wild*life

I’ve come to an important decision.  And set a date.  And that date is tomorrow: May 1st.

Loud Voice of God from Above: Tomorrow IS (dun dun DUN), Operation Bye-Bye Nigh-Nigh II.

Our little Natesy Cakes has enjoyed his pacifier habit long enough.  He’s two ‘n change, he speaks quite a bit of English, and I’m letting him keep his “baybit” addiction (a mini green down comforter that he became attached to during the Ice Age of 2012, See Episode 5).

On the English speaking front, I feel like we’re definitely living on borrowed time.  It’s bad enough that we’re going to hear “I waaaant it” endlessly for the next week, if we wait any longer, he will undoubtedly pick-up his brother’s relentless negotiating tactics and wear us down through interminable verbal torture and perseverance.

Of course I’m not making him go cold turkey.  Though I’m also not planning on the imaginary nigh-nigh fairy to come save us.  We won’t be mailing them to a baby near you.  Or leaving them for baby giraffes at the zoo.

I like the old, “Huh?  Your nigh-nigh has a hole in it?  That’s strange.  That’s the only one I can find.”  (Followed by wide-eyed look of complete innocence and an empathetic pat on the head.). “Now off you go.  Buenas noches.”

So tonight I’ve lined-up the three remaining nigh-nighs as a sort of pacifier last supper.  Nakesy, you choose: Will it be the tricolored one that is the newest and therefore least likely to be biodegrading invisible plastic chemicals into your pristine little system, the yellow and green one that I chose as the only gender neutral option for sale at Targét, or your favorite: dual shades of pink?

After much deliberation and a lot of feigned indecision (this is really just a bedtime stalling tactic), he chose pink.  I knew he would.  For some reason it seems to taste the yummiest.  A fine choice.

I just re-read the original Operation Bye-Bye Nigh-Nigh and it looks like it took two entire weeks.  I’d forgotten that part…

Lord help us.

So I’m trying out a new blog name.  Sucking it in and squeezing into it.  Checking it out in the mirror from behind… it’s growing on me.

My original name, Jake: A Mom’s Opinion, was inspired by a regular column in Glamour magazine called Jake: A Man’s Opinion.  But I have to say, my interest in that magazine peaked during my freshman year of college and has gone downhill ever since.  Well, unless I’m getting one of my biannual pedicures.  Plus, once I added my dear little Nake, it just didn’t make as much sense anymore.

So it’s been two years and perhaps it’s time for the next evolution of this blog.  I considered just Jake & Nake, but there are two problems with that.  First, I’m assuming, predicting, (hoping?), Nate won’t be Nake forever.  Jake calls him Nake.  Nake calls himself Nake.  But sooner or later it’s going to dawn on them both… and will Teenage Nake roll his eyes and stomp around until I’ve gone back and corrected all the misspellings in my blog?  It’s unclear.  And second?  Ampersands are a problem in the blogosphere.  Jake and Nake just doesn’t look as good.

I’ve also been doing a little mommy blog internet research and have come to a number of conclusions… I’m still formulating these thoughts for an upcoming post.  Still, my browsing has helped me to develop better clarity around what a good blog title should be.  Here’s the list of blog title criteria I’ve come up with:

1. Memorable: You want something that’s going to be easy to remember… and not too long.  It’s an ADHD world, people.

2. Timeless: A good blog name has to grow with you, last through the ages.  I feel like “No It All” is clearly relevant for the preschool years, but also has great potential well into the teen years and beyond.  I mean really, do you ever stop saying no to everything your parents propose?

3. Personal: It’s got to feel personal— you must connect with it.  This is where it may actually achieve an ideal trifecta:  A) My kiddos have perfected their vehement response in the negative.  B) I myself, have been quite the proponent of a good long “noooooooo” since I was, well, 3.  Plus we do a lot of “no’ing” these days.  And C) What’s a blog for than to sermonize to the universe all your most closely held beliefs and observations under a clever double entendre?

4. Original: It’s got to be relatively unique.  You don’t want the same name as thousands of other mommy bloggers out there using some word or phrase built around a mommy word play and alcoholic beverages.  But it also can’t bring up suspicious or immodest results in a Google search.  It looks like this search turns up an amateur band known for their “tone of somber anger” and a website selling “high quality magnets and stickers.”

So I ask my loyal reader, whaddayouthink?

This morning Jacob dictated his first written work to me.  He wants me to print it out for his “My Animals’ Book.”

Little Bonnie lost his friends and couldn’t find them.  And then he found colors.  And then he found them.  And then they played more hide and seek.  And then it was dinner time.  And then they had a sleepover.  They watched a movie.  And ate popcorn.  And then they watched the fireflies and then they catched a butterfly.  And then they went to bed again.

The End

Tonight I got a voicemail on my cell phone during dinner.  I proceeded to listen to it and it was Wells Fargo leaving me a message without, of course, explaining the purpose of the call.  Usually I do not fall for this type of telesales tactic, but then the voice of self-doubt kicks-in.  I paid our mortgage for April, right?  Hmmm.  I don’t normally get cell phone sales calls.  Would they call me if I forgot?  I call Alejandro back.

Good news?  I didn’t forget to pay the mortgage.  Bad news?  I fell right into his “refinance your automotive loan” sales pitch trap.

The night before this call, I was laying in the top bunk with Jake and he tells me he wants to talk about his work.  Surprise, surprise.  He was talking and talking and I found myself spacing out.  It was dark and cozy.  I think the air is thinner up there.  I tune back in and he’s telling me how he has little baby snakes at his work.  SSSSssssss.  They have little rattles.  It’s so cute!  (That’s what he said, not me.)  Then he says, “And Mama, they’re so afraid of creditors.”

“Hmm?  What are they afraid of?”

“Creditors.”

Hmmmm.  Me, too.

On Sunday James made the somewhat rash decision that it’s time to put down the bunk bed ladder.  He had some kind of theory that we’d put the ladder down for 6 months, chaperone the boys for a period of time, and then gradually transition Jake to the top bunk when the novelty wore off.

That night, Jacob begged to sleep up top.  Only one problem.  Well, two problems if you consider the instant transition a problem.  Problem number two is that the top bunk is where we keep all the alcohol, tobacco, firearms, and explosives.  Plus the ladder to access them.

OK, I’ve over-embellished.  It’s where we keep the light sabers, lasso, fishing pole, fishing nets, pointy pirate flag, bows and arrows, and the beach ball.  Access to these items requires demonstration of manners (e.g. Mama, may I have my weapons, please?) and a background check.

So on Monday night I clear off the bunk and Jakey spends his first night at a higher elevation.  I had to stuff Euro-shammed pillows on the side next to the window/wall since we demonstrated that he could in fact fit in the crevice.  James assures me he’ll move the other “fence” up to the top this weekend.

I just re-read the warning message pasted on the top bunk.  Remind me to remind you not to read the warning on your bunk bed.

One of my favorite books to read at night is How do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? by Jane Yolen.  It’s got great 50’s inspired artwork, catchy rhyming lyrics, and it masquerades as a “big” book for those preschoolers seeking to eek out the latest bedtime possible.  Yet, it’s a nice brisk read.  Lots of pictures, a lot less words.  It even came with matching pajamas.

If you’re not familiar, essentially the story rhetorically asks how dinosaurs say goodnight, “Does he mope, does he moan, does he sulk, does he sigh?  Does he fall on the top of his covers and cry?”  (You guessed it… I was able to transcribe this from memory.)  It concludes in the negative, of course.  Dinosaurs just give hugs and kisses and say goodnight calmly, like perfect little reptilian angels.

But one of my favorite aspects is that Jakey hasn’t caught on to the fact that the dinosaurs are metaphorical kids.  That’s what makes the story just sophisticated enough to keep an adult’s attention… after eight hundred readings.

The sequel, or perhaps the prequel, I’m not sure, is called How Do Dinosaurs Say I Love You?  And every night at bedtime, how does my littlest dinosaur say I love you?

“I la lou, Mama.”

Goodnight, goodnight my little dinosaur.

I’m having a hard time understanding how such a significant percentage of the world’s population refutes the concept of evolution.  One morning at my house and the distinct link between humans and monkeys is beyond question.  An infinitesimal mental leap.

Plus, last week at work, a VP accidentally wrote an e-mail and mistakenly copied the wrong distribution list.  The next morning I open my inbox… just another Monday….

Aaaah!  What happened to my inbox?!  There are eighty “reply all” e-mails saying things to the effect of “Take me off this e-mail list.”  “Yes, me, too.  Please remove me.”  Over and over and over.  And over.  Even after e-mails in all caps to STOP THE MADNESS, from the remorseful executive, and others with a brain.  The responses just kept coming.

Somehow this occurs every so often and really, it’s just more rock-solid evidence in support of natural selection.  And our undeniable relation to monkeys.

Or lemmings?

Somehow a thirty minute swim lesson on Saturdays has become the only thing we’re able to accomplish during the first half of our weekend.  There’s something about 11:30am that means we spend the entire morning getting ready to get in the pool,  30 minutes in the pool, and then the entire afternoon sleeping it off.

Meanwhile, I almost forgot to commemorate our latest swimming achievement.

So this past Saturday after his lesson, Coach Justin presents Jacob with a beautiful pink ribbon.  Apparently he passed an invisible test of holding his breath, jumping with a bucket on his head and retrieving bathtub toys.  It was so exciting!  Justin was beaming!  Jacob was beaming!  I was beaming!  He’s moved from Guppy to Seahorse.  We didn’t even know he was a Guppy and that Seahorse was even within our grasp.

It appears Nate is a Barnacle.  Seriously.

Our front lawn is currently experiencing a bit of a crisis, and I’m pretty sure I know why.  It’s become a jungle of dandelions.

Or should I say… dandelilons?

I hope he’s wishing for new landscaping.

Speaking of Dr. Antsy, I was recently reminded of a conversation I had with Jacob months and months ago.  We were laying in the bottom bunk and I was trying to give him advice of some kind or another (I have no idea about what… I’m hoping to get through to him while he’s still young and impressionable).  Anyway, to add some level of credibility and weight to my argument, I told him I’d read this piece of advice and that a doctor had written it (this was true, really).

Some way or another I said the doctor was a he.

“What?  He?  Mama, doctors can’t be mans.”  (He left the “Silly Mama” off the end, but he totally meant it.)

“Huh?  You think doctors can’t be men?”

“Doctors are ga-wols.”

“Because Doc McStuppins is a girl?”  Doc McStuffins is a cartoon about a little girl who takes care of her sick stuffed animals and whose mom is a doctor.  “And because Dr. Antsy is a girl?”

“Yeah.  Doctors are ga-wols.”

How could I argue with that?  I just finished Sheryl Sandberg’s latest book, Lean In.  If you don’t know, she’s the COO of Facebook and basically Silicon Valley royalty.  Her book is a bit of a modern-day feminist manifesto.

I think Sheryl would like this story…  I know I do.