Wednesday, May 30, 2007

the big, scary W

The other day while Jake & I we're eating breakfast, for some reason I had the TV on while Bush was giving one of his well versed speeches about needing more money. So there we were, me eating my cornflakes and reading my People & Jake happily gnawing on a piece of toast. Then suddenly, out of no where, he started crying hysterically & pointing at the tv. Seriously, I'm not kidding.
I looked him over to see if something was pinching him but found nothing. He just sat there crying and holding his hand out towards the tv. Almost like he should have been screaming, "my eyes, my eyes!". So, I sat there totally puzzled, got him out of his high chair to calm him down & looked over to the tv where Jake was pointing. There he was, our fearless leader, spouting off like some red neck from Deliverance when it sort of hit me. Of course! Like duh... Big, scary W scares Jake!

Surely, all those times that I had warned him that Bush is a cockroach infested sack of lies and meanness couldn't have actually gotten through to him, could they? Maybe they did on some subconscious level, or maybe he's just a genius. He's clearly not a fan.

I know... I know. There must be some logical and simple explanation. I guess it could have just been something simple like the fact that the guy looks like one of those scary dummies that comes to life in the twilight zone. Only without the excessive cheek rouge and big, crazed eyes. And not as smart. It probably has nothing to do with his policies. Regardless, I'm gonna hold on to believing that he's not a fan of the W. He is, after all, my son.

On another note....

Sunday, we went in this very cool butterfly exhibit at the Natural History Museum. Hundreds of butterflies, landing all over you and flying all around. It was a little intense and a lot awesome. It was also completely crawling with toddlers, young children and wannabe photographers like myself. It was like a toddler romper room with tons of delicate little flying things. Delicate little flying things that you can't touch... or eat... or stomp on. So you can imagine.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Monkey On My Back

Yep, I lied. Did you really believe me when I said from my golden perch of moral superiority that I'd never succumb to the harness? I'm not talking kinky stuff here. I'm referring to that cruel and barbaric practice of putting leashes on kids. Something I so clearly refuted only about 2 months ago. How could someone do that. I just didn't understand. That is until Jake started darting around. Jake's like a puppy on steroids. And speed. Turn your back for a second...and he's gone! He doesn't stop moving. It seriously pained me to do it. But after chasing Jake around the last few months and narrowly avoiding death a few times, I went and purchased said harness the other day at Target. This might also not only save lives, but my sanity, which after all is a fragile state of mind. Even if at the cost of "THE LOOK". At least it attempts to look like a cute monkey backpack. But I guess that's the same thing as putting lipstick on a pig. It's still a leash.

So you might now ask, "well where does it end? Electronic collars? Muzzles? Choke chains?". All I can say is that we live in a dangerous world my friends. Kids run into traffic, fall down wells or, er, stairs. erhum. It's just that I'm breaking my motherly balls trying to keep him from falling down wells. There are wells all around you know! I know I did the right thing and will use it in places like airports and crowds, etc. We aren't assholes who are going to tie him up so we can ignore him & go take a nap. This is purely for his safety.

So, being Mother's Day and all, we took the harness for a test drive an headed to Dockweiler Beach (a notoriously deserted beach in case we might risk the chastisement of other morally superior people) & tied our one year old Tasmanian devil to the umbrella and let him thrash gleefully about in his 5 foot radius of, um, freedom. We did not nap I promise. At times he accepted it like anyone would accept a leash. Like for example when he got to the end and was snapped back on his butt, he'd let out a loud, resentful whimper punctuating what complete jerk parents we are. But sitting there in our comfy chairs eating lunch (again, not napping or ignoring) while he played, and at the same time successfully keeping him from the slurry of nasty fly infested seaweed, condom wrappers and seagull feathers just out of his reach, we got over it rather quickly. My honest impression was that he was pretty okay with the harness. I'm still on the fence. I'm thinking for now it's a great means of safety in those rare occasions where it's absolutely needed. Please don't send me hate mail.

Happy Mama's Day!

Monday, May 7, 2007

splashy, splashy, muddy, muddy

ah summer, er, spring... 90 degree weather and all the sun, water, mud and sand a boy could hope for. And of course all the photo ops a mom could hope for.

I'm too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my hat... what do you think about that?

Yay! I have a new Canon Rebel and I've been a picture take'n fool for the last two days. My sweet, awesome man got me one for my birthday. And guess who gets to be the subject of all my practice shots? Just guess. Ah yes, poor kid. He loves it though. He totally vogues to the camera like a mini super model.

Here are some of the latest. I think I need to take another class to fine tune my skills a bit more. Regardless, this is good times.

Just look at this. I didn't give him the dandelion. He found that prop on his own, knowing I couldn't help myself. What a ham.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Apparently I'm old now.

So I had this grand idea to shoot video of Jake outside on his new swing and in his new sandbox and write a post about it yesterday. I thought what perfect material and how convenient that it's right in our own backyard.

But then.

I injured myself. Not doing anything particularly physical or risky. Oh no, no, nooooo, I was stretching. Sitting down in a chair. Stretching. And it wasn't any sort of crazy yoga stretch. I simply reached my hands back behind my head and had a nice, usually harmless back stretch. Only this time there was a crunchy sounding, "POP" followed by lighting bolts of unimaginable pain. So I hurled myself to the floor (cause that’s what you do), rolled around for a few minutes wishing for death and tried to assess what next. Not being able to move my head or lift my arm, I clearly needed help. So I lurched over to the desk, reached up with my good arm (where the hell is my life alert?) to the phone and dialed Jonathan trying to explain without panicking him that I broke my back somehow and couldn't move. Basically, I've fallen and I can't get up. Given that, as any good, panic stricken husband would, he rushed straight home to my rescue and swooshed me away to Daniel Freeman ER for 5 fun filled hours. That’s five hours of lying on a gurney next to a moaning and snoring, large ex Mexican wrestler (Lucha Libre) guy with a cut finger. No kidding. Then finally about an hour later, this snarky male nurse, who probably wanted to sedate me so I wouldn't notice as much how long I had been there, came in and said,

"May I offer you a poke in your butt to make you feel better?"

Me: "Excuse me?!"

Snarky Nurse (rolling his eyes): "an injection of painkiller in the muscle of your buttocks. NOT in your butt. It should take the edge off." (I honestly think he says the fore mentioned statement to every female patient just for pure shock value, but that’s just my theory)

Me (already bending over and feeling oddly embarrassed by both the misunderstanding & my choice of underpants), “right. Please poke away.”

It took about 15 minutes for the injection to kick in, but when it finally did I was jubilant that the feeling of my arm getting ripped out of my shoulder socket by invisible gnomes had disappeared.

4 hours later…

It’s not broken! BUT, we don’t know what’s wrong with it so we’ll just assume you tore something, put you in a sling, give you some vicodin and send you home. GREAT, so glad I came and exposed my young son to millions of crazy microbes for 5 hours just to be given a bottle of vicodin. Never mind. All worth it.

Jonathan’s been a doll for staying home and helping out with Jake since this all happened. His back went out too so we’re quite the pair of hunchbacks. I was saying to him how I thought stretching prevented one from injuring oneself. I thought I was doing a good thing. He replied that everything changes when you hit 30. Wait a figgin minute . I haven't even "officially" "hit” anything (I have 3 1/2 days left of 29) and I'm already injuring myself from a measly back stretch? And by “hit” do we mean the brick wall of life where you suddenly have to be mature, responsible citizens of society and apparently fall apart ? Because having a baby made no difference what-so-ever in making that happen. I guess I'll find these answers and more when I'm 30. Or maybe you elders who are already there can fill me in.

(Sorry this long overdue post had to be about back pain and aging. I promise a Jake video shortly. Here’s some pictures of my boys to tide you over. )