Monday, August 16, 2010

Two Much

Jack turned two this past week.  So he's been in our lives (in a literal sense) for something like 33 months, and even longer than that in a larger, less specific way.  To tell you the truth, I feel like he has always been with us.  I occasionally note, "Oh, that was before we had Jack."  Which is an interesting way to recall things:  remembering what was not present.

Happy birthday, my boy.  You are our ever-whirling surprise and joy and pride and love.

I have a ton to write today, but will only get to a fraction of it.  I've been in 'travelogue' mode for most of a week, and I have accumulated more information than I can ever hope to record.  Another day.  So right after Jack's 2nd, I bolted off on an extremely rare business trip to the Pac Northwest.  And by "business," I mean sleeping like polished granite, unsuccessfully fishing for chinook salmon, and doing some serious meet 'n greet along the way.
E.C.:  "OkayIloveyoubye."

E.C.:  "I missed you!"
H.M."Don't leave me again.  Ever.  You're not leaving again."
Evidently Jack got bored pretty quickly when I was gone, and took it out on The Help.  But he was nice enough to make suggestions:  (1) "Go Beebee's house." or (2) "Daddy elephant" [A then logistically impossible ride on my shoulders dodging low doorframes, singing the march from The Jungle Book].

When those didn't fly, I heard he tried to keep busy by doing some light yardwork.  He's obsessed with my Stihl leaf blower.  We constantly hear, "YOWD BAWAH!" [loud blower!].  He will.  Not.  Let it.  Go.  So when a large cardboard tube shows up in the house, he strikes.  Constantly wandering the house, the tube tucked under his arm, he blows off the terrazzo again and again.  Excellent.  Just the career path I had in mind:  Yard Dude.  Maybe I should have clarified that "Ivy League" doesn't really have much to do with tending actual ivy.  And get this.  When the 'blower' isn't in use it goes in the 'garage,' which is not the garage at all but, in fact, the space behind the couch.  Semantics.

And there's the counting.  Anything, as you can imagine, can be counted.  Shoes.  Dogs.  Ice cubes.  The Skip can reliably go to five in Italiano, en Español, and en Français, and a bit higher in the mother tongue.  But y'know, sometimes he gets hung up.  Like when you ask him to count the BANS [fans] in the living room.  There are two.  But no, to Jack, there are UN, TOO, FUH, FAAH, SEEKS, SEFUH.  Whatever.  Who really ever uses "three" anyway?  I mean, 2+2=4.

For his birthday, we got him another diversion, a little fakey kitchen.  With a grill*.  I spent the last part of a day of living death migraine assembling and putting the myriad stickers on it.  So when the counting and the yardwork became tedious, he headed over to make the first of a thousand pots of ghost coffee, and slap another (fake) ketchup bottle on the barbie.  Mmmm.  Fake grilled fake ketchup.  My favorite.

It was good to get back to all the insanityMajesty assured me that next year, she's the one skipping town for a few days, not me.  Told me not to even try it.

I'll try to post some (arguably funny) travel stories scribbled in my notebook during the semi-boring return flight.

*It's WAY cool.  Has little fake flames and everything.  Heck, I'll sit there and play right alongside him.  I'm 33.


Donna said...

Happy Birthday Jack! To the skipper: "The cats in the cradle and the silver spoon....little boy blue..."
(when I tease M with that song he does not find it funny). :) To HM: I hear you. Two is a busy time- no matter how precious, funny, smart they are- it's TOUGH- they move like lightening with no logic. Whew! I'm tired thinking about it. T-man is 19 mos- and threw his first mini-tantrum in the mall food court today.....and so it begins.

El Comodoro said...

Hmmm. Gotta agree with him on the Chapin song. It plays on a universal dad fear: irrelevancy. Or worse, that we'll pass on traits we thought would end with us.