wild*life

And to thee who are eager to bring forth thine own progeny, the holy one proclaimed, “Get used to it.”

Book of Jaimie 1:15-11

A submission from Uncle Geoff:

For 40 Days and 40 Nights the plague descended upon the House of Purnell…

And the Lord did punish them for they had obviously disregarded the Sabbaths while in Yosemite.

For nay that they were pious, the Lord was displeased that they had worshiped false idols like scary looking snowmen with weird shaped heads.

On the second week of death, they prayed for Locusts, Flooding, or a break from the never ending Orange Juice that had not delivered relief.

And they were exiled from their circle of friends and co-workers.

And then the Arch Angel Lynn appeared and prescribed a magical potion…and the sores receded.  And peace returned to the flock.

For now they knew the one true power…Jakey Snot…and they did bow before it.  And they did respect it as a supernatural force beyond mere explanation.

Book of Geoff 12:25

What does it feel like to be 8 months pregnant?

I’d say it feels like eating the biggest Thanksgiving dinner you’ve ever eaten.  And then swallowing a pineapple.  Whole.  And then, the pineapple somehow, miraculously (or freakishly) comes alive… perpetually squirming and fidgeting.

And even though you couldn’t feel any more full, you’re then struck by the fact that you actually, unfathomably, feel hungry.

I am a personal cradle.
A mommy treehouse, a bed railing, a custom pillow.
I am a human elevator.
A pack mule, A lunch wagon, a jungle gym.
I am a deluxe chair.
An electric toothbrush, a waste management specialist, a personal assistant.
I am not a horsey.
I’m not.

I’m behind on my produce blogging… and who can believe that as I write about little Baby Jicama, they have little baby hiccups.  Jicamups?

I’d say it’s been six weeks, at most, since we introduced the concept of Santa.  This is truly a nanosecond in comparison to other concepts such as not hitting, not throwing, and go back to sleep.

Jacob sees Santa ev-ree-where.  He can spot him a mile away.  He sees miniature Santa ornaments on “frisfris frees.”  He spots teenagers sporting Old Navy outfits, topped by Santa hats.  On TV, in catalogs, on neighborhood lawns… it seems Santa is the most recognizable man in Jakey’s life.

Frankly, James is genuinely incensed that Jake frequently gets the answer wrong when presented with a picture of his daddy.

Last night we had Melissa, Nate and Baby Charlotte over for dinner.  Charlotte is just 10 weeks old and absolutely beautiful.  Jake was doing really well saying her name, “Charlotte, Baby Charlotte.”  It was really cute.

Then toward the end of dinner, he’s looking at me and he says, “Charlotte, Charlet, toilet.  Toilet.  Potty.  Potty, Mama.”  I could see where this was going… redirect.  Redirect.

Last night during bath time we were playing with the “numbers, numbers.”  He shows me the “L”.

“Shoe, Mama, shoe.”  Huh.  That serif type font does look like a leg with a shoe.  I definitely need to work on my creativity.

In October I noticed Jake was starting to get a little pushy.  I mean, pushier than usual.  Perhaps physically ambitious is a better descriptor.

On the airplane to DC, he took my hand and used it to make the window shade go up and down.  Then he started grabbing my arms and pulling me toward whatever object he wanted me to manipulate.  He physically attempts to push my entire body across the room, off my (“his”) chair, out of his way in the shower.  Even with my new found baby heft, he’s surprisingly strong, and painfully persistent.

I’ve spent most of my Christmas vacation on the floor… playing, wrestling, tickling, reading.  “Sit here, sit here, Mama.”  As he pats the spot where I’m supposed to sit.   “Reach it, reach it.”  “Get it, get it.”  He likes to take my face and turn it, “Look, Mama, look.”  I am supposed to carry him around while he points out our intended destination, “This way, this way.”  I’m really just a big life size doll for him to maneuver.

Over the last few days I mostly hear, “Pay, Mama, pay.”  Then he  pats the floor or pulls me off the couch toward his toys.

At this stage, hoisting the little puppeteer around and spending the majority of the day playing on the floor is beginning to take its toll…

“OK, Mama can pay.  How much for a nap?  One for you and one for me?”

We’ve encountered a strange phenomenon with our little Chatty Cathy (not sure what the boy version would be… Chatty Chester?)  In any case, words that were perfectly pronounced in the beginning, have transformed, sometimes in dramatically (and potentially offensive) ways.

A sampling of the vocabulary metamorphosis:

ball -> baseball -> balls (now always plural)
doggie -> goggie
cookie -> kooky (long o’s)
chicken -> cheeken (Maybe influenced by his Spanish speaking teachers?)
yummy -> nummy
ducky -> cocky
kee kat -> tee tat
dada -> da-ya -> grandma -> damn-a (this means both grandma & granddad)
truck -> f*@k

That last one is becoming increasingly problematic… as someone now likes to yell it at the top of his lungs at every passing vehicle.