Today is Jack's second birthday. Wait... no, that's right. Second birthday. Wow.
And a glorious two years it has been. Happy birthday, indeed.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your sirloins! I'll be here all week...
So, apparently I'm hilarious. Just hilarious. To some people.
Unfortunately, at this moment my comedy fanbase consists of one person- Jack. We're in those precious years when I can crack him up with something as simple as a funny face or a rendition of Soulja Boy- complete with dancin'. Did I say they are precious years? Because they are, and well I know it. Sailor has moved entirely in the other direction, where 99% of my actions are not only unfunny, but mortifying.
I am patting myself on the back for the age difference between my children. Even though it was entirely against my will, I'm pretty sure my own personal/internal Body Management Team said, "Hey... wait a minute. You don't want them to be so close in age that they BOTH think you're nuts at the same time, do you? Let's have a little space, 'kay? You know how sensitive your ego is..."
So, seven years after Sailor was born, and just a few months after she started transitioning into the "my mother is totally humiliating me" phase, we had a sweet baby boy (who, in my estimation, still has a good 5 to 6 years before I have to pick him up at school wearing one of those beekeeper getups with the thick face shawl). It's great. When, for instance, I "raise the roof" (and make the whoop!whoop!whoop! noises) in the grocery store because my favorite brand of laundry detergent is on sale, I have one kid who shields her face and slumps away muttering under her breath- but I have another kid sitting in the buggy who laughs like a hyena and shouts, "Again, Mama! Again!"
And I can entertain Jack without even trying, really. I was changing his diaper this morning, and I gave him his pants to hold during the process. He was absentmindedly chomping on the drawstring when I said, "Jack, are you eating your PANTS?" Oh, the hilarity that ensued! "Haaa, haaaaaa, MUAHAHAHAA, Mama!" Then he got in on the act.
Me: "Jack, wouldn't you rather have a cold sandwich or some raisins?"
Jack: "No, Mama. Jack eating PANTS!" (lots of chortling and exaggerated smacking and swallowing noises)
I'm thinking of taking my show on the road. Jack could help me with my material. And Sailor could hang out safely backstage. In my beekeeper's getup.
Unfortunately, at this moment my comedy fanbase consists of one person- Jack. We're in those precious years when I can crack him up with something as simple as a funny face or a rendition of Soulja Boy- complete with dancin'. Did I say they are precious years? Because they are, and well I know it. Sailor has moved entirely in the other direction, where 99% of my actions are not only unfunny, but mortifying.
I am patting myself on the back for the age difference between my children. Even though it was entirely against my will, I'm pretty sure my own personal/internal Body Management Team said, "Hey... wait a minute. You don't want them to be so close in age that they BOTH think you're nuts at the same time, do you? Let's have a little space, 'kay? You know how sensitive your ego is..."
So, seven years after Sailor was born, and just a few months after she started transitioning into the "my mother is totally humiliating me" phase, we had a sweet baby boy (who, in my estimation, still has a good 5 to 6 years before I have to pick him up at school wearing one of those beekeeper getups with the thick face shawl). It's great. When, for instance, I "raise the roof" (and make the whoop!whoop!whoop! noises) in the grocery store because my favorite brand of laundry detergent is on sale, I have one kid who shields her face and slumps away muttering under her breath- but I have another kid sitting in the buggy who laughs like a hyena and shouts, "Again, Mama! Again!"
And I can entertain Jack without even trying, really. I was changing his diaper this morning, and I gave him his pants to hold during the process. He was absentmindedly chomping on the drawstring when I said, "Jack, are you eating your PANTS?" Oh, the hilarity that ensued! "Haaa, haaaaaa, MUAHAHAHAA, Mama!" Then he got in on the act.
Me: "Jack, wouldn't you rather have a cold sandwich or some raisins?"
Jack: "No, Mama. Jack eating PANTS!" (lots of chortling and exaggerated smacking and swallowing noises)
I'm thinking of taking my show on the road. Jack could help me with my material. And Sailor could hang out safely backstage. In my beekeeper's getup.
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