Apples and Pennies

This weekend, we took a trip to the Apple Store.  For fun?  Not really.  Let me rewind.  

A couple of days ago I picked up my computer and noticed this sound - like something was sliding around inside of the thing.  I looked at you, blinking adorably at me.  

"Jack, did you put something in my computer?"

(No hesitation.)  "Yep."

"What did you put in there?"

(Adorable face.)  "A penny."

"Ok.  Well.  Never do that again, ok?"

That was a couple of days ago, and I've been ignoring the coin rattling around in my best friend's guts.  Denial.  But ignoring it became impossible when your dad unknowingly tried to insert a DVD into the disc drive and all sorts of horrible sounds erupted from the thing.  Fast forward to our trip to the Apple Store.

I hate that place.  Are they trying to intimidate the customers by outnumbering them with employees?  Sweet Jesus, never walk in their wearing a blue shirt carrying an iPad - someone will attack you with nerd questions, even though you're a toddler.  It's also impossible to figure out where you're supposed to buy something because the Apple Store is too cool for a normal cash register.  No, at the Apple Store they use invisible laser air technology to ring you up.  Whatever.  Thank goodness for this:       

It kept you busy half the time we were there.  You occupied the other half with "can we leave NOW" questions.  

Trust me son, I wanted to leave, but they decided that before they open my hard drive to remove the penny and Monsters and Aliens, I should back up my computer.  Because I never have.  Because I didn't even know what that meant.  And because the penny might murder all of your baby photos.  

So we left the Apple Store $200 poorer, but at least there's still a penny in my MacBook.  And no, I did not purchase that Marc by Marc Jacobs computer sleeve seen in the above picture even though I really, really, really, really wanted to.

Halloween costume

Last year you were a hot dog...

AND a New York Yankee (Jeter to be exact)...

This year, you are going to be him...

No I'm serious.  And you are very well aware of it.  When anyone asks you, you say "Cee Wo Geen." And when they ask you HOW you're going to dress like him, you say "I gonna wear awl the fancy things."  I love you.

Knock Knock

You've figured out 'knock knock jokes'.  Sort of.  Here's how your's go...

You: Knock knock who's there.  

Me: No, just say knock knock.  I say who's there.  

You: Knock knock who's there.  

Me: Ok.  Who's there.  

You: Cock-a-doodle-doo who.  

Me: Cock-a-doodle-doo who who?

You: (Eruption of laughter)

Apparently I've just figured them out as well, or at least can't remember any of the good ones, because here's my version...

Me: Knock knock.

You: Who's there?  

Me: Apple.

You: (Laughter)

Me: Say apple who?

You: Apple who?

Me: APPLE IN YOUR FACE!!!

You: (Rolling on the floor laughing and no, I will not abbreviate that.)

(Cartoon)

Cinderella

Today as we were perusing the super exciting cleaning aisles of Target, you pointed to a sponge and said, "Can I peeeeease have one?" What mother in her right mind would say no to that???


So we got home, I cut the sponge into little pieces, and you went to work scrubbing the deck...


What a pleasant game. I titled this post 'Cinderella' but I think you look more like Gus Gus...

BARF

We just took a quick trip to New York. It was a lovely time, or, as you like to say these days, "AMAZING." (Some other new favorite words and phrases... "I'm so excited!" and "stupendous" - seriously.) We spent 15 of the 3 days we were gone in airports or on planes, but you flew like a champ! Until. Until the last 5 minutes of our return flight... when air pockets and too much milk and jet lag and lord knows what else got to you, and got to your tummy, and you threw up. On me. With one, quick "BLAH" I had vomit all over my shirt, soaking my hair, on my backside and in my underpants. It was actually quite impressive how you managed to get nothing on the chair or yourself. I took it all for the team. Your welcome American Airlines flight attendants. Did I mention who watched the whole thing go down?


That's right, she did. Sharon Stone was on our plane - and actually asked me if she could help as we de-boarded. Looking back, I should have asked for the shirt off her back, huh? Next time.

ET Phone Home

Writing a letter to the aliens...

You quit.

I guess watching mommy try on bras is not your idea of fun, but parking your butt on a set of train tracks is.

"A leeeetle baby"

Nope, that is not you, that is mommy holding brand new baby Paxton. You and I went to visit him last week, and the whole way there you couldn't stop talking about "leeeetle baby Pat-ick-son." Of course, you showed zero interest while I held the sweet little guy (there was a skateboard in the midst, I mean). But you still talk about him, about how small he was and how he made "waaa, waaa" sounds. It's hard for me to remember you being that "leeeetle." Sigh...

Tantrum

Your tantrums are adorable. I'm sorry, I know you want to be taken seriously during them because you're furious with life and all, but they're adorable! Whenever you get fed up with us, you say, "I go night night!" and you run into your playroom, shut the door, and do this...


Butt hiiiiigh in the air. If we try to follow you, you say, "Bye Bye! Night night!" So we leave you alone. And a couple minutes later you're as happy as a pig in poop.

Glitter Hands

I painted your nails.


Your dad let me. Sort of.

You ate a crayon.

I guess I should be glad that you digested something green.

More shoes and high fives...

We call your feet meat patties. They are very thick, and it hasn't been easy to stuff them into shoes. Until now! You have a better collection of footwear than your own mother, I'll have you know. Just look at those!

Other than sporting new shoes, you're into head banging, making "silly circles" (spinning until you get dizzy and fall down) and giving high fives.


Is there a picture in the world better than this?? I wish those were my pretty hands but they're not, they belong to your Auntie Ingrid. She's a hand model.

Attack of the Birds

We took you to the beach yesterday to see the "birdies." I put that in quotes because that is only how I refer to them in front of you. If you weren't around I would call them "dirty freakish nasty terrifying creatures" aka pigeons. You were sitting on the ground and your father accidentally dropped a french fry in your lap. Did you know that a pigeon will scoop up a french fry from just about anywhere, including a baby's lap? It ferociously came at you and the fried potato, spastically flailing it's ugly wings, until it's gross, pointy beak snatched what it was looking for. I screamed. You laughed.

Do I sound harsh? Well I was pooped on shortly after that. So. You tell me.

Welcome Home!

I went out of town this weekend, for the first time since you were born, and came home to this on the front door:


Yes, that's a Triscuit taped to my sign. Lately you don't go anywhere without a Triscuit in your hand, but you gave one up to welcome me home. This equals LOVE. Sigh.

Uh huh. Uh uh.

Your new thing... nodding. Every time you hear the word YES, from anyone, you start nodding with eyes open wide. It's adorable. I'm trying to teach you to shake your head when you hear NO, but so far with no success. You're a Yes Man.




I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing, or a bad thing? NO is an important word to learn. No bite. No pull mommy's hair. No walk into the street. You nod YES furiously through all of that.

Of course, when you do learn NO, it will all flip around. YES go back to bed. Yes eat your vegetables. Yes get mommy some more wine. I can already see you shaking your head...

Pop Goes The Weasel

Because your name is Jack, you have a few of these guys:


They scare you. They scare me! The music is so sinister and creepy, like when movies foreshadow something terrible that's about to happen. It pops just a hair before you think it should, every time. A quote from your 4-year-old cousin:

That just made my heart tickle!

That's an adorable way of saying this mother f'er needs to be thrown out.

(Yes, it's before 6 in the morning right now...)

When life gives you lemons...

Yesterday, you sucked on a lemon and loved it. I refuse to turn that moment into a famous YouTube video, but I do not refuse to exploit others that have. Enjoy...

birth days

Last week I turned 29. For some reason, I feel like I should be older? I guess that's what being a mommy does to you. While I absolutely feel young at heart, I think I should be at least 32. I mean, how can I still be in the same decade that began with Bacardi Limon and Pita Pit at three in the morning? At that time of night NOW I'm either feeding you or I've been in bed sleeping for 8 hours already. Anyway, enough about me, here are some updates about YOU...

You're climbing up stairs. Well, with our help. But it's still an incredible and frightening step. Get it, step.

You only like it when I talk all squeaky like Mike Tyson.

You're eating pasta, scrambled eggs, quinoa, little steak bites and cardboard books.

You speak German and Italian. At least that's what it sounds like to me.

Thank you for making my 29th birthday maybe the best one yet. Your big ONE is next... LDAKJDSKEOWIJAF! (That's excitement.)

In the great green room...

...there was a telephone. And a red balloon. And a picture of...


I know this book by heart. Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown. I have read it to you almost every night since you were born. Well, at least since you've been sleeping in your own room, which was around 6 months. I exaggerate.

The point is, I love reading it to you. Such a simple book, such a simple idea... saying goodnight to objects, to the air, the stars, to nobody. You love it too. (Isn't this a nice letter?)

Until recently. You're smart now, you're figuring things out. You know that Goodnight Moon means, BED TIME. Now, as you turn the pages - something you've done since you were very little - you turn them with such intensity, it's almost as if you're punching them. That's exactly it, you do not turn pages, you punch pages. It makes me giggle, which makes you shoot me a look of "this is not funny, MOM."

Oh well, it's still our special time, and our special book... even if you are trying to destroy it with your fists.

copy that

Update on yesterday's plan:

It didn't work.

It's probably for the best. I'm not sure how many more times I can watch Joe Biden nod and Nancy Pelosi blink. Tacos for dinner every night would make my other blog pretty pointless and boring. While I do have a love/hate relationship with showering, I'm not sure I could rock the mom dreadlock look in Santa Monica. And, as it turns out, Blythe Danner lives in New York, which would complicate our attempt at running into her daily.

So, back to a life of unpredictability and very little sleep. It's exciting!

Oh, and by the way, the most recent message you've typed into my blackberry:

CCPOOP.

Naturally, I think you must be reminding yourself to copy POOP on an email. Why are you emailing POOP? I don't know, I'm just your mother. I'm here to support, and not to judge.