeep

And for Natesy I’d like:

1. A yellow guitar, or maybe orange
2. New Superman shirts in “darken” blue and new Superman pj’s
3. A picture of me because he loves me and he always says “Where Jakey go?”
4. A new bouncy ball because he loves to play balleyball

Love your friend,

jake (& nate)

P.S. I love your elves.

Before Jakey’s third birthday he was relentless about one thing: a Jeep.

Grandma and Granddad got him a monster-truck-like Jeep from the flea market.  I bought him a little preschooler remote control Jeep.  He opened them all with feigned enthusiasm.  Honestly.  You could practically hear the “eh” in his little two-year-old brain.  Shortly thereafter we came to the realization that by “Jeep,” Jacob was referring to a child-size, drivable all-terrain vehicle.  I have absolutely no idea where he got this notion, but he got it.

Two years later and he has still not given up on the Jeep dream.

Fortunately in the doubling of his lifespan, we have imparted the concept of working for money in order to purchase that which we desire.  So one morning JJ tells me, “On Tuesdays, I’m going to work at my job.”

“Tuesdays?”

“Yes, on Tuesdays, Daddy is going to make milkshakes for me to sell.”  Did I forget to mention that Jacob thinks his dad makes the best milkshakes in the entire world?

I’m not exactly sure this plan is going to fly… what with James’ existing job.  Though there are some days when I think he could be talked into leaving it all behind for a new career in milkshake manufacturing.

Once Jakey gets an idea, there’s pretty much no talking him out of it.  So, I propose another idea.  Maybe Granddad would be willing to bring over some of his eggs and you could set-up a stand in the front yard?

Somehow I made mention of this and in true Granddad fashion, the plan was in motion three seconds later.  The date was set: October 9.  Less than ten days to prepare and he upped the ante— the addition of homemade lemonade.  And in that time, the chickens pumped out twelve dozen eggs… twelve DOZEN.  Organically grown.  Local.  Grass-fed.  No joke.

As the day approached, I began to wonder if expectations had been set too high.  What if no one showed-up to buy anything on a Wednesday afternoon at 3:00?  What if the boys maintained exactly ten minutes of interest in this entire project?  What if Jake refused to speak to strangers and/or people he’s known his entire life in his unwaveringly predictable manner?  And shouldn’t he have to work to earn money for this Jeep over the course of several weeks?  What will he learn if he goes out and in just a few hours, achieves this goal in one fell swoop?  Maybe it’d be better if we used this as an opportunity to institute the values of raising funds for a cause?  Or to teach the importance of saving?

I implemented a last minute e-mail marketing campaign, posted an old Easter picture on the Facebook and hoped for the best.

And of course with Team Purnell leading this effort, the best it was.

The pricing strategy was simple: a dozen eggs for five bucks.  “Big” glasses of lemonade for a buck.  I believe Granddad finalized the pricing philosophy.  I asked Jake what it should be and he proposed $100 for eggs.  He was also open to selling them in various quantities… as in, “Can I get you three eggs or four?”  It appears they gave out cups of M ‘n M’s as the free gift with purchase.

I heard it started out a little slow.  The boys were shy with the customers, even though James had implemented some sales boot camp role-playing the night before.  Turns out Natesy broke the ice by finally asking Dr. Antsy how many eggs she wanted.  Jake then quickly assumed the role of distribution strategy for each customer.

Two hours later and they’d sold every single egg, most of the lemonade and enjoyed several cups of free gift with purchase.  Plus they’d achieved an impressive $86.26.  I didn’t dig deeper on the math… just go with it.  And a generous ‘thank you’ to our many customers and support staff.

When it was all over Jacob said to Grandma, “Boy, this was just the best day.”

We’re always quizzing our kids.  I’m convinced it makes them smarter.  Or at least passes the time on long car rides without investing in a fancy in-car DVD player.

We test them a lot on flags.  There is no logic as to the subjects of these pop quizzes.  Two weekends ago we were driving home from the Boardwalk and I ask Jake, “What flag is that?”

I’m not sure what he answered but he then asks me if all our neighbors live in the same country.  Yes, generally speaking.  There have been a couple of times when he’s asked me if our neighbors live on the same planet.  I usually tell him the truth, despite how tempting that question is.

“Do you know what country we live in?”  I have to lead the witness, “The United States of America.”

He dutifully repeats, “The United States of America.”

“And do you know what state we live in?”

“San Jose.”

“Good guess.  We live in California.”

“California.”

“And do you know what city we live in?”

“San Jose!”

“That’s right.  Great work.”

“San Jose’s Hot Country.”

Guess it’s time to change the station.

I think I’ve let three weeks go by without commemorating the end of our 4 pound bottle of ketchup.  64 ounces… dusted.  I don’t know how I could let such a momentous occasion pass by.

Looks like that bottle lasted us five months, which means we’re averaging about a pound of ketchup a month… especially considering that I can’t really measure the amount consumed outside of our home at school, at restaurants, at Happy Hollow.

I’ve had to institute a “2 serving” rule at the dinner table.  It’s all about learning the skill of rationing people.

Last weekend we had breakfast at one of our favorite local haunts and I’ve noticed that since we’ve started frequenting their establishment, they’ve switched to packets.  I’m just saying…

Anyone know where I can buy packets?

Jakey is all bones and elbows and knees these days, but Nate… Nate is incredibly edible.  I don’t know if it’s his pudgy hands, his over-the-waistband tummy… those curls?  And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.  Everybody just wants to eat him up.

So, clearly he is afraid of being eaten up.  As he should be.

I’ve noticed that the last year has been quite frightening for Nathaniel.  He’s overcome his fear of dogs, and he’s making progress on his fear of swimming, but he’s now afraid of the dark, afraid of his bed, afraid of “mossters,” afraid of the sound of the washing machine, and generally afraid of being alone.  A couple of nights ago at the dinner table he randomly states, “this chair’s too ‘cary for me.”  Huh?  You’re sitting in the high chair you’ve sat in since you were a little wobbly baby blob, in a brightly lit kitchen, at the dinner table with your entire family.  If you ask him why, his usual reply is, “I doeknow.”

I asked him yesterday why he’s “‘cared in my bed” and he told me, “The lions eat me.”

He’s routinely scared of lions eating him.  Though one time I asked if he was scared of sharks eating him and he looked at me and shook his head like I was deranged, “Sharks no eat me.”  Crazy Mama.  He’s completely confident that he’ll never go near any shark-infested waters.  Miss Christine, our swimming coach, would totally back him up on that.  Without hesitation.

So on Sunday afternoon, after nap time, he wakes up and asks me for warm “leche.”  I know he’s feeling pretty uneasy if he just wants to sit with his baybit and drink sippy cups of milk.

He’s sitting in the living room chair and his dad is laying on the couch.  All of a sudden Nathaniel starts crying and shouting in a panicky voice, “Mama!  I too ‘scared.  I too ‘cared!”

I come rushing in from the kitchen and he’s completely beside himself.  I have to sit with him under his green blanket while he finishes his leche.

A little bit later, his dad wakes up from his impromptu afternoon siesta and asks Nate,  “What happened?  Why were you so scared?”

“I doeknow.”

“Did I make a sound that scared you?”

“Yesh.”

“What was it?  What was the sound?”

“Sounded like a lion.”

Daddy was snoring…

Jacob’s Halloween story begins on Halloween Eve.  All Hallows’ Eve Eve?

So I come home that night and the boys are already gathered round the dinner table.  I give them each a kiss and offhandedly ask Jake why he’s wearing a different shirt from the one he went to school in.

“I threw up.”

And before he says another word, I somehow already know what happened.

Turns out they carved pumpkins in his class that day and it appears Jake’s aversion to pumpkin innards is perhaps something he will not grow out of.  My trusty blog shows that the “pumpkin incident” of yore was way back in October of 2011 when he was two-and-a-half.

This year they cut into a pumpkin at school and Miss Pali made the tactical error of asking Jakey to hold the insides in his hand as they scooped them out.  One whiff and he lost his lunch.  He claims it was the smell.  He also maintains his consistent stance on not ingesting any baked good made with gourd guts.

Unfortunately, James claims it’s not just pumpkins as JJ recently caught sight of a decomposing apple in the parking lot that was run over by a reversing car.  Jacob gagged multiple times and fortunately regained control.  For now, it seems to be contained within the seasonal fruit and vegetable category.  There goes my dream of my eldest son winning Fear Factor.

Moving on… Halloween day they trick-or-treated at the senior home down the street as a class field trip.  When James and I arrived for the parade, he was virtuously holding hands with Thing 1 and smiling his Super Jake smile.  The older classes gave us a mini singing performance of some Dracula songs and then we made our way home.

JJ helped me pick out the designs to carve pumpkins and didn’t look squeamish.  We made sure all our decorations looked good and passed out some candy before we set out trick-or-treating.  Jake has dramatically improved his ability to A) Ration only one piece of candy out to 600+ trick-or-treaters and B) Hit their bags with 100% accuracy.  We left Papa in charge and headed out into the night– Superman, Captain America, Top Chef Jaimie and a “Dad in a Captain America t-shirt.”

Just a few minutes in and Jake decided we were only going to the spookiest houses, much to Nate’s chagrin.  He liked the ones with strobe lights, the ones with coffins, the house with an array of goblins.  Nothing seemed too spooky.  People cheered at the site of Superman… everlastingly popular.

James and Jake paused after entering the house with the kelikans that sent Nate over the edge.  It was spooky outside, but it got even scarier as you went into their enclosed courtyard.  I wouldn’t know as Nate and I didn’t make it more than two feet up their front path.

After they came out, James asked Jake, “Are you OK?  Was it too scary?”

Jake answered, “Yeah, it was scary, but I kind of liked it.”

Superman & Superman dressed as Captain America

As I’ve mentioned, Nate is perpetually Superman.  “I’m Superman.  I FLY!” (crash)

It’s probably been about two weeks of: Superman shirt into Superman pajamas into Superman shirt into Superman pajamas.  I’m embarrassed to admit that last week I sent him to school in his brother’s dirty Superman shirt because it was “less dirty” than his own.

Fortunately Gwama and Gwandad read my blog and made an outing out of visiting Target and buying each of the boys two more Superman shirts plus a man of steel sweatshirt.  Nate’s Superman pj’s are chronically in the hamper and so my new system is to put him to bed in his clean Superman shirt for the following day, with Batman pj pants and a fresh pair of socks.  It’s really streamlined the morning routine: just add a new diaper, jeans, shoes and you’re off.

So yesterday James and I find ourselves back at Target getting at least 600 pieces of Halloween candy for the big night.  I find four more unique Superman shirts we don’t yet own (shocking, right?) and at $4.50 a pop, decide to throw them all in the cart.  Later that evening, Nate was especially enthusiastic about the rare orange and yellow Superman “S” shirt I found… his two favorite colors.

Fast forward to 4pm when Nate is scheduled to participate in his school’s Walk-a-Thon Halloween parade, fundraising event, and general parent ogle-fest.  I spot my youngest, dutifully holding hands with Miss Ria (Maria), who is wearing a Superman shirt and also holding hands with Lucas, dressed as Superman.  Nate is carrying his shield, but wearing jeans and his new “There’s One Way 2 Save the Day” Superman shirt.

My first question, “Where’s your costume?”

“I don’t like my costume.  I’m Superman.”  Hasta Luego $23.70.

We head home for some pumpkin carving, potstickers and trick-or-treating.

Dusk approaches and I ask Nate if he’s going to wear his costume.  “I don’t like my costume.  I’m Superman.”

“If you don’t wear your costume, you can’t get any treats…”

Captain America was ready five seconds later.

We head out while Papa mans the door.  Nathaniel makes it up Pat and Clarence’s steps next door because he’s already touched the plastic witch that has crashed her broom into their front tree.  He’s still wary of her dormant ability to come alive and get him.

As we make our way down the street, the decorations get more and more outlandish.  He backs up at the site of the witch handing out glow necklaces at the “Dead and Breakfast,” knocking over their battery-operated candles.  As we walk down the sidewalk, he begins saying things like, “It’s too dark in here for me.”

The house with the motion detector sound effects sends him packing.  “Ooh, a kelikan.  Two kelikans!  And ‘piders.  There’s ghostez in dare.  I’m too ‘cary, I’M TOO ‘CARY!”  (If you aren’t following, that would be: two skeletons, spiders, ghosts, and too scary.)

We take a break to regroup and bolster our confidence.  I pep-talk him up to a couple of friendly houses with no decorations or only G-rated decor.  Mostly I hear, “That house too ‘pooky for me.  TOO ‘POOKY!”

At our neighbors across the street, he got excited for a minute because a lady was handing out candy in a long red cape.  “Ooh, Superman.”

Based on her horns I gently inform him, “That’s not Superman Honey, that’s the devil.”

“Oh.  I don’t like the devil.”

Good news.

He pleads with me to carry him home to the safety of passing out candy with Papa.  But that also is wrought with challenge as the enclave of our home is breached by a parade of super ‘cary guys coming to the door for chocolatey treats.  These guys can essentially all be grouped into the category I like to call “dead-face of various persuasions.”  Plus we had most of the lights off inside.

All in all, Nate tells me he liked Halloween but I’m not entirely sure.  Thinking back on the plastic ghost of the kitchen remodel of two thousand twelve, he’s been quite the fraidy cat for an entire year.  Though he did in fact pet a candy-crazed golden retriever last night.

I’m too ‘cared to think about what yesterday may do to disrupt tonight’s peaceful night’s sleep.

Nate’s friend Lucas, Miss Ria & Nate.  Superman… Man of Shield.

My mom tells this story about how one day I came home from kindergarten and declared earnestly, “Pointing with your middle finger is against the school rules.”

Of course my mom had to test this decree, “Why Jaimie?”

“I don’t know… it just is.”

And there you have it.

A few weeks ago, Jakey comes home in anticipation of Halloween, “Mom.  Miss Amy says no costumes with masks, no scary costumes, and no weapons.”

Dang… he is crystal clear on the reasoning behind a ban on weapons.

And speaking of Halloween, every autumn I find the task of procuring costumes more and more challenging.  I long for children of decision.  Resolute in their choices.  Unwavering in their purpose.  Definitive in their instructions.  Instead I get…

Jacob: “I want to be a vampire.  Nate can be a vampire, too.”

Terrific!  Maybe we can even get Grandma to help us make capes.  I mean, what do Grandma’s do if not help to sew Halloween costumes?  My grandma, Sweetie, sewed me an adorable little “German girl” Halloween dress and kerchief and made a matching one for my Suzy Homemaker doll.  Somehow I’ve never asked if three-year-old “German girl” was a Halloween costume I requested?

But after I’ve got it all planned, including the slicked back hair gel and where I’ll find another set of Dracula teeth, I get:

Jacob: “I want to be a superhero.”

And Nate: “I want to be Captain Amewica.”

A week or so later:

Jacob, “I want to be Captain America, too.”

A day later:

Jacob, “No, I want to be the Flash.”

Three seconds later:

Jacob: “No, I want to be Superman.”

And Nate: “I want to be Captain Amewica.  I’m a Soopah–heeWO!”  (Imagine his legs splayed in an active pose, one fist forward in triumph.)  Nate still shows me how strong his muscles are by pointing his elbows at me.  I will likely cry when that stops.

Halloween is quickly approaching.  I put the kabosh on further costume dream-weaving via the only weapon at my disposal: Amazon.

Nate’s Captain America costume shows-up lickety split.  Including his shield.  Now he has to line-up his big shield and his doll shield.  I mean action figure shield.  I got him the one with the muscles because I had done quite a bit of costume research on the internet.  I know that little boys are overly exposed to stereotypes of big, strong superheroes and unrealistic brawn.  But who can resist baby beefcake?  Child psychologists be damned… I’m going with cute and funny.

The Captain America choices were pretty good.  Great reviews.  The Superman costumes on the other hand weren’t that clear.  Should I choose the classic Superman?  Or the new one who’s lost the red Speedo and now wears more of a blue muscle leotard?  I was leaning toward the more modern Superman, but decided to check with my decision-maker.  I like to push decisions down to the lowest possible level within the organization.

He confirms, “I want the Superman costume with the muscles.  And the red underwear.”

“Muscles and underwear?”

“Muscles and underwear.”

To some, they’re a turn-off.  To a four-year-old, the red underwear are a key selling feature.

Jake has brought home a couple of new Room 7 songs to add to the family playlist and they go like this:

I’m a little acorn brown

lying on the cold, cold ground.

Everybody steps on me,

‘cuz I am a nut you see.

I’m a nut, (clack-clack)

I’m a nut, (clack-clack)

I’m a nut, I’m a nut, I’m a nut. (clack-clack)

That clacking part is a good solid tongue clack that sounds like you’re knocking on a hollow tree.

We’ve also been singing a lot of…

Four hugs a day… That’s the minee-mum.

Four hugs a day… NOT the maximum!  (That’s all we know at this point.)

Nate also likes these songs.  Generally we find him wandering the house, knocking on his forehead while simultaneously tongue clacking and singing, “I’m a nut, I’m a nut, I’m a nut…”

I can’t believe I’ve let almost two entire weeks pass without mentioning… ANNOUNCING… the two newest members of our family!  *gasp*

You broke the “no pets till you’ve reached the point where you can be trusted with your own steak knife” rule?  Not me, my friend.  James.  He’s also the one who leased a new 2001 Jetta without going through the proper decision-making channels, twelve years ago.  Seems I may need to sign him up for a Good Husband Refresher course.

The two little boys at our house are constantly asking what and when we can get something to take care of… I guess in addition to our two pet monkeys.  And lately I’ve found myself reading magazine articles titled things like 4 Low Maintenance Pets.  None of the suggestions have looked even remotely promising, except their tongue-in-cheek references to pet rocks.  Which I used to think was ridiculous, but I now officially rescind any previous negative judgments.  I’ve never been a bigger fan.

So the line had been drawn in the sand.  And then Daddy crossed it.

On October third, James came home two Betta fish richer… and $38.54 poorer.

I’m told it went down like this:

James: “C’mon boys, let’s go to PetSmart and buy a goldfish.”

Boys: “Shouldn’t we check with Mom before we do something crazy like buying an animal that can live up to five years and needs regular care and feeding?” (OK, I added this part.  It’s part of the Day 1 morning workshop in that Good Husband Refresher class I mentioned.)

Clerk: “Sorry, sir.  I can’t sell you a $1 goldfish unless you buy a $250 filtration system equipped aquarium.  Otherwise it’ll just die.”

And so they left with two Betta fish, two kinds of color-enhancing food, some kind of water additive, and a partitioned bowl because boy Betta fish, also known as Siamese fighting fish, fight to the death.  Technically ours were labeled “Halfmoon Betta” and “Female.”

Based on the labels, we have a flashy red male Betta, which Jacob laid claim to and calls Hot Lava.  Nate got the demure blue female Betta, because he always gets stuck with second choice.  He originally told me her name was Gawol (Girl).  But, after days of Jakey insisting her name is Blueberry, Nate now calls her Boobooboos (his word for blueberry).  They still live in the partitioned bowl because whether they’re lovers or fighters… either one could be bad news.

Every morning the boys like to run to the kitchen and check on their fish.  They eat their food and then spit it out (the fish).  Sometimes they knock their food from the surface to the bottom.  When you turn the light on, they swim much faster.  These fish that can apparently survive in a puddle seem to be filling the puppy void quite satisfactorily.

However, I kind of panicked on their first night in their new home.  Just one week into our new status as pet owners, we were headed to Brett’s wedding weekend.  I asked James who was going to take care of the fish?  Were we bringing them with us?  Dropping them off at a friend’s?  Suddenly, fish ownership was looking like a poorly thought-out decision… which most pet sellers are banking on.

He looked at me speechless, and then called his mom.

Nonna told us they do better if you rarely feed them.

What kind of pet jackpot have we stumbled upon?  We threw some extra food in there, said our goodbyes, and hoped for the best.

Fortunately, Hot Lava and Boobooboos can be trusted to live, unsupervised, over the course of a three-day weekend.  I’d say they may just be inching out ‘Rock’ as my new favorite pet.