wild*life

Mickey Mouse is taking over my life.

It’s a little fuzzy, but I do remember life before Mickey.  Probably about a year ago I was at the Uffs’ house and the older kids wanted to watch some show I’d never heard of: Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  I wasn’t really paying attention, but I distinctly remember this song that went “Hot Dog, Hot Dog, Hot Diggity Dog…” (http://tmbw.net/wiki/Lyrics:Hot_Dog!)  I figured it was just a song made up for that particular episode (alas, I was mistaken).  It was horrible and of course, the hook was so strong that my brain replayed it all night long and into the next morning.  I remember smugly thinking, “Oh, thank goodness we don’t watch this Mickey Mouse nightmare at my house.  Not going to happen.”

Ha!

Whenever you find yourself thinking a self-satisfied thought about parenting, be prepared to eat your words… for breakfast, lunch, and snack time.

Someone (throat clearing) has programmed the Tivo to capture Handy Manny and Special Agent Oso… which apparently play ten times a day because anytime I’m trying to watch something, the TV hijacks my show and goes straight to the Disney channel.  It’s driving me freakin’ mouskacrazy.

The following statement poses a high risk of me being disowned by my in-laws, but there’s just something about blogging that requires you to confess your deepest, darkest thoughts: I’ve never been into Mickey.  Ever.  Please forgive me!  I don’t know if it’s his little girl voice or his tight black jeggings?  We just never hit it off.  I’m more of a Donald Duck gal.

And now Mickey Mouse Clubhouse has cemented our relationship divide.  Meeska Mooska Mickey Mouse?  Mousekedoer?  We got ears, say cheers?  We’re splitting the scene, we’re full of beans?  Oh toodles?  There’s just too much to comment on so all I’ll say is: Oh toooooodles kind of sounds like tools, but not really.  Not at all actually.

Before he was even two years old, Jake was riding in the car with his dad and exclaimed, “Daddy look!  Mickey Mouse, on the bus, right there!”  And of course he’s more inclined to wear his overnight diaper because it features his favorite Mousekedoer.

My MBA program seemed to be a three year study of Southwest Airlines with a brief mention of Disney.  I want my money back.  Any company that can develop this kind of brand recognition and loyalty, before the age of two, deserves more air time in graduate student classrooms and corporate conference rooms.

Meeskegibberish.  Mooskecrazy.  Mouskebillions.

In the fashion world, black goes with everything.  Its versatility is infamous, timeless.  At our house… “want” is the new black.  It burst onto the scene just under two weeks ago, and like that LBD, its adaptability is irresistible. It goes with everything.  Everything.

I want it.  I want this.  I want that.  I want car.  I want in the bed.  I want in the outside.  I want hold you Baby Nake.  I want down.  I want touch it.  I want baba.  I want banana.  I want grapes.  I want (insert anything a two-year-old should not touch).

Tonight, I overheard the following conversation between Jake and his dad.

“I want that.”

“What?  This wine?”

“Yes, I want wine.

“Wine is for grown-ups.”

“I want grown-up.”

This morning I was waking-up and drinking my “hot tea” and Jake was playing with his pretend food.

Jacob: “Mama, dinnertime.”

Mama: “Mmmmm.  What’s for dinner?”

Jacob: “Breakfast!”

There’s a new phrase on the scene, “I did already.”  Its versatility and applicability to almost any parent-produced question is quite remarkable.

Q: Jakey, do you want to use the potty?
A: I did already.

Q: Jacob, let’s go wash hands.
A: I did already.  Mama, I did already.

Q: JJ, brush teeth time.
A: I did already.

If he’s done it before… three weeks ago, maybe once in his life… then “he did already.”

Yesterday was the first time Natesy said something to me.  Some little ooh’s and aah’s.  As Jake would put it, “Baby Nake say?  Baby Nake say?  See him!  See him.”

Hearing Nathaniel’s voice just melts my heart.

Last night James had used our handled wire mesh strainer to drain something while making dinner.  Jakey got one look at it in the bottom of the sink and declared, “Butterflies!  I catch it!”

We took the “butterfly net” outside and he spent at least an hour swinging it around.  We couldn’t find any butterflies, but fortunately the setting sun illuminated lots of little bugs.  In between his jumping, posing, forehand swings and karate-like stances, the butterfly net also makes a great helmet.

Today’s Nate’s 1 month birthday!  He is just the sweetest little baby.  This week he has found his smile.  It is so cute, but too fleeting for me to capture.

In other news, he’s already losing his hair.  Baby pattern baldness.   I’d say Jake’s baldness served him quite well… winning friends and influencing people.

His hair willl be back, in 18 months or so.

When you’re in your thirties, you think you know yourself.  And then you find you live with a two-year-old.

It began with our car.  I went to Jake’s school to pick him up at the end of the day and he fought me like a warrior when it came to getting into his car seat.  Then, in between screams, he pointed to the front passenger seat and sobbed, “Mama, seat down chair!  Seat down chair! Daddy’s car.  Daaaaddy’s caaaaaar…”  So, as I had suspected when I became a Caltrain regular, I’ve lost all rights to a car that was originally “mine.”  Jake did not want me driving Daddy’s car.  It clearly was upsetting the world order for me not to be riding in “my” seat.  And making the highly compelling argument of “Who’s going to drive the car?” had absolutely no discernible effect.  Now I make it a point to chauffeur Daddy around to prove that it’s Mama’s car, too.  There has been a marked improvement.

Then one night I was drinking water out of a glass that I got from a tour at Gordon Biersch.  It has a silhouette of a stout man and the tag line: Never trust a skinny brewer.  I guess I never actually use this glass as it sent Jake into a conniption, “Daddy’s glass!  Daddy’s glass!”  What exactly is mine little Mr. Possession Policeman?

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.  A few days later, Daddy was drying off with a white towel. “Mama’s towel… Mama’s tooooowel!”  (Really, crying over a towel?)  Apparently, unbeknownst to us, Mommy always uses a white towel and Daddy always uses a dark brown towel.

I wonder what else we haven’t noticed about ourselves?  I’m going to try and build-up my cred in expensive artwork and jewelry… Daddy can have trash cans, diaper pails and laundry.

When asked by his teachers what Baby Nate looks like, Jake replied, “Cute.”

As most people know, we have yet another kid.  No, not as in human child… as in baby goat.  I didn’t think it was possible that we could produce another youngster we would be inclined to call Goat Boy, but, alas, it is true.

When we brought Baby Jakey home, I had read all sorts of things about the newborn sleeping in our room for months before he would graduate to his crib.  I don’t know exactly how long we endured the incessant little goat noises, but I don’t think it was more than three weeks.  My neighbor Karen gave us some of the best advice on parenting we’ve received to date, “Kick him out!”

He moved to his own room and fortunately, the baby monitor was not precise enough to transmit the grunting, baaaing, squeaking and bleating.  We all slept better.

I remember James googling “baby sounds like a goat” and finding numerous parents with the same challenge.  The vast resources of the internet provided no tangible explanations or solutions, but it did bring us solace knowing we were not alone with our barnyard baby.  There are all sorts of parents posting comments and questions about infants that sound like goats, sheep, grizzly bears, dogs, pigs, and even Chewbacca.

So, Baby Nate is our newest little Goat Boy.  James begged me to spend $72 on Amazon yesterday for another “kid” camera that is compatible with our existing set-up.  I’d venture to say little Billy Goat Gruff’s bedside days are numbered…