Jack now

If I could, I think I’d keep Jack just as he is now for a while. He’s always been a funny kid but lately he’s turned up the dial a notch on his creativity.

Some highlights:

• We’ve taken the rail off his crib so that he’s sleeping in a little daybed now. It was hard to take off the front piece of the crib. He didn’t mind it– he nestled into his little crib every night without complaint and waited patiently in the morning for us to lift him out again. He could crawl out– and occasionally did– but, for the most part, he was content. My sister and I both slept in our cribs when we were in kindergarten. Like Jack we were small enough and it didn’t occur to us to be insulted. Still. It was time. He likes his new bed. He hops down in the morning and trots into our room casually, “Good morning Mommy.”
• Jack went on his first water slide last week. We took him to a hotel that had a waterslide, pool, and splash area. He was delighted. For about $12 I was able to get a little kickboard, waterwings, and an assortment of little pool toys. He loved the waterwings. The slide was supposed to be for people 48″ tall– Jack is nowhere near that… but, luckily, the rules were pretty lax and no one said anything about it. His face was a mix of pure exhilaration and pure terror when he came down the first time. Robby and I took turns catching him at the bottom, bobbing him in the water, and pointing him toward the ladder for another slide. His joy right now is so complete. So pure.
• We also took him to a friend’s farm museum. We took the free wagon ride with Farmer Brad who kindly let Jack sit up front with him. Jack was thrilled. We sat on haybales next to him while he studied all the things that Farmer Brad did. (Jack yelled, “Giddyup” to the horses who twitched their ears and took a step up.) When the wagon was full Farmer Brad turned and tipped his hat, “Hello, My name is Farmer Brad and I’ll be taking you on this wagon ride today. The horses here are named Duke and Dempsey.” Jack listened politely then turned, stood, pulled my hat off my head, placed it on his own, and announced, “Hello, My name is Woody. Mommy is Jessie the Cowgirl and Daddy is Buzzlightyear. You are all horses.” His first public interpretation. Sigh.
• His new expression when things go wrong, “Oh! This is terr-ible!”
• The fairies have come to live in Jack’s fort. He went out one day to find a tiny door that opens to the fairy that lives inside. There’s been an exchange of little surprises and even a note from the fairies. Jack is enchanted with the whole concept.
• Jack’s gymnastic class culminated in a End of Year Parent’s Program. He forward rolled and bounced and kartwheeled (which, for Jack, is really just swinging his little rear end over while he hops)… and was awarded, with all the other children, a participation trophy. It’s nifty. It lights up and flashes. As trophies go, this one’s pretty snazzy. He was impressed. It has batteries. Batteries are pretty big in a 4-year-old’s world.
• There is genuine chatter now. About anything and everything. Get Jack started on a topic he’s interested in and be prepared to listen for quite a while. Favorite topics include: dinosaurs, Lightening McQueen and his world, coins, and instuctions.
• Georgia-the-Teddy-Bear goes everywhere with us now. To church and the grocery store and to visit Granny. Georgia is always nearby, in Jack’s arms, or in my purse. I can’t think of how any future friend will be as loyal and true as this one.

Well. Time to stop. The little man in question is wondering what is for lunch. Me, too.

Hold, please.

Oprah keeps telling us all that this is our Wake Up Call.

Consider me hitting the snooze button. Sleeping in. Taking the phone off the hook.

I’m tired of all the doom and gloom and blathering on about the economy. Blahdittyblahblahblah.

Monday morning was my first Monday morning in months of not driving to work. Nearly every Monday since September I’ve gone into work early to knock off press releases and the ilk while Jack and Robby negotiate the school day preparations. This Monday we sent Daddy off to work and Jack and I went through the rituals of cereal, clothes, and backpack. I dropped off the little rabbit then drove to the park and willed myself to walk around the 1.3 mile trail twice.

It had seemed like a good idea the week before. Unfortunately the temperature was hovering just over 20 degrees with a biting wind. I looked ridiculous– layers of old ski clothes and my Pakistani Freedom Fighter Hat. (It’s really just an odd shade of green and simple wool hat but it’s made in Pakistan and we’ve always called it that.) I kicked myself for not buying an iPod before the reality of semi-unemployment hit. The first lap went okay. I moved fast enough to stay warm and two sides of the walk really weren’t so bad. The other two sides– were the wind came sheering across the open fields was a bit cruel. Apparently Mother Nature thinks I haven’t been kicked around enough.

On the second lap there was a creepy man hovering in a white van. The kind of van without windows in the back that will be easy enough for the producers on Oprah to find when they are doing the reenactment of my disappearance footage. I walked the long way around it– avoiding the side door and then spotted another creepy man with a backpack who, the closer I walked to him, slowed his gait. We would intersect at the one point in our park where there is no visibility from the road. A stretch through the frozen swamp where the chunks of my body would be found in about 6 weeks when the ground thaws. I turned on my heel and walked back the other way. There are very few incidences in my life where I’ve regretted being born a girl– this would be one of them. Stupid creepy men and their vans and backpacks.

I walked again on Wednesday– this time I ran for 100 steps, walked for 100 steps on the first lap. Again– an iPod would have improved my lot. At least it was well above freezing. I lapped an old lady. (She had an iPod, by the way.) Today the price of all my good intentions is a flare up of plantar facsiitis… Mother Nature could care less whether or not I’m healthier. (And she probably has a freakin’ iPod, too.)

Tomorrow I’m walking with my mother-in-law. She’s better than an iPod. We’ll mock the super serious healthy people together.

We’ll see what the next weeks hold. In the meantime call the front desk and tell them to hold my calls.

Kicking Pollyanna to the curb

So today Jack is sick.

Nothing major– just a phlegmy little cough and sniffling nose. We’re surrounded by people that have had bouts of strep throat/flu/Ick… so we’re lucky to just have a day of this, I know…

But. He’s four. And fractious. And forgets to cover his mouth when he coughs. And I’m on the glum side myself today. So it’s all made for a long day.

My job has shrunk. Blame it on the economy. Blame it on the changing face of the Museum Field. Blame it on the old presidential administration or the new one. Blame it on France. It still means I’m out about four hundred dollars a month. Jack has three more months of tuition, a possible gymnastics class, and a penchant for McDonalds once in while.

As for me– and yes, I am whining, I had my eyes on a couple of things that are now out the window. And I already miss the idea of going out to eat. (Two words: Tempura Rolls. Sigh.)

It’s all made me kind of Scroogey and grumpy. At least Jack’s been especially cuddley today. That’s taken some of the sting out of the rest of the world.

Argh.

Keeping all the Obamas in our life straight…

I wrote this last week. But, apparently, my computer burped in the posting of it… so here we go again. Pretend it’s Wednesday, January 21.

Yesterday Jack and I kept the television on to watch the Obama Inaugural and all it’s hoopla, pomp, and circumstance.

Jack recognizes Barack Obama. He delights in saying his name. It’s a fun name to say, for sure. For months, when he’s seen him on TV he’s announced, “Mommy! Daddy! That’s Barack Obama!”

I’ve typed it before— but I’m so glad that Jack will never question that any man can truly be president. (We’ll have to work on getting him to believe that a woman could do the job, too.) He’ll grow up taking for granted that “all men are created equal” and have to be taught that there was a time that wasn’t the case. What a great lesson plan that is—much better than, “well, yes, in theory anyone can grow up to be president…”

Of course—that he gets to take all that for granted has a downside. He’ll take it all for granted.

That’s what occurred to me yesterday while the military troops lined up and the masses and masses of people waved their American flags, and poor Ann Curry couldn’t hear anything from the feed in her ear but gamely joined in on dancing to “Shout!” while she navigated the crowds… I tried to explain to Jacky what was happening.

“This is a special day, Jack” “This is a special ceremony Jack— Mr. Obama will say special words and become our President” “See all the people? All the people are in Washington, DC—it’s a very big city where the President works and lives.” “What’s that building Jack? Yes! It’s the White House—that’s where the President and his family lives.”

Jack is four. For the most part, his Playmobile knights and little Cars vehicles held much more appeal than the insights of Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera, Brian Williams, and Tom Brokaw. Still, some of it made an impression.

Late in the day the Obamas were tucked into The Beast of a new armored presidential car and headed down Pennsylvania Avenue. With the promise of the parade in sight, I showed Jack the car and explained that the flags and the seal meant it was just for the President. Jack is a boy, through and through, so the car had some appeal.

Me: Who’s inside the car with the flags, Jack?

Jack: The little girls? Mrs. Obama? And Barack Obama?

Me: Well, I’m not sure if the little girls are in the car right now… but yes, Mrs. Obama is in the car and so is Barack Obama.

Jack: Mommy! Not just any Barack Obama! PRES-ident Barack Obama.

Me: Yes, Jack. President Obama.

We’ll see what the next four years bring. But this week has seemed so hopeful, so optimistic that it bodes well. For our little household, we’re hoping the next four years brings about good change and good discussion. And media tidbits about the adventures of the little Obama girls and life in the White House.

And as for Not-Just-Any-Barack-Obama-But-President-Barack-Obama, well, so help him God.

 

Stirring Creatures.

We’re still quite a few hours out till Jack is nestled all snug in his bed with the sugarplum dreaming… (not that he’ll dream about sugarplums. My money would be that any food dreams of his involve Little Ceasar’s pizza pizza or the little heart cookies my mother brings him from France…) We’re in pretty good shape. The last two days have been a frenzied attempt at getting everything done and ready so that tonight and tomorrow we can just relax.

Enjoy our pretty tree.

Light a Christmas Wreath candle.

Eat our weight in frosted cookies.

Everything is wrapped. Delivered even. All that’s left, after Robby runs the vacuum, is to rearrange the little creches so that Jack can find baby Jesus in the morning. Put the presents under the tree. Hang our stockings.

First off tonight is Jack’s Christmas choir in the children’s service at our church. Sunday’s version was a hoot. My little son brought down the house with his perfect, if exaggerated mimicry of his poor choir teacher’s gestures urging the children to sing louder. And the weird little dance he did in the middle of Away in a Manger.

Tonight, with his grandparents and AunT  and great Granny and our friends in the congregation who knows what he’ll do.

After church we’ll eat beef and noodles. I made the noodles this morning as my Granny taught me and used her rolling pin to roll out the stiff dough as thin as possible. (One batch I left thicker for my sister who doesn’t like them thin.)

We’ll light a candle on my Dad’s grave. Put out cookies for Santa, carrots for the reindeer, and sprinkle glittery oats on the snow for Rudolph to better find our house. Read our new Christmas book and put on our new jammies. Tuck Jack into bed. Help Santa with the Christmas.

To us all a good night.

Merry Christmas.

Mmmmm. Delicious are my words I’m eating

Okay. I was wrong.

Yay.

[For his part Jack went to the window this morning, pulled back the curtain and said, "Wow! Mommy! How'd that happen!?"]

Even deathrow inmates get outside, don’t they?

Jacky is torturing the dog. We’ve been cooped up all day. Jack is a little conjested and it’s biting cold outside… so we’ve stayed in and played inside.

And now he’s stored up a little too much energy for his tired Mommy.

The dog isn’t too happy, either.

Happy Anniversary Robby!

Today’s our anniversary. Fourteen years ago we were married in a relatively simple ceremony and a roomful of friends and family to wish us well.

It was a good day.

Then we went off on our Honeymoon which was a grand adventure. We went to Alaska. In November. We seemed to be the only non-residents there at the time and got quite a reception everywhere we went. It was fun.

Then– when we were brand new– we couldn’t imagine that every anniversary wouldn’t be as magical as our wedding day. We imagined years ahead of champagne corks popping.

Today has been somewhat ordinary and a little extraordinary. I got to “be the Mommy” in Jack’s class today. So my morning was spent with tempura paint and little scissors and happy little four year olds. They’re nice kids. I like being with them. The Mommy Helpers are minor celebrities in their world. It’s fun being a rockstar for the day.

While I was tidying up their little tables after snack (bananas and graham crackers and juice boxes if you’re curious) a delivery man brought in a bouquet of daisies and a mylar balloon wishing me a Happy Anniversary. The other Mommy Helper and Jack’s teacher agreed that I have a good husband.

AunT took Jack and I to lunch at McDonalds. The new Madagascar toys are in– so it was a fun lunch. And the nice men with the tall ladders have come to do our eavestroughs so, also, a good thing. Tonight is Jack’s little choir practice and dinner at church (hamburger gravy on mashed potatoes. Again– yay).

No champagne in sight but there was theme music this morning by way of my sister and nieces singing, “Happy Anniversary!” as the Flintstones did.

And isn’t this what the goal was 14 years ago? The two of us still happy. Still Us. Under our own roof and with the JackRabbit?

Happy Anniversary Boy!

The internet shouldn’t be accessible to crazy people

Okay. I’ve given you all a day to absorb it. Now get over it. It’s no longer about who you voted for or who you didn’t it’s about moving forward.

Yesterday I overheard a conversation that I still don’t know what to do with… two older people horrified that Barack Obama was elected president. The woman said things like, “I read on the internet where he’s going to take all the young black boys off the street and put them in uniforms and have them patrol the city streets like an army! They’ll go after all of us!”

No. I didn’t make this up.

The man said he wasn’t surprised. And added that he’s been telling everyone he knows to make sure they get their social security as soon as they can because the cut they’ll take in pay is better than nothing and now “they’ll get all our money!” By they it was clear he meant black people.

Again. Didn’t make this up.

“You know that there won’t be any of us one day! I read on the internet that by 2040 there won’t be any white people!”

“How could people be so stupid as to believe all his lies? The people that voted for him just don’t want to work– and he’ll let them just sit there while the rest of us do!”

It went on. And on. I was frozen to the spot unable to react. My mind was reeling with what I could say or what I should say and what I wanted to say. Their venom scared me so that I didn’t say anything.

And then– and this is the kicker… a little black girl walked in and the man adopted the voice you use with very small children– and cooed over her pretty hair. WHAT?

The people I overheard, I hope, are the extreme example. But there are lots of people grumbling. The facts, however, remain the same– Barack Obama is our president-elect. America gives us the right to disagree and to protest but it also charges us with the responsibility of all those freedoms. It would be nice if all the passionate energy of the campaign could now be channeled into a, “What can I do?” attitude.

It’s good to have someone in the White House that didn’t come up through a privileged dynastic system. It’s nice to think of small children in nation’s greatest home– and a president who will be keenly aware of how important education is. It’s good to have a huge investment into the country’s future made by the 18-24 demographic that came out in droves to vote. It’s very good that all children can believe, “You could grow up to be president if you want!”

And it would be really, really good if people could realize that the race is over– a winner emerged– and that, in a place where we all get to cast a vote and choose without fear of retribution, we all won.

Maybe the crazy lady will read THIS on the internet.

I voted

I walked to the polls yesterday. It was a beautiful Fall day here– lovely, big yellow leaves wafting down and unseasonably mild weather.

I didn’t take Jack to the polls. I should have– should have held his little hand and shown him the process… but really, in our town, the process isn’t very exciting. There aren’t any curtained booths– just cubicle-like dividers as though you are keeping your neighbor from copying your third grade math test. And there aren’t any neat machines with levers or touch screens– we have to fill in little bubbles with a black marker attached by string. The most exciting part is probably the machine that sucks in your ballot at the end…

I left Jack at his grandparents.

All morning the news reports warned of long lines and delays so I came prepared. I carried a book with me and relished the idea of an hour or two of uninterrupted reading.

Turns out our polling place was entirely too darned efficient. Extra quasi-booths had been set up and extra volunteers were in place. It took me longer to fill out my little card then it did to wait in line. My book wasn’t ever cracked open. Sigh.

And now, almost 24 hours later, with the results in I wonder why we have this long period of limbo. I’d hate to be George Bush now (or any sitting president)… I know that president-elects have lots to do. Cabinets have to be formed and plans made but do they need 3 months?