wild*life

Recently Jake and James discovered free books on the iPad.  I’m not sure exactly how they chose the two stories they downloaded, but most nights we now listen to strange versions of Goldilocks and The Princess and the Pea.  I say “strange” because they seem to have changed the stories just enough to have avoided copyright infringement.  What throws me off is that Papa Bear’s bed is too hard and Mama Bear’s bed is “too soft and white.”  I do have to say, the stories on the iPad are really cool.  They have embedded puzzles and sounds and my favorite thing in Goldilocks is that if I touch this pot several times it cracks, cracks, cracks and then shatters into pieces.  There’s something quite satisfying about breaking cyber-ceramics.

So back to my story.  These days, the bedtime negotiation consists of limiting the number of “stories on the iPad” in addition to regular books, and the latest addition to Jakey’s negotiation arsenal: “I want you to tell me a story with your mouth.”

This last one is the toughest as every good tale needs a plot, but I also have to be careful of duration as laying down in the bunkbeds is like shooting me with a tranquilizer gun.  This week I’ve told several “princess stories with my mouth.”  A few nights ago I made up a story about Prince William and Princess Kate.  Tonight I exercised a little creative license and made sure Cinderella didn’t marry Prince Charming till after she finished college.

Should I have upped it to grad school?  Nah, you’re probably right… I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the believability of the story.

It was approximately a year ago when Jake’s previous classroom devolved, as James describes it, into Lord of the Flies.  Ultimately the problem seemed to be too many kids, a disproportionate age spread, and perhaps a tad too much “free play.”  Every day I would encourage Jake to keep his feelings in check and every evening I would ask, with a bit of trepidation, “How was school today?”  Jacob would squint his big eyes, raise his chin and with a wide grin he would say, “Mama, nooooo bitiiiiiiiiiing!”

It’s now a year later and fortunately, the majority of his incident reports have documented him as the hapless victim.  Now my morning pep talks and casual evening inquiries are more along the lines of speaking up and developing an authentic interest in clean skivvies.  He squints his big eyes, raises his chin and with a wide grin proclaims, “Nooooo accidents!”  We’ve just had a great five day record.

Then last week there were several days where he came home and his face had been scrubbed pink.  There was some snippet of feedback about markers… I didn’t give it much thought.  But then, then Jacob was written up for hiding under a table and coloring all over his face.  The incident report read:  Jacob took some markers away from the writing area.  Jacob hid under a table and colored his face with the markers.  The marks on his face did not come off with water or lotion.  Please remind Jacob to use the markers in room 4 with paper.

I guess it was some kind of art “incident.”  Of course his rationale did not in fact shed light on this episode.  Frankly, I think when you’re three it’s just fun to rebel and experiment with self-inflicted body art.

In any case, my morning inspirational heart-to-hearts continue to evolve, weaving in subtle encouragement and at times, blatant directives.  At work they call this “Situational Leadership.”  Last week’s after school powwows had Jakey squinting his big eyes, raising his chin and with a wide grin announcing, “Nooooo accidents today.  And I didn’t draaaw on my faaaaace!”

We’ve suddenly noticed Nate talks.  I mean, we’ve known he says things,  but now all of a sudden, I think he’s saying lots of things.  Here’s a little cheat sheet, in case you find yourself in a deep discussion with our littlest conversationalist:

Mama = Mama

Dada = Dada

Mo = More.  When repeated over and over can sound indistinguishable from Mama and thus may be contributing to an overabundance of talking and an under-abundance of listening… MomoMamaMomoMama!

My = Mine.  Always uttered desperately when someone is trying to yank something out of his hands.  Again, Myyyyy can start to sound a lot like Mo and Mama, but I think it’s definitely different.

Baba = Bottle

Ba ba = Ball.  He totally understands,”Nate, go get your ball.”  Whenever I say this he whips his head around, smiles, goes to get his ball and then holds it in the air, laughs mischievously and bounces it.  Repeat.

Bye bye = Says this and waves.  Sometimes I catch him waving when we say other “b” words.

Agua = Water.  Miss Dulce’s charges always request agua.  I love this.

I think I’ve mentioned something about Nate and climbing… If my kids were goats, Jakey is a farm goat and Natesy is a mountain goat.

Every time we turn around, Nate has figured out how to climb up something we’d previously considered “safe.”  We find him standing on the coffee table, standing on the couch, and standing on the ottoman to try and reach forbidden toys that Jake has hidden on the mantel.  He’s always hanging from counters by his fingertips.  Pushing things over so he can scale up them to look out windows.  He’s been much more vertically predisposed than horizontally inclined.  Perhaps that’s what happens when you find you’re the shortest— you continuously strive for higher ground.

I’ve been thinking of writing a new Broadway musical… Toddler on the Roof.  One of the most memorable numbers goes something like this:

Messmaker, Messmaker,
Make me a mess,
Climbing inclined,
Yell in distress
Messmaker, Messmaker
Don’t give me that smirk,
Climb down and acquiesce.

Messmaker, Messmaker,
Stay away from the mail,
The floor was once clean,
It’s not a tall tale.
Who said you could have, a toy throwing spree?
The king of all debris!

It’s just a start, but it’s kind of catchy, huh?

At one point Jakey was trilingual.  At least in the case of one word: mo.  He could express the word “more” in English, Spanish, and his own version of American Sign Language.

I wonder what the odds are for two babies, born two years apart, to have the same first word?  Mama and Dada are expected, but “more”?  It’s not even in the top 15 most common first words.

Even more importantly, what are the odds that said two babies would both use the exact same inaccurate sign language motion for “more”?  At school there are no teachers who will fess up to teaching any sign language.  Miss Dulce mentioned a Spanish song with hand motions, but it hasn’t solved the mystery.

Natesy points his right index finger into the palm of his left hand while uttering “mo, mo.”  As I previously reported, this is the sign for “you owe me.”

Dining room déjà vu.

Jacob has kind of an interesting accent… and its origins are fairly murky.  I have a hard time replicating it in writing, but I always notice it when he’s talking.  It comes out not only in his pronunciation, but also in his use of the various parts of speech.

It’s especially prevalent when it comes to pronouns.  He says things like, “Nake’s looking for him toy,” or “Mama, Nake’s crying in him bed” or “Why her naked?” (if a lady runs by in a sports bra).

Then last night, James and I watched the Bob Marley documentary.  Must-have music, must-miss documentary.  But we did finally find a clue to the puzzling pronouns of Jakey Patois.

For example, here’s a Jamaican parable: Cow nevva know de use of him tail till him lose it.

It was truly an aha moment… must have picked it up during his Rastafarian phase.  Yeah mon.

Tonight at the dinner table, Jakey told me his very first joke:

Mama, what do cats say when they get hurt?
Meeeoooooouch.

It was hilarious.  Guess you had to be there.

Admittedly, I’ve always been unsympathetic to what I’ll call Mom Frump.  Jeans with white Reeboks.  Scrunchies.  Headbands.  You’ve seen their pictures in Glamour magazine—  unsuspecting moms sporting fashion faux pas and black bars over their eyes.  Just because you have kids doesn’t mean you grab your appliqued sweatshirt, slip-on your Crocs and leave the house, right?

Wrong.  I’d like to issue an apology:

Dearest frumpy moms,

My sincerest apologies for spending the majority of my life, up until this point, judging your fashion choices without thought, empathy or understanding.  I silently disdained your overabundant accessories, your pilly sweaters, your ill-fitting outfits, and your expired trends.

And then I had two little boys.  And I found myself with infinitesimal time, money and patience.  I consciously pined for my TV.  I spent more on daycare in a year than the U.S. median annual income.  And over the course of 4 years and 2 pregnancies, I found it almost impossible to predict when I could buy “real” clothes again.  I wondered when I was supposed to go shopping?  No one wants to stay home, and yet no one can manage the agony that is being trapped in a dressing room.  Online, you say?  If I can muster the energy to open my laptop during the 60 minutes of free time I might piece together at the end of the day.

And in the last year I’ve mixed colors in combinations I’m too embarrassed to repeat.  I tell myself I’m just emulating JCrew, but in my heart, I know my standards have declined.  I’m not proud.  It appeared to match when I got dressed in the dim light of my closet at 5:30 this morning.  Really.  My sleep-deprived friends confess to wearing mismatched socks.  I slap on mascara and lip gloss in under 30 seconds, otherwise a certain 3-year-old must apply eyeshadow to his forehead.  So:

Here’s to the Frumpy Ones.  The soccer moms.  The WoMos.  The minivan owners.  The women who used to carry Coach and now drive one.

The ones who sport a wet ponytail.  They’re not fond of spaghetti, but it gets the job done.  You can snap their picture, disparage them, celebrate, or pity them.  About the only thing you can’t do is compete with them.  Because they keep the world running.  They push the miniature human race forward.  And while some may see them as the frumpy ones, I see brilliance.  Because the moms who are crazy enough to think they can raise amazing children— are the ones who do.

Every night at bedtime we have an elaborate routine that begins with bath time and ends with “talking yes-ter-day.”  Talking yesterday is basically going over what we did yesterday.  The last few nights Jake has changed it up and now likes me to tell him a story and then he reciprocates.  His requests have been primarily for Goldilocks and Little Red Riding Hood.  I must admit I take a bit of creative license, as does he.  Jakey does a mesmerizing rendition of Little Miss Muffet:

Little Miss Muffet
sat on her tuffet
eating her muffin and coffee…

On Sunday we went to Jakey’s friend Brady’s third birthday party at the Children’s Discovery Museum.  It was all about dinosaurs, those little roll-up party horns and unnatural colors of frosting.  After we got hopped-up on sugar and paraphernalia dinosauria, we decided to check-out the museum.

Jake’s favorite stop was at the wheel of a real fire engine.  Nate’s favorite stop was the “no shoes” infant climbing room with carpeted ramps, steps and plexiglass walls.  He was so emboldened by his ability to speed around the baby maze that for a few short seconds, he forgot his fears, limitations and negative self-talk and took at least 8 steps in a row… before noticing that he was walking… thus crashing back to earth (well, not really crashing as Nate is highly coordinated and really just adeptly lowers himself back to a kneeling position).

I wonder how many kids can say they discovered walking at the Discovery Museum?  There’s an ad campaign in here somewhere…