wild*life

I’d say we can officially declare Jacob fluent in English.  Well, I probably should have declared it at least two months ago— consider this declaration retroactive.

Now I know the technical distinctions of fluency and the hazards identified by bilingual educators.  Essentially adults can be mislead into thinking kids are fluent because they speak perfectly from a colloquial perspective, yet aren’t truly fluent academically.

Blah.  BlahBlah.  Blah.  Blah.  My version of fluent is that he speaks in complete paragraphs with all the little words that string thoughts together like a, the, to and actually.  He uses words like difficult.  Shoe horn.  There’s a lot of talk about his binoculars, leaf blowers and astronauts.  I can’t really think of all the things he’s been saying lately that have given me pause… but I’ll take better notes and get back to you.

So, I was under the impression we’d reached the state of fluency until a few weeks ago when we went to the San Francisco zoo.  I think this was our third trip and it was great fun, as always.  The first part is an African savannah where they have the most beautiful giraffes and Jakey asks, “Where are the beehawks?  Last time, there were beehawks.”  James and I looked at each other.  It has been a really long time since Jake has said anything to us that is totally incomprehensible.

“What are you talking about?  Ostriches?  Gazelles?”

“No, the beehawks.”

We let it pass.  Then maybe 30 minutes later we were winding our way through an area that seems to be random “open space” at the zoo.

“Look Mama, a beehawk!  Two of ’em.”

Peacocks.  Mystery solved.

And then about two weekends ago we’re driving in the car and Jake is rattling off stories in the back seat.  He tells me “Indians poke buffalos with troll bones.”

“What?  What are you saying?  Did you say ‘troll bones’?”

“Yes, Indians.  They poke buffalos with their troll bones.”

“I’m definitely not familiar with that.  Where did you learn this?”

“At Granddad’s house.”

For two weeks I’ve been hoping I’d discover that “troll bones” was some sort of mispronunciation of some other concept that wasn’t quite as disturbing.

It turns out he really does mean troll bones.

Natesy’s going through that phase where all of a sudden, he’s got an opinion.  And my does he have one.  What, Jaimie, your child has an opinion?  How shocking!  I know, I know… they say it skips a generation.

On the surface, our little Prince of Wails seems to have it pretty easy.  For example, when he drinks his bottle in the morning and before bedtime, he fusses and pushes it back at you until you hold it for him.  No, we don’t fan him with palm fronds… though I’m sure he’d like it.  This week it seems he’s finally holding it with his own hands… perhaps his new found autonomy is about to pay-off.  (Yes, Dr. Antsy told us to switch to a sippy cup at 1, and no, little Mr. Baby Boss just isn’t having it.)

The other day I heard James reply to the incessant complaining, “I know.  Your life is SO hard.”  Believe me, the whining and carrying on doesn’t bring out the best in any of us.

And then I got to thinking… how hard is Nathaniel’s life?  On the surface it seems like it’s all catered meals, chauffeurs, and sponge baths.  But let’s take a moment, just a moment, to indulge the prince…

Is it easy to fall down and hoist yourself back up hundreds of times a day?  The ground, the walls, the furniture—constantly changing and unapologetically knocking you to the floor.  Doors close in your face, pinch your fingers, and otherwise incarcerate you at every turn.  Every day you encounter cupboards that open just enough so you can see but not reach the tempting treasures inside.  Getting shirts over a disproportionate head represents significant panic and probable fashion suffocation.  Everything good is up high.  Everything.  No control, no decision-making authority, a tongue that refuses to cooperate, and everyone on earth seems to be in a position to tell you what you don’t want to hear.

See?  Being royalty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

This morning Nate Dogg turned on the radio in his room and held his own dance party.  Natesy’s dancing consists of four moves: the right foot stomp, step forward-step back, twirling, and his signature head nod.

The song?  “You Down Wit’ OPP.”

Yeah you know me.

Recently I asked Super Jake if anybody else in his class comes to school in costume.

“Nope.”

That’s my boy.

Jake is a lefty… just like his daddy and Grandma.  Papa is itching to get him into baseball.  Jakey’s into anything that involves throwing, hitting or kicking.  And I’d say he’s got a pretty good shot at being a bona fide athlete.

Now Nate.  We don’t know Nate’s handedness yet, but we do know this one’s got uncanny coordination.  His walk is still a bit Frankensteinesque, but he’s scaling furniture and fixtures Jake has just mastered recently.  Nathaniel has always known how to get down from the couch and bed safely (feet first) without the hours of training we poured into his brother.  I’ve seen him leap onto the high chair and “sail” it across the kitchen.  If Papa’s looking for a baseball protege, he’s got one already prepping for the pitching mound.

Today I scolded him for throwing books.  Throwing blocks.  Throwing horses (at Luke).  Throwing sippy cups.  Throwing bunnies.  And thinking about throwing gas stations.  Not only does he have a mean one-handed fastball, but also a crushing two-handed overhead hurl.  He’s been clocked at 98, easy.

This week James noticed an uncommon silence… only to find Nate poised with the MacBook at the apex of his signature two-handed pitch.

James has been awarded MVP for a remarkable diving catch.

i love
impossibly long eyelashes &
drooldrops &
hand dimples &
towheaded curls &
cheeks like cha siu bao &
enviable lips &
rubber band wrists &
sunlight through little ears &
square feet in round shoes &
big bashful eyes &
those thighs &
you

i love
almond eyes &
straight dark lashes &
sandy curls &
an upturned nose &
matching toes &
dramatic expressions &
apple cheeks &
perfect ears &
little creased chins &
irresistible grins &
you

Yesterday I caught Nate moving the toilet paper roll from the holder on the wall to the back of the toilet tank.  That’s what his daddy does so he can’t reach it.

Tonight we went to dinner at my favorite gourmet food court: San Pedro Square Market.  One time during a semi-meltdown, the guy at the Vietnamese spot actually got Jake to smile, via chicken on a toothpick.  Of course he remembered us the next time we came back and now Jacob only eats Vietnamese.

So tonight we went out for dinner and sat in our usual spot.  After dinner Jake and Daddy went to visit the men’s room.  I’m told the following exchange took place:

Jacob: “Ooooh, who made it so STINKY in here?”
Guy washing his hands at the sink: “I was wondering the same thing.”

Funny enough, the guy in the stall elected not to come out.

It’s May.  Wouldn’t you know, I’ve been meaning to write about Halloween?  Last October marked our third Shasta Halloween.  We got about 450 trick-or-treaters, which was way down from 2010.  I think the problem, or perhaps the financial upside, was that it fell on a Monday.

Jake was a lion, of course.  And Baby Nate was a tiger, a zebra and a lion, for various reasons I can no longer clearly remember.  I think it was one part Mommy indecision and at least two parts scratchy costume rejection.  Daddy was Handy Manny.  I was a lion tamer.

It was the first time Jacob discovered what Halloween was really about.  The year before he didn’t realize we were handing out candy… that was amazing.  Anyway, I’ll never forget this past year when we took JJ to Pat and Clarence’s house next door for his first trick-or-treating encounter.  Pat held the basket of candy out and there was an awkward moment where Jacob wasn’t quite sure what to do… Do I take some candy?  Is she offering me the basket?  His little optimistic self went with the latter.  It still makes me smile.

We spent a good half hour taking him around the neighborhood, coaxing him to approach our scary neighbors (the guy with the life size Harry and the Henderson Bigfoot head still sticks in my mind).  He would startle and jump back as creepy costumed kids passed us on the sidewalk while Natesy just hung out, dressed as the typical strolling zebra.

Halloween sparked Jakey’s enduring interest in the Big Bad Wolf.  And it began the last seven months of wardrobe changes, or as I’m sure he’d call it: Costume R&D.  Each morning his classmates may be greeted by a cowboy, a Giant (the baseball kind), Super Jake (the cape kind), an engineer (the choo choo kind), Fireman Jake (just the boots), Jake the Knight and of course, the always menacing lion.