I’d puncture their tires but…

Last night when Rob ran out to the store he discovered a pretty good sized bolt stuck in one of our tires. Upon removal the tire hissed and began deflating despite the Fix-A-Flat that Rob pumped in. Like I typed– it was a pretty good sized bolt.

So today Jack and I went to the tire store/repair place to see what could be done. It became an ordeal. I thought about the premise of Gilligan’s Island– 7 people on what was supposed to be a three hour tour. A group of strangers with a specified increment of time. Huh. And Sherwood Shwartz is living the high life somewhere.

Tire Guy (and yes, I think he does think that this description IS an attractive one… One he might use in a bar as in, “Hey. I do tires, baby.”) informed me that the good sized bolt was a “considerable sized bolt” and that repair was out of the question. Oh. That and the tires were riddled with evidence of dry rot. He had me at hello. There I am with my babe in arms now imagining the worst possible road way accident. (I took driver’s ed back in the 80s when it was still okay to traumatize us with the really grisly traffic accident movies made in the late 60s-early 70s. This was before students went postal and had to be treated more delicately. I still have a hard time facing a bucket of fried chicken after seeing the aftermath of the two men in the film that succombed to “Highway Hypnosis”… ick.) I called Rob on the little courtesy phone and gave Tire Guy the thumbs up on that trip to Daytona Beach he’s been dreaming about.

This is within the 10 day period of our dryer dying on us. It never rains but pours. Where’s Oprah when you need her?

Tire Guy hurried off to do the paperwork on the new tires while I shuffled Jack from one hip to the other and informed him (Jack, not the Tire Guy) that I hoped he would enjoy trade school because Daddy and Mommy would never make the tuition payments for that 4 year University we’d promised. I asked Tire Guy how long he thought it would be and he assured me that it would be “only a half hour…. maybe 45 minutes.”

Jack and I found a chair along the windows where the sun beating in added to the already nauseating smell of rubber from the tire displays. I tried eating one of the SafetyPops they had near the coffee but it became a losing battle with Jack and tossed it in the trash.

And that’s when we met our other castaways– Angry Young Black Man, Sullen Daughter Leaving For College With Mother Also Waiting, Two Year Old Girl With Naked Barbies & Spiderman With Her Frazzled and Lonely Mother, Two Syllable Middle Aged Man, and Sweet Old Man– who sat next to us. Sweet Old Man asked after Jack’s age and then told me that he and his wife had a boy, too. And that they had had a daughter but she’d lived for only two days and his wife was never the same. His voice had such sadness in it. Jack grinned at him and he seemed to like that.

And time went on. And on. And on. Adding to the fun was my lack of cell phone (left it on the kitchen table) and the lack of clocks anywhere. Like a casino, the Tire People don’t want you to be aware of time passing. Unlike a casino there isn’t much to do, however. I realize that going to a discount tire place means you are bypassing the added costs put in place by the addition of frills and whistles… but you’d think they could spring for a tv or something. Sheesh. Even the Islanders put on a Shakespearean play once in a while.

I might have read the book in my purse if it hadn’t been for the fact that I had wiggley Jack on my lap. He loves books. Well. He loves turning pages. I read fast but not that fast. His toys were in the back of the jacked up truck. So we had nothing. No. I had nothing. He had me to climb on. And over. And on again. Silly boy.

And then Tina Louise! our name was finally called and we were free to wait another 15 minutes (calling our name was akin to getting to the inside of the roller coaster queue where you still have a whole ‘nother maze to walk through….)

I hope Tire Guy signs up for a three hour boat ride when he hits Daytona Beach. And yes, I hope the weather gets VERY rough.

Where o where has my little baby gone?

Today Jack is 11 months old. In a month he’ll turn a year and become an official “toddler” which is a little disconcerting. I’ve never known a year to fly by as this one has. Last year at this time we were worried about baby classes and finishing up his little room and marveling at the mounds of things we were given at baby showers… and zoooom! our baby is nearly a toddler. Robby noted to Jack today that “pretty soon” we won’t be shopping in the baby section anymore because we’ll have graduated to toddler sizes. (Not true, really, Jack’s a shrimp boat. He’s wearing a 3-6 month pair of jammies as I type… but I know what he meant.)

I don’t much like toddlers. Or at least I didn’t. I’ve always loved babies. Especially tiny babies. And I think 3-4 year olds are a stitch in their miniature perfection. But toddlers? They always seemed like such messy little creatures. Sticky fingers. Grimey feet. Dirty faces. Ick. Toddlers eat paste and sand and kitty litter (or so I’ve been told by the stories of pals with toddlers). The appeal of a non-baby non-kid has been lost on me… until now. Now I get it. As much as Jack has learned he still has far to go– and now we’re getting to the fun part of being able to really play and communicate.

The other day I had lunch with my Friend Wallis. (Wally of the “Here’s a blog site– now go forth and blog” fame.) We met at a local coffeehouse and Jack was invited along. I couldn’t find a high chair so I picked a couch and while Wally and I caught up on each other’s families my Jack crawled from one end of me to another and back again. Thankfully Wally has raised 4 children and has a grandchild on the way or our visit might have been a disaster. It’s hard to carry on a conversation that is serious in nature when you suddenly have a foot using your ear as means to gain access to the large burlap wall hanging behind you. Jack was as wiggley as I’ve ever known him to be… until he tired himself out on my lap and fell asleep. I picked all the chicken salad out of my bread with a fork and took care not to drop any on his head. Forget breastfeeding for postbaby weight loss– it’s when you have an active kid that you lose pounds. Who has the third or fourth hand that is necessary for feeding themselves?

Wally and I talked about a lot of things. This hasn’t been an easy month for me. A lot has happened to my family that is out of my control. And my mother’s moving overseas for long stretches… Jack and I will miss her. The constant bright spot has been Jack. I shared with Wally my surprise that I would find even Jack’s impending toddlerhood as exciting and it turned the conversation to parenting.

Wally’s theory is that children are basically savages that we, as parents, are given to civilize. I agree totally. And, on a theological note, babies aren’t born as innocent as the Blank Slate crowd would like us to believe. You want to learn something about Grace then spend an afternoon with a 2 year old who’s taken with the power of the word, “NO!” Wally and I agreed that the theologians that believe children to be so innocent are those that have not had children.

Maybe I’ll invest in a pith helmet? Look more the part…

Dad’s birthday

Yesterday was my Dad’s birthday. It’s always a hollow sort of day. My sister and I always call to say, “Happy Dad day” but it’s never really a happy day.

When Jack is older and able to get it I’ll make it a fun day again– we’ll eat ice-cream for lunch and find something silly to do that we might not normally. But Jack’s too little for ice-cream still and I wasn’t much in a festive mood yesterday.

Robby gets this. He took the bambino and I to my favorite Japanese Steak House. My Dad used to take us there. It’s where Robby and I announced our engagement and where we’ve celebrated various birthdays and anniversaries. The food there, we understand is to Japanese cuisine as Taco Bell is to Mexican… but we like it. It’s yummy and you can’t help but get a kick out of the goofy floor show put on by the chefs. They clang their knives and rattle their spice jars and toss egg shells and shrimp tails into their tall hat tops. My favorite part is the big oil fire they do on the grill. Jack is still on the fence. I think it makes him wet his diaper, truth be told.

And– bonus– we discovered the big cotton candy piranha fish in the sushi bar area. Jack loved him.

And I love Jack.

I just miss my Dad. That’s all.

These little piggies went to market

Jack and I went to the Farmer’s Market today. I love the Farmer’s Market. In my town it’s not a huge one– but there is enough produce to choose from in August to make me a happy girl. Jack liked it, too– I put him in the baby backpack where he enjoyed a bird’s eye view of the market and all the flowers and vegetables and people.

Everywhere we go people exclaim that he’s “cute” or “handsome” or “precious.” I’ll admit, it’s fun to hear. It’s payback for not ever being one of the pretty girls in school. It’s nice having him along for a whole other reason– it’s already heavy having him in the backpack on my back and even though my hands are free to carry our tote bags I’m pretty limited on how much I can take along. He keeps me from over buying. It’s tempting there. There’s so much good stuff. I start thinking, “I could make pie!” when I’m not a great pie maker.

Today we picked up tomatoes and tiny white potatoes and onions and blackberry jam (both of my grandmothers used to make it and Oh! but I love blackberry jam!) and a sugarbaby melon.

We drove out to the nearest patch of green to meet Robby for lunch– Jack fell asleep so we forwent the idea of spreading a picnic blanket and ate in my Explorer. The AC was a nice picnicky touch. It was stupid hot out today. Very melty feeling.

After we made Robby head back to work (those tomatoes aren’t free, Mister!) Jack and I ran errands then returned home. I made soup with the vegetables and some chicken broth and filled the house up with yummy smells. Jack, for his part, bounced in his Jump Up while I chopped veggies. Today he took to clutching Mr. Noah from his Little Tykes Ark and banging him on the tray of his Jump Up. I’m not sure what Mr. Noah ever did to my boy but apparently it’s pretty serious. He was very sternly babbled at.

When Robby came home we put the soup on simmer and headed out to Club Jack where he spent a half hour splashing in his pool. My mom gave him a little rubber duck that sends bubbles into the air when you squeeze the belly. Jack looked a little concerned. And then caught on to the fact that bubbles are fun. I recommend bubbling rubber ducks now. (Not that I wouldn’t have before necessarily.)

The best part of my day? Jack’s really gotten down the concept of hugging. He’s good at it, too. It makes my day and then some.

Lesson No. 805

So far the toughest thing about raising Jack has been the stuff we can’t control. The outside stuff that bumps into the little bubble we have him in. I’ve been learning a lot this year about dealing with the stuff I can’t control– I can’t say I’m very good at it but I think I’m better than I was before I had Jack around to temper the way I react.

There are things we want for Jack that we can only hope and pray for– good health, family, friends, contentedness. We’re trying as best as we can to put the pieces in place for him to have those things but it’s really out of our hands.

I was talking to a friend the other day that doesn’t get that. She’s sure that if she could have this part of her life different that all will be better. She mapped out the next five then ten then twenty years of her life while I sat and thought about how ridiculous she sounded because at any given moment things can implode all around you.

I don’t want the world to be a perfect place– I don’t think that would be all that fun necessarily… but I wish it were a little kinder sometimes.

Stranger Danger!

Jack’s changing. It’s subtle– but he’s a little less sure of the world than he was a month ago. We see it in the way he pauses before trying to launch himself off a higher surface… (yes. Put the phone down. We catch him. Sheesh. We’re not THAT new anymore.) And the way that he reacts differently to some of the noises and sounds he’s grown up with.

It’s textbook, I know. He’s 10 months old and right on schedule for “Stranger Anxiety/Separation Anxiety” but it’s a little strange to see him shy away from the same people he used to light up at. Poor Uncle Andy is hit or miss– if he’s holding Jack on the trampoline at the gym he’s his favorite person in the world. If he walks in the living room at my house Jack screeches. Jack’s own shadow is to be explored (on a brave day) and shied from (on a less so sure of himself day).

So far I’ve gotten a free pass from all this scrutiny. (Robby, too, though I think he’s always a little relieved when Jack smiles at him at the end of his work day.)

His profile is changing, too. He’s getting more of a forehead. (Sorry, kiddo.) We can still see his UltraSound Image profile– we know he’s ours– but it’s a little less round than it was.

On the plus side Jack’s really getting a sense of humor. He cracks up a lot these days. Which is the very nicest sound I’ve ever heard.