No It All

Last night at dinner we were playing our usual game of Quiz Jakey.

“Jacob, who’s that?”

“Dada.”

“That’s right.  Good job!  Who am I?”

“Mama.”

“Yes!  Mama.  Who are you?”

“Joe!”

Huh?…

His obsession with phones began early.  As soon as he could take his little pointer finger and scroll… scroll.  First the TV remote was a phone.  One of my cedar shoe trees has found new life as a phone.  The baby monitor and the real phone are clear handset stand-ins; pretty much anything can be held up to one ear, “i-Yo!”  (Translation: Hello)

But, one phone has truly reigned supreme… apparently even 1-year olds cannot resist the irresistible design and once revolutionary user interface of the iPhone.  Love at first site.

After a near disasterous SIM card incident with Dada’s iPhone, Jake received his very own hand-me-down iTouch.  (How many iDevices can one American family own, that they can afford to give a previously several hundred dollar electronic device to a 16 month old?)  He likes to hold it up to his face and say “Cheese.”  Miss Dulce must tell them to say “cheese” at school when she’s taking pictures.

The biggest news in the world of i-Yos is that about 3 weeks ago, Jake and I had our first 2-way i-Yo conversation.  It was exhilarating.  Yes, exhilarating.  After almost a year and a half of talking animatedly to complete silence on the other end of the line, this was a true break-through.  He used to just stand with a look of complete astonishment that a familar voice was coming out of the phone.  According to my mom, he mostly just pushed it away.

Our first i-Yo conversation went something like this:

“i-Yoooo, Jakey, it’s Mama!”

“i-Yo Mama!”

“I miss you so much.  What are you doing?”

“Ah ba ya blah ga.  Bama.  Ha ha!”

“WooooW.  I love you.  Bye bye, Jakey.  Bye bye.”

“Bye bye!”

Yes I know.  Unbelievable, right?  What will Apple come up with next?

Back in June, I had a week-long business trip to Miami.  Jake was almost 15 months old and when I came home, he just stood there and cried.  I tried to hug him but he wouldn’t have it.  That was when I realized he was pissed.

About three weeks ago, James and I went out of town together to Nicole’s wedding in Napa.  Jakey spent the weekend with his grandparents.  When he came home, he was exhausted.  He laid on his daddy’s chest and gave me the stink eye for at least half an hour.  He wasn’t mad at his dad for being gone.  Nope.  Just me.  His horrible, unloving mommy.  Boy can he hold a grudge.

But, two can play this game.  For example, there was about a two week period when Jakey was very little when he called several women “Mama.”  Including the director at school, Sylvia.  Sylvia is African-American.  She’s the one who called Jacob the anti-birth control.  Now at the time, I figured this might be common.  One of the new babies named Nicholas would inch his way over to me every time I came to visit and call me Mama until I picked him up.  And Nicholas was Chinese.  Two weeks.  It went by fast.

I recently wrote about how all men were “Dada.”  The problem?  Now I’m Dada.  This has been going on for weeks, maybe months.  At Angela’s bridal shower I went into the house and I hear “Dada!! Dada!”  Yes?  I prefer Mama. MAMA.  He gets this knowing smile and then says Mama.  Really just to appease me.  Every night at dinner, “More, more Da-dee!”  Now he’s been calling us both Da-Ya.  My mom thinks that’s his specific name for his granddad… unfortunately it is gaining traction in a variety of daily conversations.

The omnipresence of my new nom de guerre is starting to wear on me.  I’ve been getting a little grudgey myself.  Like I won’t give him another bite at dinner till I hear Mommy… More, more Mo-mee.

I’ve been in DC the last three days and am dreading being mad dogged when I get home.  Jake’s just lucky that I’m not that good at holding grudges.  Apparently last night he woke-up in the middle of the night and yelled “Mama!”

I feel my defenses crumbling already.

Dear, dear Ne,

Happy birthday!  We miss you so, so much.  I miss the little individually-wrapped warm ham and cheese sandwiches you make… and your pot roast.  I think of you every time I see anything to do with dachshunds… which seems like every time I go into a shop these days.  I think of you when I see the little girls in their Catholic uniforms at the Millbrae train station.  And when Jake and I use the froggie bath towel you gave him.  I miss you most when I’m in the backyard at Kristen and Jay’s. 

You would have been immensely proud of your daughter at the memorial.  She was so strong and articulate.  She described what a special bond you built and and how you changed her life.  And she didn’t even call you her “evil stepmother” 🙂

I look at Jakey’s little arms and I think of you.  How the first time you held him, you joked that he kept flipping you off.  And gave me a hard time for “putting rubberbands around his little arms and wrists.”  You would hardly believe it Grandma Ne… the little chubby creases are almost gone.

I’ll never forget our last brunch at Left Bank, just before Sex and the City 2.  As always, your smile and stories warmed my heart, and I reluctantly went home when our girlie outing was over.

I just wanted you to know that we are thinking about you, every single day, and miss you more than words can say.  Happy birthday.

All my love,

jaimie

Tonight we’re eating dinner at the kitchen table and I was browsing this little booklet put out by BABI (http://www.bayareabirthinfo.org/).  My prenatal yoga teacher said there were recommended daycare resources in this booklet… regretably, she was mistaken.

Of course, I’m commenting on the varied and strange categories listed in this booklet such as: Belly Casting (I see my first prenatal yoga teacher is one of three resources listed), Herbalist, Hypnotherapy, Rolfing (do I want to Google this?) and Placenta Encapsulation (I know I definitely don’t want to Google this).  Hmmmm, Infant Massage.  Jake is relaxing in his high chair, enjoying his flank steak and asian pears.

“Jakey, would you like an infant massage?”

“YES!”

It was hilarious.  Maybe you had to be there…

Last night, Geoffrey George, got hitched.  It was a beautiful wedding.  Warm weather, a breathtaking view, delicious food and elated couple.

Jake was pretty tired by the time the ceremony was about to get underway.  Three days of wedding rehearsals, dinners, parties and brunches (he skipped two nights of evening drinks) were finally catching-up to him.  We line-up to begin the procession and Jakey is suddenly hit by a round of the “stomach issue” he and Mommy have been suffering all week.  Literally, we are supposed to walk down the aisle and I smell “something.”  Uh oh.  Really?  Right now?

My dad says, “Well, we’re 45 minutes late.  What’s 5 more minutes while we change his diaper?”  We rush down to the back of the car.

So we’re back, refreshed, and waiting for our turn.  I test the situation to see if I can get Jake to “take the ring pillow to Dada!”  No such luck.  It’s a make it work moment.  I yank the nigh-nigh and carry him down the aisle in his little three-piece suit, quick drop him off with his Grandma and Granddad (“get out the Cheerios!” I hiss) and take my place.

“The good Reverend James” was amazing.  Truly, truly amazing.  His ceremony struck the perfect balance between humorous and heartfelt.  Everyone showered him with praise on how special it was.  I was mesmerized.  He was so handsome and confident, like he’s been marrying people for years.  I am so lucky.

Part way through, Jake jumps down and runs across the front to be with me.  It’s time for my story and reading so I step forward with my new “accessory.”  Apparently I didn’t miss a beat, despite the fact Jake was grabbing my dress, lifting it up, and several times, just putting his arms right up my skirt.  I maintained my modesty.

We went back to our spot and I picked him up per his less than hushed commands.  Then it seemed he planned to dart back across to his Grandma and Granddad.  I put him down, thinking it would be a short trip and hopefully only slightly disruptive.  Jake ran to the middle and then pulled a hard right.  He ran directly down the aisle, arms in the air.  One day you’re in, and the next, you’re out.  (Said in Heidi Klum’s accent, of course.)  If he could, I’m sure he would have yelled, “I’m free!”  Apparently, at that point, he was done getting married.

He never looked back.  He ran with unrestrained abandon, right past everyone and everything.  Auf Wiedersehen.

Fortunately, Uncle Jay jumped-up and gained on him…  I didn’t see him until Jay came back with him at least 20 minutes later, completely zonked out in his arms.  Jay is the baby-whisperer.

All in all, Project Runway was a success.  We overcame hard-soled shoes.  We braved pictures and parties and dress-up clothes.  And Auntie Angela and Uncle Geoff were beaming: the picture of happiness.  *contented sigh*

As a parent, you come up with new ways to get things done.  Time is precious.  Energy is fleeting.  Lately I’ve noticed James and I are also getting more clever.  It goes something like this…

From the living room I hear: “Jakey, take this to Mama.  Take this to Mama!”  (The sound of little footsteps running…)

“Oh wow, thank you Jacob!  A dirty sock.  Wow thank you.”  (Mommy really needs to get dressed for work.)  “Jake.  Where’s Dada?  Go find Dada.”  (Quick, throw on my pants.  Run to the bathroom to put on my make-up.  A few moments of peace.)

“Jakey.  Tell Mama to brush your teeth.”  (Slap mascara on.  Deoderant.)  “Oh hi Jake.  Where’s your ball?  Go find your ball.”  (Get to the kitchen.  Put my tea in a travel cup.)

(Without warning, he’s back.)  “Mama’s almost ready.  Take this to Dada in the bedroom.  Take this to Dada.”

“What is this?!  Trash?  Why would Dada want this?”  (It’s not trash exactly, it’s just the wrapper from my tea bag.)

Later that night I find the “trash” stuffed into my pillowcase.  Maybe James will find a dirty sock in his…

On Sunday, my baby brother, Geoffrey George, is getting married.  Jake has been named as a “ring bearer.”

For the occasion, we bought him a little 3-piece grey suit (I promise to post a picture, post-matrimony).  I was having a hard time justifying a pair of wear-once dress shoes, so we found some really adorable matching grey converse.  I think it will look very J-Crew.

In any case, Jake has pretty much refused to wear hard sole shoes, ever.  He can only wear the finest soft-soled moccasin like shoes that mimic bare feet.  When we tried the Converse on him at Nordstrom’s, he stood stock still and just cried.  We figured that with some practice, he’d get used to them.

James started the footwear desensitization project yesterday, strapping him into his new velcro Chuck Taylor All Stars.  James called me at work…  “Jake is crawling around the house.”

Apparently there was measurable improvement by the end of the day.

We also thought we should do a little “ring pillow” practice, since my attempts at explaining a wedding to Jake were met with clear disinterest and a general air of cluelessness.  Mommy walked up and down the hall with a little pillow, humming the wedding march.  “See how carefully I hold this pillow in front of me?  OK, now you try.”

We put Jake in his newly hemmed 3-piece suit to make sure it fits.  We don’t bother with the shirt, just the pants and jacket.  Then I delicately hand over the little white pillow.  Mommy starts humming the wedding march…. da da da dum, da da da dum…

Jake takes three steps, hoists the pillow back over his shoulder, and throws it about two feet.  He then picks it up and hurls it another two feet, repeating this process down the entire length of the hall and back.

I don’t really think this is what Geoff and Angela had in mind when they bestowed him with this honor.

When I was in about fourth grade, my best friend Esther got a new baby sister.  As her sister started talking, Esther and her siblings thought it was the funniest thing ever to get her to say “truck.”  Little Becca’s “truck” rhymed with truck but started with “f.”  Now, this was a mormon family where you were in serious trouble if you got caught saying “butt” and therefore had to say “rump.”  I tried to stay out of it.

I was recently reminded of these problem words this past January when we went with my nephew to Disneyland.  We were in the hotel lobby, waiting to be seated for the “Mickey and Friends” breakfast.  My nephew was so excited he couldn’t keep still.  All of a sudden, he comes running past the hostess yelling, “It’s Tits!  It’s Tits!”  I was a bit taken aback.  Is Pamela Anderson in a new Disney movie?  Then it dawned on me, Stitch was in there.  That creepy koala bear alien.  Jakey was so scared he hid his face in my stitch.

And then I was hanging out with our godson, Cooper.  Coop is addicted to trains; specifically, Thomas the Train.  Apparently Thomas is British, which I did not know.  Thomas has a train buddy named Percy.  Only, let’s just say, most kids cannot say Percy.  I’m starting to see a pattern here… I tried to change the subject.

Now we’re at the stage where Jacob is ready to start upping his polite factor.  I’d like to hear more frequent use of the words “please” and “thank you,”  without so much prompting.  The only problem?  “Thank you” is “doo doo.”

It’s not really improving my impression of his manners.   

I’m a big believer in nature.  Some things I’m sure are nurture, but really, I think there are genes and combinations of genes that we wouldn’t believe in our wildest dreams.  I’ve already written about Jake’s “torture gene.”  Not long ago, I read a book that said the proclivity to suck on something like a pacifier is passed down from generation to generation…  constant evidence supporting my AA analogy.

Almost every morning I am reminded of the constant battle between nature versus nurture.  To illustrate:

Nature: Every morning my son pops up like toast, some time between 4:30 and 5:30am.  He is naturally a morning person.  I too am more of a morning person than a night owl… as those who piled cans on me and toilet-papered my little innocent form, as I slept soundly through junior high slumber parties, will attest.  However, given that my alarm clock is set for 6:00am, one of us usually stumbles into his room, picks him up, and dumps him into our bed each and every morning, desperately hoping he’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.

Nurture: James came up with this game while playing with my nephew.  I call it “Smell My Feet.”  Here’s how it goes: Jakey puts his little toes in my face and then I’m supposed to hoop and holler and make a face about how bad they smell.  I like to say, “WhoooooWeeeee!  Your toesies smell like marshmallows and monkeys.  Or, your toes smell like butterscotch and basements.”  So, it’s a clear example of “nurture” when I’m laying there at 4:45am and Jake thinks it’s a great time to put his little toes in my face… Mmmm, no thanks.

Nature: Another of my fondest ways to wake-up is when I’m laying there in the dark and all of a sudden, a little finger goes up my nose.  Ha ha.  The more I block him, the funnier Jake thinks it is to torture my nostrils.  Clearly we did not teach him this game.  This is genetic.  As is the non-stop kicking in the stomach.

Nature: Jacob also thinks that my neck looks exactly like a saddle.  There’s nothing like having a 30lb. toddler climb up on your jugular and bounce up and down in the wee hours of the morning.  I am not a horsey.  Unless you consider me bucking him right off and pulling the sheet up over my head.

Nature: Ever since he could crawl, Jake has decided that he can’t really go back to sleep unless he is really close to me.  As in laying on me.  As in, his face must be ON my face.  His cheek must be resting on top of my cheek.  He came up with this all by himself.  He is not OK if I try to implement the Ross and Rachel “hug and roll” from Friends.  I squeeze him, and then roll him over toward his dad.  Nope.  Cheek to cheek.

So, as we can see, nature is the clear winner in this highly scientific examination of mornings with a toddler.  This weekend, James and I went away to the Napa Valley for a wedding and one of our first times away.  Of course, we’ve now been “trained” and can’t really sleep in…  James thought it was so hilarious to wake me up by imitating morning-Jake.  First he had to roll on me and gently kick me in the stomach.  Then he stood up in the middle of the bed.  When he pretended to pull the ol’ “saddle neck” move, he was in mortal danger.  Good morning funny man.