wild*life

Every morning Jakey plays with me while I drink one cup of hot tea.  It’s one of the best parts of my day.

The other day I had my laptop out and he points to the keypad.

“There’s a mouse in der Mama.  A mouse in the computer.”

“Ahhh, yes.  I’ve heard that.”

“What’s this Mama?”  He asks as he points to the little eraser-like thing in the middle of the keys.

“Hmmm.  I don’t know, what do you think that is?”

“A mousetrap.”

Makes sense to me…

Yesterday was Baby Nate’s very first half birthday!

I can hardly believe that I’ve been blogging since Jake’s first half birthday… almost exactly two years ago.  I owe Natesy a longing look at a Kara’s cupcake this weekend to celebrate… I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t like it anyway.  Over the last two days he’s had his first pears and his first bananas.  Both have caused gagging and shuddering… honestly, he shudders like a spider just ran down his back.  I think he even squints one eye when he does it.  It’s the best.  I forgot how fun baby food experimentation can be.

A s’mores cupcake at Kara’s…I think his eyes shut as the lady was handing me my change… such a different baby this time around!

Yesterday as we were driving, Jakey pointed out a “taxi car.”

“Look, a taxi car right there!”

“Oh yeah.  Looks like there’s a cowboy driving it.  Two out of three taxi cabs are gross Jacob. GroW-Os!”  James says this as he is reminded of a taxi ride in the city where he once got the entire back of his white shirt soaked in something brown as we were headed to our favorite pizza place in the mission.  We are committed to it being coffee.  Yes, definitely coffee.

“Kinky!”

“Kinky?!  Yes, I guess you could call some taxi rides kinky…”  At least in the movies.

“Peeeeeeeeeeeee-Youuuuuuuu!  Yu-cky!”

“Oh, yes.  Stinky!  A gross taxi car is stinky.”

Phew.  Jake’s vocabulary has exploded, but I wasn’t quite ready yet for kinky.

On top of the carpet,
All covered with toys,
I lost my baby meatball,
When watching my boys.

Nate rolled off the rug,
On to the wood floor,
And then my sweet meatball,
Rolled onto all fours.

He rolled onto his back,
And back onto his tummy,
And then my little meatball,
Laughed at his mommy.

Most people don’t know this, but I have a sister.  And her name is Jennifer Anne.

No, neither of my parents committed some unknown indiscretion you were previously unaware of.  In fact, Jennifer Anne and I adopted each other as spiritual sisters many many years ago during a highly eventful summer vacation to the famously uneventful location of Downieville, California.  She is totally the best sister I’ve ever had.

One thing about Jennifer Anne–she has always claimed to like the smell of skunks.  I know.  I’ve always been a bit skeptical myself.  But, she says they smell good…

And then I met my firstborn biological son.  Everywhere we go, when you’re least expecting it, he gets a very serious look on his little face and starts making sniffing sounds.  Then he says, “I ‘pell someting.  I ‘pell someting, Mama.”  (That would be “I smell something.”)

And of course I’m obliged to ask, “What do you smell Jakey?”

“A ‘kunk!”  (That would be “A skunk!”)

I’m not sure if we’ve actually smelled a real skunk on any of these occasions, but it always makes me laugh.  And reminds me of my dear spiritual sister dancing with a seventh grade boyscout in a Downieville community hall to “Hotel California” while using hand signals to pantomime another offensive smell: B.O. 

They’re rebuilding the school around the corner from our house.  It’s quite exciting as it involves giant piles of dirt and lots of big tractors and backhoes and other heavy equipment.  Every time we drive by in the car Jake asks, “Where the tractors go?  I want to drive it.”  The only reason we’ve been able to come up with for why Jake can’t actually drive these tractors is because we can’t find the keys.  “Where the key go?”

Apparently James and Jake saw a tractor being hauled on a trailer as they were driving home from school.  Jake asked, “Daddy, where the tractor go?”

James answered, “I don’t know.  Where do you think that tractor is going?”

“To dirt.  Big dirt.”

Way back at Easter is when we ended up with a small supply of “treats.”  The carrot jellybeans, otherwise known as Reese’s Pieces, became a handy dandy tool in our parenting arsenal.  We are not above bribing… or as psychologists like to call it: positive reinforcement.

In order to start down that path of someday living a diaper-free life, Jake gets “treats” for using the potty.  So far, it has worked pretty well, though we have definitely encountered many nights of complete disinterest.  One day I noticed my supply of treats was getting surprisingly low, despite being in one of these disinterested phases.

“Uh, James… are you eating all of Jakey’s treats?”

“Maybe…”

“But those are for Jacob!  If you eat them then I’ll have nothing to reward him with.”

“Well, I like treats.  I use the potty every day.”

Hmmmm.  So do I.  Pass me some of those treats.

Our friend Andy totally jinxed us.  We had dinner together exactly four weeks ago and he asks, “So, have you hit the ‘Why Stage’ yet?”

You have to go back and reread that last sentence but with an English accent.  There, now it’s like you were actually there…

I replied, “Nope.  I can only imagine.”

Exactly seven days later Jake had asked “Why” no less than eight million times in a 24 hour period.  He kept saying, “Me?  Why?”

Actually, Jakey, I think the question is “Why, me?”

This weekend at the Lemos Farm pony rides, the goats tried to eat Jakey’s cowboy hat off his head.  You’ll have to ask him to tell you the story.  You may be wondering why his cowboy hat looks so big.  That’s because that used to be Mama’s cowboy hat. 

Yesterday I was asking Jacob about his foray into elliptical equestrian excursions.  He took two forsey rides, the first one’s name was Cherokee.  Except it was tooled into a little leather tag on his saddle as “Cherekee.”  The second one’s name will become apparent momentarily…

“Jakey, what did you ride yesterday?”

“A forsey!”

“Yes, a horsey.  What’s a little horsey called?  Is it called a pony?  A little horsey is called a pony.”

“No, I ride a BIG one.  A BIG horsey.  A big GIANT one.”

“Oh yes.  You did ride a big one.  What was the big horsey’s name?”

“PeeWee!”

When I was little, I was never much of a “breakfast for dinner” kid.  I was more of a “dinner for breakfast” kid.  But now that I’m an adult who has to think of quick, nutritious, delicious meals on a nightly basis, I am definitely pro eggs and toast every now and then.  Before Jake came along, I was not above milk and cereal as an under-appreciated evening entree.

Speaking of firsts and dinners… tonight Nate had his very first bowl of milk and rice baby cereal.  He seemed a bit perplexed, but approached it as an eager novice.  Not even any funny gagging.  He even tried to control the spoon which I took as a good sign.