Jack is a Medieval Cowboy Monk

Recipe: 

One (1) sheet of unused black velvet cloth from re-shoot of baby photos at fancy photographer's studio;

Two (2) lengths of rope cut from cat scratching post that has been scratched into oblivion;

One (1) Tequila sponsored cowboy hat received at golf tournament; and,

One (1) two year old with a penchant for the ridiculous.  

Cut hole in black velvet at midpoint, insert child's head.  Cut rope into lengths and fasten one around black velvet-clad adolescent.  Fasten cheap cowboy hat on child's head.  Issue second length of rope to act as "whip."  Giggle with glee as the historically confused child scampers about the house, taming imaginary steers chanting, "Howdy, pard-ner." 

It was a slow day at work.

Sam is Getting Bigger: An Update

Recently, I posted that Sam was 8 lbs and 1 oz.  I was wrong.  He weighed in at 8 lbs and 4 oz.  But, as I have also written about, Sam has been enduring an ongoing battle with his colon.  At that point, we was on day 6 of Operation Need To Poop, so there was quite a bit of backup that added some weight.  Shortly after the appointment, he released his payload.  I wont go into detail, but if you've seen video of dams being blown up and the reservoir spilling out, endangering the people that live below, that pretty much sums it up.  Just replace "dam" with "Sam" and "people who live below" with "Ashley."  

So, officially, he probably ended up at 8 lbs 1oz after the vacation of his bowels.  So I was technically correct.

"Wow, I need to go #2... bad"

Getting Into The Holiday Spirit

Ashley's mother, Laurie Sue, takes care of Jack one day a week.  This began when Ashley went back to work after Jack was born, and has continued despite the fact that Ashley is now home with both kids.  The day off helps Ashley keep things in order and gives her some time to run errands without dragging along The Two Foot Destruction Artist (a/k/a Jack) and Captain Grumpypants (a/k/a Sam).  More on Sam later.  

Laurie Sue was in education for many years, and has a PhD in child psychology.  (Both of my in-laws are PhD's in Psychology.  Yeah, chew on that for a while.  I've developed my share of psychoses arising simply from that fact.)  The great part about that is that she is diligent to involve Jack in activities that develop his maturing mind and allow his adolescent creativity to expand and develop.  

Around the holidays, she uses the opportunity to engage Jack in various art projects.  As Halloween approaches, Jack has painted his own mini-Jack-o-Lantern and made some "scary" signs to hang on the front door.

[Seeing this post, and looking at the picture of himself painting his pumpkin, Jack commented (somewhat embarrassed), "I still have my jammies on there!"]

Turning to Sam, he gets in the holiday spirit by being constipated (latest count: 5 days worth) and passing the worst gas any one can conceive.  I pity Ashley who has to endure it during feedings.  He's going to be a "Chemical Weapons Developer" for Halloween.

I christen thee Captain Grumpypants.  Why?  He cries... an incredible amount. (I believe that is related to the lack of "BMs.")  He's a pacifier baby, which we were excited about at first, but if that little $.02 piece of plastic falls out, he goes ballistic. Put him in his carseat - ballistic. Set him down for 2 seconds to type this blog post - he erupts.  

As hard as Jack's 2 hour feeding rotation was, the constant assault on the eardrums is equally as rough. A Sam scream reaches into the deepest levels of my psyche, grabs a hold and twists painfully. Yay stress!  

Samuel Is Getting Bigger

Ashley took Sam to the doctor today. He had a cardiologist appointment. His primary doctor heard something that she didn't like when she examined him and sent him to have it checked out. EKG and the works. Ultimately, it turns out its nothing to be alarmed about: kids have a hole in their heart when they are inside mom that closes shortly after birth. Premi's, being ahead of the scheduled due date, don't close up as fast, so he has a small hole in his atrium that will close soon, we're told. "Nothing to be alarmed about," they say. Phfew.

The bigger news is that Sam is now 8 lbs, 1 oz. Ashley took a picture at the doctors office so you can see his progress:

Transgender Insects.

After walking 18 holes on Saturday morning, I returned home to a full day's worth of yard work in preparation for overseeding our lawn with rye grass. (Thankfully, we pay to have that done, although I always believe I could probably do a better job given enough time, energy and seed) Ashley attended a baby shower, leaving Jack and I to fend for ourselves. Jack assisted, wielding a rake and helping me bag up piles of pine needles that collect under our gargantuan pine tree in the front yard. We also made a trip to the local hardware store to purchase a chainsaw and then proceeded to trim some of the 10,000 trees in our yard. We are manly men.

I was surprised and pleased at his willingness to help, and the extent of time the project held his attention. But, he is two and a half, after all, so his random thought generator did kick in after about 10 minutes.

As we were hauling tree limbs into the back alley for disposal, Jack saw something move in the dirt. Immediately, he zoomed in on it, scooped it up and proceeded to show me that he had caught a small beetle. (I'm not an entomologist so don't ask me what genus and species it was. All I recall is that I've seen this type before, they aren't harmful, and have a neat red, grey and black pattern on their backs.)

Proudly presenting the creepy-crawler to me, Jack proclaimed, "I found a bug! His name is Lisa!"

[UPDATE: It was a Milkweed Bug (Lygaeus kalmii).]

Blogging.

www.despair.com

A new take on those moronic "inspirational" posters.

Sam Gets His

I was rereading my posts and realize that Jack (and his antics) receives a majority of the attention here.  So, in fairness to our second born:

Today, Sam stared at a light... for a really long time.  Then he fell asleep.  I bet he dreamt about the light and the glorious wonderment it brings. 

Today, Sam cried because he doesn't like riding in his car seat.  Then he cried some more.  And more.  And more.  Sam, we get it, you don't like your car seat.  But Arizona's traffic laws don't leave us much choice.  So, with all due respect, can it.  If forced to do so, I'll install a light for you to stare at while we drive.  

Today, Sam sucked on his pacifier and slept while Daddy schlepped him around Scottsdale Fashion Square in the Baby Bjorn.  [Take a moment and picture that: Regular Joe TJ, clad in tee shirt, cargo shorts and $3.50 Old Navy flip flops, with a 7 lb baby strapped to his chest.  Then picture me surrounded by 15 to 25 year-olds who consider Cosmo an "intellectually stimulating" publication, don jean shorts and 4" high heels to go shopping, and can't tell you what the words "federal budget deficit" mean.  You bet I blend right in, like a goiter on a prom queen.]

Today, Sam had a bottle for dinner.  During a burping break, Jack was showing Sam his new shoes (navy blue Crocs) and Sam promptly vomited on Jack and his new shoes.  Take that, big brother.  Jack was not pleased, pleading with Daddy to "clean up my new shoes, please, now, please! Sam pooked on me!"  I'm certain you find the glorious irony in that event, as I did. 

Learning Jackanese

Filed under "Jackanese":

• hast-eh-bul  (Hospital.  He learned this word when Sam was born.  We were going back and forth to the "hast-eh-bul" daily and parking in the garage.  So now, whenever we enter a parking garage, he asks why we're at the "hast-eh-bul.")
• esk-al-vator (a transposition of "escalator" and "elevator."  Both are modes of transportation between floors, so he's really evolving the English language.)

Jack Ryan: Meteorologist

I came home from work today a little earlier than normal.  Sadly, I usually don't arrive home until around 6:00pm on the average day.  When time is money, the tendency is to squeeze as much as you can out of a day.  The life-work balance is a constant struggle.

Today, when I arrived home, I learned that Ashley had not left the house with the boys all day.  Cabin fever had set in.  My first clue was Jack running in circles in our living room, wielding a miniature Louisville slugger that my grandfather gave us as a birth present.  We resolved to remedy the situation with a quick trip to that mecca of discretionary spending, high fashion and lives of excess: Scottsdale Fashion Square.  

While en route, Jack looked up at the sky.  Today was marked as the first day of Phoenix's "fall."  I put "fall" in quotes simply because I don't believe we have four seasons, but two: Heaven and Hell.  We're now entering heaven, when all the days are simply perfect.  Days where your lawn sprouts an emerald green color (after ample water and a couple hundred bucks of rye seed), and when the golf course actually looks like those ones you see in magazines, with the criss-cross mowing patterns. But I digress.

Jack looked up at the sky.  The day was hazy, with a layer of clouds thick enough to obscure the sun's shape, creating the effect of a bright "blob" in the sky.  Jack noticed, announcing: 

"Daddy... the sky is ruined."

A Two-Foot-Tall Ted Kennedy Lives In My House

As an attorney, I pride myself on my linguistic skills and proper grammar. (I have to; I'm paid to write well. Trust me, it's not a burning personal desire to rework Strunk & White's or be the next Bryan Garner, although I appreciate the work he's done.) In that vein, I constantly correct Jack's grammar and speech when I hear things that are not necessarily correct. He frequently confuses verb tense or conjugations. For example, Jack will say, "Daddy, today mommy and I droved to Target and boughted some clothes for Sam" to which I respond, in my best impression of ajunior high grammar teacher, "Fantastic! You DROVE to Target and BOUGHT some clothes for Sam. WONDERFUL!"

One thing that is currently uncorrectable, however, is Jack's frequent transposition of "-uh" for "-er." As I referenced on the sidebar, Jack calls our IMac the "pew-tuh." I have tried to correct this to "com-pu-ter" (slowly saying each syllable with great emphasis) to no avail. So we live with it. And, frankly, it yields some pretty humorous conversations. His inability (or choice, we haven't figured out which yet) to change all words that end in and "-er" to "-uh" makes him sound like member of the Kennedy household on a tear. "Daddy, why you workin' on the pew-tuh?" "Well, Jack, because I can't get my caaaaa out of the garaaaaaage. Go Red Sawcks!"