>I recently, and accidentally, told my boss he was the worst in an IM. In the third person. Almost as if I meant to say it to someone else. I ended up apologizing, but before that I worked on a couple excuses for my terrible faux pas. The best thing I could come up with was, “It’s opposite day.”
So I must have had opposites on the brain when we were camping in Moab because Jack and I got into a big discussion about opposite while we hung out waiting for the rest of our crew to be finished mountain biking. He wanted me to do something, maybe his shoe? Momma, do it! And I said something like, “well first I have to undo it. Then I can do it.” He wanted to know what undo meant and I said it was the opposite of do. What does opposite mean? And so on.
So I just started giving him examples, and it went pretty well.
Me: What do you think the opposite of Up is?
Jack: Soft. (He didn’t get all of them right.)
But the best was when I asked him what the opposite of GOOD was. I was pretty confident he would get it, and I sat back, waiting for him to say bad. But you know what he said, right? He said EVIL.
>Eventually, I will blog about our awesome vacation, but first I want to talk about the McDonald’s PlayPlace. (We went twice, so the kids could get exercise during the road trip. And so that we could eat.) Say what you want about the evils of McDonalds, but it’s a great place to run around and burn off some energy when you have been in the car forever. That is, until some gigantic family swarms, swarms, swarms. With their giant kids, and brothers and sisters and cousins, with the yelling and the blocking of the slide, and chasing, and general roughhousing. This same thing happened at both McDonalds stops. And both times Luke retreated to another area, while Jack got trapped somewhere by the swarm. In Kayenta, Arizona, I just sent Luke in after Jack and we left when things got out of hand. But in Albequerque, New Mexico, I guess Jack had learned a thing or two. We were ready to leave, and Luke was avoiding the swarm, and Jack was trapped at the end of the line for the slide, three stories up, behind a never-ending line of cutters. I was about to send Luke after him, but first I just yelled up there, “Jack! Just come down the slide!” Next thing I knew, he had pushed to the front of the line, and as he slid down, this is what echoed out both ends of that tubular slide: “BUH BYE SUCKAS!!!” Other Jack vacation moments: I filmed an interview with him, asking what his favorite part of vacation was. Pointing to himself he said, “This guy.” Speaking of Jack pointing to himself, a few weeks ago, on the way home from Eldora, he pointed at each person in the car and said the following, “You’re a skier, you’re a snowboarder, you’re a snowboarder, and I’m a skier.” Still pointing to himself and looking down at his finger, and nodding vigorously he said, “Yeah! That’s right, finger!’
>At some point during Black Swan, I asked myself, “At what point does a child need to start cutting their own fingernails?” So far I have narrowed it down to somewhere between 3 and when they become a prima ballerina. In the meantime, it’s a weekly struggle between Jack and me. We recently came to the agreement that after every bath, I can cut one toe’s worth of toe nails. But the deal has to be renegotiated every time.
After tonight’s bath, Jack was running around the house in his towel pretending that it was a cape, as 3 year olds are wont to do. I could tell he was stalling, but I wasn’t in a hurry so I let it play out. He finally came back into the bathroom and said, “Oh. I realize why I was tricking you by running around. It’s because I don’t want my nails to be cut.”
Thanks for sharing that bit of self-discovery Jack.
Then, when I was promising it wouldn’t hurt, he said, “It WILL hurt. Because of gravity. Gravity makes things fall down. I learned that on Sesame Street yesterday. See? Gravity, I told you.”
>Poor baby Jack is quite ill, with a terrible cough, runny nose, headache and fever. I tried twice to put Dr. Burts Res-Q ointment on his nose, which I have always found to be amazingly effective in the past for reducing pain and redness and clearing up the sinuses.
The first time he wouldn’t let me come near him, but the second time, he was more resigned. I put the ointment on his nose and with a sigh, and a shrug, he said,
“See? I knew it wouldn’t work.”
I said, “When did you become such a pessimist?”
With another shrug, he said, “When I growed up.”
My poor little baby is all growed up, and he growed up to be a pessimist. Sigh.
There was more to his story after that, but since he has laryngitis and a tendency to ramble on and on, I didn’t catch it all. I know there was something in there about how he growed up to be a gentleman, and isn’t Darth a really weird first name? How do you get to be named Darth?
Otherwise I would have had to guess what Jack was talking about based on his bizarre complaint and his inability to scratch me when he tried.
>We are having a slight problem with baby talk at our house, and I am trying to counteract it with giant vocabulary words. Jack knows that “dede”, “geegee”, and “teetee” are not acceptable and that he should be trying harder to say, “fortify”, “magnificent”,”transubstantiation”, and “existentialism” whenever possible.
Meanwhile, Luke is interested in grammar, and he just read the kid’s version of Eats, Shoots and Leaves, and he cracks up at the ways a comma can make a difference. At dinner tonight we had already addressed the baby talk (baby talk is a gateway drug to potty talk, if you must know) and I was trying to get Jack to eat his dinner. I said, “Eat your beans.” He said, “No! Candy!” And I said, “That’s right. No candy.” And Luke said, “He means, No, comma, candy.”
Then we started talking about hot-chocolate, the noun that means a chocolaty drink, and hot the adjective, that describes chocolate that is very warm. Dave said in some countries, there isn’t a difference, and I said that the problem with this country is that people say hot chocolate when they mean hot cocoa. And Jack said, “Momma, cocoa is a baby word and that’s not ok.”
* Am I mildly worried that the grammar in this blog post is terrible? Yes, but not worried enough to proofread.
>The week before Halloween, Luke recited “5 Little Pumkins” and I was very impressed. He rolled his eyes and said “It’s not like I just heard if for the first time this week.” So, if I was extremely impressed with Luke, imagine how excited I was when Jack started reciting the same poem. Poor Jack, he was running around on the Saturday before Halloween, talking about how he was going to be in a costume parade, and he and his preschool friends were going to recite the poem for the toddlers. He was very excited. So excited that I felt a twinge of guilt over blowing off the Halloween party at the daycare the day before. Oops. And without further ado, the video:
>Luke tragically reported to Dave that he “had plenty of time to eat his lunch today. Because it all fell on the floor and had to be thrown away.” He was starving and traumatized from the experience. But upon further questioning, it turns out that only the apple fell on the floor, and that 8 people tried to open his lemonheads and no one could. And that I had forgotten to pack a tube of yogurt, and for some reason he didn’t drink any milk. When I was trying to get the story straight, I asked why he didn’t use the scissors I pack in his lunchbox (for the pesky tubes of yogurt) to open the lemonheads. He signed and said, “I’m only school-smart.”
In Jack news, I heard him saying, “Mama” in his room the other morning so I walked in there. He looked up from the stuffed animal in his arms and said, “Oh, I was just talking about you.” I thought that was pretty funny, so I was sharing the story with Luke and Dave at dinner that night and they were laughing. Jack said, “I wasn’t complaining about you! I was just talking about you.” Very reassuring.
>The other day, we had the catcher and the vampire behind home plate. Today, Jack said, “‘Member when Santa brought me that firehouse? I looked up and I saw him with his donkeys.”